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whosashan · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii! I’m sorry I couldn’t find if you were open for requests or not so if you don’t take any at this moment please ignore this.

I really love your style of writing and I was wondering about how lads boys would react if MC asked them if they are in love with her or who she was in the past life. I know with Caleb and Zayne it can be tricky but I was thinking that maybe Zayne remembered his past or like MC suddenly remembered everything? That’s just an idea I had in my mind.

Anyways like I said please ignore this request if you don’t take any at this moment or you don’t like that idea!

Have a nice day❤️

Who do you love?

A/N:Hi there! Thank you for your request. You didn't specify if you want it to be more angsty or strictly fluffy, so I did a bit of both ;p I tried to base it off of their myth's, but since I don't have Sylus' and Rafayel's memory cards, I eyeballed it. I hope you'll like it, any feedback is greatly appreciated :] Have a nice day!

For a while now, an insidious question has gnawed at the recesses of your mind. Perhaps it stems from deep-seated insecurities, a relentless curiosity, or something more profound and unsettling.

Since uncovering the intricate tapestry of your past with your lover, a disquieting thought has taken root: are you merely a stand-in for someone who no longer exists? The paradox is maddening—you find yourself envious of a former self. The notion pierces your heart with a sharp, unyielding pain, knowing that there was once another—ironically, another version of you—who preceded you. That person was, undeniably, their one true love.

You grapple with the tormenting thought: are you genuinely the one he loves now, or are you simply a surrogate, a shadow of the past?

Xavier

The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, shadows flickering against the walls, casting elongated shapes that danced with every shift of the flames. The air was warm, thick with the scent of wax and faint traces of Xavier’s smell - something so uniquely him.

He laid across the couch, head resting on your thighs, his platinum hair spilling like silk over your lap. Your fingers moved through the strands absentmindedly, tracing over his scalp in slow, rhythmic motions, just the way you knew he liked. His breathing was steady, his body relaxed, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt peaceful. Intimate. Safe.

But your thoughts refused to be still.

You wondered—had he been like this with her too? Had she tangled her fingers in his hair just as you did now? Had she peppered his cheeks with soft kisses, stolen those rare, beautiful laughs that you cherished so much?

The thought shouldn’t sting. It was you, after all. The past version of you, the one whose fate had already been entwined with his long before you even remembered him. And yet, there was a weight in your chest, something heavy, something bitter—regret? Uncertainty? You should have been grateful. It was you. It had always been you. But still, the question gnawed at you.

How different was she?

Did her smile tilt the same way? Did she struggle to keep her hair neat, no matter how much effort she put into it? When she laughed, did her cheeks lift high enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes?

The flickering candlelight traced soft golden hues over Xavier’s face, his lashes casting delicate shadows against his cheekbones. His beauty was almost inhuman, sculpted and refined, made even softer by the haze of drowsiness settling over him. He was close to sleep, lulled by your touch. Maybe it was cruel to ask now, to shatter this moment of quiet serenity.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to gather the courage that had been slipping through your fingers. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper—

"What was she like?"

The silence stretched.

You thought, for a moment, that he had already fallen asleep, that your question would go unanswered. Relief and disappointment tangled together in your chest, neither strong enough to win over the other.

Then, his voice, soft yet weighted.

"Who are you asking about?"

His head shifted slightly, his dark lashes fluttering open just enough for blue eyes to meet yours. There was exhaustion in them, slight confusion, as if you had pulled him from the edge of sleep. Your fingers stilled in his hair, and he let out a quiet, displeased groan at the loss of comfort.

"Her. I mean… me. The past me." The words felt clumsy, uncertain. How were you even supposed to ask something like this?

Xavier’s brows knit together for a second, a flicker of thought crossing his face before his expression settled back into something unreadable.

"You were the same person you are now." His reply was immediate, almost dismissive, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But that wasn’t enough.

"I want you to be more specific." Your voice was barely above a breath, but there was something desperate beneath it.

He exhaled, fingers idly drawing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh, as if the motion would somehow ease whatever storm was brewing inside you.

"She was… eccentric," he finally said, his voice quiet, thoughtful. A pause. A hesitation. "Always stubborn. Always insistent. Never knowing when to give up." A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Not that much different from you now."

You scoffed, more out of reflex than humor. "Should I feel insulted?" you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

But then, as quickly as the moment of levity had come, it was gone again. The question that had been clawing at your ribs threatened to spill from your lips.

And then—

"Did you love her more?"

It barely came out, the words fragile, splintering even as they left you. Your entire body tensed.

Xavier’s hand stilled against your thigh. For the first time, something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even hurt. Slowly, he lifted his head, pushing himself up until he was finally at eye level with you. His gaze studied you intently, tracing every furrow of your brow, every small tension in your lips.

And then, gently—so, so gently—he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sent warmth curling through your chest. He was close now, so close you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet promise.

"I would love every form of you the same." His voice was steady, unwavering. "For me, you will always be the one. Whether it’s the you from before, the you now, or the you in another lifetime. It doesn’t matter if you were human, a fairy, or even a worm."

A small, teasing smirk curled his lips at the end, a deliberate attempt to ease the tension, to coax a reaction from you. And it worked—heat crept up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and despite everything, you felt the ghost of a flustered pout forming on your lips.

Xavier leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze once more.

"Never doubt yourself again, hm?"

And then, without waiting for an answer, he pulled you into his arms, tucking you against his chest, your face fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. His embrace was warm, steady, grounding. The kind of touch that made all your doubts seem small, insignificant.

Because even if your question hadn’t been answered completely, even if some part of you still ached for something more—there was one thing you were certain of.

He never made you feel like she was better. He never made you feel like you had to compete with your own past.

For Xavier, it was always you.

Zayne

The only sound in the dimly lit room was the rhythmic clicking of keyboard keys, an almost hypnotic cadence breaking through the thick silence. The golden glow of Zayne’s desk lamp illuminated the contours of his sharp features, casting long shadows over his workspace. He sat with his usual meticulous posture, his frame effortlessly composed, exuding an air of quiet authority even in something as mundane as working. The reflection of his laptop screen glimmered faintly against his glasses, obscuring the rich hazel depths of his eyes.

Across the room, you lounged on the couch, your body half-sunk into the plush cushions, a book resting open in your lap. Despite the separate worlds you were both immersed in, there was a comfort in just existing beside him—his presence was grounding, a constant anchor in a sea of uncertainties.

Your gaze trailed over the words printed on the page. A romance novel—one that struck too close to home. It told the story of a man who spent lifetimes searching for his lover, chasing fragments of them across time, waiting for fate to intertwine them once more.

“Is it really me you love? Or the person—the people—I used to be?”

The line cut through you like glass, burrowing itself deep into the pit of your stomach.

Your fingers hesitated over the page as your eyes flickered toward Zayne. He remained at his desk, seemingly lost in his work, his expression unreadable. His dark hair fell slightly over his face, a few strands brushing against the thin frames of his glasses. Even when exhausted, he looked composed—controlled.

It was foolish, perhaps, to ask. You knew how he hated to be interrupted when he was deep in thought, yet you also knew yourself. If you didn’t speak now, the words would fester, gnawing at you like a wound left untreated.

"Zayne."

His name left your lips barely above a murmur, but he heard you. He always did.

His fingers stilled over the keyboard, his posture shifting as he leaned back into his chair slightly. He turned to you, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his jawline.

"Yes, love?" His voice was deep, slightly hoarse from disuse, carrying with it a subtle weight of exhaustion.

You hesitated. Just for a moment.

Sensing it, Zayne pushed his laptop aside and stood, his movements slow, deliberate. Without a word, he made his way toward you, his presence a steady force as he settled beside you on the couch. Lifting your legs with ease, he draped them over his lap, his fingers resting absentmindedly against your ankle. His warmth bled into you, solid and grounding.

Encouraged by the gesture, you swallowed and forced yourself to ask the question that had been lingering in your mind for far too long.

"What was my past self like?"

His brows lifted slightly, his fingers pausing their absentminded movements. "That’s a rather unexpected question," he murmured, adjusting his glasses—a telltale sign of nervousness, though he would never admit it. "What’s brought this on?"

You frowned. "Don’t change the subject."

A subtle exhale left him, barely audible, but you caught it. You knew him well enough to recognize when he was trying to sidestep something.

"I don't remember everything." His voice was measured, but there was a slight tightness to it. "Fragments, maybe. Fleeting pieces that don’t quite form a complete picture. But from what I do recall…" He trailed off, adjusting his glasses again before continuing.

"She wasn’t so different from you now." His tone was contemplative, as if choosing his words carefully. "Determined. Unyielding. Always knew what she wanted and wouldn’t rest until she got it." A small pause. "Much like you."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. That answer—it wasn’t enough.

"Did you love her more?" The words came out before you could stop them.

This time, his reaction was immediate. His entire body tensed, his fingers tightening just slightly against your leg—not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his expression before it smoothed into something composed once more.

"As far as I’m concerned, she is you. Every version of you—past, present, future—exists within the same soul, deeply ingrained in me. To compare them would be a fruitless endeavor. There has never been a question of more or less—there is only you."

His voice was even, unwavering, but there was a weight to his words, something deeper lying beneath them. A certainty so absolute that you almost felt ridiculous for asking.

Still, a part of you felt… silly. Jealous over yourself. How insecure could you be?

But it wasn’t insecurity, was it? It was the cruel weight of uncertainty, the knowledge that there were pieces of yourself you might never truly remember. And that truth would always linger, like a ghost in the back of your mind.

Zayne, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the turmoil playing behind your eyes. He lifted his hand, his fingers trailing up your arm before settling against your own, giving it a light squeeze. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a grounding gesture.

A smirk—barely there, but unmistakable—tugged at the corner of your lips as you met his gaze. "Is that so? Then tell me more."

Zayne let out a soft, resigned sigh, shaking his head just slightly. But even as he feigned reluctance, there was the unmistakable ghost of a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

And somehow, even if your question wasn’t entirely answered, even if you knew the uncertainty would return again someday—right now, his presence was enough.

Rafayel

Laughter filled the dimly lit bedroom, loud and breathless, bouncing off the walls as you squirmed beneath Rafayel’s relentless assault. His fingers moved with precision, ghosting over your sides, tracing over sensitive spots he had long since memorized. Your body arched in protest, hands weakly attempting to shove him away, but he was stronger, faster—his lips curled in amusement as he watched you crumble beneath his touch.

"Alright, it's enough!" You gasped between helpless giggles, trying—failing—to inject authority into your voice. The demand might have carried weight if not for the way laughter cracked through it, rendering it powerless.

Still, Rafayel, ever the merciful tormentor, finally relented. With a low chuckle, he slowed his movements, his hands instead settling on your waist, fingers splayed lazily over your hips as if he had all the time in the world. Then, in a gesture as disarming as it was tender, he leaned in, pressing playful kisses across your cheeks, your nose, the corners of your lips—each one stealing the remnants of your breath.

Your smile only widened, cheeks flushed a warm pink.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already watching you, his usual mischief softened by something more dangerous—something deeper. His dark hair framed his face in perfect disarray, stray strands falling over his forehead, and his striking blue-pink eyes shimmered with something unreadable.

