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dabisbratz · 5 months

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he��s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

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kyeomofhearts · 1 month

Text

Back For More | J.WW

+ summary: while adjusting to your new life in college, you couldn't help but attract the attention of wonwoo, someone who you happen to have a history with.

+ pairing: badboy!wonwoo x fem!reader

+ word count: 2.7k

+ content: badboy!wonwoo, college au, mature language, flirting (wonwoo is a menace), jealousy. [pls let me know if i missed anything!]

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

[ᝰ.ᐟ] i hope you guys enjoy this! it's most likely going to be a two-parter so definitely let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! i would greatly appreciate it if you guys reblogged (maybe with comments too ^^) since i thrive on your guys' validation :)

You were tired, very tired.

Granted, this was your own doing. Maybe if you hadn't pushed your responsibilities to the side last night you wouldn't have had to wake up so early to study for an exam, but what's done is done. This whole college thing was not going so well, to say the least. Sure, it's only the beginning of the second semester, but you already feel exhausted by all of your class workloads.

Just ten more minutes of this boring lecture and you could finally go home and crawl into bed. But… that's only if you avoid him today. Which now that you’re thinking about it, you hope he isn’t waiting for you outside, again. That would be the last thing you needed today.

With that being said, things have felt a little weird if you were being honest. Of course, this was your first year of university, so things were bound to feel new and different. But there was something, or rather someone that was making you feel strange.

Around two weeks ago you noticed that Wonwoo, an old classmate of yours, had recently started to become a bit friendly towards you. While that normally wouldn’t be considered weird, you couldn’t help but feel skeptical about his intentions. You knew the kind of people he surrounded himself with, and especially the girls he would go after; which was the exact opposite of you. So what exactly did he want from you?

What also makes this situation more odd is that you’ve basically known Wonwoo for your whole life. Of course, you don’t actually know him, you just happened to go to the same elementary, middle, and high school (which is insane if you think about it). Acquaintance is a perfect word to describe your relationship with him, nothing more nothing less. So yeah… it’s a little weird when the guy you have been around for (almost) your whole life is suddenly trying to befriend you, there definitely had to be something wrong with him.

All you knew about Wonwoo was that he was on the more reserved and quiet side; mainly keeping to himself most of the time. His group of friends was quite the opposite of him, which always made you wonder how he even became friends with them in the first place.

Seeing how the lecture was ending soon, you started to pack your stuff; you were more than ready to dash straight out of the classroom. Having finished all of your assignments for today, you had nothing left to worry about. So once the professor had made her goodbyes, you made a straight beeline to the door, nothing was going to hold you back from your long-awaited nap. Your pace was brisk, attempting to avoid the backed-up main exit, you decided to go to the opposite door. The walk back to your apartment wasn’t too bad either, most of the time you saw it as a way to daydream and listen to music. So while you scrolled through your various playlists, you happened to miss the (very obvious) figure following you.

Wonwoo called out your name a few times until it finally dawned on him that you had your headphones on. He took a few long strides to catch up to you; he was very adamant on getting your attention this morning. With ease, he quickly plucked your headphones off of your head.

“What are we listening to today?” He said while adjusting the headphones on his head. It took you a second to fully process what he was doing. You knew he was doing it to provoke you, but you were determined to not let that happen today. So to his surprise, you simply kept walking. You figured that he would continue with his antics if you gave him the reaction that he wanted so you did the opposite, you ignored him.

What shocked him the most was seeing you pull out an old pair of earbuds and plugging them into your phone. He was dumbfounded to say the least, how were you so prepared and why were you ignoring him?

And again, he quickly caught up with a few simple steps. He took your headphones off of his head and tapped them against your shoulder.

With a tired sigh, you turned around to face him but couldn’t help but admire his face. You really didn't want to lose that ‘expressionless’ look you were going for (to help you ignore him of course), but that small smile of his was enough to crack you down. It's like he knew that it was your one weakness when it came to him. This was the most annoying part of it all. Anytime he smiled or looked at you, a tiny part inside you secretly liked it, making you crave his attention at times.

Objectively speaking, Wonwoo was very handsome. That was something you could never deny, you would even go as far as to say that he was your type but you didn't particularly like the people he called his ‘friends’ so you were stuck in a weird limbo.

“Is there something on my face, birdy?”

You scoffed at the nickname. “I told you not to call me that.”

Wonwoo’s eyes were looking straight into yours, a smirk slowly creeping up to his lips. It didn't help that he was looking really good today either, his messy hair combined with the whole biker fit did wonders for your eyes. He was about to say something before you heard your ringtone go off, evidently cutting him off.

Oh.

It was Hyunwoo. That's odd... you finished your shared project with him rather early, what could he be calling you about? Either way, you answered the random call in front of a rather annoyed Wonwoo.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy yn, I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch later today?" You couldn't help but feel your eyes widen at his sudden question. Since when did he want to hang out with you? Last time you checked he had a plethora of girls that he was talking to... maybe he was interested in you? No, you shouldn't get too ahead of yourself...

"Um... let me check if I have anything to do first. Can I call you back?" You knew that you sounded nervous but how else were you supposed to feel when the cute guy from your physics class was literally asking you to eat lunch with him?

As soon as you ended the call, you felt Wonwoo's arm snake its way down to your waist. You couldn’t help but yelp at the sudden intimate contact. Chuckling at your reaction, he leaned down, closer to your ear. “Who was that?”

"No one." You stated simply, it wasn't his business anyway.

"Hm, okay," Wonwoo rested his head on your shoulder, continuing to speak lowly in your ear. "I'll remember that birdy."

Before you could even come up with something to counter him, he decided to speak up once again.

"Well, I do have something rather important to tell you." His voice was so calm and soothing, you could honestly listen to it for hours on end if you had the chance.

"What is it?" You hoped he couldn't sense your rather, embarrassing, curiosity.

"Heard you used to have a little crush on me," his voice was evidently smug, knowing that this would surely get a rise out of you.

Which it did.

Your face burned at the memories of when you used to have a crush on Wonwoo. But, that had to be in fourth grade… so how could he have known about that? Nonetheless, you scoffed at his statement, not wanting to know that you were a little embarrassed by the sudden reminder.

“Key word, had,” you rolled your eyes at him. This did make you curious though, who could have possibly told him that? So you asked him exactly that.

“How do you even know about that?” His smile never faltered even as you lightly pushed his hand away from your waist. If anything, this made him want to touch you even more.

“I have my ways,” he stated simply. Of course, he does. You hated when he would shrug things off, now this was going to bother you for the entire week!

One thing about Wonwoo was that he has always been curious about you, this interest stemming back all the way to your elementary days. This curiosity eventually intensified in junior year of high school when you began to show your blatant distaste towards him. He just had to get to know you.

He looked down at you, his face was unreadable like always. You never knew what was going on in that mind of his.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be hanging out with your actual friends?" Sometimes you couldn't help but blurt out your thoughts to him even if they sounded a bit rude. His face faltered for a split second, probably caught off guard by the random question. Shoot, you really didn’t mean to say that out loud. Although, it looks like Wonwoo didn’t take any offense to your sudden question. If anything, it made him... smile?

“I am hanging out with my friend,” he stopped you to face him, “which is you.” You rolled your eyes at him. That had to be the corniest thing he has ever said to you if you were being honest. You just hated that giddy feeling he would give you any time he said something remotely cheesy.

"Ugh, you're so dumb," you groaned while checking the time on your phone. It was getting close to noon and you hadn't responded to Hyunwoo's question from earlier. Maybe it was best if you didn't go... who knows what he wanted from you. If you were being completely honest, you didn't know if you had it in you to see other people at the moment, aside from Wonwoo of course.

"Have somewhere to be?" Wonwoo asked, a hint of concern peeking through his voice.

"No, thank god, but I do have a scheduled nap to get to so if you don't mind-" you were cut off by the sound of an engine revving, making your body jump at the unexpected noise. You turned to see where the source of the commotion was coming from but then realized it was coming from a group of bikers nearby; most likely Wonwoo's friends.

Or so you thought?

Wonwoo didn't seem too pleased with the group that was getting closer to where the two of you were. On the contrary, Wonwoo looked pissed. His jaw was visibly clenched, the gentle grip he had on your waist tightened, and his eyes lost that playful spark he had earlier. You couldn't help but feel guilty for thinking about how hot Wonwoo looked when he was angry. Of course, you would never want to be on the receiving end of his anger but seeing it on the sidelines was quite... interesting.

Wait. This might actually be serious, so it's best if you leave before anything crazy happens.

"I think I'm going to head out now..." you said quietly as you tried to slip away from Wonwoo's (awfully) strong grasp.

He turned to look at you, his eyes softening once they landed on your figure. Why did they have to come and bother him at this exact moment? He knew that whatever was going to happen was not going to be pretty, but he found himself reluctant to let you go.

Before truly letting you go, he quietly asked, "Are you sure? I can take you home if you want me to." As soft as his voice was, he still managed to sound composed which was comforting considering the situation.

You nodded in response, "I don't live that far from here so it's fine, thank you for the offer though." You managed to flash him a small, awkward smile before turning away from him and heading toward the direction of your apartment. You didn't know what exactly was going on between those guys and Wonwoo but it for sure wasn't friendly. Although it wasn't exactly your issue, you couldn't help but feel worried about Wonwoo, even if he was a pain in the ass sometimes.

Much to your dismay, that scheduled nap never came your way that day.

You blame Wonwoo, how were you supposed to sleep peacefully knowing he was probably getting jumped? Okay, you might be jumping to conclusions but what else were you supposed to think about when he was visibly angry at the mere sight of those guys?

Realistically speaking, it's only been two days since that whole incident happened. Granted, you haven't seen Wonwoo since then but that could mean a lot of things.

[...]

While you were in line to get a smoothie from one of the pop-up shops near the campus, you felt a sudden tap on your shoulder.

"Did my little birdy miss me?" You felt Wonwoo say right next to your ear, his breath fanning across your earlobe. It sent a wave of tingles down your spine, making you shudder in turn. Though you weren't a fan of his spontaneous appearance.

"God, you need to stop doing that! I almost slapped you I swear-" You stopped mid-way once you turned around and saw his face. He had a few cuts on his lips and eyebrows and one big bruise across his cheek. Those guys really did a number on him.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern, "are you okay?"

He tried to wave it off but you could tell he was bothered by your question, "It's fine, really, don't worry about it." Was he insane? How were you not going to worry when he was visibly injured?

"Were these from the guys on Tuesday?" You couldn't help but ask, where else would he get these cuts and bruises if it didn't come from them?

His demeanor immediately switched and he pushed himself away from you.

"It's none of your business so stay out of it."

"Okay." That was the only thing you said before grabbing your smoothie from the worker and quickly walking away from the shop. If he wanted to be like that then so be it. You most definitely were not going to wait for him to 'open up' by all means, he could throw himself a pity party for all you care.

"Wait-" He tried reaching for your arm but you were too quick for him. Your steps were swift, helping you create a reasonable distance between you and Wonwoo. He called out your name a few times before giving up, he didn't want to gather any unwanted attention from the people nearby. Reaching your pace, Wonwoo was finally close enough to grab your wrist and make you look at him.

"Are you seriously ignoring me?" His voice was a bit jagged, no doubt coming from the unexpected cardio you made him do to catch up to you.

Unfortunately for him, you were petty. "You said it wasn't my business, so please do not talk to me because I really do not care." You brushed past him once again this time making sure he could not grab your arms or wrists.

He exhaled in annoyance, "Look I'm sorry-" Wonwoo was mid-apology before being abruptly cut off by the voice of a guy yelling your name out loud.

Speaking of the devil, what immaculate timing.

"Hey yn! Did you still want to get food after class?" Hyunwoo jogged to where you were standing but saw how Wonwoo was still trying to talk to you.

"Sorry, were you busy with him?"

You instantly responded to Hyunwoo, "No, he was just asking for directions, but yeah I'm down for food." Like before, you made your way towards Hyunwoo, making sure to bump into Wonwoo. He couldn't help but stay frozen in place as he watched you walk to class with some random guy, jealousy slowly invading his mind.

Directions? Did she really...?

As much as Wonwoo wanted to be mad at you, he really had no one to blame but himself. The whole situation with his old group of 'friends' was really getting to him so once you popped that question it just seemed to send him over the edge. He just didn't know how far you would go to express your annoyance towards him. Now all he had to do was find a way to properly apologize to you before that Hyunwoo guy got to you first.

The only thing stopping him? He didn't have your number or any of your socials...

Part Two: Coming soon...

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getodrools · 1 month

Note

Not to scare anyone, but anal w toji and or sukuna

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ I AM VV SCARED ?? THE TWO BIGGEST MEN EVER IN THE SMALLEST THING EVER— 🫂

Anal with TOJI FUSHIGURO… the stretch makes you overwhelmed by the sudden barrage. He feels thicker – though squeezing himself in such tight wetness, of course, all throbbing veins glide in with more intent. You could feel all nth inches of thick cock meat more intimately, and all was getting jammed right up your little hole; perk ass enveloping his cock in a warm haze — wrapping him in soft, clinging walls, and slathering him to the base with comforting solace.

The meat log of his cock was achingly greater, but, “‘S alright, you got it.” Whisper feathering at the shell of your ear yearns something in you. To keep sucking him up, and you do, letting his hips set up a faster rhythm; ‘till undoubtedly he was sliding in and out with ease, all quick motions becoming more relaxing but still just as filling.

Filling to the hilt! Your little hole was gobbling him up, and your cunt wasn't left lonely; the palm of his hand circles at your clit to keep your mind off the brutal stretch. It merely works… all thoughts only functioned around the hung cock lodged up in your tightest hole.

He was trying!

“Atta girl…” Toji drove in without relent; jackhammering his virile pillar of dick meat but at pace he could get all inches of tan cockflesh inside your gummy walls without you throwing a fit. It wasn't a brutal or harsh pace – not to him at least. It was little consolation no matter how many light kisses he pecks at your ridden face with when your ass felt like it was being split in half by a mammoth-cock…

He praises you throughout and admires you for toughening up, “See? Feels good now, huh?” Your moans answered instead, still out of breath and now packed like a snow cone once he reached his limit. It didn't take too long for his balls to tighten up, but it felt like a century… Trying a new hole was grabbing at his desires and it was all released deep inside of you with hot ropes of sticky seed..

Anal with RYŌMEN SUKUNA… he's mean and does not have patience — again. Last time pushing deep into your pussy took too long for his liking, a mere being trying to gobble up his mass was enticing but rather annoying dealing with your, “Ah! Slow down— ‘S too much...” And hearing that all over again refines his grip to be a lot curler at your sides...

“Sukuna… please.” The tips of your fingers barely reach at the ‘v’ tracing down to his base, hoping the king would spare a sort of mercy. Though he seems to never have heard of that word and with the promise of that arm length of cock meat being jammed inside you was looming on the horizon, “‘S too much— I can’t…” He scoffs.

“You said that last time, and yet you did.” The curse was strong, you knew that. You've seen it in action many times – always admiring his barring strength and craft. But that couldn't physically prepare you for being caught in his vice and suddenly bucked up with the fat length of dickmeat poised right before your perk hole.

You squawked loudly as your tight entrance was abruptly stretched wide around just the bulbous tip of his cock. Just the first few inches felt immense inside; pushing your hole out wide and distending the pliant walls only an inch beyond in ways that your mind struggled to comprehend.

He was working it until you bottomed out — almost instantly. His dick was too big as he wormed himself in and out relentlessly, and all moans you squeaked out were praises to his ears, not an outcry of pleading mercy… “All that whining but you're still sucking me up.” His teeth are bright, all showing in a feverish wry smirk as he watches your little hole gape enough that his mess bubbles out in white globs down the crack of your ass…

<– BACK: PINNED ꪆৎ NEXT: JJK MASTERLIST –>

#🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮!#ᝰ toji fushiguro!#ᝰ ryomen sukuna!#toji smut #toji x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk toji #jjk sukuna #toji fushiguro #ryomen sukuna

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chloe-skywalker · 11 months

Text

Awkward Situation - Paul Lahote

Paul x reader!Fem!Swan

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,541

Requested: Twilight imagine the part in New Moon where Bella slaps Paul and her little sister is their w/her Paul imprints on the reader and jacob isn’t happy about it and stuff like that. - @cokecola4211

Authors Note: I enjoyed writing this I tried to make it different from what I’ve read before. Thank you for requesting! Sorry it took awhile to post my queue has been FULL lol

Masterlist

Twilight Masterlist

******************************************************************

“Bella, maybe Jake just wants to be alone- or maybe some guy time.” Y/n suggested it to her slightly older sister. Bella and Y/n were hardly even a year apart in age but that didn’t stop Y/n from occasionally getting treated like a baby compared to Bella.

Y/n knew Jake and Bella had been spending a lot of time together recently and it seemed to be good for her sister after the Cullens left. But Jake had become sick or at least that's what he and Billy had been telling Bella. Y/n wanted to just leave it, he’d come back on his own either way. But her sister, no Bella , needed answers now and she wasn't going to wait to get them on Jacobs time.

Bella shook her head with a tight expression on her face. “No, Y/n. Something's up. Somethings wrong I can feel it.”

“Bella, we’ve both known Jake practically our whole lives maybe he’s just-” Y/n shook her head lifting her hand in q wave motion before dropping it down to her lap. “I don’t know, going through puberty?”

“His dad keeps saying he has mono but it’s been almost 2 weeks and he won’t even answer texts. Let alone calls.” Bella explained further as she pulled into the Black’s driveway.

“Maybe he’s still sick.” Y/n tried one last time as Bella put the car in park.

“Well, we're going to find out.” Bella stated before she got out of the car.

Y/n unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car to chase her sister muttering to herself. “This isn’t gonna go well.”

Bella knocked on the door and shortly after Billy opened the door. Bella had told the man in the wheelchair that she needed to see Jake, but all she got was that he wasn’t there. Next thing Y/n knew her sister had welcomed herself into the home practically going right over Billy.

“Bella.” Billy called after her but it was too late and Bella wasn’t listening anyways.

“I’m sorry, Billy.” Y/n said apologizing for her sister's actions.

Billy let out a sigh and sent a tired smile to the younger Swan. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n.”

It wasn’t even a few minutes later that Bella stormed out of the house and Y/n followed yelling after her. “Bella!”

“Hey!” Bella shouted and shoved one of the shirtless males Y/n somewhat recognized. “What did you do to him?!”

That's all Y/n could really hear from so far back. So she shouted out to her sister again, hoping to defuse the situation if she couldn’t just get her to leave. “Bella!”

“Y/n wha-” Jake spoke out suddenly standing beside the Y/h/c-ed girl.

“She dragged me here with her.” That's all Y/n had to say for Jake to understand what was happening. Charlie got Y/n in the devoirce so Y/n and Jake grew up together their whole lives as siblings in Forks. They could understand what the other was saying with just a look.

Jake nodded before looking back at the scene and then pointed “And that?”

“She slapped that Paul guy.” Y/n told him and that changed his demeanor.

“Crap. Y/n, stay back.” Jake said as he noticed Paul shaking.

Y/n wondered why but then she made eye contact with the Paul guy her sister was taking her anger out on. It was as if time showed for a minute. All the members of the pack put it together, and that's when Jacob flipped and inevitably so did Paul.

Seeing them turn into giant wolves Y/n ran to her sister. “Bella, you okay?” Her attention was drawn back to the wolves fighting not far from everyone. “Woah. Now that's cool.”

“Really, Y/n?” Bella asked, turning her head to face her sister in disbelief at how her sister wasn’t scared.

“What?” Y/n shrugged. In her opinion that was cool. Way cooler than Vampire super speed, the eyes, and sparkling under the sunlight someone dumped a 1,000 pounds of glitter on you. The Paul guy and Jake turned into Wolves! And not just wolves, Giant wolves. That's impressive.

“What just happened?” Bella asked Sam Uley she believed his name was. All the while Y/n was confused as to the looks she was getting from the others, a few she had grown up with just like Jake.

“Paul imprinted.” Sam stated looking at Bella. Then Jacob came out of the woods still looking pissed off.

“On Y/n.” Jake grumbled, clearly pissed off at the new found fact.

“Take her back to Emily’s. Bella too.” Sam told Jacob which resulted in a very loud scoff from the younger male. “That's an order Jacob. Embry go with them.”

“Hey, Em.” Y/n nodded to Embry. They have been friends for years. It brought comfort to Y/n, knowing someone else. Someone that wasn’t pissed that would be in the car with her, her sister, and Jake.

“Hey, Y/n/n.” Embry smiled. He had missed seeing her around since he phased.

“Why is Jake so pissed?” Y/n asked Embry hoping he could fill her in on what's going on exactly.

Embry sighed before explaining. “Him and Paul don’t get along, and he’s protective of you. As he should be, you're like brother and sister.”

“Why would he be protective over me when it comes to Paul? I’ve never met Paul before.” Y/n squinted with a furrowed expression as she questioned Embry confused.

“Paul should be the one to explain it to you. It’s not my place, or anyone else's in the pack.” Embry felt bad for Y/n. She had no idea what was going on and it very much involved her. But like he said it wasn’t his place to explain any of this to her.

Y/n nodded in understanding, kind of. But maybe he could explain something else to her. “Can you explain the pack part to me then?”

Embry nodded with a smile stretching across his lips. “Yes, I can do that.”

It wasn’t a long drive but long enough for Embry to explain about the pack to Y/n.

“Who’s place is this again?” Y/n heard Bella ask and she listened for Jake’s answer.

“Emily and Sam’s.” Jake answered as he got out of the truck.

Jake and Embry helped Y/n off of the truck bed. With a quiet thank you from Y/n they all headed inside. The only ones that weren’t there was Sam and Paul. But it didn’t take long for them to join in on the group.

“Can I talk to you? Outside. Alone.” Paul asked nervously looking softly at Y/n, to let her know she could reject his request if she wanted to. Y/n nodded ‘yes’ getting up to follow him.

“Over my dead body.” Jake growled, glaring with his eyes set on burning holes into Paul.

“Jake.” Sam said his name firmly. Making Jake stand down. For now.

“Come on.” Paul nodded his head towards outside Y/n nodded as well and followed him outside the small nice home.

They walked into the woods for awhile, Y/n assumed long enough to be far away enough so the rest of the pack couldn’t hear their conversation. “So, I assume that they explained the whole pack thing to you?”

“Embry did, yeah. But not the imprint part?” Y/n spoke with a unsure tone, hoping she got the word right. Paul nodded with a twitch of his lips. “Not the imprint part. What is that by the way?”

“Guess I should explain that part then.” Paul smiled, hearing her just say the word of what she is to him. That made him feel warm on the inside, which was a new feeling for him. He did like it though.

“Embry said it was only your place to tell me what it is.” Y/n looked to the still shirtless male with curiosity. What did it mean? What did it have to do with her? And why did Paul have to be the one to explain it?

“I have a spot I’d like to take you, and I’ll explain on the way.” Paul suggested there was a place he wanted to show her that only he knew about. Great view that he never that he never showed anyone.

“Ok” Y/n knew she was being way trusting with this stranger. But he felt trustworthy. She didn’t know why but he does.

Paul stopped them for a second in their tracks. He really needed to know something and it was bothering him that he didn’t. “I do have a question before we get too far that I should know that I do not.”

Y/n let out an amused breath before asking. “And what's that?”

“Your name.” Paul smirked

Y/n nodded with a smile. “Y/n. Y/n Swan.”

“Well, Y/n Swan. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Paul’s smirk fell into a smile. He always teased the others who already had their imprints about how whipped they were, but now he was starting to understand.

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@gruffle1 @padawancat97

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freedomfireflies · 8 months

Text

Take Me*

Summary: An extra for Teach Me*

The one where you and your best friend, Harry, decide to move in together.

And christen every inch of the new apartment.

Word Count: 4.6k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Harry, you can’t be serious—”

“I am. Sit.”

With a huff, you step closer to where he’s lying on the floor, those beautiful, big green eyes peering up at you. “We have a ton of work to do, okay? And the movers will be here any minute—”

“Don’t care.” He shifts a bit, back arching from the carpet as he smooths his shirt down, getting ready. “Sit.”

Your hands find your hips and you toss him an amused frown. “Harry—”

He grabs your ankles. Tugs until you lose your balance and go crashing to the ground. And he catches you, palms on your waist to make sure you’re steady before sliding them down to your thighs.

“Harry—”

“Shh. I’m busy.”

He pulls you to his face, fingers slipping around the crotch of your large cotton shorts until he can pull them aside. He smirks when he sees there’s nothing else underneath.

“Well, well, well,” he tsks, and you could smack the dimples off his face. “Seems you forgot something.”

You snort. “All of my underwear is packed, okay—”

“Sure.” He grins. “Yeah, no, I’m sure that’s it. I’m sure you definitely didn’t think to leave any out for today. Especially since we’re doing so much packing. And moving. And running around.”

Your expression gives you away. As does the subtle whine that rips free when he lets the tip of his nose ghost across the tender skin of your leg. “Harry…we can’t—”

“We can.” His voice is resolute as he trails his lips closer to your cunt. Tongue licking his bottom lip in anticipation. “This is our place, baby. We can do whatever we fucking want.”

Our place. It makes your heart as warm as your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile.

It’d taken a bit of convincing from Harry to get you to move in with him. But after some extensive apartment hunting, you both found the place you wanted to call home.

And now, here you are, in your new home. Surrounded by boxes and somewhat empty rooms as Harry insists on christening this new adventure with you by having you sit on his face.

In fact, you’d no sooner walked through the door and set some of your stuff down before he suggested it.

And proceeded to throw himself onto the ground in wait.

“Harry,” you try again. A desperate whimper that seems to urge him on.

“Darling,” he retorts, fingers curling around your skin as he plants you above his mouth. “Just let me have a taste, hm? Wanna remember today like this.”

And you’re barely able to reply with a fatigued nod before he yanks you down and sucks you between his lips.

He starts fast. Quick licks to your folds and clit. Just enjoying you. Enjoying how easily you fall apart. Your hands in his hair, scratching and pulling. The pain.

He loves the pain.

Teasing you is far too easy. Circling your hole, feeling you out, flicking the delicate nerves. But the sounds of his lapping at you like a dying man with a drink of fresh water is excruciating.

It echoes around the empty room and it’s so very loud. But it’s everything. And he’s beautiful. And he’s doing this to you purely for his own enjoyment. He loves to taste you. Loves to make you squirm on his face as you plead with him for mercy.

Everything is wet. So goddamn wet. Your pussy, his mouth, his face. He's not trying to remain poised. Not trying to keep clean. He wants all of it. Wants to share his saliva with your already soaked pussy and drink you down until there's nothing left. Let his tongue slip in, out, and through you until you can't breathe. Until he can't breathe.

His hand suddenly smacks your thigh. Once. Twice. Three times, and the sting makes you clench around the little bit of his tongue he’s taunting you with.

He grins. “Keep going, baby. Ride my tongue. Go.”

So, you do. Hands finding the floor beside his head as you roll your hips over his face. Over and over until you feel dizzy. Until his hold on your body is the only thing keeping you upright.

It’s sinfully sweet, but before you can really lose yourself in his lips, you hear the giant moving truck parking down below. Hear the men opening the large door as they begin unloading your furniture and carrying it inside.

However, Harry doesn’t seem to be stopping, and the idea that these men will hear you as they approach is mortifying. But just when you think it’s game over, he nips your clit with his teeth and pulls.

Dazed, you smack your palm over your mouth and cry out, the orgasm ripping through you. You feel weak, nearly wilting in his hold as he struggles to keep you up right. Smirking with endless amounts of satisfaction as your thighs squeeze his head.

The moment you’ve caught your breath, there’s a knock on the door, and Harry chuckles as he calls, “Just a minute.”

He gently pinches your leg and readjusts your shorts before he’s dragging you down for a kiss. Palm around the back of your neck as he slips his tongue in beside yours. Allowing you a taste and then some.

And you whimper through every second of it before he’s suddenly popping off your mouth with a gleeful hum and jumping onto his feet to answer the door.

Leaving you to sit on the apartment floor with your heart in your throat.

“Bee, shit…fuck, I can’t…I can’t—”

“You can. Know you can, baby. M’so close…just hold on a little longer for me, okay?”

Harry’s eyes roll back while his arms tug on the heavy rope keeping him tied to the headboard.

His expression is pained but blissfully fucked. Sweat collecting in his hairline as his swollen lips part for a desperate groan.

You figured this was the best way to break in the new bedding you’d purchased for the room. The beautiful king-sized mattress with a sturdy headboard.

And after seeing him flop down onto the freshly washed duvet, you knew what you wanted to christen next.

So, you’d grabbed the restraints and wrestled his wrists to the bars. Keeping him stuck as you begin yanking his pants down his legs.

He was intrigued, to say the least. And more than willing to put the control in your hands once you grabbed the cock ring.

But he had no idea what you really had in store.

“Bee,” he tries again, gasping the closer he gets to his orgasm. Watching as your tits bounce directly in his face. “Bee, please…please, lovie—”

“I know,” you coo, one hand scratching down his chest while the other squeezes your nipple between determined fingers. “Soon, I promise. Doing so fucking good—”

“Shit.” His head drops back as his hips buck up. Body wrecked with inescapable pleasure that he can’t seem to find.

You’ve kept him edged for almost an hour now. First by taking him into your mouth and sucking him right to the brink before leaving him there.

Then by fucking yourself with his cock, hard and with fervor only to pop off just when he was about to cum.

And finally, to really make sure he got the most of your torture, you’d slid on the vibrating cock ring, and began bouncing on him again.

He’s felt you cum around him twice already, and each time, it’s nearly killed him. Because it’s brought him that much closer before abandoning him there.

You have to admit, he’s doing incredibly well. Even when he had the chance to cum, he held back as best he could. Obeying your instructions as you got the most of his prolonged erection.

And he loves it. Loves when you use him as your own personal toy. Perhaps even more than you love it.

“Can’t…fuck, can’t hold it,” he pants, eyes pleading with you before he looks down at where your cunt is sliding down his incredibly hard cock. “Shit…shit, please. Bee, please. Do anything…anything, please—”

“Anything?” you hum, biting back a smile as you roll your hips forward just to hear him whimper.

He nods quickly. “Yes, anything. Fucking anything you want, swear…I swear…”

He sounds so depraved like this. A submissive tone of voice that breeds a certain yearning deep in your stomach.

You love this man. Love how beautiful he sounds when he’s begging. Love that you get to live with him and start a new chapter of your lives together.

You’ve never felt so lucky.

“Okay, baby,” you murmur, lifting yourself off as he whines quietly and glances down at the arousal you've left behind on his cock. “M’gonna take the ring off, okay? And I want you to tell me where you wanna cum—”

“In you,” he says before you can even finish the question. “Fucking please, Bee. Please let me cum in you. Please…be so good. Need…need to cum in you.”

You grin. “In me where, hm? You want my throat?”

His head shakes, lips pushed into a pout.

“No?” You slide the toy up the length of him, making him hiss through gritted teeth. “Do you wanna cum in my pussy, then, sweet boy?”

He makes another noise that nearly breaks your heart as you toss the ring to the other side of the bed and return to him. “Yes…shit, yes. Please…please—”

“So pretty when you’re polite, you know that?” you hum, reaching out to cup his cheek.

In turn, he nuzzles into your palm, seeming to settle gratefully. Looking at you like you paint the stars in the sky.

You take hold of him in your other hand and guide him back to your fluttering hole. “Okay, baby. Want you to cum for me, yeah? Give me all of it.”

He steels himself, attempting to straighten up despite the way he’s bound. Placing his feet flat on the mattress while your knees come down beside his hips.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach that inevitable end. Only a few thrusts up into you as you clench around him until he’s finishing. And you don’t even mind because he feels so good. Fucking love the way he spills inside of your cunt. The way it drips back out the minute you lift up. The way it looks, smearing across your thighs and the tip of his cock.

You both moan rather lewdly, surely horrifying your new neighbors, but you don’t mind. Because this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

Everything.

“Har? You awake?”

The perpetually sleepy man hums as he nuzzles his face further into your neck. One arm draped over your stomach while the other is tucked beneath your neck. “Yeah.”

You smirk. “Are you sure? You seem a little out of it. Do you wanna go to bed?”

His head shakes slowly as he takes another deep breath, lashes fluttering against your skin. “No, m’fine. Just comfortable.”

You reach out to brush your fingers through his curls, smiling when you hear him sigh contently. “We can finish the movie another time, H. Come on, let’s go to bed—”

His grip constricts around your hip as he keeps you planted to the sofa. “No,” he repeats, lips disappearing into your shoulder. “No, we spent all day getting the TV and speakers set up. Wanna sit here with you and enjoy it.”

“But you’re not enjoying it. You’re sleeping,” you insist playfully. “We can finish it tomorrow, really—”

“No,” he breathes. Unrelenting. “This couch is really comfy and if you move, I’ll cry.”

You grin a bit bigger. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

The next couple of minutes are quiet. His face is still nestled just beneath your jaw. Happy. But he’s not watching a single thing that’s happening on the screen and you have to bite back a laugh.

You love a lot of things about Harry, but one of them is his inability to admit when he’s tired. He’ll keep himself awake all night before he’ll acknowledge how sleepy he really is. In fact, he could be mid-yawn and still insist he’s fine.

However, just when you think he’s begun to drift off, you feel the hand on your hip smooth down your stomach. Stopping near the band of your sweatpants—almost innocently—before quickly dipping inside.

Warm fingers dance beneath the lace of your underwear until they can find your folds. A mindless action. Stroking softly and without devious intent. Almost as if touching you just to touch you.

You press your cheek into the top of his head. “Whatcha doin’?” you whisper.

“Nothing,” he hums. “S’just comfortable.”

“Touching me is comfortable?”

He nods once and continues gently moving his digits up and down. “I like playing with you. Makes me feel relaxed.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Like a stress ball but better.”

You lightly scratch your nails down his scalp. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re soft,” he murmurs, taking a deep, content breath. “Always so soft, Bee. And warm. Have no idea how good you feel.”

“I mean, I have some idea,” you tease. “It’s not like I haven’t touched myself before.”

“Funny.” His movements are lazy. There’s no alternative motive, he simply wants to feel you. “M’very happy.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as you glance down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He rolls his head back to meet your eye. “Wanna warm my fingers in you…can I?”

There’s a racing in your chest that can’t be contained as you nod and spread your left leg a little further. Allowing him the room he needs while he pulls his hand out and sticks two fingers into his mouth.

He sucks on them slowly, coating them just so before dipping back in and smoothing the soaking digits down to your hole.

You exhale shakily at the feel of him stretching you slowly. The way your body draws him in, bends to his intentions. Clenches around him and keeps him warm.

He makes a satisfied noise of approval before nuzzling his face back into your neck, seemingly oblivious to the way you’re beginning to squirm.

But after a moment, the ache begins to dull. And you feel happy to merely lay with him like this, one of his legs tucked over yours, his fingers sitting deep in your cunt.

It’s serene, this moment. Perfectly blissful and endlessly safe.

Here in his arms.

“Harry…if you don’t stop—”

“What?” His grin is cheeky as he aims the showerhead down at the tile floor, allowing the water to dance down the drain. “M’just helping you get clean.”

“No, you’re being a menace,” you correct with a smirk. “I told you, no funny business—”

“I’m not being funny.” His finger taps along the cord, almost as if readying himself. “I mean, what’s the point of having a handheld showerhead if you don’t use it?”

You can’t argue that he has a point. After all, this was one of the features that drew you to the apartment in the first place, but you also know that he’s deliberately trying to tease you. “Harry, we came in here to shower because we have to leave in thirty minutes—”

“So—”

“So we don’t have time,” you remind him, handing him the loofa. “Okay, so clean yourself off, and we can try it out another time.”

However, he doesn’t accept the sponge, instead stepping even closer to you as the stream of water begins to rise. “That was before I saw how pretty you look…all soaped up and wet.”

You shoot him an amused yet playful frown. “Har…”

“What?” His eyes travel down your dripping torso and toward your cunt, the stream seeming to follow his line of focus. “I’m just helping you rinse off. S’what you wanted, right?”

The warm water feels amazing against your skin, but the pressure feels…

Your lashes flutter as you reach back to press your hands against the shower wall, needing something to brace yourself with as he continues stepping closer. “Harry…”

“What?” he says again, but it’s soft. Dangerous. Keeping the water on your inner thighs before moving up to your clit. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

But you couldn’t tell him even if you wanted to. Because the sensation of the pointed stream hitting you just right is turning your muscles to jello. Your vision is hazy, and your head is spinning, and your body is trembling—

“Har,” you whimper, undone by the look of adoration on his face as he loops an arm around your lower back. Holding you steady as he angles the water a bit lower. “Please…”

“Please what?” His voice is a soft purr. Sexy and silky and you feel powerless to resist him. “What do you want, Bee, hm? Tell Daddy what you want.”

Your head falls back against the tile, needing some stability. You’re too far gone, too lost in his eyes. In his need to unravel you. Legs shaking as the water does everything you need it to.

Slowly, he begins to lower himself into a crouch. Now eye level with your pussy as he readjusts his grip on the showerhead. Studying you with purpose as he works you closer.

“Come on,” he coos, glancing up through wet lashes. “Come on, lovie. Let me take care of you, yeah? Just wanna make you feel good—”

Your fingers reach for his freshly washed curls, tugging hard on the soaked strands as you whine. “Don’t stop.”

He smirks. “Never.”

With that, he lowers the water, and surges forward. Lips wrapping around your clit until you gasp out his name and thrust your hips toward his mouth.

He rotates between using his tongue and the showerhead. Pushing and pulling you toward that sweet release as all other thoughts and cares melt away.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, one hand reaching back to knead your ass in his palm. Practically tugging you down before landing a firm spank to the wet skin.

The sound echoes around the small room, the sharp contact making your pussy clench as you nearly lose your balance.

“That’s my girl.” He massages the flesh before smacking it again, and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. “Gonna cum for me, Bee?”

You nod quickly, chest heaving as you settle into the steam rising around you. “M’so close, Har…please…”

“I know,” he says, dipping down to nudge his nose against your clit. “Can see your pretty little hole fluttering for me. Just so…fucking…empty.”

Two wet fingers slip inside you, and it’s nearly impossible to remain steady with the way he beckons the orgasm out of you.

The pressure of the water against your clit, the fingers in your cunt, the goddamn smirk on his face. It’s everything and everywhere and you lose your grip on reality as you’re dragged through such euphoric harmony.

He rides you through for a couple minutes more before he’s standing back up and pressing his body into yours. Chest to chest, wet and flushed. His lips effortlessly capturing your own as you whimper against his tongue and throw your arms around his neck.

And maybe being late isn’t the worst thing.

Harry is beautiful.

In every way. And it’s not just his face or his body. But his heart. The way he speaks to you. Speaks to others. The way he carries himself, carries you. Protects you, loves you, fights for you.

The way he betters himself for you.

And now, you get to wake up to this man every day. In this beautiful new room with large windows and sunshine and promise. A moment of tranquility reserved just for you as you count the faint freckles across his nose. As you press your finger into the dimple on his cheek. As you study the rogue, messy curls that are matted to his forehead.

You could watch him sleep for hours. Would happily lay beside him until morning turned into afternoon.

But today? You have other plans.

It doesn’t take long for him to realize, eyes shooting open as you take him further down your throat.

He chokes on a strangled breath before glancing down, mouth dropping open with the sound of your name.

You pop off long enough to smile and whisper, “Morning, baby,” before you’re dragging your tongue along his tip.

His head falls back into the fluffy pillows, too heavy to stay upright. Streams of golden light dance through the curtains and hit the side of his face in the most magical way you’ve ever seen. Setting that beautifully structured profile aglow in the warm hue as he sighs gratefully.

Your hands curl around his thighs, squeezing gently as you scoot closer. Getting comfortable while you bob your head up and down the length of him.

His stomach is beautiful. Muscles quivering and skin soft. Littered with a few tattoos. The same tattoos you love to run your hands down. Your lips. Your pussy.

You could stare at him for a lifetime. And your heart feels like it’s going to burst inside your chest as you suck the man you love further into your mouth.

You love waking him up like this. Granted, it’s a rare occurrence, but each time, it’s ceaselessly enchanting.

And it’s another kink the two of you have found you adore. After giving each other consent to use the other’s body as a wake-up call, you found that there was something…safe about the experience. About knowing you trusted each other enough to allow them to decide for you.

It might not happen often, but you’re grateful for the times it does. Like now. When you get to see him look at you with lust and appreciation.

“Bee,” he whispers, reaching out to brush his hand along your head. Cupping it gently and without force. Letting you choose how much of him you want to take. “God, m’so lucky.”

You hum around him, and he groans. “Taste so good, Daddy. Just had to have a taste.”

His thumb brushes along your cheek, feeling the way it swells with his cock. “Can have anything you want, baby girl,” he sighs. “You know that. I’m all yours. Can take whatever you want, whenever you want it.”

You’d smile if you could, instead squeezing his thighs three times to tell him you love him.

“There you go,” he grunts when you lean back to spit on him. “Fucking just like that…shit. So fucking good, baby—”

Your hand works the base of him while your lips and tongue focus on the tip. Spreading the extra lubrication around until the room fills with the sound of your pumps.

His hips are bucking up, but you can tell he’s resisting the urge to drive himself into your mouth. He wants to be gentle for you. Wants you to have the control, but he’s losing the battle quickly.

So, you shoot him a soft grin, and murmur, “Fuck my throat, Daddy. Just wanna feel good for you.”

Which is all he needs to hear in order to weave his fingers through your hair and tug.

“Is that right, hm?” he whispers deviously. “Then be a good girl…and fucking take me.”

So…you do.

The paper towel roll goes flying to the floor, along with a bag of coffee grounds and the mail.

Harry has you bent over the kitchen island, cock deep in your cunt while his hand tugs on your hair.

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, forcing your cheek into the marble. “Fucking take me, Bee. Just like that.”

Your tits are pressed to the cold counter as you whimper something that resembles his name. Followed by a very lascivious moan when he angles his thrusts up.

He’s been insatiable all afternoon. Starting with eating you out at the breakfast table, just to edge you with seconds to spare.

Then, the firm smacks to your ass every time he walked by. Along with sneaking up behind you to scatter hickies along your exposed neck.

And now this.

You’d been unpacking some of the kitchen utensils and newly bought groceries when the idea hit him. Wild eyes watching you closely as you sat atop the island and rummaged through a box.

He’d slipped his way between your dangling legs and began to kiss you. Hand dancing down to your shorts to feel you out. Toying with you until you realized what he really wanted.

Not long after, he had you down on the ground. Your panties shoved around your ankles as he took you from behind.

And you figured unpacking could wait.

“Har,” you whisper now, attempting to meet his rhythm with gentle rolls of your own. “Please…”

“What, baby girl?” he coos, feet kicking your legs further apart. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

And it is. It has been ever since he started eating you out on the newly built table. Warm and deliciously skilled mouth on your cunt as the dishes and plates rattled beside you.

You’d cursed him to hell for stopping before you could finish but you’re more than grateful for his remedy now. Because while his lips and tongue are divine, his cock is what you really crave.

He pulls out and lands a firm spank to your dripping and sensitive cunt. The sensation and the sound nearly making your knees buckle until he has to slip an arm around your stomach and keep you still.

Then, he does it again. And once more for good measure before he’s driving himself back in.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs behind you, his palm still pressed to your head to keep you down. “S’fucking pretty. This sweet little hole just takes me so well, you know that? Gets me all nice and wet. Lets me fuck it the way I want. Fucking begs for me, doesn’t it?”

You nod beneath his hold, nails scraping down the counter in bliss.

“So fucking pretty.” His other hand comes back to your thigh to squeeze it harshly before moving for your ass. Spreading you even further so he can see the way he disappears into you. “God, just like that. So cute when you’re desperate. Know you aren’t gonna last much longer, are you, lovie?”

“No,” you whimper, gasping when his cock brushes the perfect spot. “Shit, no. Can’t…can’t hold it.”

“Then you better fucking ask, hm?” he taunts, quickly yanking on your hair to force you up. “Ask me to cum. Beg me to let you cum on my cock—”

“Please,” you obey without pause. Desolate and deranged. “Please, H, please—”

“Do better,” he hisses, spanking your ass in retaliation. “Know you can do better than that, Bee. So come on, let’s hear it—”

“Daddy, please,” you correct, tears in your eyes as you try to hold back the pleasure threatening to escape. “Please, I’m so close…can’t hold it—”

“No,” he grunts, landing another smack to your skin. “Again.”

You choke on a moan and work to find the right words. Or any words at all. “Please, Daddy. Please let me cum on your cock. Need it so bad, can’t…can’t fucking stand it. Just need you, Daddy. Need you, please…”

You feel him twitch inside you before he’s growling through a clenched jaw and murmuring, “Good fucking girl…go. Right now, Bee. Fucking cum—”

And you do. Only seconds before he inevitably follows, and the overwhelming rush nearly breaks you. The way he spills inside you, the way he holds you upright, the way he presses his fingers to your clit in order to drag you even further.

He ignores your whimpers and cries for mercy, tugging your squirming frame back into his chest until you go quiet. Lips nuzzled to your cheek as he whispers, “There you go, you’re all right. Deep breath, baby. You’re okay, just want one more—”

“Daddy—”

“Shh. Just one more.” His voice is gentle although his touch is anything but. Pressing and rubbing against the overused nerves until you’re actively arching in his hold. “One more, baby girl, you can give me one more. Know you can. Doing so good—”

It doesn’t take long for the second one to find you, and you feel him smile against your jaw as you come down from his fingers.

“There you go,” he praises quietly before taking his hand away and crouching down. The tip of his tongue ghosting up your inner thigh as you sigh.

You feel him smirk.

“Now…let's do something about this mess.”

Next Part:

~ Break Me*

Previous Part:

~ Guide Me*

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

Amazing credit for the beautiful dividers to @firefly-graphics 💞

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

(Be)Longing

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.

Warnings: None, really. Angst, jealousy, fluff. Shyness and insecurities. Minor character injuries. Time jumps.

Word Count: 5.2k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill here (request: Benedict x shy!insecure reader, with some angst, jealousy fluff, and all the good stuff. Happy ending, of course.). Sorry it took so long to get to this Nonny; I have no idea if this is what you wanted, and I'm really not sure about it, but I hope you enjoy <3

I: Saved

“Unhand her at once!”

The smooth, confident, older voice rings out across the village green, and suddenly the pack of nasty bullies who have your arms in a grip seem to melt away from around you.

You don’t even think to pause and thank the person who broke up the mob. No, your fight-or-flight response is in full-on flight mode. The minute your arms are released, and you see the break in the circle, you run. Run as fast as your legs will carry you. Bolting down the road and into the safety of the churchyard near your house. You do not want to run home upset and worry your mother, so you do the next best thing, the thing you are becoming increasingly good at, hiding. You climb a crabapple tree. And then you let the tears flow—just flooding down your cheeks.

You hate this new village your parents have moved you to. Your father, a doctor, had been offered the position as village physician, and now here you are, moved from Surrey to Kent, but it might as well be the other side of the world. You miss your friends. You miss your old village. You are not the most outgoing of people, and the upheaval in your life has been immense. You yearn to be back in your old, familiar, comfortable home.

You are sniffling, taking deep breaths, angrily wiping tears, and preparing to face your family when he appears.

“Are you alright?”

You startle. Beneath you, squinting up into the tree, is the owner of the voice who rescued you. Seeing him now, you feel an odd warmth in your ribs. He looks older, maybe fifteen, if you had to guess. He seems benign with a calm face, and his expression is one of sympathy and concern.

“Yes,” you squeak quietly.

“It is safe for you to come down,” he says gently, “should you wish.”

“Are they gone?” you query, wishing you could hide the tremble in your voice.

“They will not bother you again; I can assure you,” he states with absolute certainty.

Your eyes go wide, “What did you do? I don't want to make it worse for my brother,” you fret.

“I told them if they mess with you again, they will have the Bridgerton brothers to contend with,” he nods, with an air that suggests the name is of some local import.

“Is that you?” you ask timidly, not wanting to get down from the tree just yet.

He chuckles. “You must be new here?”

“Yes… we just moved here two weeks ago. Those boys have been tormenting my brother since his first day at school. They appear to have chosen me to pick on as he is not around,” you frown, dusting a twig from your skirt.

“Well, that ends now. Now, do you need help down?” he asks.

“No,” you sniffle, “I am capable.”

“I wouldn't doubt it,” he nods politely and steps aside to allow you space to jump down.

With a quick swing, you do so, landing neatly on your little brown boots. You unfurl to your full standing height, but even then, you have to crane your neck to look up at him.

“Very impressive,” he smiles warmly. “I am Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton. Welcome to Kent.” he thrusts out a hand to shake and, bemused at the formality, you take it and shake as if a businessman, not a ten-year-old girl.

“Thank you, Benedict. I am y/n y/l/n. My father is the new physician,” you gesture vaguely over the church wall towards your home next to the rectory.

“Ahhh,” he nods in understanding.

“And thank you,” you curtsy.

“Whatever for?” he frowns.

“For rescuing me,” you clarify.

“Oh please, that was nothing,” he waves dismissively. “I cannot abide bullies. Or any injustice really,” his eyes appear briefly unfixed, and he looks thoughtful, as if what he said just occurred to him as truth. Then he shakes his head and brings his attention back to you. “You are alright, though, correct? Able to get home?”

“Yes,” you confirm shyly.

“Then I shall be on my way” he tips an imaginary cap at you that makes you giggle, and he smiles goofily before turning away and walking out of the churchyard.

A little part of your heart yearns to follow him, the boy with the hazy, kind eyes and the pleasing smile, who just made your transition into life in the area much more bearable.

You and your brother are never bothered by that gang of boys again.

II: Envy

“Y/n, this is Miss Clarissa Worthing.”

Benedict introduces you to the willowy blonde whose hand is looped through the crook of his arm.

“Clarissa, this is Miss y/n y/l/n. She will beat half of my family at Pall Mall once you can coax her out of her shell,” he teases delicately with a friendly glint in his eye that makes your heart flutter against your ribcage.

Clarissa nods in cool acknowledgement, then cranes her neck to whisper something, her lips brushing his earlobe, her regard for you already gone. You curtsy politely, smile weakly and scurry away, feeling clumsy and out of place, unsure of what else to say to this swan-like beauty.

It's the summer after your fifteenth birthday, and he is back from his second year of university. It doesn't take much to deduce that this is the lady he is currently courting, accompanying him as she is to a garden party at Aubrey Hall. Jealousy clings to your skin like an invisible oily substance and taints your every thought.

Ever since that fateful day when he chased away your bullies, you have carried a torch for Benedict. The year after that incident, you sadly have to attend his father's funeral. Your own father unable to save the Viscount’s life. The forlornness on Benedict’s face as he stood there in the chilly church made your chest ache. You didn’t fully understand why at the time, but your impulse was to go up and wordlessly hold his hand. He looked so utterly unmoored and sad. You didn't, of course; you would never be so bold, but the impulse was so strong, a tingle on your palm that needed to touch him. It was all you could think about for days.

Over the intervening years, your soft spot for him grew with every encounter, the childish admiration morphing into something stronger, a deep-rooted longing. He always seemed to be the one who cared the most—about his siblings, his mum, and even the problems of the wider world. And as your body started to change and you began to feel differently about boys, your feelings for him had another layer of confusing complexity. His was the first face that popped into your head when your friends giggled about boys and talked of marriage.

Even now, it seems ridiculous to entertain that he would ever pursue you… you are stuck in small village life, the daughter of a doctor, not from a noble family, and he is off in the world, experiencing things you have no notion of. And yet he is the only man you have ever met who intrigues you that way. The idea of marriage not being entirely abhorrent, provided it is to him.

And so you just watch—the perpetual wallflower. Watch as Benedict and Clarissa make the circuit of the party. Effortlessly chatting among various members of the Ton, looking like the picture-perfect young couple.

“Makes you sick, doesn't it?” Eloise’s dry tone pops over your shoulder.

You smile at Benedict's little sister, just a couple of years younger than you and a kindred spirit at these events, mostly wanting nothing to do with them.

“She is very beautiful,” you offer politely, sipping your lemonade.

“She steals,” Eloise states plainly, making you splutter your drink all over your face and dress, the little immediate crowd of attention it draws to you mortifying. Luckily Benefict is far enough away and otherwise engaged that he does not see it. You are not sure you could live that down.

“That's a scandalous thing to say,” you hiss softly as you blush under the attention of a few strangers and furtively clean yourself with a serviette as best you can.

“Tell that to mother’s silk gloves,” Eloise volleys back, her disgust evident. Apparently oblivious to your embarrassing predicament or perhaps just uncaring of what others think. “She will be gone before the weekend is out, mark my words.”

You don't doubt it, knowing how spirited Eloise is. And how well she has her brother's ear. You know he will instinctively trust what she says as truth. As she marches up to grab his arm and pull him away, mostly, you wish you had more of her bravado, her fearlessness. While you agree with her outlook on many things, you are not built of the mettle she is—not one who draws attention. Still, you watch with a twisted, guilty, but victorious smile as Eloise pulls Benedict aside and has words with him.

You never hear of Miss Clarissa Worthing again.

III: Jealousy

“Lord Boswell would be a wonderful match, my dear,” your mother smiles encouragingly, handing you a slice of lemon drizzle cake.

You can't hide the curl of your lip at the mere thought.

It's the morning after the first ball of the season, just after your twentieth birthday, and you are in the London townhouse your parents have rented for the season, awaiting any suitors to call. Less than three days into your first season, you want the merry-go-round to stop. A dizzying whirl of social engagements you feel unequipped to deal with, wanting nothing more than to be back in Kent, stealing into the grounds of Aubrey Hall with a good book. Perhaps even spend time with Benedict.

Just the very thought of him causes a flare in your belly. Since his return from his studies in Cambridge, he has seemingly moved to Aubrey Hall full-time, spending his days painting the Kentish countryside with hopes of establishing himself as an artist. You have spent more time together in the last year or so than ever before, often finding yourself reading quietly in the shade with Eloise as he paints nearby, his company always somehow a balm as much as a thrill. And it feels as if there has been a subtle shift in how he regards you, giving you the unbearable lightness of hope. Perhaps he sees you in a different light now that you have come of age, no longer the child you were. There have been some moments where he has looked at you and felt it, like a weight on your skin; even as you doubt many other things about yourself, you don't doubt there is something there—a most wondrous and perplexing development.

Your butler bustles in and announces something that makes your heart leap into your throat.

“Mr Benedict Bridgerton has arrived.”

Your mother's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, giving you a sideways glance. A Bridgerton, even if not the Viscount, would be more than sufficient in her eyes. Especially one known so well to your family.

“To call on Miss y/l/n?” your mother asks, excitement evident in the breathy question.

“Oh no, ma’am, apologies. To see your husband. His brother, the Viscount, has dispatched him here to talk about some business in Kent,” your butler explains, somewhat apologetic as he realises the misconstrued intent.

Your mother’s disappointed face is only a match for your roiling stomach.

Your father folds his newspaper and jumps up. “I shall meet with him in my study, Jenkins. Please show him there,” and with a nod to you both, he leaves.

It has been just two days since your presentation to the Queen. That had been a waking nightmare. Parading down a long hallway at the Palace to be presented to her majesty filled you with utter dread. All eyes upon you, your every move and inch of appearance judged, and you are certain you were found lacking. Your status is unknown in the Ton; your parents pushing you into the season, hoping for an advantageous match. But you feel they could tell from one look where you belonged—almost invisible, on the periphery, a wallflower. Quiet, reserved, bookish, watching more than participating.

“Lord Boswell is here,” your butler reenters the room moments later.

Your stomach clenches. Your mother can barely contain her glee. You are so confused; you barely spoke two words to the man as you danced the previous night. Your conversation skills were utterly lacking, and he seemingly could not find an engaging topic to broach. You were keen for the music to end so you could return to standing and observing. You cannot believe that awkward interaction would be enough to propel the man to call on you, having said so little to each other just a few hours earlier. And yet here he is, a bunch of flowers in hand and a slightly vacant smile. The fleeting thought of marrying such a dull person makes you mildly nauseated.

Your mother hurries to the other side of the parlour and leaves you to converse, wearing a happy, hopeful expression that you hate to dash. And so you stumble the best you can through small talk. He talks of the weather, his property, and his interests but never asks anything about you—as if he is a candidate for a job you are interviewing for. In some ways, that is perhaps accurate, but part of you yearns for him to show interest in you, not just talk incessantly of himself.

Just as you give up hope of escaping anytime soon, you startle as he lays a hand on yours on the sofa between you. You don't even hear what he is saying anymore, just staring at where his glove covers yours, not liking the sensation, wanting to claw yourself away and withdraw.

Motion in the doorway makes you look up; Benedict is with your father. And suddenly, your heart is racing. Benedict looks taken aback; something sour in his expression you have never seen before makes you want to run to him and ask what is wrong. But you don't. You do the polite, reserved thing and smile.

“Mrs y/l/n, Lord Boswell,” he greets politely. “Miss y/l/n,” he adds, and you could swear he uses a different, lower register. Something inside you turns pulpy and ripe, blossoming just for him.