"You're killing me, cutie." His voice was honeyed, teasing, yet laced with a quiet reverence. "From all that laughing, I figured you loved my fingers on you. Should I take that as a request?"

A flick to his forehead wiped the smirk off his lips.

He gasped dramatically, cradling the spot as if you had mortally wounded him. "Now, you need to kiss it better!" His pout was exaggerated, his dramatic flair in full effect, yet beneath the playful act was a calculated charm—one that had always made him so dangerously captivating.

Rolling your eyes, you indulged him, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. The faint imprint of your lipstick lingered, and you smirked to yourself, deciding to keep that detail to yourself. It suited him, after all.

Rafayel hummed in satisfaction, but then his expression shifted. "That’s slightlyyy better." A pause. "Now, how about we order some seafood?" His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, his tone lighthearted.

And yet—your stomach dropped.

Your expression faltered, barely perceptible, but Rafayel caught it instantly. His head tilted slightly, amusement fading into mild confusion. "What is it? Wasn't it your favorite?"

Your blood ran cold.

"I told you—multiple times—I hate seafood." Your voice was steady, but the weight behind it was anything but. It wasn’t the mistake itself that stung—it was the realization that followed.

It was her favorite.

The realization came like a blade, cutting through you mercilessly. The past you—the before you—the version of yourself that had lived and loved Rafayel long before your memories had been wiped away.

You weren’t her. You weren’t the one he had fallen for first.

The air in the room felt heavier now, thick with unspoken words.

Rafayel’s face fell. His usual mask of arrogance slipped, replaced by something fleeting—regret, guilt, self-reproach. He cursed himself under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Ah—sorry… we'll get Chinese, yeah?" His voice, usually so smooth, so effortless, now carried an edge of uncertainty. He was scrambling. He knew he had messed up.

But the damage had already been done.

Because you finally saw it—the cracks in his reassurances. The way his stories about her had painted a picture you could never quite step into. She had been different. More confident. More cunning. More effortlessly herself.

More like the version of you that you always wished to be.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you turned away from him. You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Not now.

"Cutie…" His voice dropped to a murmur, gentle, coaxing. You felt his fingers ghost toward your cheek, but you recoiled before he could touch you.

That reaction made something shift in him.

The softness vanished, replaced by something colder. His jaw tensed, his lips parting slightly in what could have been a plea—but he hesitated.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

"Did you love her more, Rafayel?"

The words cut through the silence like a blade. There was no teasing lilt in your voice, no room for him to twist the moment into something playful. No. This time, you weren’t giving him an escape.

His body went rigid, his lips parting slightly as if the sheer audacity of the question had momentarily stolen his breath. Then, panic flickered in his eyes—just for a second.

"What?—Of course not!" The words left him too quickly, too forcefully. "I mean, god, you're the same person." His voice was rough, desperate, but the way he said it—like he was trying to convince himself just as much as you—made your stomach churn.

"Liar."

A whisper. Sharp. Accusing.

You pushed yourself up, slipping from his grasp, but Rafayel moved fast, his fingers catching your wrist before you could step away. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to make you halt.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." Your voice wavered, but your resolve did not. "I can't—I don't want to talk to you right now."

He tensed. "Y/N, don’t do this—"

"I need time." You exhaled, voice gentler now, but firm. "We’ll talk when I’m ready."

You didn’t wait for his reply.

The moment you slipped from his grasp, the warmth of his touch faded, replaced by the chilling weight of distance. And as you walked toward the door, you felt his gaze burning into your back.

But he didn’t chase you.

Not this time.

And as the door shut behind you, leaving Rafayel alone on his vast, king-sized bed, you both knew—

This wasn’t the end of the conversation.

Not even close.

Sylus

The silk sheets pooled beneath you as you sat on Sylus' bed, the fabric smooth against your skin. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in golden hues, casting long shadows as you rummaged through the bags at your feet—your most recent indulgence. Or rather, his indulgence.

"You didn’t have to buy all this for me, you know," you murmured without looking up, fingers brushing over the expensive fabrics, the scent of luxury still clinging to them.

Across from you, Sylus leaned against the grand headboard, his arms lazily crossed, an amused smirk playing at his lips. His crimson eyes glimmered under the dim light, ever watchful, ever knowing.

"And yet, somehow, I still managed to," he mused, his voice a smooth melody laced with amusement. "Truly tragic, how I remain cursed with wealth and the urge to spoil you."

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

"Why don’t you give me a fashion show, sweetie?" he suggested, tilting his head slightly.

Your excitement sparked instantly. You barely spared him a glance before gathering the bags and rushing into the bathroom, the sound of his low chuckle following you as you disappeared behind the door.

As you sifted through the clothes, something caught your eye—a dress you didn’t remember picking out. The color was… odd. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely not something you would have chosen for yourself. It washed you out in a way that felt unnatural, like a version of you that wasn’t quite right.

Sylus.

You sighed, shaking your head with a fond smile. He had excellent taste; he’d picked out dresses for you before—ones that flattered your figure, ones that made you feel effortlessly beautiful. But this? This felt like it belonged to someone else.

Still, you slipped it on. It’s always nice to try something new, you reasoned. And besides, you could always return it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you straightened your posture, putting on your best model walk as you sauntered toward him with a small, playful smile.

Sylus’ gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate.

"You look ravishing," he murmured, his deep voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He pushed off the headboard and closed the space between you in an instant, his hands slipping to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, warm and intoxicating.

"You think?" you asked, though your gaze drifted downward again, fingers idly smoothing over the fabric.

"That’s a rather interesting choice, boss." The nickname was teasing, but there was a layer of curiosity beneath it. "I don’t think I like this color on me, but if you do… I suppose I’ll wear it anyway."

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"Nonsense," he dismissed easily. "You’ve always looked stunning in this color. Or any color, for that matter, kitten."

Something in your chest twisted.

Your brows knitted together slightly as you peered up at him. Maybe you were overthinking it. Maybe he meant nothing by it. And yet—

"I’ve never worn this color before, though." You chuckled, keeping your tone light, masking the unease settling at the edges of your mind.

Sylus said nothing at first. A beat of silence stretched between you, but his grip didn’t falter. His expression remained unreadable, except for the slight glint of something in his crimson eyes—something calculated.

You knew this game. You knew how he played.

He was refined, meticulous with his words, carefully measured in everything he did. Sylus didn’t make mistakes.

And yet, you had caught one.

He loved you. That, you never doubted. His devotion was absolute, unwavering. But there was always this—this lingering ghost of someone else. A woman you had once been. A woman you no longer remembered. A woman you weren’t even sure you were.

And yet, she still lived here. In his mind. In his stories. In his memories of you.

"I can practically hear your mind working." His voice was smooth, but there was a quiet edge to it. "Speak."

You hesitated. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. Didn’t want to pick at something that might unravel everything.

"You seem to like reminiscing about the past," you finally said, keeping your voice even, careful.

His eyes darkened slightly.

"Of course," he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Why wouldn’t I? The moments I’ve spent with the one I love should not be forgotten."

Your chest tightened.

He didn’t see it the way you did. To him, the past and the present were intertwined, threads of the same existence. But to you? The past felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

"Is that so?" Your lips curved into a wry smile, though the bitterness in your voice was barely concealed. "Then tell me, Sylus—who do you love more? Her or me?"

It was meant to sound like a joke. A playful jab. But the moment the words left your lips, the room shifted. His grip on your waist tightened, his body going still. His expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"What kind of question is that, kitten?" His voice remained steady, but there was something underneath it now—something more careful.

"It doesn’t matter if it’s the past or the present I’m thinking about—it’s always you on my mind."

But it didn’t feel like it.

Not in the way that mattered.

You swallowed, the months of quiet insecurities bubbling up, spilling over before you could stop them. "I don’t want you to think about her," you admitted, voice quieter now but no less firm. "It’s in the past—the past I don’t even remember."

A beat of silence.

For the first time that night, Sylus looked genuinely caught off guard. His expression wavered for the briefest moment before something else took its place—something softer.

"…I apologize." His voice, always so effortlessly poised, now carried an unfamiliar weight. "I never meant to make you feel that way, sweetheart. I won’t mention it again."

And yet—right now, it wasn’t enough.

"I need a moment for myself." The words left you before you could think them through.

You turned, ready to step away, but his fingers curled around your wrist—not tight, not forceful, just there.

"I won’t stop you," he murmured. "Take all the time you need." His hand lifted, brushing against your cheek, his touch warm, careful. You refused to meet his gaze, afraid of the emotions that might spill over if you did.

"But know that —when you’re ready, I’ll be right here."

A pause. Then, softer—so tender it nearly broke you—

"I love you."

And then, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head before letting you go.

And just like that, you slipped away from him.

Out of the room, out of his reach, out into the night, letting the wind carry you as you tried to untangle the storm of emotions inside you.

You weren’t sure how long it would take. An hour, a day, a month.

But Sylus—he would wait.

He always did.

Caleb

A/N:For Caleb, I decided to twist it a little and instead make it about your future self. Hope that's alright!

It was always easy to be carefree with Caleb nearby.

He made the world feel manageable—as if no matter what went wrong, he would be there, steady as ever, grounding you with nothing more than a glance. You hated how much you depended on him, how much you needed him, but he made it feel so natural, so right.

And even now, as you perched on the kitchen counter, watching the way his muscled back flexed with each movement, the rhythmic sound of his knife against the cutting board filling the space between you, you thought—maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I need.

Your gaze lingered. It was the only sight you ever wanted to see.

Caleb, as if sensing your attention, let out a low chuckle. "I can feel you staring, pipsqueak." He turned his head slightly, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

Your heart stuttered. No matter how much he changed over the years, that grin—that teasing, infuriating grin—never did.

"You're a terrible chef," you huffed, crossing your arms. "I’ve been waiting for my dish for, what? An hour now?"

He snorted. "Fifteen minutes, actually."

"Felt longer."

"Impatient as ever." He shook his head, flipping something onto a plate with practiced ease.

You chuckled softly, but the warmth in your chest flickered, cooling as a shadow of uncertainty crept into your mind. You hated thinking about the future. The unpredictability of it, the way it loomed, stretching out like an abyss, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto the present.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice Caleb moving until his presence was right there. His hand shot out, pinching your cheek.

"Finally got your attention, pips." His voice was teasing, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

You groaned, swatting his hand away as he set your plate aside. His violet eyes—always so sharp, so unnervingly aware—locked onto yours.

"What's going on in that little head of yours, hmm?" He leaned in slightly, voice still playful, but now edged with something serious.

You hesitated.

It was stupid. You knew it was stupid to ask. But the words clawed at your throat, relentless.

"I was just thinking..." you mumbled, staring down at your dangling feet.

"Rare sight." He smirked.

You shot him a glare and shoved at his chest, earning a low chuckle.

"Shut up." You exhaled, fingers tightening around the hem of your shirt. Then, before you could lose your nerve— "Caleb, do you see me in your future?"

The teasing glint in his eyes faded instantly.

For the first time in the conversation, his smirk disappeared, replaced by something unreadable. He stared at you, brow furrowing slightly, as if trying to figure out why the hell you’d ask something so ridiculous.