Before you know it, he has taken a seat on the sofa facing yours, shooting you the tiniest of winks that could be an eye twitch, but you know him better than that—seeing the sparkle of mischief in his eye. Your parents seem to exchange nonplussed glances, uncertain why he has chosen to stay.

“Boswell,” Benedict begins, shooting the man his most impervious glance. “What of your qualities make you an ideal suitor for Miss y/l/n here?” he questions.

Boswell splutters and seems taken aback, clearly not expecting such an interrogation, especially from a man who isn't your father or brother. Benedict’s eyes are back on you as the man stumbles through an inadequate and entirely uninteresting response that you do not even listen to. Your whole focus is on Benedict, feeling unable to breathe.

“Hmmm,” Benedict hums as he ends, “and what have you to say about Miss y/l/n’s interests? Are they perhaps complimentary to yours?”

“I… I did not think to ask,” Boswell falters, his cheeks reddening at the faux pas.

Benedict looks almost disgusted.

“You claim to be interested in providing your suit but ask nothing of what makes her the wonderful person she is?” he scolds, and your mouth opens into a little O of surprise. “Have you not asked her about her excellent marksmanship? How she can shoot an archery target better than anyone else within ten miles of Aubrey Hall? Have you not asked after her artistic skills? You see that cushion you sit next to? That is the work of her fair hand.”

You barely register as Boswell twists to look at the item and then at you; you have eyes for no one but Benedict as he continues, his voice loud and clear even over the sound of your heart pounding hard in your ears.

“Have you asked her about her love for literature and poetry? How she will correct you that it was, in fact, Guildenstern, not Rosencrantz, who enters first in the first folio version of Hamlet?”

You duck your head and blush. That is precisely what you did to him last year, surprising even yourself with your boldness. And he remembers.

He continues. “Have you asked about her love of animals? Perhaps you need to hear the tale of Mr Whiskers and how she was able to nurse the beloved cat of my sister Hyacinth back to health. You have not asked her of any such things?!?” his tone incredulous.

Even from the corner of your eye, you can tell that your parents’ faces are as shocked as Boswell’s. And suddenly, you recognise this as a Benedict Bridgerton you have seen before. It’s the one that comes out when defending those he loves against injustice or an unworthy opponent—the staunch guardian.

“If you cannot find it in yourself to show such interest, I would hope she will entertain better suitors,” Benedict sniffs dismissively. “As a long-term friend, I cannot in all good conscience allow this young woman to be pursued by anyone unworthy of her,” he concludes cuttingly, his nostrils flare, and his lip curls just a fraction as his eyes flit to where Boswell’s hand still rests upon yours.

Even as you struggle through your jumble of thoughts about everything he has said, one question so singular strikes you. Is this is Benedict….. jealous?? Jealous of your suitor? Finding ways to cut into him with his precise knowledge about you? The thought seems so fanciful that you want to dismiss it, but the sliver of possibility it offers is exhilarating. Just the chance of it being true has you utterly undone.

You barely even listen as your father jumps up and, with some belated sense of defence, agrees with Mr Bridgerton and asks Boswell if perhaps he should take his leave and return another day when he has thought of more engaging things to ask of you. Every fibre of your being yearns to talk to Benedict somewhere private, but he gives excuses to leave as quickly as your chastised suitor is dispatched.

Boswell never darkens your door again.

IV: Rescue

“Penny, for your thoughts,” Eloise smirks as she catches you staring into space on the terrace. Your cheeks blush, and you do not admit to where your thoughts had wandered—to her older brother.

“Will you come with me for a walk?” you ask, feeling the need to get away before you cross paths with the man who has occupied your thoughts more often than not of late.

It’s the week of the midsummer Hearts & Flowers ball at Aubrey Hall, and you are glad to have escaped the hubbub of the London scene and to be back in Kent for a few days' respite.

“No, I would prefer the company of Mary Shelley this afternoon,” she states airily, waving a book she holds.

So you set off alone, walking the grounds you now know so well. You are half an hour into your stroll, admiring the wildflowers along the eastern fringes of the grounds, not far from the village, when you see him approaching in the distance.

Benedict is riding his trusty horse and looks so majestic your chest constricts. Clothed in just a billowing white shirt and beige britches, you have rarely seen him look so informal. Or so very, very attractive. Your palms feel sweaty, and something stirs deep inside your body as you slink slightly into the treeline, hoping to remain unseen. A chance to merely observe this beautiful man, even knowing it is wrong to do so. To spy on him as such. Just as he draws close enough that you can see the flex of his leg muscles under the material, which causes all sorts of sensations in your body, a startled deer darts across the path and spooks his horse.

Time seems to slow as you watch his horse rear up and make the most terrible whinny of fear.

And then your heart is in your throat as you watch horrified as Benedict loses his grip on the reins in surprise and is thrown violently backwards to the ground.

Bile rises in your throat as you see how his body hits the dirt path, unable to brace for impact. The air fills with a blood-curdling scream that you belatedly realise is your own, and before you know it, you are sprinting. Sprinting towards him. Your whole focus narrows to his body splayed on the ground, worryingly still, as his horse bolts away. Heart pumping wildly and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pull up to him and skid to your knees.

He is still conscious but barely. Moaning slightly.

“Do not move!” You bark, and even in his woozy state, he appears taken aback by your ferocity. “I mean it, Benedict!” you bite out as he attempts to move his arm.

He seems to mumble a noise of ascent as you try your best to assess any injuries, having learned some things from observing your father over the years, but you realise he needs proper medical attention. Where you are on the grounds, it’s closer to your home than Aubrey Hall.

“I am going to get my father,” you explain as calmly as you can, “for the love of God, Benedict, do NOT attempt to move until he gets here.”

A wan smile spreads across his face even as he winces in pain. “Hmm, fine. I promise to stay still,” he sighs, “....prefer to do it for the love of you…,” he mutters slurringly before he appears to pass out.

Knowing he has likely struck his head, you try your darndest to put what he said out of your mind. A head injury would be the only way to explain such a comment, even as you are praying he doesn't have one.

Heart still beating out of control, and not knowing what possesses you, you lean over and press the quickest shyest of kisses onto his lips—pulling back a few inches before he can even acknowledge it happened.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere on me, Benedict Bridgerton,” you whisper fiercely, just in time to see his eyes pop open, hazy and clouded with something you have never seen before. It’s not the pain he is in, though. And it’s not confusion, amusement or even irritation. It’s something else, so blisteringly intense your legs want to turn to jelly.

“I won’t, I promise,” he attests, his tone rough, ragged.

There are a couple of seconds where all you do is stare wildly at each other, and then, with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you take off running. You have never run so far and so fast in your life; fear makes your muscles work harder than they ever have before. It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.

Your parents almost burst out of their skins in shock as you barrel into the house, panting wildly, wordlessly grabbing your father's medicine bag, and he reflexively springs into action.

You run to the stables and hurriedly hook up the long cart he uses when he needs to transport patients, and the look he shoots you is filled with concern.

“Who is it?” he asks as you climb aboard and direct him.

“Benedict,” you tremble, and there is a world of understanding in your father's eyes as he cracks the whip, and the horse jolts faster.

Perhaps your adoration is less concealed than you like to believe, but at this moment, you only care about getting him the help he needs. You are grateful your father doesn’t ask questions as you speed along.

And it becomes a blur as you reach the site, grateful Benedict laid still as you requested. Your father examines him and fires questions that are answered lucidly, tending to some immediate wounds and bandaging in places. Before you know it, you are helping your father with a canvas stretcher and insisting on sitting with Benedict in the back of the cart as your father takes the patient back to Aubrey Hall.

Never addressing the fact that you grip each other's hands so tight that both of your knuckles go white.

V: Belonging

“You can come in.”

Benedict’s voice calls out, bemused as you vacillate in the doorway, not realising that he can see you in a mirror reflection.

So at his invitation, you blush and scuttle into his room. Awkward, unsure what to do after your bold, daring, downright impertinent behaviour when he sustained his injuries. Part of you is hopeful he does not remember it.

It’s been two days, and he has made excellent progress under your father's watchful eye. The minute your father had pulled up at the house, you dropped your hold on his hand. And as word spread, it was a frenzy of activity that you found yourself superfluous to. The last you had seen was Benedict being carried inside for a more thorough examination.

Luckily, it turns out he has no lasting damage; his head was uninjured beyond a mild concussion. He is bruised all over, likely has some cracked ribs and has a sprained wrist, but he will be fine after some rest.

“H.. how are you?” your ask quietly, stilted, fiddling with your dress nervously.

“Much better,” his tone soft, “only because of you.”

You look up and meet his gentle gaze. “I merely did what anyone would have done,” you demure.

“Nonsense,” he counters, “you ordered me to stay still and await the doctor. If you weren’t there, I likely would have done myself additional injury being stubborn,” he points out dryly.

You don’t know what to say in response, so you change tack. “Is your horse alright?”

“Yes. Colin found him wandering around the wildflower meadow, munching on all manner of grasses. Never happier, completely uninjured,” he assures.

You nod, glad to hear the news. Then you allow the room to lapse into silence, unsure how to commence your profuse apology.

“I am very sor….”

He stops you with a bandaged hand held up.

“If you even begin to apologise for saving me, well then I shall be most vexed,” he chides, but there is no heat there, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome features. “Besides, the more pertinent point of discussion is the fearless woman you can be when needed. The person you are becoming, when you allow yourself to, is quite something,” you bow your head as your cheeks heat at his praise. “I would have injured myself months before now had I known I would meet the creature who sits behind that cloud of shyness. Just look at what you did, taking change so very effectively,” he flatters then there is a pause. “Hell, even being brave enough to kiss me.”

Your head shoots up, and your mouth falls open.

“Oh yes,” he chuckles, “don’t think I forgot that part,” His voice has lowered to a pitch that buzzes right through your being.

“I… I was worried I… I was going to lose you,” you stutter, “and I-I’m sorry that was terrible of me to take liberties like that. Please, please forgive me?” you beseech.

“It was not in any sense of the word terrible,” he disputes, “the exact opposite. There is nothing to forgive. But there is one way you can make it up to me…?” he hedges.

“Anything, please,” you beg, so hopeful of absolution.

He holds out his hands and gestures for you to perch on the bed beside him. Almost without thought, you do so, even as you feel your pulse speeding up. You have rarely been this close, and now you are transfixed by all the tiny flecks of colour in his iris and the hints of stubble around his jaw.

“Kiss me again,” he requests; a finger trails lightly over the back of your hand. “But properly this time. Give me a chance to kiss you back.”

You just gawp at him in utter shock, heart pounding again, just like it was that day. You don't move away. You can't. Rooted to the spot. Unable to stop staring at his plush bottom lip.

“You cannot mean it…” you stutter when you finally find your tongue, disbelieving.

“Does this seem like I do not mean it?” he argues ardently, and before you know it, he is sitting up and leaning in.

And then warm lips touch yours, and fireworks explode inside your chest.

You feel like you are drowning in the very best way as your lips move together gently. Everything about the moment is sweet and light, but promising more, something tart that makes you want to climb atop him and crush yourself against him. Just as you feel the instinct to open your mouth to him, he pulls back, looking lost and found all at once.

“I need you to know something,” he begins, grabbing both your hands and placing them between his. “It pains me to see you ever doubting yourself or if you belong. You belong. Everywhere you go. You have so much to give to the world,” he states passionately.

“I… “ you falter, wanting to believe him, the version of you he sees.

“You do. Hell, you give me a reason to get up every day. To try. To be better. I would not be the artist I am now were it not for your words of encouragement as I painted all those afternoons.”

You are dumbstruck. You honestly didn't believe he was taking on board what you said. Mostly just encouraging him to follow his instincts when he seemed to doubt them.

“And now it’s time someone did the same for you. Be the encouragement you need. You deserve everything, y/n. And it would be my greatest honour to try to give it to you?” he adds, a gently loving smile lighting up his face.

Your heart sings as you realise this is the declaration you have been waiting half of your life to hear. Before you can stop yourself, you launch yourself at him, this time being the one to demand a kiss that he happily obliges.

“I have a question,” you state as your lips part, your boldness growing with every moment. “Mr Bridgerton, were you jealous when I had a suitor?” you tease, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles and nuzzles your cheek. “My god, you have no idea.” You cant help the victorious giggle, basking in the fizz in your veins.

“I suppose it was payback for Ms Worthing. She of the ironic name. She was never worthy of you,” you state passionately.

He laughs with a headshake. “Perhaps it is our ability to rescue each other that makes us so best suited,” he opines. “I do believe we may belong together,” he adds.

And you couldn't agree more.

In fact, you are never alone again from that day on.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz

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bigbawdy-benzz · 9 months

Note

*Touches your shoulder* Hey~ what about 42! Miles morales x shy!reader

SUPER SHY

Pairing: Miles42! X Shy! Black Plus size Fem Reader

Summary : Y/N has been infatuated with miles for a hot minute but she's too shy to say anything and to make the first move. She would never think that he knows of her or even notices her until one small incident.

A/N: Miles is any age you want him to be in the fic, New jeans dropped super shy and it goes with this fic perfectly! THANK YOU FOR THE REQ As a recovering shy person you know I had to do my big one with this one ENJOY GUYS!!! Here’s Pt.2

It was a new day at Visions Academy; you blasted Tyler the Creator in your air pods while walking through the hallways. It was soothing to sound out all the noise. You walk into your first class ELA sitting down sighing wanting to go home. You put your head down wanting to get the school day over with. You suddenly hear noises over your headphones. You look to your left, and it was Miles and his friends being loud, you roll your eyes at his friends but keep your eyes on Miles, he looked so fine with his 2 braids you thought to yourself. You didn’t even realize you were staring, Miles looked feeling eyes on him making eye contact with you grinning. You felt your heart drop to your ass, thinking that he wouldn’t even notice you. To you, you thought Miles was kind of out of your league, he was kind of popular, all the girls wanted him, and he was sooooo incredibly fine. It's not that you don’t like yourself; it was just rare seeing him around girls like you that made you feel like getting his attention was impossible but, you always had his attention you just never noticed it. You decided to stop zoning out overthinking and started doing your work occupying yourself. You nod your head to WUSYUNAME by Tyler the Creator finishing your work just in time class was over. You see everyone else packing their things and you do the same leaving the classroom, you see your friends huddled by your locker.

“HEYYY Y/N” your friend Ocean yells out, you take one of your airpods out waving at her walking up to her and your other friend.

“Hey girlies” You said with a smile

“Girl how's it going with you know who?” Your other friend Aaliyah asks

“Horrible, well not really I was staring at him and he grinned at me so you can say it's over” You huff covering your face.

“I meannnn him grinning at you is amazing he noticed you babes” Ocean stated rubbing Y/N’s back

“Yeah it's better than him screwing his face up”. Aaliyah adds while you were putting your things in your locker.

“Yeah lets just get to math before Ms.Nelson gets on our ass and she gets mad yelling at us” You stated with a laugh closing your locker walking to class.

“Oh yeah she might call my mom again on her bullshit” Ocean huffs

“Nah we need to find her a good wig she’ll be nice to us for a good 2 weeks”. Aaliyah announces.

“No fr and set her ass up on a date she needs some dick” You chimed in laughing your ass off.

“YOO yall evil for this shit she needs more like locs she can’t keep that wig shit too high maintenance for her ''. Ocean replies, it was all laughs walking to class until you bump into someone

BOOM!

Your books and their books drop on the floor and you’re incredibly embarrassed scrambling to pick your things up, trying not to crease your Jordans.

“I'm so so sorry” You say picking up their books and yours.

“No it's ok…you don’t have to pick my books up after all I bumped into you” They say catching you off guard recognizing the voice. He bends down helping you pick up the books.

“No I bumped into you it's my fault i'm sorry” Y/N apologies once again

“Stop apologizing, it's okay mamita I just need to watch where I'm going next time”. They say helping you up, the way that ‘mamita’ rolled off their tongue had you weak in the knees.

“Im Miles” He says, giving you a smile, handing you your books.

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months

Note

Hi! I saw your Percy Jackson asks where open and I wanted to send in a request! How would Percy react to a fem reader who is the child of Morpheus the God of dreams? Like I imagine being a child to the God of dreams would make one fall asleep randomly when they are still new to their powers, so how would the scenario play out if perhaps one day reader falls asleep on him during a movie night? Would he stay as still as possible as to not wake her up or would he do something else like gently wake her up/move her? Hopefully I made this detatiled enough but in anyway thank you!!

You were just halfway from dozing off when Percy’s voice brought you from the cusp of a deep sleep to ask:

‘Does your dad look like-‘

‘For the last time Percy no, my dad doesn’t look like Tom Sturridge from The Sandman.’ You replied before he could even finish his question. It wasn’t the first time he asked this question after watching the Netflix show ironically about a man who bore the same name as your godly father, Morpheus, the god of dreams; Something that you now had a bone to pick with Neil Gaiman over.

‘Sooo he doesn’t blow golden sand at people’s faces to make them fall asleep?’ Percy continued to ask but at this point you knew that he was only doing this just to get a rise out of you and also to keep you from falling asleep again.

‘No-will you pack it in, in trying to get some rest from today.’ You said as you lightly smack his arm whilst readjusting your head onto his shoulder for more comfort, already feeling the lull of sleep beckoning you to fall further when Percy once again spoke up.

‘But you already do enough sleeping as it is!’ He cried but tried his hardest not to move too much in fear of agitating you, knowing firsthand how much you hated your sleep being disrupted. ‘And I can’t help that!’ You exclaimed. ‘I’ve been falling asleep at random ever since Morpheus claimed me as his own. It’s almost as though I’ve suddenly developed narcolepsy or something.’ You were still getting use to your powers that for some reason would backfire now and then, causing you to have bouts of almost narcoleptic episodes where you could just be talking to someone then boom; there you were, fast asleep in the strawberry fields or on the sandy dunes of the lake as though it were the most comfortable place known to man.

It worried to everyone to begin with but upon being claimed, it started to make a lot more sense that whenever you did spontaneously fall asleep, it was easier to be accommodated for; letting you sleep because you were mad cranky when woken prematurely. Connor and Travis learnt that the hard way when for an entire week their dreams consisted of being chased by a very angry humanoid goose, as if being chased by a regular goose wasn’t scary enough. Just one of the few perks of being the child of the god who could morph dreams and enter them however he saw fit.

The subject of your tendency to fall asleep at random was soon dropped entirely as you and Percy went back to watching the movie that was already well within it’s third and final act. Well Percy was, you on the other hand…were fast asleep on his shoulder, uncaring of the crook in the neck that you were surly developing from your uncomfortable position. Percy doesn’t notice until he goes to look at you to make a joke on a certain scene but stopped and the words died on his lips as he stared at you adoringly. ‘Why am I not surprised that you’ve fell asleep. Again.’ He says softly to himself as he watched how your grip on his arm would occasionally tighten as though your dream had taken a tonal shift, only to loosen up and relax not a moment after.

Not that I needed my arm or my shoulder anyways. Percy thought to himself as he tried his absolute hardest to stay still for your benefit but he might as well have asked Medusa to make him into stone instead because he was doing such a shit job at not moving at all. It was almost as if all his limbs had minds of their own as they’d move or his fingers would tap against his thigh impatiently as the movie ended and the credits began to appear on screen; With the remote too far for him to reach without waking you up and nothing else to occupy his restless mind, Percy felt as though he was in his own personal hell and heaven, or fields of punishment and Elysium.

For one, he got to admire you as you slept, completely at peace and safe within his presence as you would oftentimes shuffle further into him, making noises of discontent when you thought you felt him move away and tightening your grip; Something he found undeniably adorable as he watched the twitches in your face and tries to guess what kind of dream you were having based off them. Secondly he desperately wanted to move, his brain was telling him to move, but Percy would rather not risk having an angry human sized goose chasing him in his dreams for the next week because he accidentally woke you prematurely from your nap. He knows you wouldn’t do that but in cases like these, it he’d know it be better to be safe and sure then expect special treatment; which upon retrospect sounded a lot worse then getting chased by a human sized goose.

So Percy allows himself the fate of being your makeshift pillow, though not before pressing a kiss to your head, wishing you the sweetest of dreams before inevitably falling asleep himself as he rested his head atop of yours, crook in his neck be damned.

#pjo x reader #pjo imagines #pjo imagine #pjo fanfic #pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fan fiction #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians

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flightlessangelwings · 5 months

Text

My Knight in White

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Word count- 4.3k

Dialogue prompt- “ that was for saving my life. “ Action prompt- [ KISS ]: after having been saved from immediate danger by the receiver, the sender, in a state of intense emotion and relief, kisses them to express these feelings.

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), protective!Marc, mutual pining, minor violence, minor character death, harassment of reader (not Marc), damsel in distress, unprotected piv, no use of y/n

About this reader- she is smart but not physically badass, works with Egyptian artifacts but I left it vague so you can fill in for yourself exactly what she does, no specific city where they are is stated either so it's open for you to imagine wherever, no physical descriptions other than body parts

Notes- Posting my October Year of Protectiveness @yearofcreation2023 a little late because of kinktober but I'm so excited to share this! This is expanding on an idea that @melodygatesauthor had months ago who wanted to see a damsel in distress reader and Marc saving her!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!

“You’re here late,” Marc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, refocusing your eyes to the world around you. Looking around, you didn’t even realize how long you had been hunched over your desk, studying and cleaning the artifact that had recently been brought in. “Marc…” you breathed as you stretched, your back aching as you became aware of reality again.

He smiled softly as he uncrossed his arms, “You work too much, you know that,” he leaned against the doorway as he watched you.

Marc loved to watch you work. He loved to watch you do anything really, but when you worked, you became so focused, lost in concentration. You handled the old artifacts with such care and respect, he couldn’t help but linger his gaze on your hands. He had never met anyone smarter than you, and he loved to listen to you go on and on about any topic you found interesting. Marc took it upon himself to watch over you, making sure you were always safe even if you never truly knew just how much he looked over you.

“I lost track of time,” you replied as you gathered yourself and packed everything away, “I didn’t realize it’s after dark.”

“And the fact that everyone else left hours ago didn’t clue you in,” Marc smirked.

“Hey,” you playfully chastised him, “I can’t help it, I just got in the zone, you know. Besides, these new artifacts are so fascinating I just can’t tear myself away from them!”

It suddenly occurred to you that you and Marc were completely alone. He was right- everyone else left hours ago. As you stood up and made your way over to him, you took in his handsome features once more. And the way he leaned against the door made your thoughts run wild. The two of you had known each other for some time now, but you kept your true feelings to yourself, afraid of damaging your friendship or losing him.

Marc looked you up and down, “Want me to walk you home?” he offered as he followed behind you, watching you flip the lights off and lock everything up.

“I’m alright,” you suddenly felt nervous. Marc has been to your place many times, but the shiver that ran up your spine made your heart race, “I don’t live that far.”

He furrowed his brow, “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a soft smile, “Thanks, though,” you stepped in front of him before you turned back, “Good night.”

Marc watched you walk away before he whispered a hushed, “Good night.”

He watched you as you made your way down the street in the darkness until he couldn’t see you anymore. Marc had already decided he was going to follow you anyway, watching over you from afar, but when he saw a group of sketchy-looking men with wicked grins sneer and tail behind you, he knew he had to do more to keep you safe.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you made your way down the street. You didn’t make it far from Marc when you noticed that a group of men started to follow behind you, and though you couldn’t make out their exact words, you knew they were talking about you. In that moment, you wished you took Marc up on his offer to walk you home, but you couldn’t turn around now. All you could do was hope you got inside fast before they caught up to you.

“Hey sweet cheeks,” one of them called out to you.

Too late.

You glanced over your shoulder and found that they were even closer to you than you thought, and you quickly bolted down the street without a word. That only egged them on more, however, and you heard them laughing behind you as they sped up as well.

“Oh come on, sweetheart,” they sneered, “We just want to talk to you.”

A gasp escaped your lips as you turned down a street, hoping to lose them. But, your plan immediately backfired as you found yourself trapped in an alleyway at a dead end. And you failed to shake them off your tail.

“Please,” you breathed as fear pulsed through your veins, “I’m just trying to get home.”

The men surrounded you, darkness shading their features, “We’ll get you home, sweet girl.”

The others chuckled as they started to reach for you.

“Please leave me alone,” you tried to sound more assertive, but you knew you didn’t intimate them at all. They were all very muscular and taller than you, and you knew you didn’t stand a chance even if you tried to fight back. But that didn’t mean you were going to go down without a fight.

You screamed when one of them grabbed your arm, and you swung your fist into him as hard as you could while digging your feet into the ground. Gritting your teeth, you tried your best to yank yourself from his grip, but tears of frustration filled your eyes when you realized it was useless.

“No!” you cried out as you tried again, your pleas drowned out by their cackling laughter.

Suddenly, your luck changed.

Out of nowhere, something yanked the man who helped you back and he yelped as he found himself flung against the wall of the alleyway. The other men all looked up as a hooded figure in all white descended down and immediately went on the attack against them.

You gasped as you scurried back out of the scuffle, pressing yourself against the opposite wall as much as you could as if you tried to phase through the wall and disappear. Your eyes went wide as you watched the mysterious hero fight off the men who attacked you, beating and punching them down until none of them moved.

The figure then turned to you, and time froze for several moments.

He raised his hands in surrender, “I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice from under the mask said.

You couldn’t help but feel like the voice was familiar. But, you stayed silent.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” your rescuer asked as he stepped closer to you, looking you over.

Your hands trembled, but not from fear this time. Taking a deep breath in for the first time in what felt like forever, you finally replied in a hushed voice, “No,” you whispered, “I’m alright.”

As he stepped close enough so you could reach for him if you wanted, you studied his outfit more. He wore all white, but as he got closer, you noticed it looked like linen wrappings, almost like a mummy. A crescent moon symbol adorned his chest and a white cloak covered his head. You could see the muscle definition even through the thick wrappings, and it made you swallow hard.

You had no idea what came over you at that moment- perhaps it was the adrenaline- but without a word, you reached out for him, grabbed him and pulled your bodies closer as you laid a kiss on his mask where his mouth would be.

It caught him off guard, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he cradled you close, holding onto your waist with one hand and your arm with the other. It felt warm, comfortable, right.

“What was that for?” he asked with a smirk in his voice.

You smiled at him, “That was for saving my life,” your voice was still hushed, your breath taken away, “Thank you.”

He cupped your chin affectionately. Through the mask, he studied you up close. Everything in Marc screamed to take it off and tell you who he was, but he also knew that knowing his secret would put you in danger. And Marc would not allow that. For now, he would be satisfied knowing you were safe, and that he was just in time. He only nodded, not saying anything else before he broke away from you and leapt up into the air, disappearing into the night just as mysteriously as he appeared.

You watched in bewilderment as it took your brain several moments to process what just happened. You touched your lips as you realized that you kissed a total stranger, and one who you didn’t even see his face too. But, as you looked around and saw the men laying on the ground, the adrenaline ran through your veins once more and you ran out of the alleyway and quickly made your way home.

The whole time, Marc watched from the rooftops until you were safely inside.

In the following weeks, you threw yourself completely into your work to cope with what happened that night. A mix of emotions constantly filled your head, and you found that pushing them away with the distraction of work was the easiest way to deal with them. There were days where you hardly looked up from your desk, so deep in concentration that the rest of the world was a blur around you.

Marc kept a watchful eye over you the entire time. He knew why you were like this, but when others asked he feigned ignorance. No one had to know what happened to you, and it wasn’t up to him to tell anyway. Instead, he chose to keep an eye on you from afar, like he always did.

Vaguely, you were aware of Marc’s presence in the shadows… and it felt familiar to you somehow. He always kept an eye on you, but after that night it somehow felt different. But, having him close was one of the few comforts you had after your attack. Yet, your mind also wandered toward the mysterious hooded figure who rescued you…

“Hey,” Marc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

You looked up with a startled gasp, not realizing how late it got. Again. “Marc,” you breathed.

He looked worried, “Everything alright?” Marc asked, “You’ve seemed… off lately.”

Your eyes darted from his face to your desk a few times as you felt nervous suddenly, “I’m fine,” you knew you didn’t convince him, you didn’t even convince yourself.

Marc sighed your name as he settled down next to you, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’m here for you.”

Heat rose in your face, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you exhaled deeply, “Besides, you’d just make fun of me.”

“Never!” he exclaimed, acting playfully offended before he turned serious, “What’s on your mind?”

The comforting tone in his voice and the warmth of his presence allowed you to let your guard down, “Ok…” you took a breath, “The night I was here late a few weeks ago,” you started, “A group of guys tried to jump me,” your voice quivered and you felt Marc’s hand over yours, “But I was saved by…” you paused as you looked at him sheepishly, “A guy in a hood and something that looked like mummy wrappings.”

Marc’s face lit up as he grinned knowingly at you.

You nudged him playfully as you erupted into a fit of giggles out of pure embarrassment, “See I knew you were going to laugh at me!”