Then—without hesitation— "You’re the only thing I’m certain about in my future."

Your breath hitched.

"It’s you, by my side, exploiting me as your personal slave." His lips quirked up, but you knew him too well. The humor was a shield, a flimsy attempt to soften the truth beneath it.

And the truth was—Caleb didn’t make promises easily. He was a liar, through and through. You knew that. Hell, he was probably the biggest liar you’d ever met.

But right now?

There was no lie in his voice. No hesitation in his certainty.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the future didn’t feel so terrifying.

But doubt was a cruel thing. It never let go easily.

"But what if I’m not the same?" you murmured, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your shirt.

Caleb scoffed, ruffling your hair with a tenderness that contradicted the smug grin on his face.

"Then I’ll adapt to whatever version of you I get." His voice was soft, but his grip—his presence—was solid.

Your throat tightened as warmth bloomed in your chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, breathing him in.

"Even if I become the worst version of myself?" you teased, tilting your head slightly.

Caleb hummed, amused. "If that’s the case, I’ll just make sure I become the best version of myself." He leaned in, voice dropping to something lower, something that sent a shiver down your spine. "And if your worst self turns out to be particularly sadistic, well..." His lips barely brushed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ll make sure to satisfy your cravings, baby"

Heat coiled in your stomach. You barely had a second to react before he pulled back, pressing a finger to your lips just as you tried to close the distance.

"Ah-ah. Eat first, pips."

You groaned. "You’re impossible."

He chuckled, eyes glinting with something dark, something possessive. Something that promised—no matter what version of yourself you became, he would always be there.

With Caleb, there was only one certainty in life—

You would always have someone who loved you unconditionally.

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downbadf0rficppl · 9 months ago

Text

love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being Natasha's in the dark, where no one can see you, but what if all the hiding causes insecurities to rear their head and make you question if you are even good enough for this job?

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

AN: Maybe - definitely - OOC Natasha, but I wanted to get my annoyance out somewhere. It's been a long week *crying face*. Anyway, I can't write anything angsty (dk if I would classify this as angst angst but ya know) without a lil bit of fluff at the end so yh. Also sorry that the plot is a bit shit - I haven't reread this and it was a lil bit word-vomity?? Will reread and edit eventually haha. HEA, hurt/comfort vibes? :P

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

The dim light of morning filters through the curtains as you quietly gather your things, your heart a tangled mess of emotions you’d rather not confront. Natasha’s apartment is always neat—pristine, even in its chaos—but today it feels colder than usual. The aftermath of the night lingers in the air: the weight of intimacy, of bodies pressed together, of shared moments that somehow don't leave a mark, yet always seem to hang over you.

You move with practiced ease, pulling on your clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the stillness. Natasha’s absence from the bed doesn’t surprise you; she’s already up, probably training or doing some task to keep herself distracted, to keep from thinking about the mission, about what happened, about anything. You don’t blame her. You’ve seen the way she handles it—how she compartmentalizes her emotions, how sex is the one thing she doesn’t keep in a box.

The door to her bathroom creaks open as you finish zipping your jacket. She doesn’t look at you, her hair damp from a quick shower, her expression unreadable, almost distant. She grabs her black leather jacket from the chair, pulls it on, and heads to the kitchen, the clink of mugs the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak, but the words always seem to hang on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind something you don’t know how to say. You're younger—years younger—and Natasha... well, Natasha never gives anything away. Not in the way you want her to. Her walls are solid, built from years of training, of being a weapon. And you? You’re just a moment, a fleeting thing in her life.

You find her standing by the window now, her back to you, her figure outlined against the early light. She’s always like this after missions, like she’s trying to rid herself of the weight, trying to get back to being Natasha again, instead of... whatever else she’s forced to be.

“Thanks for last night,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t even acknowledge your words immediately. Then, as if the silence is too much to bear, she speaks. “You should go. Goodnight, baby.” Her voice is low, steady, but there's an edge to it—something you can’t quite place.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

You turn to leave, but something inside you twists, a knot in your stomach that isn’t just from the awkwardness. It’s the realization that, for all the time you’ve spent together, nothing will ever change. This is just routine—an unspoken agreement between the two of you. She'll keep using you to forget, and you’ll keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.

But Natasha doesn’t ask you to stay, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way toward the door. When you reach the threshold, you steal one last glance at her. Her eyes are on the window again, her face set in that familiar, unreadable expression.

You leave without a word, the door clicking softly behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening.

This is never ending, we have been here before

But I can't stay this time, 'cause I don't love you anymore

The quiet hum of the helicarrier was almost calming, the steady vibrations of the engines beneath your feet grounding you after a chaotic mission. You’d never felt more alive than when you were out there—fighting, taking down the bad guys, doing what SHIELD trained you to do. But tonight, that adrenaline wasn’t enough to silence the nagging feeling inside of you. You kept replaying the moments from the mission—the moments with Natasha.

The mission had gone smoothly. You had worked well together, flowing seamlessly as a team, and Natasha had even given you a rare, approving glance when it was all over. It had been a high-stakes op, but everything had fallen into place. When the mission was debriefed, there had been laughter, light-hearted jokes exchanged between agents, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her touch had lingered, just a moment longer than necessary, when she passed you your gear. Her eyes had met yours once, a flicker of something in them. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make you wonder. Maybe she feels it too, you thought. The way she looked at you, the way she spoke—there was an intimacy in it, a spark you couldn’t quite ignore.

The night had unfolded with a casual invitation to meet in her room. No big deal, she’d said. Just to grab a drink, just to relax. But when you entered her room, it felt different. You both shed the weight of the mission in the space between words, the tension between you growing as the night went on. Her touch had been slow, almost gentle, when it first brushed against your skin. You’d been hesitant, unsure of what was happening, but she seemed so confident, so sure.

It wasn’t until later—after you were tangled up in each other, breathless, skin flushed—that you felt that spark you had hoped for. Maybe she was just as interested, just as real about this as you were. It wasn’t just a mission anymore, not just two agents getting the job done. There was a connection. There was something between you.

But when you stepped out of her room the next morning, something shifted in the air. The way she had casually kissed you on the cheek before you left, the way she didn’t ask you to stay, didn’t look at you the way you hoped—none of it was what you imagined.

Later, you passed a group of agents gathered in a corner of the mess hall, talking in low voices. You’d barely paid them any mind, too focused on your own thoughts, but then you heard it.

“I wonder who Nat picked this time,” one of them had said, laughing.

“Probably one of the newbies who doesn’t know any better. Gets what she wants, and moves on. No strings attached.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your heart sinking lower with every syllable. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. The woman you had admired from a distance, the one you had trusted and looked up to, had just used you. And maybe—maybe you had been just another mission for her.

You couldn’t help but feel the sting of that realization. You had wanted more. You had convinced yourself that there was something more to it—that the way she held you, the way she whispered your name had meant something. But no. This was who she was. A lone wolf. Cold. Detached.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just nodded, forcing yourself to accept what you had heard, forcing yourself to forget what had happened the night before. The optimism you had clung to began to die right then and there. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t something that could grow or change.

You walked back to your quarters, the weight of the mission—and your heartache—settling in your chest. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to be just one of the many in a string of forgettable faces. The night with Natasha had been a blip. No more, no less.

The next time you saw her, you kept your distance, smiled a little tighter, and allowed the walls to go up. There was no point in hoping for something more when you knew exactly how this worked. She was always a few steps ahead of you, always thinking of the next mission, the next fight, never lingering too long in one place.

And you? You learned to accept that. No strings attached. No expectations. Just the way things were.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the training room as you and Natasha sparred. The fight was almost second nature now—quick jabs, swift dodges, and the occasional, playful taunt thrown into the mix. You'd gotten better at handling the pressure, but still, when it came to Natasha, it was hard not to feel like you were always playing catch-up. She was faster, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes, it seemed like she was born to fight.

You threw a punch, aiming for her midsection, but she dodged it with effortless grace, countering with a sharp jab to your ribs. You grunted, stumbling back a step, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You pressed forward, more determined now.

“Not bad,” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice light. “But you’re still weak. You need me to save you again, huh?” She laughed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

It was a joke, you knew that, or at least, you thought you did. But something about her words hit you differently today. You weren’t in the mood to laugh. You had been pushing yourself hard in training, trying to prove that you could handle it on your own, that you weren’t just some rookie who was always under Natasha’s shadow.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing frustration that bubbled in your chest. You swung again, but this time, you missed her entirely. She dodged it effortlessly and caught your wrist in a hold that felt too tight.

“Still not enough,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you some more training lessons. You know, to make sure I don’t have to keep saving you.”

The joke, the lightness in her voice, it only made you more upset. “Maybe I don’t need saving,” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free from her grip, your temper flaring. “Maybe I can handle things on my own for once.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, but she kept her hold firm. “Maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Deep down you knew it was a joke, but it wasn’t funny to you—not today. Not when you already felt the weight of everyone’s whispers hanging over you like a shadow. She’s only here because she’s sleeping with Natasha. She’s nothing without her. Every agent seemed to think the same thing. Even some of your own teammates seemed to treat you like you were just an afterthought, a placeholder who only got the mission because of who you knew, not because of your skill.

You had always tried to prove them wrong. But when Natasha said things like that, it felt like all your efforts were for nothing. Like all of it was just... a joke.

You yanked your arm out of her grip and stepped back, glaring at her. “I don’t need you to save me, Natasha. I don’t need anyone.”

Her expression shifted, the playful edge in her eyes dimming. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t hear the things you heard, didn’t feel the weight of the judgment you carried every day. To her, this was just another training session, another moment of playful teasing. But to you? It was like being backed into a corner, your confidence slowly slipping away with every word.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha said, her voice sharp now. “You know I’m just messing with you. Stop getting so moody.”

It stung more than it should’ve. You clenched your fists at your sides, holding back the urge to walk out of the room, to leave her there without another word.

But you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the walls close in around you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m just here for the fun of it. That I can’t do anything without you. You don’t even see it.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, and she let out a frustrated sigh, dropping her stance. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

You felt the words cut deep, the sting of her dismissal more painful than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you as some emotional mess. But it was too late. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the ache of being ignored, dismissed, and reduced to nothing more than a pawn in her world.

“Fine,” you snapped, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe I should just go. You don’t need to deal with my mood anymore.”

Natasha didn’t even flinch at your outburst. Instead, she looked at you with a cold indifference. “Then fuck off,” she said bluntly, as if you were just another irritation, another moment she couldn’t be bothered with.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why you were so angry, why you felt so small in that moment. And you realized, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that maybe she never would.

You turned and walked away without another word, your chest tight, your emotions a storm inside of you. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay there, not with her. Not now.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

You hadn’t meant to overhear it. You had only walked into the SHIELD briefing room to check on some mission updates when Agent Ryder’s voice cut through the air, low but unmistakable.

You could feel the sting of his dismissive tone reverberating in your bones. Nepotism. The word had echoed in your head long after he’d left, taunting you. You knew the truth—your guardian wasn’t some high-ranking official, wasn’t some big shot with connections—but still, how could they say that? How could they reduce your hard work to just that? To nothing but the connections you didn’t even ask for?

You had always tried to prove yourself. Every mission, every task, every step forward was to show you deserved to be here, that you weren’t just some token agent or a pawn in a bigger game. You had trained harder than anyone. You had put in the hours, learned everything you could, sacrificed the same as everyone else. But still, every time you turned around, someone else was whispering behind your back, casting doubt on your worth.

And then there was Natasha. Her teasing had been the last straw. You had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but you knew deep down that the way she dismissed you—it was just another reminder that you were expendable. You weren’t one of them. You were just... a mistake in the system.

So when you walked into the training room the next morning and saw Natasha leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as relaxed and confident as ever, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t go to her like you usually did. You didn’t smile, didn’t offer the usual greeting. Instead, you simply nodded once, cold and distant.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped forward.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned away from her, grabbing your gear and adjusting it with deliberate care. The silence stretched between you both. You could feel her eyes on you, studying you, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t owe her one. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“You’re still upset about yesterday, huh?” Natasha’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. A warning, maybe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You ignored her, shoving your focus back into the task at hand, determined not to let her see the way your chest tightened. You didn’t want to feel weak. You didn’t want her to know how much her words hurt. You were done with this—done with pretending, done with leaning on her. You were going to prove yourself. You had to.

A few moments passed before Natasha stepped closer, frustration creeping into her tone. “If you don’t stop this, we’re going to have a problem.”

You turned to face her then, finally looking her in the eyes, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. We’re not going to have a problem. I’m done with this.” You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m done with you. I’m tired of being treated like I’m some kind of charity case. Like I don’t belong here unless I’m under your shadow.”

Natasha’s face shifted, confusion flashing in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You took a step back, your voice rising in frustration. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? All of it. The way you make fun of me. Like it’s just a joke. Well, it’s not. I’ve been busting my ass here, and all you do is remind me that everyone thinks I’m just some charity case. Nepotism. You think that’s a joke? You think I need you to save me?”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the side, and then back to you. She crossed her arms, clearly trying to hold her composure. But there was something in her eyes—something tight, something hurt.

“Is this about yesterday?” she asked, her tone sharper now, but there was a hint of concern buried underneath. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” You shot back, unable to hold it in anymore. “You don’t get to dismiss me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not some... some... tool for you to use whenever you want. I’m not some kid you get to play with and forget about when it’s convenient.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with tension. Natasha’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think this is about me using you? You think I’m using you? Is that what you really think?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with anger, her usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. She shook her head, disbelief and frustration written all over her face. “You’ve got it all wrong. But fine, if that’s how you feel, then go ahead. Go prove yourself, like you keep saying you will. But don’t come crawling back to me when you realize you can’t do it alone.”

The words stung, but it was the way she turned and walked away—cold, final—that hit you the hardest. You felt the knot in your chest tighten, but you didn’t call after her. You couldn’t.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding her, your mind racing with doubt and anger. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about feeling like you were fighting a battle on your own, with no one in your corner. The more you tried to distance yourself, the more you realized how much you needed her, even if it hurt to admit it.

But you were stubborn. You had to prove to yourself that you weren’t just here because of someone else. You weren’t going to be Natasha’s shadow anymore.

You couldn’t.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

The morning briefing had gone smoothly, the usual debriefing about mission parameters, objectives, and exit strategies. But there was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t shake. It was just a solo mission—nothing too difficult, Natasha had said, and you knew the protocol well. But the moment she had pulled out, just hours before takeoff, something in your gut twisted.

"It doesn't need to be a two-person mission," Natasha had said with her usual casual smile, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. "It’s easy. You’ve got this." Her voice had sounded almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t been training with you for months, as if she didn’t know how much you relied on her presence during missions. You knew Natasha wasn’t one for emotional goodbyes, but the absence of that small gesture—her usual good luck kiss before every mission—felt like a sign. You had never gone on a mission without one, and now, as you stood alone in the SHIELD hangar, you realized just how much you had come to rely on it.

She hadn’t even given you a heads-up, hadn’t said goodbye with her usual teasing smirk or reassuring look. It’s an easy mission, you told yourself. You don’t need her this time. But the unease in your chest told you otherwise.

You tugged the straps of your gear tighter, glancing once more at the aircraft. The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a small criminal syndicate operating out of a hidden base in the mountains, retrieve intel, and get out. You’d handled worse. But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. Your instincts were screaming at you, and for once, you weren’t willing to ignore them.

You checked your wristwatch again. The flight would take a few hours, leaving you with time to prepare mentally, but all you could think about was Natasha. The way she had waved you off with barely a second glance, as if you didn’t matter enough for a goodbye. You tried not to dwell on it. After all, Natasha didn’t do sentiment. But the emptiness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she’s just focused on something else. But none of that helped. You were used to her being there with you, a reassuring presence by your side. You needed her, especially when the missions were dangerous—especially when you felt the weight of the world bearing down on you. But now, you were alone, and that felt heavier than you expected.

As the helicopter’s engines roared to life, you settled back into your seat, trying to center yourself. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult. You could do this alone, you kept telling yourself. But something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Natasha pulling out at the last minute. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't given you her usual kiss for luck, the one that always helped you steady your nerves before a mission. But whatever it was, it gnawed at you. Your instincts were telling you to watch your back. Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time you arrived at the drop zone, the helicopter had been quiet for too long. The mountainside stretched ahead, vast and intimidating, and the cold wind carried the promise of danger. You could see the hidden compound from the air—well-guarded, heavily fortified, and far from any backup. A simple mission, Natasha had called it.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

The drop was smooth, and you quickly moved into position, your boots crunching against the frozen ground. The area around the compound was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet. No guards on patrol. No sign of life. It didn’t make sense, but you pushed the unease aside. You had a job to do.

You made your way toward the compound, slipping into the shadows, the cold air biting at your skin. Every step felt calculated, but the tension in your shoulders refused to loosen. You kept glancing over your shoulder, as if expecting Natasha to appear and tell you everything was fine, that this was just another mission to add to the books.

But she wasn’t there.

You reached the compound’s perimeter and found the first guard’s post abandoned, his gear left behind but no sign of a struggle. There was no time to waste. You slipped inside, working quickly to disable the security systems and hack into the mainframe. The room you’d accessed was silent, save for the whir of the computers. As you pulled the intel from the servers, the cold feeling in your gut only grew.

Something wasn’t right. Your instincts had been spot-on—this mission had been a setup.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You froze, turning off the monitor and moving swiftly toward the exit. You didn’t have time to think. You just had to get out. The sudden realization hit you like a punch in the stomach—Natasha wasn’t here for a reason. She’d known this mission wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And now you were paying the price for going in blind, without her by your side.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted for cover, your mind racing. Every corner you turned felt like a trap. The compound was alive with activity now. You could hear voices, shouts, the sounds of boots hitting the concrete floor.

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted this mission without her.

You ducked into an alcove, pressing your back to the cold wall, your breath shallow. The door to the room you’d just vacated opened with a quiet click, and a group of armed men poured in, searching for you. The walls seemed to close in on you as the adrenaline kicked in. You had to move, had to get out, or you would be trapped.

Suddenly, your body started to droop, collapsing against the wall behind. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was long red hair tied into a bun.

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

You woke to the sting of cold water splashing across your face, the shock of it making your body jerk awake, muscles aching with the memory of the fight. The pain was sharp, gnawing at your ribs and shoulders, each breath a struggle. The world around you was blurred, and all you could focus on was the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your eyes opened, blurry at first, and then the details started to sharpen: concrete walls, dim lighting, and the cold, oppressive silence that clung to the room. There were metal chairs around you, all empty but one. The leader of the enemy force, a tall man with a face carved from stone, stood before you, a smug look on his face as he held the bucket that had been your rude awakening.

He tossed the remaining ice water in your direction, a small slosh hitting your face as he watched you with cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a tough one,” he said in a low, mocking voice. “I didn’t think you’d last this long. But everyone cracks eventually, don’t they?”

Your throat was dry, and your tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper. You could feel the blood caked on your face, the bruises that were already starting to swell. But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming urge to break, you held your ground. You glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” the man sneered. “You SHIELD agents are all the same. So loyal. So stupid. You’re all just waiting for your little friends to come save you, aren’t you?”

Your lips pressed together tightly, and you refused to let a single word slip from them. You couldn’t afford to give him anything. Not a single piece of intel, not even a whimper. You knew that if you did, it would all be over.

He stepped closer, placing a booted foot against your thigh, forcing you back against the cold concrete. The pressure was almost unbearable, but you didn’t flinch. The silence between you both stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally gave a humorless laugh and straightened up. “I can wait. All of you are the same. Eventually, you’ll break.”

But you didn’t.

The next few days bled together in a haze of cold, pain, and isolation. The room was a blur of steel, concrete, and fluorescent lights. There were no windows, no sense of time. Your body was sore, covered in cuts and bruises, and the hunger gnawed at you. But you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when you knew someone would come for you.

They’ll come. They have to.

Every time they came in, it was the same—questions, threats, taunts. And every time, you remained silent. You couldn’t let them know how desperate you were. You couldn’t let them see you break. Even if every part of you screamed for help, you stayed resolute, hoping that somehow, someone would find you, someone would come and end this.

But no one did.

It was only when the fourth day passed, when the darkness of the room had become your world, that you started to feel the weight of your own mind closing in. The silence, the isolation, the constant threat of pain—it started to take a toll on you. The hunger gnawed at your insides, and your thoughts drifted in and out. You could still hear his voice echoing in your head: They’ll come for you. They’ll come...

It was on the sixth day that it happened. A crack in the door. The low hum of voices. The sound of boots. You didn’t move at first, couldn’t. But then, just like that, the door swung open, and a small team of SHIELD agents burst in, guns drawn. They moved quickly, efficiently, sweeping the room and securing the area. You didn’t even have the energy to react as they cut through the restraints on your wrists and helped you to your feet.

"Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” one of them murmured, gently pulling you into their arms.

But the words didn’t register. You could hear them, but it was like they were coming from another world. You felt light-headed, your body numb, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The next few days were a blur of recovery, of medical checks and debriefings that you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to. Every word felt like it was coming from a place far outside of you, and you couldn’t find the strength to answer.

In the quiet, isolated room they had put you in at the base, you sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Every noise around you felt too loud. Every touch too much. They gave you time to recover, but you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. Your mind had shut down, your body running on autopilot.

There were no words. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The trauma, the isolation, everything that had happened—it left you feeling hollow. Broken.

You didn’t speak at all for days, your body recovering, but your mind still trapped in the darkness of that cold room. The cold man’s words echoed in your head. You’re all waiting for someone to come save you.

But even as the team tried to coax you into talking, even as they brought you your favorite food and gave you the space to recover, the silence remained.

Natasha didn’t come. She wasn’t there when you needed her, and the weight of that felt heavier than any physical wound. It wasn’t her fault. You knew that. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still alone.

Your recovery was slow. You weren’t the same person when you were finally cleared to leave the facility. There was a coldness in your eyes, a distance in your posture. The silence you had once embraced had become a shield, and now, it was all you had.