“No, sweetheart I’m not laughing at you,” Marc raised his hands defensively, “I swear!”

Something changed in the air between you as you stared at each other. The light atmosphere shifted and it felt like something heavy lingered between the two of you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized just how close Marc sat to you, and your breath caught in your throat as you studied his features. Not to mention that was the first time he called you anything affectionate like that…

“Marc…”

“Listen, I…,” he started, interrupting you.

Leaning in, you were entranced by him and you hung on his every word. Just being near him and laughing like this made all your troubles melt away. You felt safe here, with him.

But, before Marc could continue, a loud crash cut him off.

Both of you jumped up, and you let out a soft shriek. Marc immediately went into defense mode and every muscle in his body tensed. It was late, and the two of you were the only ones in the building. He made sure the doors were locked too, so he knew whoever broke in meant trouble.

“Marc?” your voice shook.

“Listen to me,” he turned to you and placed his hands on your shoulders, “I need you to sneak out of here. Take the back exit and hide somewhere. I’m going to distract them and get a path for you to get out.”

“But the artifacts,” you whispered as you glanced over at the old objects on your desk that you spent weeks cleaning and studying. The first thought in your mind was that these are robbers looking to steal and sell them, and you didn’t want that to happen.

“Things can be replaced,” Marc sounded urgent, “We can get them back. I’m more worried about getting you safe right now.”

Your eyes went wide as you looked at him, stunned. Just as you were about to reply, though, another crash made you jump and Marc pulled you in close to keep you calm.

“It's gonna be alright,” he murmured to you, “Just trust me. Ok?”

You pulled back to look into his eyes again, “I trust you.”

He nodded as he pressed his lips together, “Ok,” how Marc sounded nervous, “Stay low. Stay in the shadows. And just get out. You hear me?”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. Then your brain caught up with you, “What about you?”

Marc smirked, “I’ll be alright. Just trust me.”

There was no time for explanations as another crash echoed in the room- they were getting closer. Marc ushered you out of the door and down the hall before he ran in the opposite direction towards the intruders. You glanced over your shoulder at his retreating figure before you made your way down the hall, crouching low and out of sight as you did so.

As you made your way to the back door, however, you noticed that it was blocked- one of them already made his way there.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you changed direction. Instead, you went up to the roof in hopes of finding a place to hide until Marc did… whatever he was planning to do.

But that plan also quickly backfired.

You ran up to the roof and into the open area there, but you were met with yet another thug who blocked the opposite entrance from where you were.

“Well look what we have here,” he said with a dark grin on his face.

Letting out a gasp, you tried to run back where you came from, but another sinister shadowy man blocked that path. “Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.

“Please,” was all you could whimper as you felt them close in on you.

The men just laughed as they stepped closer, reaching for their guns as they did so. But, before they reached you, one of them was yanked back, slamming into the wall. You looked up and saw the same hooded figure that saved you before swooping down from seemingly nowhere.

More of the thugs appeared from the doorway and they yelled as they pulled out their guns and started to fire on both of you. The hooded figure rushed over to you and wrapped his cloak over both your bodies, shielding you.

You covered your head out of instinct, but as you felt a warm presence, you looked up and found yourself face to face with your linen wrapped savior once more.

“It’s you,” you gasped in relief. The ringing of the guns suddenly sounded distant.

The mask started to peel away on its own, revealing none other than Marc. He breathed your name, “Are you alright?”

“It’s you!” you sounded stronger that time, in total shock that it was Marc the whole time.

“I told you I wasn’t making fun of you,” he flashed a quick smile before he turned serious again, “I don’t have time to explain now,” he said, “I’m going to fight these guys off. You need to hide somewhere until they’re dealt with. I’ll come find you when it’s safe, I promise.”

The intruders and the guns were more pressing at the moment, so you swallowed and nodded.

When Marc found an opening, he pushed you towards the door, “Go!” he shouted as he turned back to the intruders and fought them off.

You ran.

Running on pure instinct, you bolted down the hall and turned a corner into a closet. Luckily, no one was around and you hid yourself well. You crouched in the corner as you listened to the grunts and gunshots in the distance. At one point, you covered your mouth to stifle a scream, suddenly scared for Marc. You fought back tears, swearing to yourself that you wouldn’t cry.

Just as you squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath, the fighting stopped. Silence filled your ears but you didn’t dare move. Your hands trembled slightly against your face as you strained to hear the one voice that would bring you comfort.

And then you heard it.

Marc called out your name as he stood in the hall, frantically looking for you, “Baby it’s alright. You can come out.”

You let out the breath you held, all your fear escaping with it as you leapt up and out of your hiding spot. Down the hall, you saw Marc standing there, his knighty suit still adorning his body but his face exposed. “Marc,” you breathed in relief as you ran towards him.

“Sweetheart,” he sounded just as relieved as he ran towards you with open arms.

The two of you crashed together in a messy embrace, emotions getting the better of both of you. He rested a hand on the back of your head while the other pulled you in as close as he possibly could. Tears flowed from your eyes as relief washed over you, yet the pulse of fear still ran through you after everything that happened. Vaguely, you heard Marc whispering soft words of encouragement and reassurance in your ear.

“Come on,” Marc said, “I’m getting you out of here,” he slid his hand in yours.

“But…” you tried to protest, not wanting to leave any of the artifacts alone.

“It’s ok,” he gave you a soft smile, “They’re dealt with. Right now I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to process everything. So much happened in such a short time, and you weren’t sure how to react to it. Time passed in a daze as you found yourself at Marc’s place, settled comfortably on his couch with a mug of tea in your hands. You felt safe with him, of course, but you felt like you were outside your body.

The two of you talked for what felt like hours. Marc told you everything- all of his secrets that he kept hidden for so long. He promised you that he would always protect you, and he explained why he didn’t tell you before. As he talked, the sound of his voice calmed you, like an embrace of your heart. Your eyes moved from where they stared at the mug to meet his gaze.

“I promise you, baby,” Marc cupped your face, “Nothing’s ever going to happen to you. I’ll keep you safe no matter what.”

Heat rose in your face, and you were sure Marc felt how warm you were. But, as you stared into his eyes, you felt your heart flutter and his charming gleam sent a rush of fresh emotions through you. Without a word, you closed the gap between your bodies, crashing your lips together. Muffled groans echoed between you as you climbed into his lap and Marc instantly helped you closer. Deepening the kiss, you felt a tingle on your skin as you tasted him, and you felt the reverberation of his moan against your body.

“What was that for?” he asked in a whisper, “Not that I’m complaining.”

You smirked against Marc, “I wanted to thank you properly,” you breathed, “With a real kiss this time.”

Marc cupped your face as he gazed into your soul through your eyes, “Baby…” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for another kiss.

This time, it felt different. It was desperate and heated, but there was also the warmth and passion behind it. You moaned into Marc’s lips as you rocked your hips against his. He tightened his grip on you as a rush of need pulsed through his veins, and he couldn’t help the way his cock twitched underneath you.

Breaking away for air, Marc saw the look of wanton need in your eyes, and he knew exactly what you were thinking, “Are you sure about this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You cupped his face, brushed your fingers along his dark curls, “I’m sure,” you whispered as you kissed him again, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you paused before you sheepishly added, “I’ve wanted this so so long…”

Marc grinned, his face lighting up, “Then let’s do this right.”

Shifting your bodies, Marc stood up and extended his hand. You eagerly took it and allowed him to lead you over to his bed. Excitement bloomed between you and before you even made it to the bed, your hands were all over each other. Kisses decorated your steps as you each tugged at the other’s clothing until you were bare.

You and Marc crashed into his bed, and he quickly laid overtop of you. He paused for a moment, breathless as he took in the sight of you bare underneath him, “Fuck you are beautiful,” he breathed.

“So are you,” you sighed in pure admiration as you grabbed his face and yanked him in for another kiss, “We can take our time later,” you murmured between kisses, “I need you too bad right now.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as he rocked his length along your folds. It didn’t go unnoticed that you mentioned a next time either… But your moan broke Marc out of that thought, and a shiver ran up his spine as he felt his cock against your pussy, “Wet already,” he smirked.

“Please Marc,” you pleaded.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he moaned as he lined himself up with your entrance.

Slowly, carefully, Marc pushed himself into you, causing you both to gasp at the same time. You clawed at his arms, holding on for dear life as the slight burn of his cock stretching you out went jolts of pleasure through your body. Fresh tears filled your eyes at the sensation, and you never felt more alive, more pleasure than ever before.

“Marc…”

He groaned your name as he bottomed out inside you, “Fuck,” he breathed. Marc cradled your face as he rocked in and out of you, slowly at first, but the more you moaned the faster he moved, “You’re perfect,” he moaned, “Shit…”

“Fuck… Marc… You feel so good,” you moaned as you saw stars every time his cock slammed into you.

It didn’t take long for you to feel the tingles of your approaching climax. Your legs trembled on either side of Marc’s body as he thrust into you over and over again and you dug your nails into his soft skin as you clung to him. Incoherent praises flowed from his lips as both your moans grew louder and louder as you lost yourselves in each other.

“Marc… I’m…”

“I’ve got you, baby,” Marc repeated his words from earlier.

Skin slapped against skin as Marc felt his own climax apparach. But, he was determined to send you over the edge first, and with just a few more thrusts of his hips, he got what he wanted. With a loud scream, you came hard, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. And fuck you had never looked more beautiful to Marc.

He kept up his pace as long as he could, watching the show you put on just for him and savoring every second of it. But, Marc’s eyes started to roll back as he felt his orgasm quickly build, egged on by the way you clenched your inner muscles around his cock. And with a groan of your name, he came right after you, spilling himself into you as he did so.

Marc collapsed on top of you, completely spent. But, after just a few breaths, he shifted himself, pulling out of you with a hiss before he laid next to you. You let out a whine at the loss, but quickly curled yourself up in his embrace as Marc held you close. You closed your eyes as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the pounding of his heartbeat against your ear.

“Marc, I…”

“Shhh,” he gently hushed you, “Just rest now baby,” Marc cradled your head as he placed a soft kiss, “I’ve got you.”

You hummed contently as sleep quickly took you over. Between the excitement, the danger and the rush of emotions, you suddenly found yourself exhausted and in no time you feel sound asleep in Marc’s arms.

Marc stayed awake for some time, listening to the sound of your heavy breaths. He knew exactly what you wanted to say, and as much as he wanted to hear you say those words, he knew it was better to wait. He gave your body one extra squeeze before he whispered to your sleeping form, “You’re safe with me, sweetheart… I love you.”

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writerslittlelibrary · 4 months

Text

We can be your family

masterlist part 2

summary: having been in the foster system all your life, you don't expect much when your case worker tells you you're being moved again. what happens when the car suddenly stops in the most expensive neighborhood in all of New York…

pairing: Natasha x teen reader, Maria x teen reader, Blackhill

warnings: mentions of abusive foster families, vague mention of sexual assault

genre: fluff

words: 3542

a/n: this one was voted for the most, and I'm so happy it was. I was super excited to write this and I love the idea of foster parents Blackhill so much, I think they're adorable. I hope you like it and please let me know what you think and whether you'd want more foster family Blackhill :)

maybe I’ll make this a two parter or a series, seeing as I found this already pretty long but I do want to write more about it

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

It was late when the car came to a stop. It had been two days ago when you were told you were going to have a new foster family. You had been moving around all your life, having been left at the door of a police station merely days after you were born. You had never met your parents, and you were put into the foster system almost immediately.

No one had ever adopted you, which unfortunately for you meant that you were still going from foster family to foster family, sometimes even group homes when there were no foster families available.

In your life, you had learned it was best never to connect with your foster families. Usually, it didn't take very long until you were off to the next one anyway.

And so, two days ago when the service worker called, you had started mentally preparing for the next mess you were going to be thrown into. You had learned that most foster families were only in it for the money, and that was often very noticable, ever after the first day you'd be there. Often, they didn't care much for you, which was fine. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. It was the times they did care for you when you had to be careful.

When they did care, they'd usually have a long list of ridiculous rules, all of which you had to follow. When you failed to follow their ridiculous rules, there'd usually be some type of insane punishment, which more often than not ended up with you hurt, usually because you'd take a beating.

You were a little nervous to meet a new foster family, worried they'd be another collection of horrible people that called themselves a family, yet, you weren't quite fond of the family you were with now, so you didn't care much.

For now, you'd simply hold on to the hope that this new foster family would be better than the old one.

When your case worker came, you'd already packed. Seeing as you had never owned a lot of objects, you were done rather quickly. All your stuff easily fit in one trash bag, your valuable objects, such as your beloved stuffed bunny and your favorite book were all put in your school bag.

When you had gotten into the car, you definitely didn't expect much, but when the car drove through one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York, you were definitely surprised that that is where the car stopped.

Either your case worker was gonna leave you at the dumpster, or your new foster family is rich rich.

Alice opened the door for you with a smile, and she got your (trash) bag from the trunk. You held onto your school bag tightly as Alice walked inside the huge apartment building, you following closely behind. When you were both inside, Alice walked to the large reception desk at the left side of the lobby. A man dressed in a neat suit sat behind it.

You had never ever been in an apartment complex fancy or rich enough to have a security guard in the lobby.

You were standing next to Alice as she told the security guard you were there for a Miss Romanoff and a Miss Hill. You were looking around the large and beautiful (and extremely fancy) lobby, too busy to even notice Alice mention two women.

The man typed some numbers on some device, then pointed Alice towards the elevator. Alice walked towards it, and you followed suit, too nervous to even spare a glance towards the security guard.

Even the elevator looked fancy, and to say you were surprised when Alice pressed the penthouse button would be an understatement.

When the elevator made it all the way to the top, Alice let you walk out first. There was only one door in front of the elevator, and you figured the penthouse was the only residence on the floor. You turned to Alice, who stood there waiting for you to knock on the door. You took a deep breath and took a few steps forward, pressing the fancy looking doorbell. How rich were these people if they even had a fancy looking doorbell?

The door opened soon enough, a brunette standing in the door frame with a smile on her face. She looked nice, but in your many years of experience you had learned that looks could be very deceiving.

“You must be y/n,” she said as she looked at you, and you were too nervous to do anything but nod. She gave you a kind smile before shifting her gaze to Alice, glancing at the trash bag with concern. Alice took a step forward, extending her hand to the woman.

“You must be Miss Hill. I'm Alice, we spoke on the phone,” she mentioned as she shook the hand of Miss Hill. “I am indeed, I'm so glad you could make it.”

Miss Hill stepped aside, allowing you to look into the penthouse.

“Please come in, my girlfriend will join us shortly,” she said, and you took small steps into the apartment. Girlfriend? You could've known. She looked too well dressed to be straight…

Alice followed you inside, and stood awkwardly in the little hallway as Miss Hill closed the door. She walked in front of you and went to the right, walking into an expensive looking kitchen. It had a kitchen island, and around it were a few high stools.

“You can sit down right here if you want. Would you like anything to drink?” Miss Hill asked, and you just shook your head. She then turned to Alice, who also shook her head with a smile. “No thank you, I'll be going shortly,” she stated as she set the trash bag next to the kitchen island, reaching into her own shoulder bag for a few papers.

She pulled out a map with documents, just as another woman joined you. “Oh, Miss Romanoff, so glad I got to see you too,” Alice stated as Miss Romanoff walked towards her, shaking her hand with a small but pleasant smile.

Miss Romanoff went to stand next to Miss Hill, both standing across from you as Alice handed the map to Miss Romanoff.

“Here are the last documents, and I will be going then. If you have any questions don't hesitate to let me know, my number is somewhere in there. Of course there will be some surprise inspections, and if you would like to get rid of the child please contact the number at the bottom,” Alice stated, and you grimaced at the words she used.

Natasha was uncomfortable with the use of words as well, but you missed the worried glance she sent you and she took the documents from Alice.

You just kept your gaze on your hands, picking at the skin around your fingers as Miss Hill walked Alice out. When she returned, she took a seat, Miss Romanoff now sitting as well.

“So, y/n, I am Natasha, and this here is my girlfriend Maria. It is so nice to meet you,” Natasha smiled, but you kept your gaze on your hands. When Natasha noticed you weren't going to reply, she continued speaking. “I know this must be very scary for you, but I just want you to know it's a little scary for us as well. This is our first time fostering anyone, so if we make any mistakes you just let us know okay?” Natasha asked, and you just nodded your head.

“So where are all your bags? Is someone bringing them over later or?...” Maria asked, and you glanced at her slightly before pointing towards the trash bag. “Those are my clothes…” you said in a quiet voice, and it took everything in Natasha to not say how ridiculous that was.

“Okay, we'll just have to get you a proper bag then, huh?” Maria said kindly, before standing up. “Would you like to see your room?” Maria then asked, and you nodded as you stood up too, going to grab the trash bag. “It's okay, I got it,” Natasha mentioned as she bent down, picking it up. “It's just this way,” Maria said as she led you through a hallway.

She opened a door that carried an empty name plate, pushing it open and standing aside.

“We didn't really know what you liked, but we tried our best. If you would like to change anything, maybe paint a wall or get some decorations you just let us know okay?” Natasha said, and you nodded as you put your school bag down by the bed, sitting on it.

“All this is for me?” you asked as you looked around the room, taking in all the objects already in it. The desk and cabinets were empty, so were the walls, but the room was massive.

Natasha nodded with a smile, walking into the room and turning to the door on the right. She opened it and stepped aside. “This is your bathroom, and right there is the closet,” she said as she pointed to another door next to the bathroom.

“I have my own bathroom?” you questioned in disbelief, and Natasha nodded with a smile.

“There is another closet right here,” she said as she opened another door, a small, undeep closet revealing itself. At the door hung a mat with little pockets, all filled with different snacks and treats.

“We didn't really know what you liked, so we just bought a little bit of everything. These are all yours and you can eat them whenever you like. If anything ever runs out or if you would like some other snack or treats, just let us know and we can get it for you,” she explained, and you nodded with a small smile as you stared at all the treats and snacks.

You had never really gotten any treats or snacks, and you didn't exactly have your own money to buy it.

Maria stayed at the door, wanting to give you your space while getting used to the new environment. “We'll just go and get started with dinner, so we'll leave you to settle in a little bit. Is there anything specific you'd like to eat? We can always order something, I'm never one to skip a good take-out meal,” Maria smiled, and Natasha walked to her side.

You shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

“We could order pizza? Or maybe sushi? Anything is okay,” Natasha pushed when she realized you weren't going to say anything yourself.

“Pizza?” you asked quietly, and Natasha smiled and nodded. “Pizza it is. Do you want a specific one?” Natasha asked as she pulled out her phone, and you shook your head softly.

“Just a margarita pizza please?” you asked, and Natasha nodded.

“We'll just be in the kitchen if you need us,” Maria told you, and she and Natasha left the room, closing the door behind them.

You dumped your clothes on the bed, throwing the trash bag aside and going through them. Most of them were old and worn, but they still fit so no one ever decided you needed new clothes. After you folded them all neatly you walked to the closet, surprised at how big it was. Your clothes didn't even fill 10% of the closet, and you wondered if rich people really needed that many clothes.

Natasha and Maria seemed like really nice people, and even though you'd never admit it, you were excited you got to be with them.

Of course you'd never trust some so fast, but until now they seemed nice and decent. The closet full of snacks definitely made you like them a little more, but you were still hesitant. You'd been in other families where they seemed nice at first, but the moment you'd make a mistake they'd beat you. You shuddered at the thoughts, grabbing a little bag of your favorite candy you found in the closet.

You sat on the bed and took out your stuffed bunny, sitting against the headboard and holding the bunny close.

You were scared and intimidated at this new place, but you were also happy you weren't at the other home anymore. Until now, this place seemed like a much better home to be.

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

After dinner, where you had mainly kept quiet and tried to avoid the questions they asked you, you went to your room and went straight into your bed.

You didn't sleep the entire night. You didn't know these people, and you were afraid they'd come into your room and hurt you. That happened once, in a foster family you had about a year ago. The foster father had gone into your room and he had touched you, hurting you more than you ever thought was possible.

Since that foster home, you'd always stay awake the first night, wanting to be ready if one of the foster parents did come into your room.

Of course, tonight, nothing happened. Natasha and Maria had gone to bed shortly after you had, and the entire apartment was quiet. When the sun rose the next morning, you knew you had to ask either Natasha or Maria for some electronic device.

You didn't have a phone or computer, but you were homeschooled and followed an online program. With all the moving around and switching homes, it was always difficult to find a high school you could consistently go to. And so, you had gotten an online course and some data to login. However, you'd need an electronic device for that, and you didn't have that.

When you walked into the kitchen around 8 am, Natasha and Maria were already awake. Maria was sitting at the kitchen counter, doing something on her laptop as she ate some toasts. Natasha was scrambling some eggs at the stove.

When Maria noticed you, she smiled and closed her laptop. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?” she asked and you shrugged. “Fine,” you said even though you knew damn well you hadn't slept at all.

“How do you like your eggs?” Natasha then asked, turning to you shortly before focusing on the eggs in the pan again.

“Scrambled is good,” you said as you sat down at the counter as well, preparing yourself to ask your question. After you took a deep breath and Natasha put some toast with eggs in front of you, you looked up, not really facing anyone but the counter top.

“So I was wondering…” you started carefully, and both Maria and Natasha looked at you as they waited for you to continue.

“I am doing online school, and I was just wondering if there is maybe an electronic device I could use? I don't have a phone or anything, but I do kinda need it…” you finished, your eyes darting around to Natasha, Maria and then back to the counter top again.

“Of course. We can do some shopping today, to get you some essentials,” Maria said as she got up, opening the fridge and grabbing some orange juice.

Your eyes widened slightly. They couldn't possibly mean they'd buy you a phone, could they?

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

After breakfast you, Maria and Natasha had gotten into their car. Their very expensive, very beautiful car. Natasha drove as Maria sat next to her. After about half an hour's drive, you arrived at a mall, and Maria opened the door for you. You thanked her and got out, following Natasha and Maria as they walked inside.

Once inside, the first place they headed for was an apple store. You were shocked to say the least, really hoping they weren't going to spend so much money on you.

When you entered the store, a worker came towards you three, asking if you needed help. Natasha said yes and asked him for the best phone they offered.

The worker led you there, and Natasha thanked him as she picked it up, examining it. You stared at the phone wide-eyed, but more so at the price. That phone was higher than 1.500 euros, and you didn't believe they'd actually buy that for you.

“Well, it looks great, what color would you like?” Natasha smiled as she went to pick up a box from the shelf.

You shook your head in shock, not believing they'd buy something like that for you. “I meant… like a device you have… that I could use… I didn't mean…” you stuttered out, and Natasha smiled as Maria laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Listen, sweetie, we just wanna get you everything you need. I promise you that we want to do this, okay? And you don't have to feel guilty that we're spending money on you, because we want to,” she told you.

Natasha looked at you too, smiling reassuringly. “We have plenty of money, and we can buy this for you easily. I promise you,” she explained.

“Okay…” you said quietly, still a bit unsure.

Natasha smiled and walked towards the phone cases, Maria, with her hand still on your shoulder followed her. “You can pick out any case you like,” Natasha explained, and you nodded as you picked out a clear case. Natasha smiled as she took it from you, putting it in her basket. Why did she need a basket?

After picking out the phone case, Natasha walked towards the ipads, looking over them and settling on the most expensive one, convinced that that would be the best.

You were about to protest, but before you could even open your mouth, Natasha turned to you. “You can't possibly do online school on a phone now, can you?”

“I really don't want you to spend so much money on me…” you told her, and she smiled at you before picking up the same color ipad the phone was. Then she turned to you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“We want to get you whatever you need, and the money is not an issue for us, I promise you. Please let us get you what you need,” Natasha told you, and you simply nodded.

Natasha smiled and made you pick out a case, putting a keyboard case in her basket as well, claiming it was so you could use the ipad for school. You insisted you didn't need it, but Natasha just said they'd buy it just in case then.

After the most expensive trip to a store you had ever taken, resulting in an iphone, an ipad and airpods you really didn't expect them asking if you were okay to go to another store.

You said you were fine, and so you walked into another store where Natasha and Maria got you all kinds of things. All things for your bedroom, either to decorate or use. They had told you to pick out whatever you wanted, and after a lot of reassurance you had picked out several books, notebooks, some pens, markers and pencils, and some other stuff you liked.

They also let you pick out new covers for your bed, and after you told them you were fine with the cover that was on now, they told you that was one of their covers so you could pick some new ones out.

The cover currently on your bed was a new one Natasha and Maria had bought especially for your arrival, but you didn't need to know that. They wanted you to pick something you liked, and soon enough you left the store with some pillows, stuffed animals and new covers.

Everytime you came out of a store, you three had to take a trip to the car to dump the stuff you bought before you could continue your shopping spree, but at the end of the day you really had fun.

You felt a little bad that they spent so much money on you, but with their constant reassurance that they wanted to do it and that they had plenty of money, you felt a little better about it.

After you had gotten back home, Natasha and Maria both helped you put all your new stuff away, and you think you thanked them at least a thousand times for everything they bought you. After everything was put away, you went to the kitchen, sitting on the stool as the apple store bag was still on the counter.

Maria started dinner as Natasha sat down with you.

You opened the bag and took out the iphone first, opening it carefully and setting it up. Natasha helped unpack the case and handed it to you when you had set the iphone up.

You couldn't help but smile at your very first phone. You weren't old or anything, but you were definitely at an age where it was odd you still didn't have a phone. When you unpacked the ipad it was the same. You unpacked it and set it up, while Natasha took the cases out of the packaging and handed them to you.

After everything was taken care of, you thanked them once again, and they once again told you it was their absolute pleasure.