Natasha had visited you once during your recovery. She hadn’t said much, just sat in silence beside you. But even when she reached out to touch your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The trauma had built walls too high, too thick to break. And no one, not even Natasha, could find their way through.

You were alive, yes. But the silence that followed felt like it would never end.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

The sterile scent of the hospital room, the constant hum of machines, and the bright, white lights overhead did little to make you feel at ease. You stared at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused, your mind a swirling mess of everything that had happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You didn’t feel like you were living—just existing, going through the motions. Every movement felt like an effort, and the space around you felt too small, too suffocating.

You hadn’t spoken since the rescue. Not to anyone. The silence, once a comfort, had become a prison you couldn’t escape. Your throat was raw from the lack of words, and when you closed your eyes, you could still see the cold walls of that room, the mocking face of the enemy leader, and the weight of the isolation pressing down on you.

The door opened, and you didn’t look up. You knew who it was before the first words even registered.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

The voice was sharp, familiar, cutting through the fog that had settled around your brain. Natasha.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was screaming for you to stay quiet, to not let her in, because the moment you spoke, you knew it would shatter the wall you’d built to protect yourself. But Natasha didn’t wait for a response. She stormed into the room, her boots heavy on the floor, her expression tight with frustration.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Natasha continued, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s been weeks. You’re acting like a damn child, and I’m done with it. I don’t have time for this immature bullshit, especially from you.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of anger and confusion building inside you, but you refused to show it. You couldn’t. You knew better than to let her see the storm inside you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your schedule,” you said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to add any more, any more than the words that barely scraped out. Sorry for being alive, sorry for failing.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, standing at the side of your bed. Her face was hard, her anger not hiding the concern that still flickered beneath. “You think this is easy for me, too? That I just get to pretend nothing happened? That I’m supposed to just let you wallow in here like—like this?” Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “This is fucking ridiculous, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you ruin everything you’ve worked for. Do you understand me? You’re going to lose everything.”

The sting of her words cut deep, but it was the accusation in her tone that truly hit you. The one that had been festering in your chest ever since you’d been dragged out of that hellhole. You weren’t who you thought you were. You weren’t the person who deserved this life. The dream job, the recognition, the chance to be someone worth a damn—none of it was meant for you. Not after everything that had happened. You weren’t strong enough to keep it all, to be who they thought you were. And Natasha—Natasha, who had always been a silent pillar of strength for you, was now reminding you how easily it could all be taken away.

Her words stung. Immature... Ruin everything... You could feel the weight of her disappointment settle into your chest like a stone, heavier than anything you had ever felt.

And then, it clicked.

The final straw broke. Natasha didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the extent of what had happened to you—the isolation, the pain, the days spent waiting for someone to find you, and the crushing feeling that no one would. You were broken, and she was treating it like it was just a phase. That you just needed to snap out of it.

But you couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the pain from your injuries flaring in protest, but you pushed through. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you couldn’t stay here any longer. You had to leave. You had to escape the judgment, the expectations. You couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Natasha snapped, but you were already moving. You couldn’t be near her right now. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much.

Ignoring her calls, you grabbed the nearest coat, not caring that it didn’t quite fit right, and you made your way out of the room. You could hear her following you, her footsteps echoing behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t owe her anything anymore.

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

It didn’t take long to get to the secure office where you had to sign a few papers before they cleared your discharge. You barely registered the words the agent at the desk was saying. You barely noticed the fact that your fingers were trembling. You only had one thing on your mind—the resignation letter you had been drafting in your head for days.

You placed it on the desk in front of the agent, your hands shaking slightly as you slid the paper over to them. The words were short and to the point, and they made everything feel so final. So irreversible.

“I’m resigning,” you said, voice hoarse. “Effective immediately.”

The agent didn’t ask questions. They just nodded, their face unreadable, and then went about processing the paperwork. You watched, numb, as the reality of it all settled over you like a weight that you could never lift. You had dreamed of this job for so long, had worked so hard to get here, only to throw it all away because you didn’t deserve it anymore.

And in that moment, you felt everything you’d been holding in for weeks. The grief. The betrayal. The isolation. It all came rushing back, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t cry. The numbness, the emptiness, it was all you had now.

You stood up, turning away from the desk, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of finality wash over you. No turning back.

It wasn’t until you were almost out the door that you heard Natasha’s voice again, this time softer, more desperate. “Wait.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and the world outside felt both too big and too small at the same time. You were alone now. Completely, irrevocably alone.

And somehow, that felt like the only truth you could rely on anymore.

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

Clint’s sharp eyes caught you before you could make it out of the door, his footsteps quick as he crossed the hallway. He was dressed in his usual casual gear, a quiver slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“Hey, wait,” Clint said, his voice softer than it usually was when he called someone out. You didn’t stop. Your feet kept moving, your heart hammering as you tried to escape. But Clint was relentless. He grabbed your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with something like disappointment. “You can’t just walk out on everything. Nat’s worried sick.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, exhausted. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you muttered, your voice strained. “Not hers, not anyone's. Just... just leave me alone.”

Clint studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing with understanding. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a quieter corner, away from the main corridors, where he knew you wouldn’t be overheard.

"Look," Clint said, his voice lower now, softer but still firm, "I don’t know what kind of crap Nat's been feeding you, but I can tell you're hurting. You think you can just walk away from everything, like it’ll make things better? You think that's gonna fix anything?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to. But Clint didn’t need an answer.

“I hear things,” Clint went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hide something. And I’ve been in the rafters during most of those 'training' sessions with Nat. You think you’re the only one who feels small, huh?” His voice turned bitter, a subtle edge to it. “You think you’re the only one she’s pushed away?”

You stared at him, shocked, unable to respond. Clint saw right through you. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“She’s been messing with your head, hasn’t she?” Clint said. “Somehow, you think you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong here. You think everything you’ve done has been handed to you on a silver platter because of her. Well, let me tell you something—that’s not true.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you still didn’t speak. It was like you couldn’t find the words. The guilt, the shame, the feeling of never measuring up to the expectations—they all churned in your stomach.

Clint let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes softening. “You’re good enough,” he said, his tone firm, but there was an understanding there that made your throat tighten. “You’ve earned every bit of your place here. And if she can't see that, then she's the one who’s in the wrong. It’s not about who you know or who you're sleeping with. You’re here because of you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You felt the tears welling up, but you forced them back, swallowing the lump in your throat. Clint’s words had landed hard, and it was like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding was finally being released. But before you could say anything, Clint stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“Natasha…” Clint trailed off, his jaw tightening. “She’s been a mess lately. She’s scared—scared of losing you, scared of messing things up. But she doesn’t know how to apologize for anything. She’s been pushing you away because she’s too afraid to admit what she’s done. So yeah, she's been selfish. But you can’t just run away from everything. You deserve better than that."

Your heart twisted at his words, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of wanting to believe everything he said. But the hurt was still there, the feeling of being abandoned in your most vulnerable moment. You didn’t trust yourself enough to believe that you were the one who mattered.

Clint left you with a small pat on your shoulder - he couldn’t blame you for wanting to leave, he just wanted you to know the truth that Nat definitely wasn’t going to tell you. Now to chew her out. It didn’t take long for Clint to find her. Natasha was pacing the hall just outside, her face etched with frustration. The second Clint approached her, she shot him a glare.

“Where the hell is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice tight with anxiety. “You didn’t—”

Clint held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” he ordered. “And listen. I’m done with you thinking you can just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, but she stood still. Clint’s eyes were hard, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t holding back.

“You’ve been treating her like shit, Natasha,” Clint continued, his voice rising just enough to get her attention. “You think she’s the problem? That she’s just acting ‘immature’ or ‘childish’? Look around you for two seconds. You’ve been pushing her away, making her feel like she’s not good enough, like she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. You’ve been feeding her insecurities—her real ones—with your own mess. And, she’s traumatised. Those guys out there, the ones that tortured her for six days because she went in without an extraction plan”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Clint cut her off with a sharp motion.

“I hear things,” Clint said. “I’m up in the rafters sometimes. I hear the crap that other people say about her when they think no one’s listening. They question her place on the team because her dad was an officer in Fury’s good graces, or because they think you play favourites with her. They don’t realise that you’ve got something else going on, but all that shit compounded. You’ve made one of our best agents question everything about herself.”

Natasha’s face went pale, her expression shifting from anger to guilt in an instant. “Clint, I—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t quit sooner, Natasha. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you didn’t see how bad she was hurting.” Clint’s words hit like a slap. “Now go find her. And you better make this right, because if you don’t Fury is gonna be pissed.” The ‘and I’ went unspoken.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Natasha stopped at the entrance of Tony’s stupid ‘serenity garden’. It was the last place she had left to look, and it looked like luck was on her side. You were sitting on one of the benches in the corner, your back to her as you stared into the depths of the Koi pond. It was like you were a part of the landscape now, blending into the tranquility of the place. Natasha felt her throat tighten at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, so distant. She had never seen you like this—not once. It was always her who had the walls up, not you.

She took a cautious step forward, the grass underfoot crunching softly as she neared you.

Natasha called your name softly, her voice hesitant, like she was testing the waters. You didn’t respond immediately, and for a brief second, Natasha was unsure if you had even heard her. The silence between you felt thick, almost unbearable. She sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough that she hoped you could feel her presence.

It wasn’t the same as before—when she had always known what to say to you, when her words had always been sure, always laced with a confidence that kept her safe. But now? Now she had no idea how to begin. Her usual sharp tongue had failed her. There were no easy words to break the ice this time, no snarky jokes to hide behind. Only you—and the wreckage she had left in her wake.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see her. The surprise in your eyes caught her off guard. You’re surprised to see me here, Natasha realized. You didn’t expect her to come. You didn’t expect her to care enough to seek you out.

And for the first time ever, Natasha didn’t know what to say.

Her mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced at you, her expression filled with uncertainty. She could feel the weight of everything she had said, everything she had done, everything she had failed to do. The words that had always come so easily to her were nowhere to be found now. It was as if the depth of your hurt had trapped her, left her speechless, helpless.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to face her entirely, but your gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. You could sense her struggle—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, speechless for the first time in your memory.

“Nat?” you finally said, the question carrying more weight than it should. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and small, like the person you had been before all of this had come crashing down.

She looked at you, the smallest glimmer of relief flickering in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the same guilt she had been carrying for days now.

“I…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

You blinked at her, surprised. This was the first time you’d ever seen Natasha lost for words. You’d always been the one fumbling for the right thing to say, the one who couldn’t figure out how to get past the pain. But she—Natasha Romanoff, the one who always had control, always knew how to navigate even the most dangerous situations—she was the one who was struggling now.

It was like the world had shifted, and the unshakable woman you had always known had suddenly become... human.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Her voice was soft, as if the weight of everything she had been holding was finally catching up with her. “I messed up,” she said quietly. “I messed up, baby. And I... I don’t know how to make it right.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, and it took everything in you to keep the tears from falling.

“I’ve been a mess,” Natasha continued, her eyes looking straight ahead, not daring to meet yours. “I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you... And I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just—I pushed you away. I thought you’d be fine. I thought you’d understand. But I see now that I made everything worse.”