Maybe this foster home would be different…

(if you’d like to be on a permanent tag list, so you’d be tagged on every fic I post, please let me know:))

757 notes · View notes

cookiescribble · 4 months

Text

Show Me How To Be Whole Again

A/N: hi everyone! This is the fic I've been working on for eight months 😮‍💨. I hope it came out as well as I hoped it would 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Spencer is abducted, you rush to the team to make sure you're there when they find him. After you get home, Spencer's behavior starts to get more and more concerning, and you're desperate for answers. (based on 2x15 and the aftermath of that episode)

Word Count: 7.1k

CW: Mentions of abduction, violence, drug addiction, withdrawal, arguing. some angst in the middle but i am incapable of writing something without a happy ending.

~~~~~

The call came early in the morning. They said they called you as soon as they could.

If you were thinking rationally, or if you could stand being alone for 5 minutes after hearing the news, maybe you would’ve stayed home. But you couldn’t stay put knowing Spencer was in trouble.

You quickly threw a few days’ worth of clothes in a carry-on bag and took the first flight out of the nearest airport. You were trying so hard to keep yourself together and not break down crying on a crowded airplane, but the thoughts just kept rushing in your head. You were so worried about him.

When you landed, you called the team and told them you were going to the police station and you were going to stay there until they found him. You wouldn’t let anyone argue with you. You wouldn’t be able to calm down until they found him anyway, so being anywhere else didn’t make sense.

You didn’t really think of what you’d do when you got there. You’d just been on autopilot since you got the call. You were hoping someone would meet you there.

When you frantically burst through the doors of the police station, JJ was standing there waiting for you. You dropped your bag and hugged her tight.

“It was my fault,” she choked out, sobbing. “We were together and… we split up… I shouldn’t have split up…”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, no, you’re not the one who abducted him. It’s not your fault.” You were also sobbing now. You tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself, but all you could think about was what could possibly be happening to Spencer right now.

You calmed down enough to ask, “Where is everybody else?”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath herself. “We set up at the unsub’s house. He took Spence to a secondary location, and Garcia set up there to get to his computers.” She looked down. “I really should be getting back there.”

You nodded while she talked. “I’m coming with you,” you announced.

She looked at you, concerned. “We can’t risk you-“

You cut her off. “I am coming with you. I’m staying with you until we find him,” you stated forcefully.

She didn’t argue further. She could see the desperation in your eyes, you’re sure. Even someone who didn’t analyze behavior for a living could see that. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

You arrived at the house. You couldn’t tell how long the car ride took; every second felt like an hour.

When everybody saw you, they took turns giving you a hug. You could tell they were concerned that you were here, but they could see how devastated you were. You think they understood.

You hung around while they all did their jobs and tried to find Spencer. You sat next to Penelope and watched as she tried to do whatever she could to help find him.

Time passed. The team was coming in and out of the room as they needed to. Derek was probably in here the most, giving his moral support to Penelope.

Suddenly, the monitors in front of you lit up.

“What‘s happening?” Derek asked.

“I… don’t know,” Penelope answered.

Your heart dropped as an image popped up on the screen.

It was Spencer. He was sitting in a chair, his hands tied together. He was wearing the clothes you watched him pack on the morning you last saw him.

He looked so scared.

“Guys! Get in here!” you heard Derek yell.

You couldn’t look away from the screen.

The rest of the team rushed in, faces dropping as they saw what was happening.

Someone was talking in the background of the stream. You couldn’t hear them. Your heart was thumping so hard you could hear it in your ears. Spencer was replying to whatever they were saying. Through your loud heartbeat, you could hear his trembling voice. Your eyes started to water.

After a few moments, you heard someone near you say something and suddenly you were being pulled away from the screen and into another room.

When you realized what was happening, you looked up to see Hotch holding your shoulders, pushing you away from the horrific scene unfolding on the monitors.

You started sobbing. “I have to see him,” you tried to say, but your voice was cracking.

“No. You saw that he’s alive. That’s all you need to see.” he said firmly. He was protecting you from seeing something that would truly break you.

You couldn’t argue. What you saw shook you to your very core; you couldn’t go back in there. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded. “You’re going to find him and bring him back safe.” It wasn’t a question. You knew they’d find him. They had to.

You took a step back, telling Hotch he could go back to the team in the other room, and that you were okay out here.

You sat at a table, laying your head down and covering it with your arms. You had started crying, and you couldn’t stop. How could they do this to him? He’s never done anything to hurt anybody. All he does is help people. How could someone look at him and feel anything other than warmth, comfort, and love?

You heard footsteps come into the room. The girls came in and sat around you. You picked your head up to look at them, your eyes already swollen from crying so much.

“What happened?” you asked frantically. Your heart was racing again.

“He’s okay,” Emily said quickly. “He’s alive. The unsub… made him choose a victim to keep alive, but there’s going to be more victims… and then the camera cut off.” She took a deep breath. “It looked like making that decision let him live.”

You buried your face in your hands. This was so cruel. you knew he dealt with bad people every day, but… this was so heartbreaking. How could someone feel so little remorse for other human beings that they force an innocent person to decide someone’s fate?

You took deep breaths to try not to cry again. “I can tell he’s in so much pain right now… He’s going to blame himself for all those people’s deaths. The guilt is going to eat him up inside. He’ll feel horrible even if he does make it out of this.”

Everyone took turns patting your back to reassure you. “He is going to make it out of this. He’ll be home soon.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to believe it. You had to believe it. If you didn’t believe it… you would break down more than you ever have before.

…

You stayed in that room for what felt like an eternity. The team took turns keeping you company when they weren’t busy. They gave you vague updates to let you know that Spencer was still alive. They didn’t tell you details of what they saw. You didn’t ask. Seeing the somber looks on their faces told you all you needed to know.

Eventually, everyone came rushing out of the room, putting on their coats and practically running out the door. Penelope came to sit with you, her eyes wide and full of hope. “They found where he is. They’re going to him now.” She hugged you tightly. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears leaked out of your eyes again. This time they were happy tears. The immense rush of relief you felt was enough to render you speechless for a while, until you finally choked out, “They’re going to call us when he’s safe?” She nodded eagerly and you let out a huge sigh of relief.

The wait felt like forever. You were still nervous. What if they don’t get to him in time? What if they’re just barely too late?

Finally, finally Penelope’s phone rang. She answered quickly, nodding at what she was hearing. Eventually she hung up and looked at you, smiling. “He’s with them now. The unsub is dead. They’re rushing an ambulance but his injuries seem minor considering… what’s been happening.”

You closed your eyes and took another big sigh of relief. “I’m going to meet the ambulance there,” you declared.

Penelope looked at you quizzically. “I don’t know if-“

“You said the unsub is dead,” you cut her off. “There’s no more danger. I’m going to him.” You saw keys to one of the FBI vehicles that was left over since they had multiple people to a van. You picked them up and tossed them to Penelope. “You know their coordinates. You drive.”

She caught the keys and nodded at you, unable to argue with your logic. You both rushed out to the van and sped over to the location.

You saw the ambulance as you arrived there. You barely waited for Penelope to put the car in park before you were running out the door to where the ambulance had parked.

You saw Spencer sitting at the edge of the back of the ambulance with a first aid blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He was beaten up, but he was still conscious and alert. You were relieved his injuries weren’t worse.

“Spencer!” you shouted as you ran towards him. He looked your way, his eyes widening as he saw you.

You threw your arms around his shoulders when you reached him. His shock quickly turned to something softer as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You nestled your face into his neck for a few moments, unable to stop your sobs of joy. “Oh, sweetie…” you cooed into his ear.

He moved so his forehead was touching yours. Tears were streaking down his face. “I’m sorry…” he started.

You shook your head vigorously. “No apologies. You’re okay now.” You kissed him on the forehead gently and threaded your fingers in his hair “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and tightened his grip on you, kissing you firmly. He kissed you for a long time before finally pulling away, resting his forehead on yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled warmly, whispering back to him. “I love you, too.”

You stayed like that for a few moments before everyone started pushing Spencer to get in the ambulance so he could go to the hospital. You rode with him, of course. You held his hand the whole way there.

He wasn’t in the hospital for too long. They were able to treat his wounds relatively easily. The team waited in the waiting room while you followed him into the examination room.

When you came back to the waiting room, hand in hand, everyone rushed to greet you before you all headed to the jet.

You sat in the corner of the couch to the side of the other seats, motioning for Spencer to lay his head in your lap. He followed eagerly, curling up on his side and nestling his head in your lap.

You ran your fingers through his curls as he began to fall asleep. He must’ve been exhausted. You couldn’t imagine him sleeping during any of that.

You stayed like that the whole ride home, him asleep and you petting his hair softly.

You gently woke him up when you landed. “C’mon, baby. We’re going home.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. You kissed his cheek before standing up, taking his hand as you went to the parking lot. He obviously wasn’t in any condition to drive, so he handed you the keys to his car and let you drive home. You insisted on stopping and getting some food on the way back. He said he didn’t feel hungry, but once he started eating, it seemed like he’d never stop. He must’ve been starving.

When you walked into your apartment, he grabbed you and hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, relaxing into him.

“I missed you so much.” He was crying again, sniffling softly. “I thought about you every waking moment. I knew I had to make it through because you were waiting for me.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes and savoring the moment.

“I missed you too,” you said quietly, looking into his eyes with a soft expression. “I knew you were going to make it back.” You hugged him tight again. “I didn’t see everything. The team… made sure I didn’t see anything that was going to hurt me.”

He nodded, leaning down to stroke your cheek gently with his thumb. “I’m glad you didn’t have to see me like that.” He touched his forehead to yours. “What matters now is that I’m here with you.” He kissed you slowly, pushing your hair out of your face.

You kissed for a long time, slowly making your way to your bedroom. You smiled up at him after a while. “As much as I would love to continue this…” You gestured to the bed. “You need to sleep.”

As if to prove your point, he let out a quiet yawn. You smiled as he sat down at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his pajamas from the drawer and helped him get changed and settled into bed.

He lay his head on your chest and you stroked his hair gently, just like you did the whole way home. “Go to sleep, baby,” you whispered as his eyes closed. After a moment you heard his breathing slow as he fell asleep.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head before relaxing to fall asleep yourself.

…

After that night, things got… bad.

Spencer wasn’t acting like himself anymore. He was… distant. Cold. He had never acted this way towards you before. Or anyone, for that matter.

You had never had a problem with intimacy before, but suddenly he refused to touch you. Any time you would reach for his hand, or try to put your arm around him, he’d just shrug you off of him and move away from you. It always ended in you mumbling an apology and putting some space between you.

He never explained why he didn’t want you to touch him. In fact, he didn’t talk a whole lot anymore. You often sat in silence, completely apart from each other. You always used to be able to count on him to fill these silences, but now he just stayed quiet.

When he did talk, he was a lot more cold to you than he used to be. You had never fought before, but now it felt like any time he talked it was to argue with you about something. It felt like he was always angry lately.

He didn’t even like to sleep in the same bed as you anymore. Most nights, if not every night, he slept on the couch. You started begging him, telling him that you would never cross over your side of the bed, but he shrugged you off saying he just needed to be alone.

All of this was really taking a toll on you. You tried not to show it, because you knew he was going through a hard time, so you only let your feelings out in places you could be alone. Which meant you spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom.

This went on for months. You thought that, surely, he had to tell you what was going on eventually. He had never hidden anything from you before, so you didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle this. You didn’t want to push him into talking about things he didn’t want to talk about, but something was very clearly wrong.

After a particularly bad argument one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to go to someone about this. For Spencer’s sake.

The next morning, you set an extra early alarm, quietly getting dressed and tiptoeing past Spencer, who was asleep on the couch, and silently leaving your apartment.

As you got in your car and started driving, you started arguing with yourself in your head. Part of your brain was trying to say that this wasn’t going to help, and that this was just like being a little kid and tattling to a teacher. But the emotional part of your brain was saying that just telling anyone would be able to help Spencer. And that little shred of hope was all it took to convince you to do this.

You shoved open the doors to the BAU, hoping that Spencer’s stories about his boss barely leaving his office were true. When you looked around, you saw an office with a light on, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

You bound up the stairs, knocking on the office door, a little more forcefully than you had intended. Hopefully it would help get your emotions across.

“Come in,” a familiar voice ordered.

You took a deep breath before opening the door, seeing Hotch sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork in front of him. You wondered just how much paperwork this job required, and if he was always here hours before everyone else.

He looked surprised to see you. He would probably be surprised to see anyone at this early hour, but considering you don’t even work for him, he probably wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of you coming here. “Is there something I can help you with?” He asked.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. You didn’t really think this far; you just figured that surely someone who works so closely with Spencer had to know something, especially since he was a profiler.

You thought about everything that had happened in the last few months, trying to find the right words to properly articulate your concerns. But all the thoughts about Spencer pushing you away and refusing your affection, mixed with remembering what your relationship was like before that fateful night of his abduction, overwhelmed your mind so much that you just couldn’t stop your emotions flowing out. Tears welled in your eyes before starting to streak down your face. Here you were, in Hotch’s office, completely unannounced and uninvited, and you were just standing there crying.

After a few moments of crying, and of Hotch looking very concerned at this scene playing out before him, you decided it didn’t matter that you couldn’t form the perfect words. You just needed to say something.

Through choked sobs, you finally managed to blurt out, “What’s wrong with Spencer?”

Hotch looked at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, too emotional to think about how you shouldn’t be saying all of this to your boyfriend’s boss. The words just started coming out in a rush. “Something’s wrong. We had never had a single argument before, and now the only time he ever talks to me is to pick a fight. He’s never present, he barely speaks, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is very strange behavior for Spencer. He never smiles anymore, he won’t let me touch him anymore, he won’t sleep in our bed anymore, he only sleeps on the couch…”

You covered your eyes with your hands, trying to stop the tears from coming out. Finally, after some shaky breaths, you finished by saying, “I just wanted to know if there’s anything you could tell me about this. If you know why he’s acting this way. If there’s something he’s not telling me.”

Hotch hesitated before gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. “Do you want to take a seat?”

You looked at the chair, and you noticed you were shaking. You nodded, and sat down in the chair, trying to calm down. But you couldn’t help being extremely restless, your leg bouncing rapidly while you sat.

Hotch leaned forward, moving some paperwork out of the way and placing his hands on his desk. His expression was slightly softened. “Working in this field, you go through a lot of traumatic things. Reid’s abduction was one of the worst things an agent can go through.” His voice was low and steady, which was a welcome contrast to how frantic your own words had come out. “Anyone would struggle after that.”

You sighed. “I know, but-”

He raised his hand to cut you off. “That being said, we’ve all been able to tell that Reid has been a little off.” He saw you raise your eyebrow and added, “Okay, a lot off.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We have some… theories, but we can’t know for sure what’s happening with him unless he tells us. And since he’s already struggling, we didn’t want to make it worse, especially since he’s technically just a subordinate or coworker. But if he’s not telling you either…” He looked at you sympathetically. “I’ll try to talk to him.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “... Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I came here out of the blue.” You stood up, taking a step forward as if you were going to hug him, but for once your rational thoughts took over and you stayed where you were.

He stood up after you. “You’re welcome. It couldn’t have been easy to come here and talk about this.” He reached out to shake your hand, and when you shook his hand back he put his other hand over yours and spoke softly to you. “I’m going to try to get through to him. I promise.”

His gentle hands and soft-spoken words were enough to reassure you, at least for now. You nodded, thanking him again before leaving his office. You were able to leave with a lot more composure than you came here with.

It was getting late by the time you left Hotch’s office, and there were a lot more people here now. As you came down the stairs, you looked up to see Spencer staring at you. He wasn’t angry, thankfully, but he looked… kind of dumbfounded. Which made sense. You had no reason to be here at all, let alone a reason to be talking to his boss.

As you walked towards him to get to the door to leave, he turned to you. “Hey…” he started, his voice soft.

You didn’t know what to say, his soft voice sounding nothing like what you’ve been hearing these past few months. So you just kind of waved to him awkwardly, pointing to your watch to indicate that you had to get to work, and you left the BAU.

When you got back in your car, you took a few minutes to process everything that had happened. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to convince yourself that everything was okay. You believed Hotch when he said he’d help. It felt like Spencer was in capable hands.

…

Later that day, you had been in the bathroom when Spencer came home, and you didn’t hear the door open and close. When you came out, you saw him standing awkwardly in the front of your apartment. It made you jump a little bit. “Hi… I didn’t know you were home,” you muttered awkwardly.

He stood there looking at you, his eyes moving a little as if he was thinking of what to say. After a few moments, instead of saying anything, he walked over to you and hugged you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

You just froze for a moment, not sure how to react. But he kept his tight hold on you, as if you were the only thing keeping him up right now, and you finally started to hug him back just as tightly. You both just stood like that for a few minutes, holding each other.

Finally, he spoke up. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, and he sounded so fragile. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was starting to cry now, making soft sobbing sounds into your shoulder.

Hearing him cry broke something in you, and shortly you were also in tears. “Oh, Spence…” You squeezed him a little tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It’s okay…”

He sniffled and shook his head, pulling back a little so he could look you in the eyes. “My behavior has been abhorrent lately. I’ve been struggling, and I’ve been bottling everything up. I didn’t realize just how much this was hurting you.” He took a deep breath, trying to keep up with his thoughts. “I guess I figured, if I didn’t tell you about my problems, then they couldn’t affect you. But I was wrong. It just made it worse.”

You looked at him sadly, one of your hands moving to gently stroke his hair. “You can always come to me with anything. I’ll always try to help you. You know that.”

Some more tears started falling down his cheeks, and you started to wipe them away with your thumb. “I guess I felt like… I didn’t deserve the help.” He took a few shaky breaths as he tried to calm down. “Like I didn’t deserve you being so nice to me.”

“Spencer…” you started, trying to make your voice sound as soothing as possible. “What’s wrong? What’s so bad that you can’t tell me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t know if I can talk about it yet. But I promise I’ll tell you soon.” He looked at you determinedly. “Until then, I promise I’m going to try to be better to you.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed your face and captured your lips in a soft kiss, making your heart flutter.

After years of dating, you didn’t think you’d feel that flustered, shy feeling of butterflies in your stomach again. But, after these past few months of having no physical contact, this kiss almost felt like it was your first kiss all over again.

You couldn’t help but hold the back of his head to try to bring his face even closer to yours. You were craving his touch, and you needed his affection. On the off chance that this was a one-time thing, and that he would start to distance himself again after this, you figured you had to make it last.

He showed no signs of letting up, though, moving you both so you were laying on the couch, with him hovering over you. His lips never left yours the whole time, and his hands were moving around your face as if he was trying to remember what it felt like.

He broke the kiss to look at you, before closing his eyes. His hands trailed from your face down to your neck, moving slightly under your shirt to your shoulders. He wasn’t just touching you, he was feeling you. As if feeling your skin would jog his memory of you. His breathing was soft and even as his hands moved down to your hips, his fingers gentle and slow on your waist as he started to lift your shirt up.

Your breath hitched when you felt cold air suddenly hit your stomach. “Spence…” you spoke quietly, a soft blush on your face.

He looked at you, his voice quick and reassuring. “I don’t want to do anything like… that. It would be a little too much for me right now.” He quickly flashed you that awkward little smile he had sometimes. “I just want to see you, to feel you.” His voice went a little quieter when he added, “I missed you.”

You looked at him sadly, reaching up to touch his face. “I missed you, too.” You leaned in to kiss him again. “I missed you so much.”

The soft, slow kissing resumed, and Spencer very carefully pulled your shirt over your head, his hands gently gliding over the newly exposed skin. You let out a dreamy sigh. You hadn’t realized just how touch starved you had been over these past few months. This is exactly what you had been needing.

You just stayed on the couch like that for a while, his lips and hands on you, the gentlest of touches. After a little while longer, you started to unbutton his shirt, because you wanted to do the same to him.

He completely froze, sucking in a breath. You immediately pulled your hands away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” You trailed off, worried that you just ruined any progress that had been made tonight.

He shook his head, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “It’s okay, I just… I don’t want you to see me with my shirt off.” He looked at you with pleading eyes, as if he was begging you not to ask about it.

You hesitated, but instead of asking about it you tried to be a little more lighthearted. “I’ve seen you without a shirt plenty of times, Spencer.”

He gave you a slight smile before the worried look came back to his face. “I just…” he started, “I can’t right now. Please understand.”

You nodded, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze. “I understand.” You stroked his hand gently with your thumb. “I’m not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can trust me.”

He squeezed your hand back, giving you another little smile. “I know you won’t. I do trust you.” He let out a little yawn and started to rub his eyes.

You looked at the clock, not realizing how late it had gotten. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You leaned over to kiss his forehead. “You should get some sleep.”

You worried he would still insist on sleeping on the couch, but he just nodded, his hand still tightly holding yours as you both stood up and walked to your bedroom. He grabbed his pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change.

You sat on the bed and watched him for a few moments before he closed the door. You started to get dressed yourself, wondering what this problem was about. He had been a little shy around you when you two first started getting intimate, but you thought he had gotten over that. Had these past few months apart made the shyness come back?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Spencer coming back into the room. You stood up so he could get in bed. He looked so tired; you could see just how bad the dark circles under his eyes were.

He crawled under the covers, curling up and closing his eyes. You got in the other side of the bed, gently rubbing his back to soothe him. You didn’t want to push any boundaries, so you pulled away after just a moment.

He turned around, looking at you with those big eyes of his, and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, as if soothed by your touch. You smiled softly. He looked more peaceful than you had seen him in a long time. It made it easier to close your eyes and relax.

It was silent for a while, and you thought he had fallen asleep. But then, you heard him speak very softly. “I love you.”

You opened your eyes to see him looking back at you. You squeezed his hand gently. “I love you too.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead, making him smile. “Get some sleep. I can tell you need it,” you whispered.

He nodded and closed his eyes again, moving a little closer to you before wrapping his arms around you and nestling his head in your neck. You hesitated for a moment in shock before cradling him in your arms. You kissed the top of his head. “Goodnight, baby,” you whispered to him. Soon, you could hear his breathing soften, and you just listened to the quiet sounds of him sleeping for a few more moments before falling asleep yourself.

…

Things didn’t magically get better after that, but they did improve.

Spencer went back to sleeping in your bed, though he seemed to have a hard time sleeping nowadays. He was always tossing and turning, and you usually woke up in the middle of the night to either try to soothe him to sleep or to keep him company when he couldn’t sleep.

There was a lot more talking, and a lot less fighting. You could have more comfortable conversations, and he would politely tell you when he didn’t feel like talking. It was a lot better than him yelling at you to leave him alone.

There was still some arguing, but usually only when you were trying to get him to eat. He was always saying he wasn’t hungry, and you had to try to push to get him to eat, saying he needed some kind of nutrition. Sometimes he would snap at you, saying he would eat if he was hungry and that he didn’t push you when you didn’t want to eat. He’d always apologize, though, and try his best to explain that he was either feeling nauseous or he just didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. It seemed to get a little better after a few days.

He didn’t mind a little more physical contact. He wasn’t always up for it, but he didn’t seem to mind it as much. It was always trial and error, almost like trying to pet a skittish cat. You’d start by putting a gentle hand on his, and he’d tense up for a second, and he’d either pull away and explain he didn’t want to be touched, or he’d take your hand and hold it gently. A big improvement. It was just little touches: holding hands, an arm around his shoulder, a hug… it never went past that.

He didn’t talk about what it was that was bothering him at first, but you trusted that he would tell you when he was ready. After about a week, he was finally ready to talk about it.

…

You both were sitting on the couch, in one of your quiet moments. You were reading a book, like you usually did when Spencer felt like being quiet. The silences were starting to get more comfortable, making it easier to just do quiet activities next to each other.

After a few minutes, Spencer cleared his throat, making you look over at him. You bookmarked the page you were on and turned to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to start this conversation. He closed his eyes for a moment to put his thoughts together, before opening them again to look at you. He spoke very softly.

“When I was…” he started, swallowing and taking a deep breath to compose himself before continuing, “... When I was abducted for those few days back in February, a lot happened. The man who took me had dissociative identity disorder, and dealing with all his personalities was difficult. But there was one of his personalities that was… nicer than the others. More helpful than harmful.” He closed his eyes again, and you knew this was really hard for him to talk about. You placed a gentle hand over his, and he let out a breath, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. He continued on, his voice still soft and sad.

“Unfortunately, one of the ways that he helped me was to… give me something to help numb the pain the others were causing.” He closed his eyes again, and he slowly rolled up his sleeves for you to see his arms.

You stared in shock. His arms were covered in needle marks. You covered your mouth. “Oh, Spencer…” You looked back up at his face, but his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he didn’t want to face this. You squeezed his hand to let him know you were here to support him.

“He would come to me saying Dilaudid helped with the pain, and after a few times, it started to feel… good.” He took another deep breath, his eyes still closed. “After he died, I took the bottles he still had. And when things started getting hard to handle… all the flashbacks and memories of what happened to me, I just needed to numb myself. And it worked, for a while. But eventually, I just… couldn’t stop.”

“Spencer…” you started, your voice gentle. “You could’ve come to me, I could’ve tried to help you-”

“I didn’t want that,” he cut you off. “I tried to convince myself that what I was doing wasn’t wrong. That it was just medicine that was helping me. But, obviously, I knew that wasn’t the truth. And I knew that if I told anyone about it, they would say I needed help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted to live in this unrealistic world where everything I was doing was fine.” He finally opened his eyes to look at you. “That’s why I was lashing out. I didn’t want anyone to help me, and I also felt like I didn’t deserve anyone being nice to me.”

He looked at you very seriously. “I thought, if I didn’t tell you any of this, it couldn’t hurt you. I know how sensitive you are to other people’s emotions and problems, so I figured if I didn’t tell you, you couldn’t worry about me. Obviously, I was wrong, and that was a naive way of thinking.” He reached out and gently touched your face. “When I saw you at the BAU, I knew it was because you were worried about me, and I saw that you looked like you had been crying. And it just snapped me out of this false reality I had created for myself. And that’s when I came home and apologized, because I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep hurting you.”

You listened to him silently while he talked, letting him get out everything he needed to say before responding. “Why didn’t you tell me that day? Or the few days after that? Why did you wait until now?”

He nodded as if he was waiting for this question. “I read that withdrawal symptoms peak within 12-48 hours, and that it usually takes 5-7 days for the symptoms to resolve. So I wanted to wait out those 7 days just to make sure.”

You gave him a sad look. “But if I knew you were having withdrawal symptoms, I could have helped you. I really wish you would have told me.”

He sighed. “I wanted to do it on my own. To prove to myself that I could do it. That I wasn’t just going to quit halfway through and relapse.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Well, I’m really glad you told me now. We can get through this together.” You gave his hand a little pat. “You know this isn’t the end of it, right? It’s not just over when withdrawal symptoms stop. You still need to work out these issues that made you start this in the first place.”

He nodded. “I know. I want to try to get help now. I… I think I’m ready. I want to look into going to therapy, and maybe some support groups if I need them.” He squeezed your hand again. “I know I can make it through this, because I know you’ll be by my side.”

You smiled softly at him. “I’ll always be by your side.” Your hand trailed up his arms, looking back at the needle marks. “Do they… hurt?” you asked softly.

He shrugged. “Only when they first appear. They don’t hurt right now.”

You nodded, and you gently touched the marks on his arm. You looked at him, and you slowly brought his arm up so you could give every little mark a gentle kiss, to let him know that everything was going to get better soon.

He looked at you with big, loving eyes, and he started tearing up a bit. He pulled you in for a tight hug, sniffling as he buried his face in your neck. “I love you so much,” he said with a shaky voice.

You held him tight, rubbing his back to comfort him. “I love you too, Spence. Everything is going to be okay.” Your voice was calm and soothing. “I’m here now.”

…

Things started to get much better after that. Spencer was way more comfortable telling you when things were feeling more difficult than usual. Typically, it would be when he came home from a particularly emotional case. You were always there to hold him and to soothe him. There was no more aversion to your touch or need for extended silences. He felt comfortable in your arms, and he knew he could talk to you when something was bothering him.