You swallowed, the words feeling like they weighed a ton in your chest. You couldn’t speak, not yet. But you turned your head slightly to face her, your gaze still unreadable.

“I never wanted to make you feel like you don’t belong here,” Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted you to think that you were here because of me, or that you weren’t good enough.” Her lips tightened, frustration and regret flooding her features. “I just—I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And I made you think I didn’t care. But I do. I care. I care about you more than you could ever know.”

The silence stretched out between you both, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha felt small. Her pride, her strength—all the things that had always defined her—were gone, stripped away by the vulnerability of this moment.

You glanced at her, studying her face. It was like you were seeing her for the first time—broken, fragile, and unsure.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the smallest sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if you can fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I need you to know something, Natasha. I needed you. And you—you—were the one who turned away.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of your words, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded slowly, accepting the truth, knowing it wasn’t something that could be undone in a moment. The air between you and Natasha felt heavy with words you couldn’t articulate. You had remained silent for so long, allowing her apology to linger in the air like a fragile thing—something too delicate to touch, to hold onto. But now, with the weight of her words pressing down on you, you couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I’m leaving,” you said, the words steady, though they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were telling her this now, but you had to. You had to make it real, to take control of something in your life again.

“I’m transferring,” you added, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m going to Quantico. I’ll be working with the FBI as a consultant. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but... I don’t deserve to be here anymore. I got the hint.”

The words felt like a confession, a goodbye you hadn’t yet found the courage to say. There had been so many dreams—so many things you’d imagined for yourself at SHIELD. You had fought for them, worked tirelessly, sacrificed for them. But now, they felt like they were slipping away.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, like she was trying to find the words. You knew what she’d say. She’d tell you that you were making a mistake, that you had so much potential. But it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would fix what had been broken.

You could feel the emotions swirling inside of you, but you had already made your decision. It was easier to walk away, easier than confronting everything that had gone wrong.

But then, she spoke. And it was different from anything you’d expected.

“You’re the best SHIELD has to offer,” Natasha said, her voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency in it. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, baby. I... I don’t think you see it. You’ve done things that people can’t even dream of. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You’ve earned your place here. And I know I haven’t made it easy for you, but you belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. Her voice was fierce now, insistent, and you could hear the raw sincerity in it. But none of it felt real. None of it felt true, not in the way you needed it to.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost in the distance between you. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly belonged here. Not in the way you think. I’m not you, Nat. I’m not cut from the same cloth. I’m just—me. And I’ve been holding on to a dream that doesn’t fit. Not anymore.”

Natasha’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue. She could feel your resolve, could see how broken you were, how done you seemed. It was like you had already left—mentally, emotionally, even before physically walking away.

Her chest tightened. “Baby, listen—"

But you shook your head, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, Nat, I’ve heard it all.” You inhaled sharply, the words rushing out. “And I’ve finally started hearing what’s been said. And now I’m seeing what’s been true all along. I’m not enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I give. And you... you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be anything but a second choice. I was just a comfort to you, a distraction. You made me feel like I needed to prove myself—like I needed to earn my place, but I did. I did, and it never mattered.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s lips trembled, the harshness of your words sinking in. She knew she had been wrong, knew she had made everything worse. But hearing you speak this way—so broken, so defeated—it shattered something deep inside her.

"Please..." Natasha's voice faltered, her tough exterior cracking. She reached out toward you, but the gesture was hesitant, unsure. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel—”

You pulled away, standing up slowly, the decision final in your mind. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my choice. I’m leaving. And I don’t think you’ll miss me that much anyway. It’s easier to pretend like you don’t need anyone than to admit you might be wrong about something.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

Before you could take another step, you felt a hand grip yours. Warm, strong, and unyielding. Natasha had caught up with you, her fingers laced around yours, holding you in place. You didn’t turn around. You weren’t sure you wanted to face her again, not after everything that had been said, not after the rawness that she had exposed.

Natasha’s voice was softer now as she called your name, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “Please, just—don’t walk away yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse, but it was hard when every part of you wanted to run. You didn’t stop, but neither did she.

Her grip tightened, pulling you back just a little, her touch sending a mix of warmth and tension straight through you. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t the confident agent you were used to, the one who had always kept her emotions under lock and key. There was something different now, something uncertain, almost as if she wasn’t sure of her place in your world anymore.

“I’ve messed up,” Natasha continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I know I pushed you too hard. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough, like you didn’t belong here, and... I did that because I wanted you to be the best. I wanted you to be safe. I was afraid that if anything happened to you—if I lost you on a mission, I—I don’t think I could survive it.”

You could feel her breath, the rise and fall of her chest close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her words hit you like a wave crashing into the shore, raw and jagged, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to process them.

“I pushed you because I was scared. And in trying to protect you... I ended up pushing you away,” she whispered, the confession hanging in the air, the depth of it too much to ignore. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I was so so wrong.”

The air between you both was thick with everything she had just said, and you stood there for a long moment, processing it all. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her—not yet.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Natasha,” you said, your voice a mixture of anger and hurt. It wasn’t snark this time, no biting sarcasm, just raw emotion. "The only time something terrible happened to me, something that almost killed me, was when you abandoned me. You made the call. You didn’t show up. I was out there, all alone, and you weren’t there when I needed you most.”

Your chest tightened as you spoke, the hurt pouring out like it always had, but now it was different. Now, it wasn’t just anger. It was a deep, aching sadness that threatened to drown you. And despite yourself, you couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. Like I wasn’t worth anything.”

You could feel Natasha’s breath hitch behind you, the weight of your words striking her deep. She didn’t say anything at first, and when you finally turned around, you saw the truth in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, and a pain you hadn’t expected. The sight of it, the way her face crumpled in on itself, broke something inside you.

Her hand fell away from yours, but it wasn’t because she wanted to let go. It was because she was shaking, trembling with emotion that she could no longer hold in. And then you saw it—tears. Two, maybe three, glistening on her cheeks. Natasha Romanoff, the unshakable Black Widow, was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel abandoned. I... I couldn’t bear the thought of you in danger. But... I hurt you worse by pushing you away.”

For the first time in all the years you’d known her, you saw Natasha unraveling in front of you, breaking apart piece by piece. It felt almost cruel, to see her like this after everything you’d been through. But as much as your heart ached for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Nat,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You hurt me. You made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t enough. And when it mattered the most... when I was out there fighting to survive, you turned your back on me.”

Natasha flinched at the force of your words. They were like a punch to the gut, and you saw how much it hurt her to hear them. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep pretending that everything would just magically be okay.

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. And I can’t take that back. I can’t make up for it. But... I just need you to know, I care. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you care,” you said softly, but your voice still carried that edge of distance. “But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t know how to keep going back to the way things were. I can’t keep coming back to you only to be left in the dark again.”

There was a long silence, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever, and Natasha stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was broken, but that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done had hurt you in ways you weren’t sure could ever heal.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice cracked. “You deserve more than this. You deserve better. Someone who won’t make you feel like you have to earn their care, someone who won’t turn their back when things get hard.”

You stood there, feeling the weight of the finality in her words, and for a long time, you didn’t know what to say. You looked at her—the broken woman in front of you—and you realized that, despite everything, despite all the hurt, you didn’t want to stay. You needed to walk away. For yourself.

“I need to walk away, Natasha,” you said quietly, your voice steady but firm. “I don’t know what we were, what we are anymore. But I can’t do this anymore.”

You turned towards the exit, your steps unfaltering as you walked away. Natasha half expected - hoped - you’d turn around and run to her. But you didn’t. You walked away, slowly, your footsteps fading into the distance, away from SHIELD and away from her.

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

It was a quiet evening when you walked into the bar after a long day, your mind still buzzing with the details of your latest case. Quantico was different to SHIELD in almost every way. The people were different, the procedures were different, but you found that - after getting into the swing of things - it wasn’t worse. Just different.

The dim lighting of the bar, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses—it was a familiar comfort now, one that made you feel grounded after the chaos of your job. You ordered a drink and leaned against the bar, letting your shoulders drop, the weight of the day lifting slowly.

That was when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff, standing across the room, her back slightly to you as she talked to a stranger at the bar. But even from behind, something about her caught your attention. She looked different. Older, somehow. More... mature. The woman you had known was always poised, confident, and untouchable—but there was something in the way she held herself now that made her feel more human. Vulnerable, even.

Her hair was different too—shorter, sleek, straight, a stark contrast to the wavy red that had once framed her face. She had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to radiate something else—something quieter, more grounded.

You stared for a moment, unsure if you were seeing things right, but as she turned to glance around the bar, her eyes met yours. Recognition hit her almost immediately, and she froze for a second, her expression flickering with surprise. Then, just as quickly, it softened.

Her voice was a little hoarse as she whispered your name, almost like she hadn’t expected to see you here, or maybe she hadn’t heard your name in so long that saying it felt foreign.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched her—really looked at her—before taking a slow step forward. “Natasha.” Your voice was calm, composed. Different from the way you used to say her name with that sense of longing, of wanting something that wasn’t ever going to be.

She gave a small, tentative smile, the kind that spoke volumes about how much time had passed, about how many things had been left unsaid between you. "You look... good," she said, her eyes flickering over you.

It was an understatement. You felt good. You felt like you were finally living a life that wasn’t defined by the weight of the past, by the mistakes you’d made and the ones others had made for you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, with a small smile of your own. “You look different. I like it.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her new, shorter hair, a nervous habit, before looking back at you. “A lot’s changed.”

“Clearly,” you said, glancing around. You couldn’t help but take in the way she stood—so different from the woman who had always been so self-assured, so used to being in control of every situation. But in a way, it made her more real, more approachable.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you awkward but not uncomfortable, as if neither of you knew where to start. It was Natasha who broke the silence first.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice softer than you remembered it. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, unsure if she even knew what really meant anymore, after everything. But it was a simple enough question. And you’d spent the last year being honest with yourself, so why not? “I’m doing alright. Different. Moving on. Got a new job at Quantico. Therapy’s been helping. I’m in a better place now.”

Natasha nodded, though you saw the flicker of something behind her eyes—a mix of regret, of longing, maybe. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve... I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s been a long year. Things haven’t been easy, but I think I’m getting there.”

You studied her for a moment, your expression unreadable. The quiet honesty in her voice made you want to believe that she was trying. You could see it now. She had changed too.

“You’re still working for SHIELD?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual, as if the past didn’t hang over both of you like a thick, invisible cloud.

She nodded, but there was a hesitation in her movements. “Sort of. I’ve been taking a step back, working in a different capacity now. More... behind the scenes. I guess I’m trying to figure out who I am, outside of all the missions, the work.”

It hit you—she was no longer the same person either. The intensity in her eyes had softened, and there was a certain sadness to her that you hadn’t seen before. She seemed tired in a way that wasn’t physical—tired of running, of hiding behind the façade she had built. You hadn’t seen this version of her before, and in some ways, you almost didn’t know how to react.

“So... what now?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it should. “Now that we’re both here, like this.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, and there was a long pause, the weight of everything that had passed between you hanging heavily in the air. And then, almost as if on instinct, you spoke.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” You offered the invitation like it was just a reflex—like things could go back to the way they were, the comfort of those old habits, the way things had felt when it was just the two of you, before everything had gone sideways.

She looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the conflict in her eyes. She was torn, and you could see in her eyes, that something was playing on her mind.

“No.”

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

The words hit you like a jolt, a shock of electricity shooting through your chest. Natasha’s eyes were steady on yours now, no longer hesitant, no longer uncertain. There was a firmness in her voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time—a quiet confidence that seemed to say she’d finally found something worth fighting for. And for the first time in a long time, you saw Natasha Romanoff not as the untouchable spy, not as the woman who had left you behind, but as someone real, someone who had learned from her mistakes.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” she said, her voice low but with an undeniable certainty. “If you want me, I’m going to do it properly this time. No more running, no more half-heartedness. I’ve hurt you, and I won’t do it again. But this time, it’s going to be on our terms. If that’s okay with you.”

You stared at her for a long moment, taking in the gravity of what she was saying, the weight of the promise she was offering. For so long, you’d wondered if this day would ever come. The idea of this—of her asking—had seemed impossible, a distant dream you never thought you’d reach.

And yet, here she was, standing before you, offering a chance to try again. A real chance.

“Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “If you're free?”

You didn’t have to think long. The question felt so simple, so natural, in a way that almost made you want to laugh at how easy it seemed compared to everything that had come before.

"Yeah," you said, the answer escaping your lips before your mind had fully processed it. "I’m free."

Natasha’s smile deepened, the corners of her eyes softening as she took in your response. It was a quiet victory for her—one that meant more than words could convey. She wasn’t expecting you to forgive her immediately, or to trust her completely. But she was willing to try, and that was more than she had ever given before.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said softly, her voice almost shy now. “I’ll make sure it’s a good night.”

You nodded, still processing the fact that she was here, still standing in front of you, willing to do what she hadn’t done before. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving between the two of you.

“Sounds good,” you replied, a quiet confidence settling in your own chest. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, Natasha gave you one last look, a small, genuine smile gracing her face, before she turned and walked out of the bar. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two, and then, for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel something else—hope.

Tomorrow. You were willing to see where it could go. And maybe, just maybe, Natasha Romanoff was going to do it right this time.

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

Dinner was at a beautiful, upscale restaurant with soft candlelight flickering across polished wood tables, glasses of wine that felt far too expensive, and Natasha—sitting across from you, more present than she had ever been. She wasn’t the untouchable agent, the mysterious woman who kept her emotions locked away. She was Natasha, just Natasha, in the soft glow of the candlelight, her laughter filling the space between the two of you, the lightness in her eyes almost enough to make you forget the weight of the years spent apart.

The night had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort, as though the years of silence hadn’t really existed. But it had. They had.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from her in a place that made your own paycheck look laughable, eating food that was far too rich for your taste, and all you could think about was how right this felt. You hadn’t expected it to be this natural, this easy to fall back into old rhythms, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And by the time you were back at your apartment, after a night of shared glances and a warmth between you that neither of you had ever truly experienced before, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You wanted her. You needed her. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to give her another chance, to let her love you, to let yourself love her again.

The moment your door clicked shut behind you both, Natasha pulled you into her, her lips capturing yours with an urgency that felt foreign, yet so familiar. There was no hesitation this time, no walls between you. Her hands roamed to your sides, pulling you closer, as though she couldn’t get enough. You met her halfway, losing yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t just the kiss though. It was what she said in between—her voice breaking the quiet with a rawness you hadn’t expected.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered against your lips, her hands tender as they traced over the curve of your jaw, as though she was afraid to let go. “I love you. And I never want to keep you hidden again. I’m done pretending I don’t need you. You’re everything.”

Her words hit you like a wave. They didn’t come with the weight of shame or regret this time. They were just the truth—simple, honest, and real. She loved you. After everything, after all the mistakes, she still loved you.

You breathed out a soft laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She reached up, brushing it away with her thumb, as if she could erase the past for you, make everything better with that one gentle gesture.

“I’ve missed you,” you said quietly, your voice catching in your throat. “I’ve missed this.”

Natasha smiled, a single finger running down your cheek. "I don't want to hide you anymore. Let me love you in the light."

fin.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female reader

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sayangrafayel · 5 hours ago

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LADS react to you asking them to set you up with someone else

This was a fun request. I might slip some dynamic duo rivalry here.. hmm.. maybe this is the same universe as loft talk. This is pre relationship prank!

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus (Rafayel)

"Hey, Sy. Can you set me up with one of your roommates?" "I don't have roommates." "? What do you mean. You have four roommates. I want the artist!" "No I absolutely do not. What artist?"

Would NEVER let you meet Rafayel, no matter what it takes. Rarely ever bring you back to the loft anymore.

Considered moving out of the loft and everything but stopped once you tell him it's a prank.

Xavier (Jeremiah)

"Xavie, is Jeremiah seeing anyone?" "I don't know a Jerry." "Jeremiah." "I don't know who that is either."

He gets SOOOO jealous (that's why we like him)

Why would you ask him to set you up with someone else. He's right there. He's perfect for you in every way. 🥺🥺🥺 - Xavier, probably

Rafayel (Sylus)

"Can you set me up with one of your friends?" "I don't have friends." "Yes you do! That Fruit guy breathtaking!" "You know what else is breathtaking? If I were to hold his head underwater." "Sorry?" "I said I am also breathtaking!"

He fish. Fish forgor stuff. Roommate? Who? Sylus? Thomas? Who???? What are you talking about?

Becomes extra mean to Sylus the next day and Sylus was so confused as to why is his bestfriend who is not his bestfriend seems to hate him more than usual!?

Zayne (Greyson)

"Dr. Zayne, can you set me up with Greyson?" "Why?" "Because.. I want to?" "His name is Doctor Greyson, and do you really want to..?" "Yes please! Set me up with Dr. Greyson!" "...." "Zayne?" "If that's what you want."

I don't think he's gonna try to stop you nor does he realize you're testing the waters to see how he feels about you, defeatedly gives Greyson your number, but Greyson was so confused because why would he hit up Zayne's girlfriend???

"She's your girl, Zayne." "She is not." "Yes she is, she's just testing to see how you'd react, dummy. Now go and actually ask her out."

Caleb (Gideon)

Before you start pranking him, you prayed for Gideon's safety.

"Caleb, can you set me up with-" "He's gay." "I haven't even said a name!" "Yeah, everybody around me is gay. I'm their ally." "Caleb!!!"

He'd frown and keep telling you why would you need anybody else when you can have HIM. He's the one who knows you the best! He knows how to make you smile! He's 100% your boyfriend material! 😤

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whoknowsyourfuture · 2 days ago

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So, this is a bit of a tangent, but I think it's relevant.

I grew up riding horses. My mom trained, (people and horses), and I knew a looooooot of kids between 4-H, AQHA, and the local HSET (I didn't do HSET bc I was showing a lot in AQHA, but I knew people in it).

Now, I don't remember the first time I was on a horse, because I was probably literally 2 or younger, but riding has never been easy for me. Do I love it? Yeah, of course. Have I had access to horses that you can ride for 20 min and be done? Nope. Do I have long legs and natural balance? Hell no. I was so jealous of one girl I rode with during high school because she had just started riding and could just sit perfectly straight and keep every part of her body exactly so, meanwhile I had to constantly fight to keep my body stretched to the furthest extent just to look maybe a quarter as elegant as she did.

I'm still riding, while she, as far as I'm aware, is not.

That was kind of how it went, honestly. Of course, even in the area I grew up in, there's a certain amount of 'who can afford to get their kid a really good horse and then be okay with them getting bored of riding', but by and large, the people who riding came easily to did not continue with it. (The exception, of course, were trainer's kids, but like. My siblings got the same opportunity to ride and show as I did, we even shared horses at times, but they were natural riders and I just wasn't. I have had to put in so many thousands of hours to get good at riding. Of course I kept on during my youth years for a mixed bag of reasons, some good, some ehhhhhh, but I kept on for years after my siblings quit because I wanted to.)

Ok, I think I'm getting sidetracked, but the gist of my point is, if something is easy for you, it'll get boring. If you have to work at something, you're more likely to find out if you actually enjoy it for what it is. Of course, things can also be hard, boring, and you hate doing them (a lot of jobs, unfortunately), but if you don't learn to stick with something until you can really decide how you feel about it, well.

Are you ever going to find out what you really like doing, or are you going to give up 3 seconds into doing something you could have poured your heart into?

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

#Caveat: Do Not fall for the sunk cost fallacy with this #figure out a reasonable time/energy/money investment and set a goal #you can genuinely not enjoy things and that's fine #but sit with it for a little while #and you can be good at things you don't find fun #and bad at things you do find fun #i just think all the AI bullshit is really showing how people who A: aren't immediately good at art or B: do not care about art #are telling on themselves about how little effort they are willing to put into something

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randomshyperson · 15 hours ago

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One Of Your Girls - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

summary: A study session turns into a make out session. Or the one where the most beautiful girl on campus is your situationship and you would never refuse to distract her, even during exam weeks.

words: 3.820k | warnings: (+18), college au, fuck buddies, popular!wanda x loser!reader, mostly smut but there’s actually some plot here, bottom!wanda (we need way more of this sorry), oral, fingering, some dirty talk, reader is briefly described to be shy and introverted because of the loser archetype, w and r are actually super comfortable with each other don’t be fooled, text messages are in bold cause i never tried that before.

A/N-> I have written more than 100 works for wanda, but I don’t remember ever writing casual sex before. To be a demisexual is really something, huh? Anyways, this was actually based on “One of Your Girls” from Troye Sivan, but around the middle I just started doing my own thing honestly. Good reading!

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Song-Based Collection

-&-

To inspire students to have sharper minds, as she likes to say, Miss Harkness is known for having the hardest tests on the entire campus. This means that you needed to study seriously for next week's exam, without quick readings or breaks to watch the television or talk about anything other than Applied Sociology with your friends.

And definitely, no 'study' sessions with Wanda Maximoff.

You shouldn't even think about Wanda, and her emerald eyes and bold hands. You need to think about Émile Durkheim or Max Weber, and any other sociologist from past centuries, with their difficult theories from which long and complicated questions will be in your exam.

But Wanda and the casual thing you two have is like clockwork. You had barely made up your mind about keeping your distance, and prepared a proper study session in your dorm - empty that afternoon due to a divine miracle that occupied Natasha and her girlfriend Maria all day - for your cell phone to vibrate with the notification from the person you had decided to ignore.

Stealing a glance at the contact name, you grunted quietly and turned your attention back to the book that had just finished reading the first page.

Focus.

Another vibration makes you roll your eyes.

Wanda didn't do anything wrong, maybe you could just say you’re busy.

"I am bored."

Her text makes you laugh through your nose. Typing quickly, you don't expect a return to your "And I’m busy. Talk to u later."

Your cell phone vibrates again, but you stand firm. Sociology will not study itself. There's a shift of pages, and you taste some of the mint tea from the mug on the table before your cell phone rings again.

Maybe it's someone else. It may be important.

You can’t even fool yourself.