He started seeing a therapist, and you always went there with him. Usually, you just sat outside the office for his sessions so he could have the one-on-one help he needed. Sometimes, if he was having a particularly rough week, he would bring you in with him for extra support. And you were always there when he needed you.

It took a bit of time, but you learned how to help with whatever he needed you for. If he needed a distraction, you could always come up with some activity to get his mind off of things. You played a lot of board games, and started learning to bake so you could just pull out a new recipe to try and he could focus on getting everything just right. When he just needed someone to listen to him, or a shoulder to cry on, you didn’t mind being that person for him. And sometimes he just wanted to be held, saying that the physical touch grounded him. You were always happy to hold him.

Over time, things got easier and easier to deal with. Eventually, things seemed to be fully back to normal. You both knew that this was always going to be a struggle that could come back, but you knew how to handle it now, and you were certain that you could get through any struggle that ever tried to get in your way.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x male!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #mod angel

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reiderwriter · 5 months

Note

May I please request a fic where Spencer finds out about the new female team member’s love for gaming by seeing her play her Nintendo Switch on the jet? Bonus if he sees her struggling to beat something like Five Nights At Freddy’s or Catherine Full Body and he helps her out much to her shock

A/N: Thanks for requesting! I'm not much of a gamer myself, so it took a while to figure out what I should write. I went with FNAF because I’ve literally been held hostage by that Josh Hutcherson Whistle tiktok for the last seven days, so I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: mild spoilers for FNAF 4 Night 8, fluff.

“What is that?” Spencer asked casually, glancing over at the screen from his seat on the jet.

For some reason, despite facing monsters in real life, you'd been addicted to horror games in your downtime. Apparently, it was better for you if the crazy murderers were actually sentient animatronics possessed by the ghost of murdered children.

“It's a Nintendo Switch. It's a video game.” You replied without looking at him, heart racing from the pressure of the level.

“Like pacman?”

“Yes, Spencer, like pacman.” You sighed in frustration, trying to avoid running into the animatronics running around the building your character was supposed to be guarding.

“Then why is the screen black,” he said, just as Mad Freddy snuck up on you in the game and you lost the level. You sighed, head falling back in defeat.

You'd been stuck on night 8 of FNAF 4 for at least a week now, but who could blame you? You had to play completely in the dark, and you were dealing with some of the worst animatronics, too.

You'd been so happy to discover 20202020 mode, and you'd passed night 7 easy enough and they were honestly pretty similar, but one week into consistently playing it in all of your downtime, and you were seconds away from sacrificing your switch to the animatronic gods.

“It's supposed to make it more challenging. I think it's just impossible.” You threw the switch down, making sure all your progress (or lack of it) was saved.

“Can I try?” Spencer curiously asked from beside you, smiling at the soft pout on your face.

“Are you sure? It's not exactly your style…?”

“Humor me.”

You passed him the switch, showed him the controls, and snuggled back against your seat, eager to catch some sleep now suddenly. You had just closed a long case, and you may as well try to sleep now before the pile of paperwork made that impossible.

If it was easy to fall asleep, it was impossible to drag yourself from sleep.

You'd felt the familiar movements of the jet jostle you side to side, but you also felt a warmth next to your body that was too comfortable to convince you to even crack an eye open.

After a week on the case, plus a week trying to solve the game level, you really hadn't slept soundly in some time.

So when someone shook your shoulders, you simply ignored the motion again and cuddled closer to the arm and chest you'd wrapped yourself around.

Until you realised that the arm and chest had to belong to a person. And the only person that could be was Spencer Reid.

“It's okay, I'll wake her up, you guys go ahead.” You heard him say, with a few muffled voices agreeing.

You decided to just play dead as you heard the shuffling sounds of the rest of the team climbing off the jet. At which point you just happened to stretch yourself naturally out of your peaceful sleep.

“Spencer?” You yawned, trying to sound confused. “Did we arrive?”

You disentangled yourself from his body, realising that in facing him, your faces had hovered centimetres apart from one another. His breathing was calm, but you could feel his heart beating hard as you pulled away from him, mind racing at the not so innocent touches he traced down your skin as he let you go.

“Yeah, the team got off already. We should probably head out, too, before the cabin crew comes through to reset.”

You stood yourself up and grabbed your things, including your switch, now packed carefully into its carry case.

“So, you gave up as well, huh?” You laughed at the obvious sign of Spencer's white flag.

“What do you mean?” He said, grabbing his own bags now he was free from your grasp.

“The game? It was hard, right?” You smiled at him as he collected himself and turned back to you, pausing slightly.

“I finished the game.”

“What?” You whirled around on him, voice breaking through your lips before you could control it.

“I finished the game. I was just watching the credits when you… made yourself comfortable.”

You felt embarrassment spread through your body but pushed it down to make space for the sheer disbelief that known technophobe Spencer Reid had completed the video game you'd been struggling with for the past week.

“How?” was the only word that would leave your mouth as you froze in the aisle.

“There was a pattern to it. I realised if I went between the left door, the bed, and the right door, the fox thing-”

“Nightmare Foxy.”

“Right, Nightmare Foxy wouldn't come out of the closet. And then the others wouldn't pop up until 4am, and after that, it was pretty easy to get through.”

“Oh my god.” You stood in awe, blocking the aisle and forcing Spencer to stop next to you as well.

“You have to show me how. Please, Spencer, I need to see it.”

You hadn't realised your hand had crept up to grab his sleeve, pushing closer to him slightly.

“Are you free this weekend?” He whispered back at you as you realised that the space between you was miniscule. You could only nod your confirmation enthusiastically.

“Then it's a date.” He whispered again, pushing past you and letting himself off the jet.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #fnaf

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moonlightspencie · 6 months

Text

Everything Goes Wrong

Description: A few bouts of bad luck aren’t all that bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Warnings: none. this is straight fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

The case had been a hard one, especially in the dead of winter in North Dakota. Not only had we been working tirelessly for a week and a half, but the cold had pretty much knocked me on my ass. I was sure I could say the same for the rest of the team, too. We were groggy and exhausted by the end of it.

Not to mention, we were all a little irritable with the fact that the hotel had screwed up our sleeping arrangements, leaving many of us pairing up in rooms that didn’t exactly accommodate two people.

I didn’t exactly pull the short end of the stick, getting paired up with Hotch this time around, but we definitely all were over having roommates. I needed alone time desperately a few times over the course of the time we spent, and never got it. I couldn’t have been the best person to room with considering how snappy I could get.

Then, right as we thought we were going home, plans changed again.

“You’re kidding,” Derek said as we stepped out of the local precinct.

We looked around at the snow pouring out of the sky. We could hardly see a few feet ahead of us.

“How are we supposed to get home in this?” Emily asked, groaning. “I hate the winter.”

Hotch let out a harsh breath. “Let’s try to get back the hotel, at least. I’ll call and see if we can take off, but don’t pack up yet.”

We were a chorus of annoyance as we trudged to the SUVs. It was a hard drive back, and I was more than thankful I wasn’t the one trying to drive in this. Our five minute drive to the hotel took thirty. The roads were a mess, and visibility only got worse as the minutes ticked by. It was a miracle we made it back at all.

Though, as expected, halfway through the ride Hotch got word that we would be staying the night again. Nobody took that news real well.

I sighed as I stretched out on the mattress almost an hour later. It felt more than good to finally rest after a full day on my feet. I couldn’t wait until it was my turn in the shower. I could practically feel the hot water soothing my sore muscles already.

Suddenly, silence fell over the room. It was already quiet, save for the sound of running water, but now… Something was off. Literally turned off.

I stood up, walking towards the heater with hopes that this wasn’t what was wrong. I should have known better. As my hand reached out to feel the warm air rushing out, there was nothing. I sighed heavily, retreating back to the bed to take a seat once more.

It was several minutes until Hotch was walking out of the bathroom, a towel around his shoulders, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. At least he looked comfortable before I had to deliver the news.

He took one look at me and knew something had happened.

“What is it?” he asked, voice exasperated.

I gave half a smile, nodding towards the heater in the room.

“I think we might be sleeping without heat.”

He furrowed his brow, doing the same thing I’d just done. He groaned quietly when he, too, felt no warm air against his hand. He mumbled something about calling the front desk, but judging by his facial expressions alone, there wasn’t much they could do about it at the moment.

He hung up the phone, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. First we don’t have enough rooms and you have to get stuck with me, and now this. This is ridiculous,” he huffed a sigh, looking around the room.

“It’s alright. You didn’t choose this place, and you certainly didn’t make, well,” I paused, gesturing around vaguely, “all of this happen.”

He shrugged, reaching up to rustle his wet hair with the towel around his shoulders as he stepped past me. I stood for a moment, just watching as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Then, I decided now was as good a time as ever for a hot shower, in hopes that the water would still be warm.

It was.

I got out of the bathroom almost an hour later to find Hotch already asleep in bed. For him to immediately hit the hay proved that we’d worked too hard on the case. I snuck into bed next to him after shutting out the remaining lights, curling into the comforter for some warmth. The cold seeping into the room from the broken heater was getting a little bit noticeable, but luckily for me, he definitely ran hot. I realized it the second the warmth under the blankets hit me. I effectively passed out within a few minutes.

The next morning was especially warm as I woke before my alarm went off. The heater must’ve kicked back on sometime in the night. I went to stretch, but found it much more difficult to do than I had anticipated.

I looked down to see Hotch curled up against me, and my eyes immediately widened. I swallowed a lump in my throat that formed quickly. I certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him like this, with a strong arm holding me to him. It was… attractive?

It would be a lie to say I’d never noticed him before. Who couldn’t? Even if he somehow didn’t catch an eye the second he walked into a room, he just had an aura around him. Some kind of presence that could pull a person in before they knew what was happening.

But, now, in the same bed with his arm draped over my stomach and his breath against my neck… This was a whole new feeling.

It was butterflies and warm cheeks and— something that I probably shouldn’t feel while next to my boss. But, then again, he definitely shouldn’t be cuddling with a subordinate. We were both a little guilty.

He shifted in his sleep, his arm around me moving a bit until his fingers were just under the hem of my shirt. Cuddling was one thing, but if I felt his hand on much more of my stomach, I felt I might combust.

“Hotch,” I whispered.

He didn’t budge.

“Hotch,” I said, a little louder this time. “Hey.”

He shifted again, this time squeezing his eyes together a little harder.

“Time to wake up,” I said, my hand on his arm.

His eyes slowly opened, though they suddenly snapped open when he realized where he was. He pushed himself off of me, quickly glancing over me to confirm he really was doing what he thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he rushed out.

“It’s alright. It was cold last night,” I said quickly, trying to soothe the nerves that were obviously eating at him. “At least it warmed up this morning.”

He shook his head as he stood from the bed, running a hand through his hair quickly. I swallowed, knowing he felt like he crossed a line.

“I really don’t mind,” I tried again.

“We should be downstairs soon,” he replied, glossing over my attempts. “I’ll be out soon.”

He walked into the bathroom without much of a glance in my direction. I huffed out a breath, quickly getting dressed before I heard the water in the sink stop. He opened the door right as I sat on the edge of the mattress again, hardly catching my eye as he did.

“Hotch,” I called, determined to get his attention.

He hummed in response, immediately ruffling through his bag as if there was something he was actually looking for. I stood, taking a few steps in his direction.

“Can you at least listen to me?”

I watched as his shoulders dropped with the breath he let out. He straightened, turning to face me.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not meeting my eyes again.

“I’ve already told you it’s fine. You really need to take my word for it.”

“I was practically on top of you,” he said, looking at me at last.

Unfortunately, he finally looked right as my cheeks were heating up a tad. I didn’t expect that innocent of a phrase to have any effect on me, but apparently my brain had other ideas.

“You didn’t mean to. It was freezing last night, and we were kind of forced to share a bed.”

He was quiet again.

I continued, “Besides, when have I been the type to hide my emotions that well? If I was upset you would’ve known immediately. Honestly, you were keeping me warm.”

He cracked a small smile, though he tried to hide it.

“I promise I was okay with it. Really.”

He nodded. “Alright. Just— Don’t report me to HR.”

I laughed. “Deal.”

Half an hour later, the team was waiting in the lobby of the hotel for news on our travel arrangements. Hotch and Morgan had gone off to figure it all out, leaving the rest of us to sip on coffee and watch the blizzard outside.

“Well, technically, the blizzard ended 4 hours ago. Now, it’s really just a heavy snow,” Reid stated, hardly glancing away from the magazine in his hands.

Prentiss rolled her eyes, looking towards me for some kind of understanding. I smiled at her, sipping at my coffee. We heard voices soon thereafter coming towards our small group. Hotch and Morgan walked up, chatting quietly.

“We should be able to take off within the next few hours,” Hotch stated, glancing around at us. “I’ll be getting a call when they’re ready. Until then, let’s get lunch and make sure we’re packed up and ready to go.”

“Eating on the company dollar?” I asked with a smirk.

He looked at me, a small smile on his face and… a bit of a blush on his cheeks?

“Yes. So, make sure you all decide on someplace good.”

Now, when I looked back at Prentiss, she was the one with a smile on her face. One that wasn’t sympathetic in the slightest. I knew what was happening in that head of hers from the twinkle in her eye alone.

I started walking towards the elevator, knowing she’d follow me, but still hopeful that maybe she’d leave it be. My former assumption was correct.

She caught up just as the doors started shutting, crossing her arms as she stood next to me.

“So,” she started.

“So?”

“What was that?”

I sighed. “What was what?”

She quirked a brow when I looked at her. I shook my head, looking away again.

“You know what. I’ve got to say, I never expected to see Hotch blushing. What did you do to him?”

I chuckled. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh? Who did?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I asked, stepped forward as the doors of the elevator opened on our floor.

I hoped that line would shut her up for the time being, but that was once again wishful thinking. She practically chased me down the hall.

“You’re not getting away that easy.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “Nothing actually happened.”

“He was smiling. And blushing.”

“You ever think it’s just because I’m charming?”

“No.”

I made a sour face, finally reaching my door. She raised a brow, giving me a proud smirk.

“I’ll find out, you know?”

“You’re sure about that?”

She shrugged. “Pretty sure.”

“Sure about what?” Hotch asked, walking up on us.

I looked away quickly, hoping to catch Emily’s eye before she said something she shouldn’t. Luckily for me, she got some sense in her head at the last second.

“Nothing. Just can’t pass up an opportunity to tease her.”

He raised a brow. “Right. Well, pack up. Sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can eat.”

She nodded once, sending me a quick wink before she turned and walked towards her own door. I finally unlocked the door, walking inside with Hotch hot on my heels. We silently packed the rest of our things, though neither of us had really unpacked all that much to begin with. He finished first, standing near the door to wait for me rather than leaving for the lobby. I glanced over my shoulder as I put my toiletries bag in the suitcase.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Just about.”

He hummed. “Prentiss was bothering you, huh?”

“When isn’t she?”

“What about?”

I shrugged. “I don’t even really know.”

He chuckled as I turned around. “You’re not a great liar.”

Maybe I liked him better when he was being shy about being all over me. He seemed a little too self confident now.

“Says you,” I replied with raised brows.

We made it to lunch in one piece, deciding that even though the roads were mostly cleared now, we’d stick close by.

Prentiss nudged me a few times during lunch, trying to get information out of me, but I refused. Though, it certainly didn’t help that I found myself looking at Hotch much more often than I usually would.

Maybe I’d had a small crush on him before, but now my brain wouldn’t stop reminding me of it. Every time he laughed or talked or moved or breathed. He was stuck in my head. It was ridiculous.

Embarrassment really came when I looked at him again only to find him looking at me. He quirked a brow as my eyes widened a bit at being caught.

Emily definitely caught that interaction.

I shook my head at her as she teased me, definitely noticing the self-satisfied smirk Hotch tried to hide at the interaction. He knew. Bastard.

We started the leave the restaurant when we got the okay from our pilot, but I didn’t get far before I felt a hand on my arm keeping me behind the others. I turned.

“I’d like to see you in my office when we get back,” he said with a quirked brow.

“What about?”

“We’re not sharing a room anymore, I need somewhere where I can speak to you in private.”

“You going to try to cuddle me again if I agree to be alone with you?”

“Not yet,” he replied, a smile barely there on his face. “Maybe next time. We’ll have to see how that talk goes when we’re home.”

I nodded, hiding a smile of my own. “Deal.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader #aaron hotchner fluff #gender neutral reader

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taexual · 7 months

Text

sleepwalking ● 3 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.6k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 3 ► guess my fairytale has a few plot holes

It was eight in the morning when the tour bus arrived in Krakow, and everyone was in a good mood.

The day was beautiful and the excitement of starting the tour was still very prominent, so even the heavy sleepers, who could have slept through a hurricane and merely flinched during an earthquake – that is, Yoongi and Jungkook – both went out to stretch their legs and get coffee when the bus stopped at a gas station.

You observed everyone with Namjoon and Hoseok, until the two of them got too engrossed in a conversation about Rated Riot’s upcoming album—especially the demo song that Hoseok had sent Namjoon just before leaving for tour, even though the label wasn’t expecting a new record for, at least, eight more months.

“I brought most of my equipment,” Namjoon was saying. “So, if you want to see how the song might sound, we could get together and work on it.”

“Yes,” Hoseok agreed right away, then turned to you. “How many days until our first hotel stay?”

“About a week,” you said, looking back at the bus behind you. “Do you want me to check specifically? My phone is insid—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. A week’s—a bit long,” Hoseok turned back to Namjoon. “You think we could record on the bus?”

“If it was empty, maybe,” Namjoon said, bringing his index finger to his chin. You lifted your eyebrows as you listened to him. “Should we stop somewhere and have everyone get out, so we could record? Could we even do that?”

You were mildly surprised by their determination, considering that the tour bus had terrible acoustics. Not to mention, even empty, it was a whirlpool of various noises: the rattling of the window shades, the whirring of the mini-fridge, the clattering of the mugs by the sink.

“How about you set up a recording studio at the next gas station we stop at instead?” you joked, but the two of them exchanged looks as if they were genuinely considering this. Quickly, you clarified, “guys, no. Could you wait just a little bit? Concentrate your creative energy into writing for now, or… maybe find a studio to rent for a few hours?”

“Ah, that might work,” Hoseok said thoughtfully. But just as he was about to add something, Namjoon nodded his head at the scene in front of you three: Jungkook and Taehyung were running away from Yoongi after having, evidently, just stolen his last cigarette.

Yoongi was yelling incoherent curses at the two as he chased them to the corner of the gas station and then paused to catch his breath. While Jungkook took a drag behind Taehyung’s back, Taehyung offered Yoongi his own pack of cigarettes and sprinted away as soon as the older member took it from him—because the pack was empty.

With another tirade of curses at the ready, Yoongi immediately broke into a run after them again. You could still hear the younger members laughing as they rounded the corner.

“Idiots,” Namjoon commented warmly.

You watched the chase in front of you with a small, wistful smile—this felt a bit like you were on a school trip. And this feeling was amplified when the school bully prototype in the form of a twenty-six-year-old man, Sid, stopped in front of you. He was, actually, called Isidore—for his grandfather—and you wondered if calling him by his birth name would make him disappear, like an exorcism of sorts.

“Hey,” Sid said. Then, he glanced—somewhat awkwardly—at Hoseok and Namjoon, and nodded curtly at them, before looking back at you again. “Could I speak to you?”

You’d have rather jumped in front of an oncoming truck that was driving past you on the highway.

You looked at the two boys next to you for help, but they both lowered their eyes, suddenly very entertained by the pavement under their boots.

“Sure,” you were forced to say, but tried not to make your irritation too obvious on your face. You prided yourself on being diplomatic. And, in any case, Sid hadn’t technically done anything obnoxious yet—but you knew him well enough to expect it.

The two of you walked further away from everyone else together—three other people could have fit between you as you walked—and Sid stuffed his hands in his pockets, seemingly looking for a way to start the conversation.

“How was the show last night?” he chose to ask.

“Great,” you replied, although it probably made no difference to him. “How’s Minjun’s jetlag?”

“Great, great,” Sid repeated, likely not even paying attention to your follow-up question. That was all the better for you; you didn’t really care about his answer, either.

Another few meters later, he stopped walking and looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was close enough to overhear—no one was. You and Sid were partially hidden by one of the buses.

“So…” he started. “Did you notice anything weird about Jungkook lately?”

Now you started to care.

You turned your whole body to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know.” He shrugged. “Irrational behaviour? Maybe moodiness? I don’t know.”

Your frown deepened, yet you hesitated with your question. “What… are you talking about?”

Sid’s smile spread—it was your surprised pause that gave you away. “You did notice!”

You’d already suspected that Sid would know something about Jungkook’s weird behaviour; now his grinning mug seemed to confirm it.

“Well, he’s on tour,” you tried to rationalize. “Of course, he’d act differently.”

“I mean, of course.” Sid nodded with exaggerated sympathy like he was just trying to be nice, but he knew that your reasoning was completely wrong. “But it’s probably even harder for him now that he’s single again.”

He was nearly soaring when he saw the surprise on your face.

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” you asked. The last formal relationship, to your knowledge, that Jungkook had had was a while ago—and, conveniently, you happened to be the one he had dated. He didn’t have time for relationships now. At least, that was what you’d assumed.

“Ah, see, I told him that he should talk to you about this, but I knew he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m doing this,” Sid said, finding himself very noble. He made an effort to look hesitant, even uncomfortable. But you saw the twitch of his lips when he spoke, “Jungkook was dumped four days before the flight to Prague.”

The engine of the bus behind Sid started as soon as he said this, so you weren’t sure if you flinched because of the unexpected noise, or because of the unexpected news.

“Someone,” you said, “broke up with him?”

“Yeah,” Sid confirmed, his face contorting into a pitiful grimace that looked about as fake as everything else about him. “They were together for a few months, which isn’t much, but he said the relationship meant a lot to him. He said it was something different, you know? So, I’m really surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Again, he mentioned the fact that Jungkook kept this from you—really rubbing it in your face—and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on his.

“Mmhm. Right,” you said. “And that’s why he’s—?”

“Yeah.” Sid was nodding before you finished the question. “I’m only telling you about it because I’m worried.”

“You’re worried,” you said, finding this even harder to believe than the fact that Jungkook was in a serious relationship with someone and didn’t think it was important to inform his manager. “Why?”

“Because of what he might do,” he explained. “You know how obsessed he gets when he’s in love with someone.”

This was an obvious allusion to your own relationship with Jungkook, and you finally looked away to process this. You missed the smirk that appeared on Sid’s face when he noticed your rapid blinking, but you didn’t need to see his arrogance to know that it was there; you could already hear it every time he opened his mouth.

There seemed to be another reason for his spiteful satisfaction: he wasn’t just boasting about knowing more about Jungkook than you did. He was, as it seemed, also boasting about Jungkook being in love with someone else—so much so, that he’d prioritise this person over everything else, apparently.

“What are you implying, exactly?” you spoke up after a minute. “You think he’ll leave the tour?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I hope not. I know how much this means to him,” Sid said and you tried to look past his saccharine words, tried to discern if he was just trying to bite you, or if this was something you should have been seriously concerned about. “But with Kihyun’s wedding in a few days…”

Here, you needed another minute to connect the dots.

You knew that your old friends, Kihyun and Chloé, were getting married soon—they’d invited you and Jungkook to the wedding. But you both already informed them that you couldn’t make it to the ceremony somewhere in Western Europe. It was so long ago, you could no longer remember the precise location. You’d even sent them a gift already.

Naturally, you were doubtful. “Why would he care? He said he’s not going to the wedding.”

“Well, yeah, but easy for him to say when he’s a continent away, you know?” Sid replied. “Now that he’s in Europe, it’s different.”

“How is it different?” you asked. “The band’s got back-to-back shows. We’ll be in Poland, and the wedding’s—in Italy?”

“Paris.”

“Right,” you said. Of course, Sid would know this. He’d come to talk to you fully prepared.

“Well, he will have a free day, you know,” he continued and you frowned. You hadn’t memorized the band’s full schedule, but you didn’t like the possibility that Sid was right. “So, I’m just worried he might end up going there, after all. He knows his ex will be there, so, you know… Maybe he thinks they can get back together, I don’t know.”

All the “you know” and “I don’t know”’s in his speech did not make it easy for you to tell how much truth there was to his words: how much did Jungkook really care about this? How much should you have cared?

There was another thing too – if this ex was invited to the wedding of your old friends, then, chances were, you would know this person, too. So, wouldn’t that mean that Jungkook would have even more reasons to tell you about his relationship?

And, to make this even more difficult, Sid looked very pleased—like he was showing off. But there could have been countless reasons for that, too: because he was proud that he knew more than you, because he was lying, because he caught you off-guard… Then again, you didn’t exactly look at him much. Maybe he always looked like that.

Unsettled, you only nodded. “Hmm.”

“I mean,” Sid snickered, “the last thing he needs on this tour is a toxic relationship, am I right?”

You thought Sid was the toxic relationship that Jungkook had on this tour, but you only hummed again, saying, “you probably are.”

“Yeah,” he said with a compassionate sigh that sounded like plastic fruit did when you bit into it. His eyes were full of pity, too, but there was not one ounce of honesty in them—he didn’t feel bad about any of this. “I’m just letting you know, so you’re not left in the dark. Sorry he didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t need to apologise on his behalf,” you said, your tone surprisingly strict. You hadn’t meant to let your feelings show—childishly, you thought that if he could see how flustered you were, he’d win. You didn’t realise how much you resembled Jungkook in this regard.

“No, I know. I just feel bad,” Sid lied further. You clenched your fists. “You guys seem close. Guess he didn’t think it was important enough to tell you.”

You almost scoffed at this—close? You were his manager. This had nothing to do with you being close. But, of course, Sid needed another reason to feel superior.

“Right. Guess so,” you said and, with a sharp inhale, decided to end this conversation. “I have to go check something, but, uh, thanks for the heads up.”

“Oh, no problem!” he called out as you began to walk back towards the tour bus without waiting for his response.

Sid knew he got you. Taking you to the wedding had to be the easiest way for Jungkook to win this bet. He was confident that he’d just made sure that wouldn’t happen.

Namjoon and Hoseok both immediately noticed the distress on your face when you walked past them, but you ignored their concerned questions, assuring them both that there was nothing you couldn’t handle.

You entered the bus to find your phone. You wouldn’t confront Jungkook now, but you needed to see how big the gap in the band’s schedule was, to conclude if he could, realistically, make it to this wedding.

Most unfortunately, you calculated that he could. As soon as this show was over, Rated Riot would go to Warsaw, and then they had a free day before the concert in Berlin. If he travelled overnight, he could go to Paris and back in this time.

Unless Sid lied.

You couldn’t see the point, but it wasn’t above him to lie about things for no reason. You found yourself hoping that this was one of those times. Because drifting off-schedule so early in the tour was far from ideal, of course.

And not because you weren’t sure—and this uncertainty was unexpected—how the thought of Jungkook being in a serious relationship with someone made you feel.

Jungkook had, truthfully, forgotten to worry about the bet when he woke up this morning. And then right before the soundcheck in Krakow, Sid and Minjun showed up to the band’s changing room, with a reluctant Jude in tow.

His friends must have known that he was the only one still here (although Jungkook could see that Hoseok had left his phone, so he expected him to come back), and they felt comfortable to immediately settle in the otherwise empty room.

“What’s up?” Jungkook nodded at Jude. “You look hungover.”

“He’s allergic to Europe,” Minjun replied—he’d only landed here last night, but he already looked tired and about ready to go home. “Been sneezing since last night. Even the airport security got worried when they picked me up.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jude said, plopping down on the settee by the wall. “My head feels so full. My eyes hurt. I’m definitely allergic to something.”

“Maybe it’s you,” Sid pointed at Minjun with a grin. “You’re the one who flew in yesterday, and he started to sneeze right after.”

“Or maybe it’s your bullshit,” Minjun countered—he was one of the few people who could keep Sid on his toes without using violence. “Or your cologne. You know you’re only supposed to spray it once, maybe twice, right? No need to bathe in it.”

Even Jungkook snorted. A powerful whiff of some exaggerated woody scent—the sort that came in a black bottle with large golden lettering—had filled the room as soon as Sid entered.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asked. “I thought you were going sightseeing.”

“We are—” Minjun started to say, but then paused when he tried to sit down next to Jude, and he sneezed again. “Seriously, man. Go to urgent care.”

“I’m fine,” Jude waved his hands around, while Sid laughed—the more chaotic the atmosphere in the room seemed to get, the more amusing he found it.

“We’re here to cheer you on. Why else?” Sid said, throwing a fist in the air. There was a perpetual shit-eating grin on his face. “There’s already a line of people outside. Those VIPs?”

“Yeah, probably,” Jungkook said and then realised the implication. He warned, “leave them alone. Or my management won’t let me live.”

Sid’s grin widened—clearly, he took that as a compliment—and he sat down next to Jude, leaving Minjun standing awkwardly by the settee.

“Speaking of,” Sid said, “did you already ask said management out on a date?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook said. He didn’t suspect anything from Sid’s question alone—and he didn’t catch the glimmering excitement in his eyes. “But don’t worry about it.”

Sid was not at all worried. He never was.

“See?” he said. Jungkook lifted his head to see Sid looking at Minjun. “Told you he agreed.”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted to Minjun in confusion.

“He didn’t believe me when we told him you agreed to the bet,” Sid explained. “He said this wasn’t something he’d expect from you.”

Jungkook frowned. He liked to think that he didn’t care about the opinion of his friends that much, but he wouldn’t have agreed to the bet if he really didn’t. Now he found himself irritated that Minjun, seemingly, disagreed with this decision.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asked him, but Minjun only shrugged.

“It’s going to get messy,” he said. “I figured you’d be able to see that.”

“It’s not going to get messy,” Jungkook replied with a pretentious roll of his eyes. Of course, on some half-conscious level, he knew that it could get messy. But he trusted his ability to control this, so it wouldn’t get out of hand. “It’s just a date, it’s no big deal.”

“You—” Jude started to say and then sneezed, continuing in agitation, “fuck me. You dated for three years.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook grabbed a tissue from a box on the table by the mirror and walked over to Jude. “And we’re broken up for four. This means nothing, and you’ll see that I’m right when I win this bet.”

Sid shook his head as he sang, “she’s not going to agree…”

“She will,” Jungkook insisted. His agitation was growing, because no one in this room knew you, not like he did—so, what right did they have to make assumptions? He said, “I’ve known her for years. She won’t think much of this, either.”

Minjun looked deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything else, but every time Jungkook glanced at him, he could see the way his friend cringed into himself, sliding his hands into his front pockets and pacing awkwardly around the clothes rack.

It was the first reality check for Jungkook—one of many, but he naively did not foresee that.

If Minjun—who, despite being smarter than everyone else in this room—was still Sid’s friend, yet seemed disturbed by this bet, then Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was ready for what you’d think—what you’d do—if you found out about this.

Maybe he was too prideful when he asserted that he knew you the best. Maybe he only liked to think that he did, but all that he anticipated from you was hopeful more than it was certain. He hoped you wouldn’t think of this as a big deal. But, he realised now by watching Minjun, that your reaction might not be so casual, after all.

“Yeah?” Sid challenged, breaking Jungkook out of his head. “Well, let’s see, then. You’ve got plans for how you’re asking her out?”

Jungkook turned away to grab a water bottle from the table that he’d been leaning against. “Maybe.”

Sid was a very good actor as he jumped on the couch, feigning excitement.

“Well, shit. Spill!” he encouraged. His leap had caused a flurry of dust to go up into the air and Jude managed to groan before he started to sneeze again. Sid added irritably, “if Jude would shut the fuck up, we could give you feedback.”

“Get fucked,” Jude mumbled, blowing his nose into the tissue Jungkook had given him.

“Dream on,” Jungkook replied with a sneer in Sid’s direction. “I’m not asking you out, not even as practice.”

“You piece of shit,” Sid said, his tone boisterous. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Alright then,” Sid went on grinning, not the slightest bit unphased by this. Jungkook, clearly, didn’t know the lengths Sid was going to take—and had already taken—to make sure he won the bet. “When should we expect the keys to the Katana?”

“Oh, did you mean the money you’ll be paying me?” Jungkook deflected. This bickering drove him further from his previous concerns about Minjun’s reaction and more towards the thrill of it all—taking you out on a date and winning against Sid. “Have it by the end of tonight. I’ll talk to her before the show.”

“We’re only paying if she actually goes with you on a date,” Sid reminded him. “Just agreeing to it means nothing.”

“I know. And I’m saying, have it ready.”

“Have what ready?” Hoseok asked, entering the changing room so unexpectedly that all four boys inside it flinched. Neither of them had heard the door open.

“Nothing,” Jungkook replied before one of his friends could. “Discussing our plans for after the show. What’s up?”

“Jin says we’re good to go in five,” Hoseok said. “And I left my phone here.”

“Oh, right.” The younger member reached for the device on the far corner of the table. “Here.”

Then, Jungkook looked back at the rest of his friends – all of them looked like schoolchildren after the teacher returned to the classroom. He felt glad, he realised, that they were staying quiet.

He didn’t want Hoseok or the others to know about this, but not because the bet was an exceptionally bad thing. He thought this was like anything else that he did with his friends. And, usually, no one approved of his other after-work activities—not even him, sometimes—either.

But, just like everything other thing that he did with Sid, this was a distraction more than it was anything else.

“Don’t be late,” Hoseok warned, not saying a word to the other people in the room before he left.

“We’re going to head out, too,” Minjun was the first who spoke up – but only after the door was closed. He seemed to make the decision for all of them, because Sid looked comfortable enough to stay longer, but he rolled his eyes and stood up after meeting Minjun’s glare. “Good luck at the soundcheck.”

“Yeah, and don’t worry,” Sid added, winking, “I’ll take good care of the bike.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and slapped Sid on the shoulder with his palm when he walked past him.

Jude stopped in front of Jungkook. He looked ready to say something, but then he inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a sneeze, and chose to just quietly leave instead.

“Seriously, go see a doctor if this persists,” Jungkook called after him before the door of the changing room closed.

Left alone, he shook his head and looked over his reflection in the mirror.

The bet was just a bet. He wasn’t doing anything significant anyway. Surely, if you knew, you’d think the same. You’d find it stupid, but he’s done worse things. This didn’t mean anything; it wouldn’t ruin your relationship.

It would be fine.

As soon as the soundcheck and the VIP Meet & Greet came to an end, you disappeared like you had last night in Prague, so Jungkook’s plan of getting this bet over with before the show tonight, backfired.

A part of him expected this, however, so he made sure to avoid his friends until he saw you after the show. He hoped that convincing you to go out with him (perhaps by appealing to your sentiments of seeing old friends? Or out of pity? He wasn’t sure which route he’d take yet) wouldn’t take long. Especially if he stressed how little this would mean—just a silly, friendly date.

Sid didn’t have to know about the “friendly” part of the whole deal.

Slowly, Jungkook allowed himself to think what he’d do with the $4000 that Sid and Jude would pay him—perhaps he’d tune the Katana—even though this wasn’t even about the money for him. Of course, the satisfaction of actually winning a bet against Sid would be worth five times the money that his friends would have to pay. But Jungkook was convinced that, more than anything, he just wanted to prove a point.

His friends had insisted he followed you like a lovesick puppy while you didn’t care. He wanted to show them that neither of you cared—in fact, you cared so little, that you could go on a date, and it wouldn’t have to mean anything.

Now, whether that was true, was a different thing, but he chose not to think of your touch—and his body reflexively responding to it—in his bunk the other night. He didn’t need to focus on that right now.

The performance in Krakow threw Jungkook completely off, however. This was Rated Riot’s first time in Poland, and the reception was unforgettable: all the faces of the people who sang along, who jumped when the band jumped, who reacted to every single note, every single lyric at the appropriate times and with overwhelming energy – Jungkook was positive his chest was going to burst by the time he got off the stage.

Even an hour later, after Rated Riot finished the show and met their fans, he returned backstage, where everyone hung out and did shots, and he could still feel the adrenaline in his blood.

That was how you found him – smiling to himself as he scrolled down Rated Riot’s Instagram page, checking all the posts that tagged the band tonight.

“You’re happy,” you pointed out, aware of the smile on your own face as you watched him.

Jungkook lifted his head and his smile widened at the sight of yours. He was practically radiating excitement. Chances were, if someone dimmed the lights in the room, he would have been glowing.

“Crazy,” he said. His voice was a little hoarse, but exhilarated nonetheless. “Feels like there are fireworks inside of me.”

You chuckled and took a seat on the settee next to him. You handed him a package of honey & lemon lozenges and a chocolate cupcake—the lozenges were for his throat, to make sure he was able to perform night after night, and the cupcake was to make sure he survived at all. He never ate anything before the shows, and the take-out you’d ordered was taking a while. It was likely you’d have to eat properly on the bus.

He took everything from you and put his phone down.

“It seems that the show tonight was even better than last night,” he said, peeling off the wrapper of the cupcake first. “I don’t know how that’s possible.”

“Imagine if that keeps happening after every show,” you said. “You might really catch fire by the last one.”

He snickered. Taking a mouthful of the cupcake, he hummed, “Can’ wai’ to find out.”

“Forty shows to go,” you said, patting the package of medicine. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Don’t forget to take it after you eat. I’m going to see how long it’ll be before we can go. And maybe call the restaurant. Perhaps our order didn’t go through.”

“Perhaps,” Jungkook mumbled half-heartedly, too busy chewing. Then, as he was watching you stand up, he suddenly remembered what he had to do. Swallowing so abruptly that the cupcake nearly got stuck in his throat, he jumped to his feet. “Actually, wait a second. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You turned around. “Yeah?”

He put the remaining half of his cupcake down and wiped his hands against each other to get rid of the crumbs.

“So, uh,” he began, wiping his mouth, too—more because of a nervous tick than any other reason. “Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding is the day after tomorrow.”

Your earlier conversation with Sid flashed through your mind and you felt dread gather on the floor of your stomach.

“I know,” you said slowly. “In Paris.”

“Yeah. I was—I mean, I know we both already said we wouldn’t go,” Jungkook continued. Unconsciously, you reached for the ring on your index finger and spun it around several times. “But I actually called Kihyun yesterday, and he said he’d love it if we came.”

You didn’t even notice the implication that he wouldn’t go to the wedding alone, that the two of you would go together. You were too focused on the fact that this was exactly what you were afraid of: not only did Jungkook plan this exactly like Sid had said he would, but he was, clearly, already taking action to make this plan come true.

“And, uh, Chloé didn’t mind?” you asked.

“No, they’re both very cool about it,” he said, proud—you weren’t sure of what: of his last-minute change of plans, or of your friends, who tolerated these changes. “So, anyway, I was thinking, why don’t you and I take a de-tour to Paris after our show in Warsaw? We’ll catch up again with everyone else in Berlin, and go back on the road.”

Now you noticed.

You cleared your throat, then repeated, “you and I?”

He nodded his head once, less certain. “Yeah.”

“Well...” You tucked your lips in and lifted your eyebrows. Your eyes concentrated on the loose tile on the floor by your feet. “I can’t believe Sid warned me about this, and I thought he was just being annoying on purpose.”

You’d mumbled this in a way that probably wasn’t meant for him to hear, yet Jungkook had never heard anything clearer.

Completely stunned, he tried, “Sid—he, uh… he warned you about this?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, unsure if you should have felt grateful to Sid for letting you know of this in advance—it was hard to imagine him ever doing anything that wasn’t for his own benefit. “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with someone?”

Jungkook was fairly certain he gasped and not at all certain if the buzzing in his ear was tinnitus or if someone was really screaming in the distance.

“I didn’t tell—um,” he paused, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. You watched this obvious display of his dislike for the turn of conversation.

After a heavy minute—that the two of you stayed frozen as if someone had paused the scene, he asked, “what exactly did Sid say to you?”

“That you were in a relationship with someone, and they broke up with you before the tour started,” you recapped patiently. It was just the two of you in this corner of the room, so no one could have overheard, but you still lowered your voice just in case.

“Okay,” Jungkook said, his eyes still closed.

“And that you only want to go to the wedding because your ex might be there,” you added.

“Mmhmm,” he half-hummed, half-squealed. “I see.”

Hopeful that Sid had, at least, exaggerated, or, perhaps, you misunderstood something, you asked, “any truth to that?”

Aware that there was virtually no right response here, because you’d think he was lying or hiding the truth from you again, Jungkook sighed. There had never been any relationship, of course. You were the only girlfriend he’d had.

Fucking Sid. The cheating bastard was trying to sabotage him.

“I—” he started to say, and then stopped. There might be a way out of this, after all.

Maybe he could use Sid’s lies and make them work. Instead of convincing you to catch up with old friends at the wedding—which could take a while, considering how set you tended to be when you made a decision; and the decision here was, obviously, declining the formal invitation to the wedding—he could convince you to help him with his love life. Either way, you’d come to Paris with him, and Sid wouldn’t have to know why.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Yeah. It’s true.”

All the hopes you’d had deflated in bitter disappointment. You couldn’t tell if there was more to it, a different reason, perhaps, why this felt so disheartening to you, because you instinctively focused on what mattered more at the moment.

“Jungkook,” you said with a groan. “What the fuck? This is the stuff you tell me.”

Once again, he was doing something that he did not bother to inform you about—how many more times were you going to have to learn about his misadventures from social media?

“Yeah, but, you know,” he spoke even though he didn’t know what he was talking about, “we broke up, so I didn’t think it was important to tell you.”

“It is important if it’s going to interfere with the tour schedule,” you replied, and your frustration worried him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said this. Perhaps he should have been honest – surely, you’d believe him if he told you Sid had lied.

Oh, but then he’d have to explain why Sid felt the need to lie to you. That fucking snake—

“It’s not going to interfere,” Jungkook tried again. “The wedding’s on my day off. That’s why I want to go.”

“And then what?” you asked, smacking your palms against your thighs – this got some looks from nearby crew members, but they were used to you arguing with Jungkook. Their interest in your conversation faded as soon as they saw that it was you two making noise. You continued hypothesizing, “let’s say you get back together. Are we bringing another person on tour? Or if you don’t get back together, then what?”

“Then,” he swallowed, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

You knew he’d say that, but you were still annoyed that he did.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you admitted. You didn’t like how personal this was starting to get. Your role as his manager was somewhere in the distance now, yet you thought you had to say this, “I’ve never asked any of you guys to put your personal lives on hold for the sake of the band, but I’m giving you my honest opinion. I don’t think you should go to this wedding.”

“But that’s why I’m asking you to come with me,” Jungkook argued, his voice eager. It all made sense in his head – you’d have to agree to come now, you couldn’t have him go off by himself.

You sighed, then gave him the benefit of the doubt, “why? What difference would my being there make?”

“Well, for one, you’d warn me if I was about to make a mistake,” he said, finding himself very smart and quick on his feet.

“I’m warning you now,” you countered easily, and his face fell a little.

“Right,” he said, momentarily hesitating, but trying not to panic yet. “But I don’t think that’s a mistake. Not if there’s a chance I might—well, you know. Get back together with the love of my life.”

He felt the cringing somewhere deep in his own chest and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. It definitely showed on yours.

“Is that…” you faltered, closing your eyes. “Is that really going to happen?”

He watched the deliberate way you chose not to look at him as you asked this, and he wondered—very briefly, even reluctantly—if there was a different reason why this relationship that he was, allegedly, in, disturbed you.

It could just be wishful thinking on his part, he supposed. And it likely was.

“I-I mean, we will be at a wedding,” he said after a moment. “Romantic. So, why not?”

You could see his point—and, most horribly, reuniting with someone at a wedding seemed to make sense—but you had to make him reconsider this. He’d always been spontaneous. You had to get him to think with his head, not his instincts.

“Don’t you think,” you tried, “that people break up for a reason? Because I do.”

He took this personally, but he hoped it wasn’t obvious. At least, not in a way where you’d realise that he wasn’t at all concerned about his non-existent relationship with someone else. Because, of course, he was really concerned about his non-existent relationship with you.

“You… don’t believe in second chances?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said. Contrary to him, you didn’t need to think too much about this. “They’re only an opening for third and fourth chances.”

Swallowing, Jungkook tried to disagree, “well, not necessarily…”

“I don’t know about your situation,” you said bitterly, “because you’ve literally never mentioned this until now. So, I’m just saying what I think. And if you’re still going to do something stupid, then do you really need me there?”

“I do,” he said straight away.

“No—” you huffed, then tried again, putting it straight this time, “Jungkook, I’m not going there as your babysitter.”

“You’re not,” he agreed. “You’re going as my date.”

He had hoped he’d really done something by saying this – perhaps made your heart flutter? He even smiled as he said it, so sure that this would be what makes you change your mind.

But your face remained stoic as you shot back, “right. Because bringing a date would make it much easier for you to get back with your ex.”

Taking a moment to recuperate, Jungkook brought a hand over his hair, his fingers lingering at the ends of his wolf cut. Nothing was going well for him, it seemed, and he couldn’t help but remember Minjun’s earlier discomfort again.

He knew now that his arrogance of knowing you for so long had blinded him, and the reactions that he expected from you were merely reflections of his own. Of course, you wouldn’t go to Paris with him. He hadn’t given you a single good reason to go.

Nearing desperation, he said, “look, just… trust me? Let’s go there and see. Maybe it’ll be enough for me to see all these people that I used to know—that we both used to know—and I’ll change my mind.”

You were half-scoffing, half-yelling at this point, “you went from getting back together with the love of your life, to changing your mind in the span of two minutes! Don’t you think it’s a sign that you shouldn’t be even considering this?”

He exhaled sharply, frustrated.

Nothing. There was nothing else that he could say now.

He fired the last shot—the one he didn’t want to use, because he thought he was better than that. He knew now that he wasn’t, as he said, “I could go with Sid, Jude, and Minjun.”

This brought you two to a standstill: either you convinced him to forget about this and just stay on tour, even though you hadn’t been successful at that so far, or he got you to come to Paris with him, instead of his friends.

And he could see that you’d give in before you even said anything.

You knew he’d never come back in one piece if he left the tour right now for a one-day trip to Paris with his friends—if he’d come back at all.

Jungkook didn’t like how cunning he felt, though, as he watched you cross your arms and bite your lip, clearly disapproving of your impending defeat.

He wondered if it’d be any consolation if he admitted that this didn’t really feel like a win for him, either, even though just the fact that you’d come would mean he won the bet. He had still hoped you’d be more excited to do this with him.

Finally, after what felt like five whole minutes of silent battle as neither of you moved or looked at each other for longer than two consecutive seconds, you exhaled. It was a sigh of defeat, but not resignation.

“Fine,” you said. “If you must go, I’ll come with you. But you’re telling me everything about this relationship and why you think getting back together with this person is a good idea.”

“Sure,” he said, because he had to. He would come up with an excuse or a plausible enough story at his favourite time—later. “I’ll even book the train tickets to Paris myself.”

You didn’t think that was smart—the last time the two of you were planning a vacation together, he’d bought the tickets to and from Hawaii for the same night by accident—and you lifted your hand in immediate protest.

“Maybe I’ll—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut you off, grabbing his cupcake and his lozenges from the settee—to show you how responsible he was. Not enough to go to Paris with his friends, of course, but just enough for you to trust him. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ve done enough for me.”

chapter title credits: bring me the horizon, “in the dark”

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randomshyperson · 9 months

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Enchanted - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: The new Avengers welcome party takes an unexpected turn. Wanda is delighted and tries to make a friend. | Based on “Enchanted” by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: mutual pining, really fluffy, emo wanda being a shy mess with a crush, they are both teenagers in this btw, hints of social anxiety. | Words: 4.913k

A/N-> Yes, I’m writing about worthy!Reader again, sue me. It has a certain resemblance to an abandoned one that I posted here a while ago, but this time they are strangers to friends. This is also totally influenced by the new version of this song.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

The party setting was not one that Wanda would choose as a favorite, and frankly, she had little desire to be there.

But Steve and Natasha insisted she joins, after all, there were reasons to celebrate besides the almost obligatory socializing and marketing for Earth's most famous team of heroes; their latest villain, Ultron, had been successfully exterminated. And in addition to the conflicts, there were new members on the team. Given the circumstances, and the recent destruction of her home country, neither reason would be enough to get her out of her room, but it was Natasha who convinced her to celebrate what truly mattered: Pietro was alive.

Somehow, the twin managed to make the broken leg an extra charm to his character, and the crouched figure dressed in an expensive suit courtesy of Stark Industries - an image that would make the teenage version of Pietro Maximoff have a fit of outrage - turned into the soul of the party. Unlike her brother who seemed overjoyed by the spotlight, Wanda hurried to find a corner as soon as she entered the tower hall packed with guests, her heart racing for every glance and flash of photographers interested in the newest Avengers.

The evening wore on with polite celebrations and a battle of egos conversations; it all seemed very political to Wanda, but not in the same way as it had on her rebellious afternoons in Sokovia, with all the ink and posters and protests, and more about fake smiles and passive-aggressive accusations, people in suits reminding themselves of the cost of the Avengers' existence, and an almost drunken Tony Stark bragging that money was no problem.

It was exhausting in its entirety, but Wanda managed to find a decent and entertaining distraction which was watching Pietro and Sam bicker for the attention of the guests. At the same time, Natasha kept her company at the bar.

The widow's voice calling her attention made her take her eyes from her twin supported on crutches to her newest teammate. Wanda was still a bit uneasy around Natasha - Her own guilt about the confrontation in which she invaded the other's memories, in addition to the moment of being scolded for a borrowed jacket made her feel embarrassed, even though Natasha had been very kind around her since then and had even been the person to lend her the red dress she wore tonight.

"You were tense all night, Maximoff." Commented Natasha not teasing her, but as a friendly remark that made Wanda sigh. The redhead glanced at Pietro before turning her attention back to the younger girl, her gaze softer. "It was just a scare, Wanda. He'll recover, and before you can miss him, your brother will be causing trouble again."

The joke drew a smile from her, weak but still true. Wanda tried to take Natasha's words to heart, hoping that the reaffirmation would push away all the nightmares she'd had with the memories of her brother bleeding in a destroyed Sokovia, dreams created by her fears that her brother's masked savior wouldn't have arrived in time.

Natasha cursed suddenly, and Wanda stared at her curiously, only to discover the widow staring at something behind them, at the entrance to a party that was emptying as the night wore on.

“"What the hell is this little shit doing here?" Grumbled the widow and Wanda frowned, surprised that although it was a swear word, the anger didn't carry over into Natasha's gaze. She looked more worried than anything else.

Looking back, Wanda saw a singular figure. The band T-shirt, even if hidden under a pallet, brought a faded, confident tone to the figure who greeted with polite smiles and made their way to the bar with such familiarity that Wanda immediately understood that whoever the person was, they had been to the Tower many times before.

But Natasha came out from behind the bar at a hard step and met you halfway, close enough for Wanda to see how Nat grabbed your wrist and hear the words whispered in a scolding tone.

"What are you doing here, Y/N?"

Your posture was not intimidated one bit - You freed yourself from the tug effortlessly, smiling and adjusting your jacket.

"I was invited, of course."

Natasha narrowed her eyes, assessing your response during the seconds you looked around, smiling and waving to a few people. "I'm going to kill Tony."

You sighed impatiently. "Come on, Mom, it's just a party-"

The term made Wanda's eyes widen, almost unable to resist the urge to raise her head and fully expose her spying on the conversation. Natasha didn't let you finish, walking off at a harsh pace toward the iron man on the other side of the room.

With a roll of your eyes, you ignored that and made your way to the bar.

Wanda noticed a few things quickly as you reached out beside her to grab a bottle of booze from behind the counter. The first was that you were certainly not the legal American age to be drinking and this explained the checking glances you threw around before stealing the drink, and the second was that your complicit smile toward her made her heart forget how to beat properly.

"Sorry about that, Natasha is quite the doting type of mom." That was the first thing you said to her, as you moved close enough for Wanda to swallow dryly at the intrusion of your perfume into her senses, intoxicatingly attractive. You smiled again, propping your elbow on the counter beside you to extend your hand to her. "I am Y/N, by the way. And you're Wanda Maximoff, right?"

Jesus, keep it together. She thought, feeling her face heat up at the attention.

If Pietro saw the disaster, he would be laughing at her face, and knowing that her brother was just a few feet away ready to mock her, made Wanda suddenly gain a little confidence.

She confirmed who she was and as she shook your hand, she added, "I didn't know Natasha had any children."

You chuckled relaxedly. "It's complicated." You replied, releasing her hand to grab the beer bottle you left resting on the bar. "She's not my birth mother, I'm more like a souvenir"

Wanda frowned at your rather vague answer, ready to inquire when before you could take a sip of your drink, someone took it from you from behind your shoulder - It was Clint Barton, also wearing a suit and with a smug expression of repression.

"I'll take this." He chuckled, ignoring your sigh of protest and approaching to greet Wanda quickly before turning his attention back to you. "And may I ask what you're doing here, kiddo?"

You snorted impatiently, putting your hands in your pockets. "What do people do at parties, Barton?" You returned naughtily, but Clint grinned, shaking his head.

"You know Natasha is going to give you a hard time for this... in addiction to drinking-"

"What drinking? You didn't even let me taste it." You interrupt grumpily and roll your eyes when to further irritate you, Clint takes a long gulp. With a sigh, you lift your chin toward Wanda. "I'm just getting to know the new Avengers, it's not a crime to make friends." You commented, offering Wanda a wink that made her swallow dryly.

Great, of all the people she could meet in a new country, she was going to have a crush on the Black Widow's daughter. Her luck always improving.

"Kiddo, you know the rules-" Clint tried to reason, but you huffed impatiently again.

"God, you guys are such hypocrites!" Despite the clear irritation, your tone remained controlled. "The Maximoffs are what, months older than me? Yeah, Barton, I read Fury's files. Honestly, this is ridiculous! Stark is also trying to recruit that fourteen-year-old vigilante, but suddenly if I want to join the team it's the most dangerous thing in the world! I only came for the party, but I'd be happy to get a thank you for the last mess you put yourselves in! I don't know, like a "thanks Y/N for saving my life" instead of a "you're too young to be here", Uncle." Your venting made the man lower his head, sighing in agreement.

The archer tried to call you over to ease things, but you had already left the scene, annoyance stamped on your expression. With another sigh, this time in defeat, Clint returned the bottle to the bar and touched Wanda gently on the elbow.

"It wasn't the best way to meet her, but I hope you don't get a bad impression." He tried to joke, but Wanda only needed five seconds to reflect on your words to understand exactly who you were.

"Clint, she's helped us in Sokovia, didn’t she?" Inquired the girl with a certain desperation. "She’s the one that saved Pietro?"

Barton smiled proudly. " Yeah, that's her." He confirmed to which Wanda sighed softly. So many days wondering how she could find and thank the mysterious person who ensured her brother's safety and the closest thing to a father figure she had at the moment, only to have you stand in front of her and get tongue-tied.

You disappeared in the midst of so many guests, and Wanda gave up searching with her gaze when Clint called her back to get her attention.

"You'll have time to say thanks." He commented realizing the whole thing and smiling softly. "If Y/N gets what she's been pushing at for years, you two should be roommates. And well, whenever she's not at school, she's around."

Wanda absorbed the words attentively, feeling her curiosity rise. "Oh, really? And how old is she again?"

"She wasn't exaggerating, Maximoff, she really is only a few months younger than you and your brother." Clint replied casually. Although he was looking around, old habits of an agent, he seemed willing to talk to Wanda. "The only reason she's not the youngest Avenger is because Natasha doesn't want her to be on the team."

The information makes Wanda frown. "Why is that?"

Clint smiles, shrugging. "Safety, of course." He gently rebuts. "Aliens and bio-nuclear warfare isn't exactly the right place for a teenager."

"Still here I am.'" Wanda retorted without sounding really annoyed. Clint hesitated before sighing.

"It's different, Wanda."

"Of course, Clint." She retorted with a fresh bitterness on the edge of her stomach. "She matters."

Barton grimaced, moving a little closer and staring her in the eye. "Don't jump to conclusions without knowing the full story." He began. "These are different situations. You and Pietro are enhanced young people without a country to go back to. And of course your safety matters to me. But we've had this conversation before, Maximoff. When you faced that army, you chose to be an Avenger, even though you can resign from this position whenever you want, you are a very strong girl who I would trust on a battlefield. But Y/N is 17 years old and the most action she's seen in her life was at the drive-in of The Future Terminator ." Clint commented but Wanda looked away, catching your figure again, this time greeting Pietro who recognized you far more easily than she did. The hug he gave you made her look at Clint seriously.

"I think you give her little credence." She retorted, impressed with her confidence in defending someone she didn't even know. "She made a difference in the last fight."

Clint laughed dryly. "She's already won you over, hasn't she? She's a born talent." He teased, smiling at the pink tint to her cheeks. "And speaking of talent, I have to admit, that kid has plenty of it. Natasha trained her of course, but never let her go into real action. And well, she's always been very observant. Tony has a sweet spot for her, taught her everything he knows, and if you ask me, he spoils her a little. But I can't blame him, she gives us those puppy dog eyes and it seems like no time has passed. We're all old and she gets what she wants from those soft adults."

The warmth and nostalgia of the veteran's words made Wanda smile as well. She let a moment pass before commenting:

"Earlier, Y/N said something about being... souvenir." And the phrase drew a hearty laugh from Clint.

He shook his head in disbelief before retorting, "It's a long story..."

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go." Wanda jokes it's kind of dry humor, but it makes Clint chuckle weakly. He settles into the chair next to her and assumes a thoughtful expression.

"Well, I guess it all started in Budapest..."

It's not like she needed any more reasons to like you, but nonetheless, Clint gave all of them and more. The story was brief but much appreciated; Natasha found you by chance, the joke about being Souvenir now made sense and Wanda wanted to laugh at your dry sense of humor so similar to hers. A professional Russian spy is given a second chance and while she is trying to gain the trust of the people around her, she encounters an angry child during an infiltration and elimination operation. Unlike everyone on the team of military and guilty billionaires, you were just a civilian with no options. Born into a family made up of people who made all the wrong choices and compromised your safety. Enter the Shield, with two agents who were determined to bring the only survivor home.

Wanda immediately understood Natasha's responsibilities and desperate desire for your safety.

Clint's narrative grew vaguer, and he got quieter as he drank more. Wanda didn't need telepathy to know that the archer was thinking about his own kids, and with a tired smile, he took a last sip of his beer and offered her a pat on the shoulder.

"Time for me to go home, Wanda." He commented, looking around at the practically empty party room now. They had been so wrapped up in stories about the past that he had barely seen the party ending. "Whatever you need, give me a call, okay?"

Clint's goodbyes were always like this, and Wanda just returned the smile.

Alone at the bar, she decided to make her way to her twin brother who was now sitting on one of the couches. The whole way there, she tried to keep her racing heart in check on account of the person in the opposite seat.

"[...] And all that for her to kick me out of bed the next day!" The end of Sam's story drew laughter from the group, and Wanda tried to go unnoticed and find a corner, but once you were close enough, you adjusted yourself on the couch.

"Hey, there's space here." You offered gently, tapping the free spot next to you and with all the attention on her, Wanda could only accept the invitation quickly, squeezing in next to you on the couch.

Sam, who didn't mind the momentary attention stolen, continued to tell stories of failed date nights, tales funny and embarrassing enough to keep the group entertained. Wanda was too busy trying not to look like a complete mess and hiding her own expression from her curious brother to pay attention to them.

Before she could realize it, she had stood beside you in complete silence for half an hour, just listening and forcing smiles whenever Pietro tried to include her in the conversation at the mention of some memory they shared. The party officially ended as the night wore on until only those who were part of the team were left in the room. And well, you.

"Hey kiddo, come on, I'll drive you home." It was Natasha already with a jacket over her dress and keys in hand. The information that there was a home beyond the tower stuck in Wanda's mind, and she had to force herself to stop imagining what the black widow's ordinary life as a single mother would be like.

Instead of getting up, you sank further into the sofa, stretching both arms out on the support of the furniture. Wanda was sure her face was the color of Natasha's hair, but she didn't dare look above her own lap, being sure that Pietro would notice if she did.

"Thanks, Mom, but I'm going to stay a little longer."

Natasha sighed wearily. "Kid, please." She insisted but you didn't lose your slouched posture.

Instead, you let your arm fall over Wanda and Sam, each on your side. "I just made new friends, come on!" You justified, squeezing them both for a moment. Wanda bit the inside of her cheek hard, "And tomorrow is the weekend!"

The widow didn't look persuaded at all, but a certain iron man mimicked the gesture you made with the other two, hugging Natasha sideways as his free hand brought out a little cocktail.

"Don't be so grumpy, Romanoff." Tony teased. "It's not like Y/N is twelve. In fact, I already bought her an eighteen birthday present."

The information made you get excited, and get up to try to get more information out of your uncle about that surprise gift.

Wanda let out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding when she no longer had your arm around her, and as she raised her eyes and met her twin's curious gaze, she knew the color of her cheeks had worsened.

When Thor was drunk enough to keep talking about Asgard, and Natasha's keys were hanging over the hammer on the table, you yawned in the middle of a joke.

Steve chuckled, shaking out his hair and exchanging a quick glance with the widow talking to Agent Hill across the room.

"It's late, let's call it a night, Avengers." Announced the captain, receiving a chorus in protest but far too tired to counter more willingly.

Wanda herself was missing her heels, practically asleep against the shoulder of her twin brother, who was in one last round of improvised poker with the Falcon.

"Party killer." Tony teased with his eyes closed - He had been woken from his nap by the voice of the captain, who laughed at the comment before offering his hand to encourage you to get up from the couch.

The next few minutes were a blur in Wanda's mind until everything came back into focus at once. She was holding the crutches with her magic and helping her brother to stand when she heard you mutter something about sleeping in the tower. Suddenly, your sleepy figure tripped over the table leg, and instead of a tragic accident with the hammer static in the center, everything crashed to the floor.

The Mjolnir rolled a few inches away from your body, and you laughed embarrassedly, half of Tony Stark's punch in your jacket.

"Damn, let's hope she didn't scratch your toy." Joked Sam, but Thor was half pale looking at you in shock.

It was Rogers who lifted you like a knight to the rescue, but when he tried to duck to retrieve the hammer, the item didn't care to flinch.

Suddenly the whole group understood what had happened while you were distracted by the punch damage to your new suit.

"Sorry, Uncle Tony, I think it's going to stain..." You muttered upset, raising your eyes to the room of adults staring at you and breaking into a confused laugh. "What?"

Thor swallowed dryly. "Hm, kid, can you... pick up the hammer for me?"

You shrugged, ducking down at the same moment. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to knock it over." And you lifted it without any difficulty, extending it to Thor who looked about to pass out and didn't make a move. You made a confused face. Opening your mouth to question, you had no chance to do so as Thor was already looking at Natasha.

"We have to talk." He pointed at you next. "The three of us."

Nat sighed and grabbed the hammer from your hand, tossing it into Thor's lap who caught it just in time to avoid hitting him in his most sensitive parts, grimacing at the redhead.

"See? It's no big deal. I can lift it too, so don't even try to give me that look."

"Natasha-"

"No. She's a kid, Thor! Don't even start, we're leaving!"

"Romanoff!" Insisted the god, but he had to get up to follow the figure of Nat, who had grabbed your hand and was practicing running away down the tower.

The rest of the team stood in an embarrassing silence, being able to hear the heated discussion in the hallway of the other three for the next few minutes until Steve cleared his throat.

"I think it's best if we each go to bed..."

"Shush, popsicle." Cut Tony impatiently. "We just found new rulers of Asgard."

"Yeah, let us hear it." Insisted Sam and Steve got no support from anyone else, everyone too curious to give privacy to the discussion that seemed close to ending.

A moment later, Thor returned with a smile on his face, and next to him, a widow with her arms crossed. "We have a proposition to make." Announced the blond man, giving the smaller one a gentle nudge.

Natasha sighed stubbornly. "It's against all my wishes-"

Thor snorted good-naturedly, nudging Natasha's face like an older brother and ignoring the other's protest to excitedly tell the room: "Everyone has seen that little Romanoff can lift the hammer, and well, this is the greatest proof of honor, strength, and dignity a warrior can have and I think it's more than enough to give that girl a chance to be part of the team like she's always wanted since she was a rude little brat-

"Thank you, Uncle." You cut in with a laugh as you came into the scene again. Wanda saw that you were now out of your wet suit, the t-shirt gave way to what looked like one of the social shirts of the party waiters and was clearly an improvised outfit by the way half the buttons were still being buttoned.

Thor suddenly wrapped you in a corner hug, looking very proud and the gesture made you chuckle. "They grow up so fast, don't they?" He commented tearfully, to which you shook your head.

"I would still finish school, and there's college too, but Thor thinks he could train me like the Asgardians. That is of course, if you guys would accept me into the team. What do you say?"

The group grinned affectionately, and as Steve Rogers sniffled softly, Tony opened his arms excitedly.

"Of course, you can be an Avenger! Come here!"

As the adults moved to hug you tight, the new members stood watching politely, smiling at the scene. Pietro, now standing next to his sister, leaned in to whisper:

"I saw the way you look at her.” He said, and Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hide any reaction. "You totally have a crush."

"Shut up." She snapped sullenly, ignoring her brother's chuckle.

Your inclusion in the team gave energy for one last round of drinks - non-alcoholic for the underage trio - in celebration. And around three in the morning now, Wanda could barely keep her eyes open.

She walked Pietro back to his room, worried that he would stumble on the way and ignoring her brother's jokes that he would speed up before he could hit the floor, and only after he was comfortable under the sheets did she leave the room towards her own.

She eventually found out that Clint didn't lie. In fact, you were her roommate, and well, she felt a little embarrassed to interrupt a moment of reconciliation between you and your mother, who was kissing your forehead before letting you go to rest. The widow also offered a smile to Wanda who nodded absently, and thus, the two of you were left alone in the hallway.

"Hey, Maximoff."

The brunette smiled, scratching her eyes softly. "Hey, new Avenger." She managed to joke, eliciting a shy giggle from you. It was clear that you were pleased and excited, and Wanda wished she could say that she wasn't affected one bit by the gleam in your eyes, but that would be a lie.

"I'm still sort of digesting that one. It seems surreal." You comment, scratching behind the back of your neck. Steve's act of ruffling your hair left earlier that evening gave you an air of domesticity that made Wanda's breathing catch. Damn it, Pietro was right. She was a goner. "I know the situation is quite different, but I guess you must be nervous too, right? Your brother at least, acknowledged that he is."

Wanda blinks in surprise, stealing a glance at Pietro's door. He hadn't confessed this to her, but it made sense that despite everything, he was nervous about becoming a real superhero.

"Yeah, I guess." She retorts, crossing her arms. "I think it feels more real when we're fighting together."

You chuckled softly, hiding your hands in your pockets. "Don't let my mother hear you. She's still processing that part." You joked, getting a soft laugh from the other, the sound bringing a soft color to your cheeks that Wanda doesn't notice, too busy hiding her own. "Hey, total change of subject but do you go to school?"

She blinks in confusion, "What...?"

"It's just that it would be cool to go with you!" You quickly clarify. "Since we're similar ages, I figured we could be classmates..."

Wanda shifts the weight of her foot awkwardly, clearing her throat. "Hm, I fell behind." She interrupts, frowning slightly. "You know, the schools stop with the conflicts and the bombings. And then Hydra came and the tests and it didn't make sense for either me or Pietro to keep studying anymore..."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Sorry." You mutter clearly embarrassed that you brought up the subject. Wanda uncrosses her arms, not knowing what to do with her hands. "God, I'm so stupid."

"It's okay, you were just curious." She tries to reassure you, receiving a nod and a forced smile.

It was your turn to switch the weight of your feet and to take your hands out of your pockets to cross your arms. "Sorry, sometimes I speak without thinking. And I think too much, so often the lines slip out before I finish thinking about them... Anyway, I read your file, and I know the basics of history so of course it was inappropriate to ask such a stupid question and-"

"Y/N." Wanda interrupted you with a somewhat impressed laugh. She had just realized that you were as clumsy with social interactions as she was. What a great pair you would make. "It's no problem, really. It's... sweet that you care about my education. I think Stark is taking care of it, with the whole paperwork thing, you know? We'll probably have a tutor, me and Pietro, I say."

"Sure, that makes sense." You comment with a sigh. "And tutors give homework, right? I'll be around, we'll be able to help each other and everything."

Wanda chuckles tenderly, nodding. She's exhausted, but she doesn't want this night to ever end. "That's a great idea, detka." She lets the nickname slip, begging the gods that you let it go. But of course, you choke and turn pink, consequently bringing warmth to the other's face.

There is a timid pause between you before you mutter.

"My mother taught me a bunch of foreign languages growing up." You recount quietly, staring at your feet as Wanda stares at a dot in the hallway. "But I wanted to learn Sokovian to meet the new Avengers. It's cool if you want to call me that...I like it."

With her face very flushed and her heart racing in her throat, Wanda could only nod and hum in agreement, her shyness drawing a small laugh from you.

"Risking a second inappropriate question tonight but you wouldn't have a phone, would you?" you quibble, to which Wanda quickly denies. You nod. "I figured not yet. I'll get one for you, and for Pietro too. That way we can keep in touch, you know? I can send you memes, or homework cheats. Or movie recommendations. We can even create a superhero Instagram page for you."

Wanda giggled shortly, nodding clumsily at the tenderness of your gaze and the concern for her entertainment. "You are so silly..."

You narrowed your eyes in amusement, pointing at her. "Let's see if you'll say that when I turn you into a social influencer." You joked getting another hearty laugh from her.

During the next pause, filled with complicit giggles, Wanda knows you are staring and you are doing the same and before it gets awkward, you clear your throat and break the charm, returning some of the space you broke by instinct during the conversation.

"It's late, we should get to bed before the captain comes to do it." You remark and Wanda nods in agreement, even though she wishes she stayed.

"We'll see each other tomorrow. Right?"

You agree so quickly that your neck snaps. "Of course, t-tomorrow. Yeah, 'can't wait." Wanda smiles tenderly, nodding before walking away to her own door.

She enters first, biting back a silly smile that struggles to fill her own face.

Alone in the hallway, you have the same problem.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff

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sapphic-coded · 2 months

Text

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and misses her gun home. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Hunted animals. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Life has been crazy. It still is. But this series is so much fun to write. Please know that your comments and love have kept my days bright. I read all your comments. Your likes and reblogs make me do my happy dance. It makes me happy that you guys are enjoying this series as much as I am. I apologize for the wait. I hope this new chapter makes up for it!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox @fxckmiup

Chapter Eight: You Can't Raise Hell With A Saint

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You watched the station wagon slowly back out of your driveway from your bedroom window. As you watched, you folded and then unfolded the piece of paper in your hand several times. Your father’s departing words echoed in the back of your mind.

“This is vital to maintaining our relationship with our allies. Remember. When the time comes, we must position ourselves on the correct side.”

You waited until the station wagon disappeared from view before your attention shifted onto the snowman across the street. Your father is gone for the weekend. Your assigned homework is already completed and buried in your backpack. You had hoped for two uninterrupted days with your friend. You two had discovered a perfect hill for sledding not too far away. You had hoped you could return to it this weekend with Nat. But before your father had left, he had given you an assignment. One you were not allowed to ignore.

But if you finish it quickly like your homework…

You turned away from the window and got dressed. The house was quiet as you descended the stairs and hunted through the kitchen for breakfast. Your father had given both your brother and sister assignments. You figured your siblings were already out doing them. You found an opened pack of pop-tarts hidden behind the jar of two dead mating frogs. You ate the delicious blueberry pop-tart and washed it down with tap water from the sink. Once breakfast was done, you pulled on your snow boots and put on your heavy winter coat. You unfolded your father’s note once more to reread the words hastily scribbled in fine black ink. Then, you refolded up the note and shoved it into your coat’s pocket.

You left out the back door and pulled on your gloves as the morning winter air scratched at your face. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you headed towards the treeline. The woods behind your house stretched onwards for roughly two miles. It was one of the reasons why your father had chosen to settle here. He could disappear into this patch of quiet woodland and no one but you and your siblings would know.

For a while, the only noise was the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the chirping of birdsong as you left your house behind and walked deep into the woods. The sunlight shone brightly off the surface of the snow and made your eyes water if you stared at it for too long. You felt the wind beginning to pick up and blow against your back as you walked. Your pace did not slow until you reached the base of a tree with a dead hare hanging from a snare.

You knelt down into the cold snow and pulled your hunting knife from your coat pocket. You cut the rope and lifted the dead animal up by the rope’s lead. Its dark lifeless eyes stared at you and you searched for any ounce of pity. When you didn’t find any, you stood up and continued walking. The weight of the hare hanging from the small noose made you feel less alone. You kept walking until you spotted a smooth, round rock. You picked it up and it nearly covered your whole palm.

You tied the end of the rope around the rock as you continued further into the woods. The light of the sun had started to dim when you finally reached a large pond. Your feet carried you to a narrow dock that stretched out over the water. The wooden boards groaned beneath your feet as you came to the end of the dock. You looked down into the dark water. It hadn’t frozen over yet which made your assignment easier. The wind continued to blow at your back as you tossed the dead hare into the water. The lifeless animal hit the cold water with a splash and floated on the pond’s surface for a moment. Then the dark water pulled the dead hare down into its depths. You waited for some kind of response. A sign that your assignment was complete. But nothing happened. So you turned and started the trek home.

Your thoughts returned to your friend as you began following your footprints back the way you came. You would have the whole rest of the day to do whatever you wanted. And tomorrow you wouldn’t have to waste any time with another assignment. Your immediate future was bright and that fueled your quick pace.

But your pace started to slow when you lost sight of your footprints in the snow. The wind that had been blowing must have covered them up. You ignored the first sour taste of fear and kept going. You had planned to just follow your tracks back home, but you could make it back without them. You had only gone in one direction. It wouldn’t be difficult to find your way back home. You shoved your gloved hands into the pockets of your heavy coat as the wind now blew against your face.

The light of the sun continued to fade as you made new tracks in the snow. You were going in the right direction. You had to be. But you spotted new bushes and weird leaning trees that you hadn’t seen before. You felt yourself shivering against the cold as the light faded into the coming dark. You kept walking until you finally leaned against a tree and sank towards the freezing ground. You closed your eyes and tried to curl yourself up as much as you could within the fading warmth of your coat.

You don’t know how you messed up your assignment. You thought you knew your way back. You thought this would be so easy. Your father had dragged you and your siblings out here plenty of times. Yet you’re lost and you don’t know what to do other than sit here and–

“Y/N!”

Nat.

Triskelion, Washington D.C. – 2012

You miss your little piece of woodland paradise. You had discovered the small cabin during your fourth job. You had been posing as a realtor for your target. The cabin had caught your eye because of its remoteness. It was tucked away along the mountainside and far enough away from all the main roads that all you heard when you stepped outside was birdsong and the wind brushing through the trees. It was the perfect spot to kill your target. The cabin had been left on the market for years and only maintained by a vendor who came out once a season to keep the place from falling apart. You would have no interruptions to deal with. If your target tried to flee, it would be a long run back to a main road. And even if your target got that far, they would need to run from there back to the nearest town. This spot was an open playground. You could kill your target however you wanted. Chase them around if you were feeling energetic. Sever their head with an axe like a lumberjack cutting up wood.

But when you had pulled up to the cabin for the first time, you realized that you couldn’t do any of that here. Sure, you had plenty of space. The cabin was remote. The main road lightly traveled. When you let out a scream to test if anyone would come running, no one did. It wasn’t until you walked through the cabin and into each of the small, cozy rooms that you understood why you couldn’t bring your target here. The cabin felt too much like a home.

The pictures that hung on the walls were snapshots of the owner’s life. Frames full of smiling faces and captured happy moments. You saw the lives of their children begin with innocent, small, round confused faces and stop at handsome young faces decorated in medals and gowns. The furniture bore the nicks and marks of a life used. You could even see the spots of soot left behind in the fireplace where the vendor failed to clean.

You had only ever been in a home like this once before. You had sat down onto the couch in the cabin’s small family room and looked over at the kitchen. You imagined the smell of Nat’s home. You imagined Nat’s mother standing in the kitchen. It was the only thing you could think of. You sat there for a long time. It had been the first time in years that you thought about your friend without all the other stories hanging onto the memory. You thought about Nat. You thought about how happy you had been around her. You tried to imagine her as an adult, but you couldn’t. She was dead, and you were no longer the kid she met back in Ohio.

You ended up killing your target during a private tour of a much larger home far away from the cabin you found. By the time you had bought and moved into the cabin, the new owners of the other much larger home had only finished finding all your target’s missing fingers. The cabin had become your home. Your place to unwind after your jobs. You had filled it with everything you knew that belonged in a home. You loved the feeling of walking through the front door after a long job and just breathing in the smell of your home.

Your bunk is nothing like your cabin. You are buried beneath all the important floors. Your room has no windows. Your room has four white walls, harsh overhead lights, and a white tiled floor. The brightness of the room often gives you a headache which is why your favorite time to be in your bunk is when you are sleeping. All the lights are off and you can listen to the hum of the air conditioner. The best part is that you don’t have to wear that stupid suit when you are in here. You are even allowed to speak, however the only person you ever talk to is Rumlow.

You miss your cabin so much.

The lights in your room come on when the door opens. The twin sized mattress you lay on offers the bare minimum of comfort, yet you don’t bother to sit up. Instead, as you wake and hear familiar footsteps, you drape your arm over your eyes. It successfully blocks out the harsh light, but does nothing to stop the approaching footsteps.

“The bosses up top were impressed with your Bardstown mission,” Rumlow says.

You can’t fight back the small laugh that works its way past your curling lips. With your arm draped over your eyes you can see Sikora’s bent neck clearly. You can still hear each crunch as his body collided down each step. “I killed one person and they weren’t even my target.”

“Which worked out in your favor,” Rumlow says as his approaching footsteps stop. “You played your part. The mission was a success, and no one will look deeper than that.”

You lift your arm away from your eyes and let it flop down to your side. The harsh lights already make your eyes water, but you focus on Rumlow who stands beside your bunk looking down at you. “Do you find your work fulfilling?” Instead of answering you, he turns and steps away from your bunk. You sit up. “Satisfaction is very important to me.”

Rumlow causally makes his way over to a small table. He picks up the half finished bottle of bourbon Nat gave you before leaving Bardstown. You couldn’t drink it then. Removing your helmet around her would go against everything Rumlow has been drilling into your head. But you had ripped your helmet off the moment you returned to your bunk. You had brought the bottle to your lips, and you had drunk so much while thinking of her.

“What are you asking for?” he asks.

“Let me work,” you reply. “Without the suit and the rules. Tell me who the bosses want dead, give me back my gun, and let me kill them.”

Rumlow sets the bottle down. “That’s not how this works.”

You roll your eyes and flop back down onto your bunk.

“I also don’t have your gun,” he adds.

You close your eyes and swallow back the urge to yell. You hate this role so much. If you were impressing these bosses so much, why wouldn’t they let you show them how good you really were? What was the point of all the secrets if most of SHIELD was really HYDRA anyways? Or at least, most of the important people. Or whatever Rumlow had told you during those first few days.

“The bosses were also pleased with how you handled Romanoff,” Rumlow says.

Your eyes open and you stare up at the bland white ceiling. You fight back the smile you know is coming when you think back to the best day of your life. You hope you end up on another mission like that. Just the two of you. The one little new piece of your life that made tolerating this role just a bit more manageable.

“How do you feel?” Rumlow asks.

Like you want to pour over the office directory until you find her office. You’d race up there and sneak in when she isn’t around. You’d sit in the comfortable office chair that you hope she has up there. You’d take your helmet off and wait. And when she finally enters you’d spin around in her chair for a proper dramatic entrance.

You turn your head to look at Rumlow. “Depressed. My favorite gun is lost.”

Rumlow holds your stare. You know what he’s looking for. Perhaps if he could read minds then he would have found it. Instead, you hide all your fantasies and memories behind your little lie. It’s easy. You do the same trick your father always did. String together a story from bits and pieces of truth and mold it into what you need. You know it worked when Rumlow finally breaks your little staring contest. You don’t move when he turns away from you. You don’t want to give away your victory.

“You have training with Rollins in twenty,” Rumlow says before he leaves.

You wait until the door to your room shuts behind him before you get up. You move towards the table and grab the half empty bottle of bourbon. You bring it to your lips and take a sip. The smooth amber liquid washes across your tongue and burns down your throat. You think of when she handed you this bottle. You remember the way her hands briefly brushed across your gloved ones.

You set the bottle down and change while your mind lingers in that memory. Rollins is already waiting for you when you arrive at one of the training rooms a few floors up. Bright sunlight pours through the windows that run along the far side of the training room. You feel uncomfortably hot underneath your suit, and you already miss the cool kiss of the air conditioning that hums in your bunk. When you see Rollins in the training room, your interior visor screen lights up with data you already knew. Except for the healing ribs. That part is new.

Rollins leads you over to a bunch of blue mats. The hand to hand combat drills still feel weird. You know what you are supposed to do. You had learned back when Rumlow first shoved you into this stupid suit that going for kill strikes was not in compliance. You had to work your way up to kill strikes to make everything more believable.

“You’re not an assassin anymore. You’re a SHIELD agent.”

Which wasn’t even the truth. You found that this dance they forced you to do felt awkward. Your movements felt sloppy as you fought not to go for the opening that would put your target down permanently. And when a kill strike was considered acceptable, it always came far too late. It never felt right. These lessons pressed up against the memories of your training back in Ohio, and it often left you feeling more frustrated than anything else.

Your training with Rollins is quickly following the same trend as all the others. Your punches feel sluggish and off. Every time Rollins dodges your hit or counters, you know exactly what you should have done instead. Your frustration grows as you hold back. Your thoughts scream at you in the roar of your father’s voice. You want to give in. Why trade blows when it can easily be only you hitting your target? But you’ve already tried giving in. You had managed to bloody your knuckles a bit before Rumlow had started talking to you about compliance. Everything had stopped despite your urge to keep going. Then you were back at the beginning as if your outburst hadn’t happened.

Rollins dodges one of your punches and delivers a blow to your torso that pushes you back a step. He doesn’t advance. He stands there and waits as you swallow back all the foul words that usually tumble out of your mouth whenever something hurts. It’s hard not to say anything. Especially when he stands there looking bored. But you aren’t eager for them to start fucking with your mind again, so you keep quiet. The sound of your heavy breaths fills up your helmet as you return to your spot in front of Rollins. You duck under his right arm as it swings out. Your fist slams into his healing ribs and the noise he makes is exactly what you needed to hear. His cry is short-lived as he quickly masks it with a grunt. He retreats from you, and you let him. You watch as his breaths become more labored as his hands press against the very spot you hit. You don’t know if you just broke one of his healing ribs. It hadn’t been your intention, but you certainly didn’t pull that punch.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

Her voice steals your attention. She stands by the door dressed in a dark gray sweatshirt and black joggers. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and her head tilts slightly as her question is first met with silence. Well, more like your silence and Rollins’ heavy breaths. You could shatter this stretch of quiet in a heartbeat, and you want to. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you bury the urge. Your eyes greedily take in the sight of your friend. You are grateful for your stupid helmet as your eyes run down the length of her legs and stop at the black sneakers that cover her feet.

“I thought you were heading back up to New York with Rogers,” Rollins finally says.

“Eventually,” she replies with a slight shrug and walks further into the training room. “But I have some stuff I need to take care of first.” She uncrosses her arms as she casually approaches the mats. “You should head back before anyone from medical catches you here.”

“I’m a bit busy training the quiet one,” Rollins says.

You should have tried to break his ribs. He’d be too busy dealing with that pain to put a premature end to this wonderful moment.

“I can take over,” she offers.

Your helmet conceals the wide smile that cuts across your face. You don’t know what you have done to deserve so much alone time with your friend, but you will happily do whatever it takes to keep ending up in these wonderful moments. You don’t hear Rollins leave, and when you look over at the man, you can tell that he is unsure if he should leave. The questions he cannot voice are written plainly across his face and your smile falters. Is he…is he not going to leave? Is he really going to ruin this for you? You want to tell him that his concerns are unnecessary. If you were going to spill the beans, you would have done it the moment you and Nat were alone on the quinjet. Or sometime in Bardstown. Not in some fancy building secretly full of HYDRA agents ready to put you down with just a couple of random words.

“Don’t worry,” her voice pulls your attention back to her. Despite the fact that she is addressing Rollins, her focus is on you. You spot the beginnings of a smirk that stirs up something inside you. Something exciting and warm. “I won’t break her.”

You hear Rollins sigh and you feel the buzz of your excitement grow.

“If you do, you’re the one having that conversation with Rumlow,” Rollins replies. “Not me.” Rollins gives you one last warning look before leaving. You watch the man’s retreating form and feel at ease when you see his hand come up to gingerly touch the spot where you hit him.

When you look back over at Nat, you find her pulling her dark gray sweatshirt over her head. The uncomfortable heat that sticks to your skin beneath your suit returns as you feel your hands begin to sweat inside your gloves. You ignore the information that attempts to clog up your visor. Your focus is first on the black sleeveless shirt she wears. The hem of the shirt gets caught briefly on her sweatshirt and lifts to reveal the barest hint of a firm ab. You blink when the shirt falls back down.

Nat sets her sweatshirt aside and steps onto the mats. “Are they always that serious around you?”

You nod, but you are not thinking about Rollins, or Rumlow, or how painfully serious both tend to be at all times. You are too consumed by the realization that you have never seen this much of your friend before. No. That wasn’t it. You can recall several old memories of warm summer days and cool lake water. But you hadn’t felt like this back then. You are staring at her lean biceps and you just want to touch her.

She steps forward. “Your missions with them must be fun.” She shifts into a fighting stance and raises her fists. “Let’s see what you can do.”

You raise your fists and shift your stance. Your smirk at your friend’s earlier sarcasm falls away as your visor’s screen identifies multiple places to strike first. You know what you want to do, but that option isn’t listed anywhere on the screen. If it wasn’t for Nat standing in front of you, you would have quickly returned to your sour, frustrated mood. But instead, you wait for her to strike first. A few moments pass and all you two do is slowly circle the mats. You realize that she’s waiting for you to strike first. A hint of your concealed smile returns. You happily oblige.

Your fist swings towards her, and you feel her arm quickly block your strike. Your focus is on her face, and you can tell that she barely had to think about her reaction. You continue to move in a slow circle and she does the same. You fall back into the training that Rumlow has been drilling into you since they freed you from that chair. You move in and strike. You frown slightly as she blocks or dodges every one of your strikes. It makes you feel like she’s in your mind. That she knew what you planned to do the exact same time you did. You retreat back a step when your fifth punch doesn’t land.

You wait for her to move in with her attack, but it doesn’t come. You know she can’t see your face, but it feels like she can when she offers a small shrug and that small smile creeps back in.

“I’m guessing that was your warm-up?”

You know it’s bait, but you take it anyway. You move in with another series of attacks. Every single one of your punches feels just as sluggish as before. The rhythm feels off. You feel like each attack is wrong. Your strikes aren’t landing and just as you are about to sink into the seething grip of your frustration, you see Nat’s fist coming towards you. Your hand catches her wrist before her fist can make contact with your helmet.

You watch as her brow arches in a silent question. You ignore the data that races across your visor’s screen and focus on the weight of her wrist in your hand. The familiarity of it lures out pieces of warmer memories. The touch of her hand taking yours. How her touch would melt the rigid cold left after early summer mornings with your father. You abandon the awkward dance you have been following. You can hear whispers of your father’s voice in the back of your mind as you take a breath and move.

Her wrist slips free before you can pull her towards you. She goes on the offensive and the attacks you block send you back a few steps. You spy her foot moving to hook behind yours and you maneuver away from that pitfall only to feel her fist connect with your side. The pain is barely there. You two are sparring. But it lights a very familiar fire inside of you.

You press forward with an onslaught of strikes that feel more natural. She continues to block most of them until you manage to slip past her defenses and successfully hook your foot behind hers. As you sweep her foot out from underneath her, her hands come up to latch onto the fabric of your stupid suit. She lets her falling body pull you down, and you both land on your side. Your one hand reaches to dislodge the grip she has on your suit while your other instinctively reaches out towards her neck. You feel her legs wrap around your waist and in one quick movement, you are on your back. Her hand stops yours from reaching her throat and pins it against the mat. She quickly pins your other hand to the mat, and you stare up at her as your heavy breaths fog up your interior visor.

She doesn’t let go of your hands as she looks down at you. You know all she can see is her own reflection staring back at her, and you want her to pull the stupid helmet off your head. You wouldn’t be breaking the rules if she exposed this game. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans down just an inch or two closer and asks, “How do you feel about opera?”

You shrug.

Her smile returns as she finally lets go of your hands. She gets up and you instantly miss her warm weight on top of you. You sit up as she returns to where she left her sweatshirt. She digs into her sweatshirt’s pocket, pulls something out, and tosses it towards you. You catch it. You can feel another burst of excitement rush through you as you stare at the phone in your hand.

“That’s yours,” Nat says as she pulls her sweatshirt back on. “I thought it might be easier for us to communicate. I already loaded my number into your phone.”

You have her phone number. You don’t move from your spot on the mats as your fingers wrap tenderly around the phone. Direct access to your friend without needing to go through anyone else or jump through any additional hoops. It feels like you’re back in Ohio. All you need to do is cross the street, and she’s there waiting for you.

“I’ll be in contact soon,” she says as she moves towards the door. “Don’t put Rollins back in medical while I’m away.”

You watch her leave. You wait until she’s gone before you lean backwards onto the mat and let out a quiet, short laugh.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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