The book is placed on your lap, and you unlock the screen for a photo that brings a warm color to your ears and spreads around your body as quickly as this whole thing began.

"What if I was in public?." You type with a certain harshness, which doesn't match the way your heart missed a beat. Or how you've completely forgotten about the book now, and all you can do is bite back a sigh at the image of the prettiest nipples in this galaxy.

Wanda responds in the same second, and you want to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of her feeling eager for a response from you.

"Kinky."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You're the worst" That's what you type. You end up sighing when looking at the pile of books around. Wanda only needed one stupid photo to completely take your focus away.

She types before you can tell her off for it. "Are you in your dorm? Wanna see you."

You bite your lip. She is so infuriating.

"I have to study."

You can almost hear her giggling on the other end. "Don't you always?"

You think about cursing at her teasing, but you don't want to cross any lines. It's true that this relationship is a constant push and pull, but Wanda isn't clingy for no reason. You're about to ask if something happened when she adds "Are you really gonna force me to send another photo..."

You swallow hard. "I'm not forcing you to do anything. I was innocently studying until now.”

It takes her a moment, but finally, there's another photo. With your fingers shaking, you forget to breathe at the image of her thighs, a red garter belt in contrast to the pale skin, barely covered by her mini-skirt. It was such a simple image yet so provocative, Wanda truly had talent.

"Fuck me." You sigh quietly, unable to type anything back for a moment.

And so she does it first. "Did I melt your brain?"

“Please come here.” You begged, only imagining her smirk on the other line.

Wanda typed back a second later; “I thought you were studying. I wouldn't want to distract you.”

You huckle incredulously at her cynicism, and almost type back a curse but end up deciding to get up instead, hurrying to make the room less messy for your guest.

Wanda takes a while to show up at your room - Unlike you, she lives on the other side of campus, in an apartment shared with her brother. The outfit she's wearing is definitely more impressive in person, and you have to control yourself not to feel jealous at the realization that a good part of the university has just seen her parading around looking so stunning. This was definitely Yelena's doing, the one responsible for trying out everything she learned in her course on her friends and successfully dressing the whole group like supermodels.

Sometimes you wish you were more sociable, at least to be friends with Yelena and get new clothes.

Not that you have any idea of this, but Wanda did a great job of hiding the way her stomach did two flips when she saw how comfy you looked, the dark green sweatshirt covering your shorts making her immediately think about exploring underneath.

"What's up, loser?"

Wanda had this problem. High defense barriers, almost all the time, but especially when she was feeling things that were out of her control. Like the way her heart raced in your presence, or how she was starting to run out of decent excuses to meet you without admitting the only reason was simply because she wanted to spend some time together.

When you first talked, freshman year, she was the most intimidating person on campus (she still is), but with a little insistence (or friends playing cupid) you had managed to see sides of her that no one else had seen. And vice versa.

It was a pretty interesting dynamic, the most popular girl on campus and a big nerd with social anxiety were somehow dating. Wanda dragged you to parties whenever possible, a possessive hand on yours and a threatening look at any idiot who thought of giving you a hard time. And often you end up in some drunken Instagram live or records of friends making out in the background.

When you weren’t doing the things she liked, Wanda would just show up. After your classes, in the study hall, during your break from your internship, and in your dorm. She didn’t mind showing you off, but there was something so soft about spending time alone. When her defenses were down, the mean girl mask would fall and she would laugh at your stupid jokes, or dress up in your clothes to make pancakes in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t an official relationship, but it was something really closer to one. Something that gave her free rein to come and go as she pleased from your life, and mess everything around as she went.

You made room for her to enter, and she gave a long kiss to your cheek before leaving her shoes at the entrance. You were blushing when you closed the door.

The dorm you shared with Natasha had little more than the space needed for two beds and two desks, but somehow you and her managed to squeeze in enough decorations on the walls and even some of her ballet and fighting awards. Your side was covered in band and movie posters and science holiday medals. A barely used keyboard sat dusty in the corner, and you had made a mental note to show Wanda how to play Over the Rainbow sometime. She tossed her backpack on the corner of your desk, and you hurried to try to clear up some of the clutter on the wood, blushing even more when she chuckled.

“Come here.” She asked softly, and you swallowed hard as you stumbled closer to her again, guided by her hands holding your wrists. Wanda actually wanted your arms around her, and that’s where she put them. So her hands went up to your shoulders. “You always get so shy when we’re alone.”

“I am shy.”

She shakes her head slightly. “That’s not true,” she says, leaning in close to brush her lips against yours. You gasp slightly, and Wanda pulls away, teasing. "You're an introvert, but no one shy says the things you say when you're turned on, darling"

Yochuckle, shaking your head with pink cheeks. "Shut up."

She bites back a smile, and leans in, but the kiss is too short, it's so unfair. You try to chase her mouth, but Wanda pulls away to hug you. And that surprises you as much as her breathing deeply into your neck.

You don't remember hugging her before. Not really. There's plenty of sex of course, and making out and pillow talk and late-night snacks. But Wanda isn't the type to cuddle, or hug. It gives what you two have an intimacy that you understand she doesn't want to have, or didn’t, past tense.

Your hand caresses your back, and you're not quite sure if you should say anything but finally you do; "Is everything okay?"

It's like throwing a bucket of cold, reality-filled water over her. She breaks the hug, forcing a laugh that doesn't convince you at all.

"Of course!" She says, pulling you close at once and giving you a kiss that's much more determined than before. That almost makes you forget where you were, almost. "Let's take these off." She pulls the folds of your sweater up, but even though you let her, you risk:

"Wanda, are you sure-"

She cuts you off again, this time kissing you with tongue. It's definitely hotter, and it elicits a breathless moan from you. Her hand holds your face, controlling the kiss until you whimper against her mouth. Wanda lets you breathe as she pushes you by the shoulders to the bed, and you fall sitting, facing her.

"I said take your clothes off." She repeats, but it's her who puts on a little show. She pulls off her blouse at once, and the exposure of her breasts covered only by a red lace bra leaves you mesmerized. Wanda giggles at your reaction. “Every damn time.” She teases, her hands moving to undo it. But you move suddenly, grabbing her hips and pulling her onto your lap in urgency. Wanda gasps in surprise at the heated kiss, losing herself in the task of removing her bra as you start to suck on her tongue. With one hand on your shoulder for support, the other ruffles your hair before she feels her bra loosen on her body, not having even noticed your hands working on the clasp until now. She bites her bottom lip as she feels the item being pulled away from her body.

“You’re getting better at this.” She teases again. You look at her with lust-bright eyes but also with a frown.

“Better? When have I ever been bad at this? Certainly not with you, because you came three times on your first time together.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow at you, her hips grinding slowly against your lap. “Like I said, not shy at all.” You roll your eyes, gripping her hips a little more firmly to guide her movements. It's Wanda who chases your mouth again, returning with equal fervor every kiss you give her.

Your hands let go of her hips to slide down her thighs, until finally touching the garter belt. You break the kiss with an affected groan, and Wanda takes the opportunity to catch her breath a little. If the image of her swollen lips and dilated pupils wasn't enough to drive you crazy, looking down did. Her skirt was wrinkled up, and the red garter belt was truly a sight. A damp spot was now visible on your pants from all her grinding, and you would have time to feel proud of making her so aroused with just kisses later.

As you pulled the garters and made them slap gently against Wanda's skin, you smiled when she shivered, a breathy moan escaping her mouth. It was such a beautiful thing, turning all her bad girl attitude into a pathetic mess of whimpering.

But suddenly you remembered that she had walked across half the campus wearing this, so your clenched jaw had another reason.

"Did you get dressed up for me?"

Wanda gave a short laugh, not really understanding what you were saying. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You glared at her, your hands giving another warning tug, and Wanda wanted to hate the way her body twitched, but she couldn't help it.

"If not me, who?"

She blinked in confusion, deep in her own lust.

Why were you still talking when she was literally dripping on your lap?

"What are you-" She fell silent when you grabbed her throat, your grip making her thrust her hips in desperation for friction, her mouth opening in a needy moan. Her own reaction surprised her, and Wanda would have tried to work things out if you hadn't taken away her ability to respond when you kissed her again, dirty and hard until she started whimpering on your tongue again. When you pulled apart again, your fingers invaded her mouth and Wanda's eyes widened, realizing that this might be the first time she'd come without even being properly touched.

You seemed to have noticed the same thing, a chuckle escaping you as she began sucking on your fingers with the same fervor she was trying to grind into your lap.

"Tsk, look at you, Wanda." You began, your hand moving from her throat down to her garter belt, to pull it off again. "You really want me to believe anyone else can turn you into this needy mess?" Flushed with arousal, Wanda still manages to frown in confusion. Anyone else. What the hell are you talking about? There’s no one else.

But suddenly, you remove your fingers from her mouth, and when she tries to ask, it's too late. Your soaked fingers have moved down and they fill her without warning, sinking inside her and eliciting a throaty moan that makes her head fall forward, forehead to yours, and nails digging into your shoulders. You laugh hoarsely. "Fuck, you're so wet, Wands."

The dirty sound of your fingers moving inside her echoes in the room along with her breathless moans, but you don't prolong things for too long. There’s an urgency and roughness to your movements that makes Wanda roll her eyes back and bounce on your fingers in animalistic desperation.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—” It’s always such a beautiful sight. She arches on top of you, spasming as her climax hits her and spreads hot waves of pleasure. Your hand is soaked, but you pull your fingers away to lick them one by one as Wanda tries to get back into orbit.

When she finally does, it's rewarding. It's your turn to have your throat grabbed, and Wanda presses forward until you're lying on the bed, at her mercy, even as a smile plays on your lips.

It's time for her to shake that smugness off your face.

"You're overdressed." It comes in a warning tone, and her hands go down to remove your clothes, one by one. You help her, between one kiss and another, a touch and a squeeze, until finally, Wanda ends up on your lap again, this time, with no fabric between you other than the beautiful lingerie she picked out for you.

Oh, of course she lets you know.

"I don't want you to get any more cocky than you already are." She began between the countless breathless kisses you were exchanging, minutes on end in this hot make-out session. "But all I could think about when I bought it was how you were going to look at me." She takes advantage of your gasp in surprise to bite your lip and pull, making you tremble. With a smug little smile, Wanda looks at you with darkened eyes. "And how were you going to take it off."

Your hands move of their own accord - There's a hard tug to pull her against you, and you end up rolling around on the bed, until Wanda ends up underneath, writhing at your touch. Your fingers slipped under the belt again, but now you take your time to remove the item, slowly until Wanda couldn't hold her breath any longer.

Stealing a glance at her dripping pussy that she displayed so proudly on her parted legs, you clicked your tongue again before finding your space in her middle, your hands fitting behind her thighs.

"You spoil me, you know?" You whisper, feeling her fit her ankles into your back, an impatient whimper escaping her. You were so close to where she wanted, needed, but still not giving her what she was begging for. "I don't know what I did to deserve such a sweet gift."

Wanda tries to play along, she really does. But you give her a tentative lick, and another, and all that escapes her are shaky moans, as one hand grips your hair, the other seeks support in the sheets. Something she can pull at will without hurting.

She feels hot in all the right places, and she wants to police herself for how addicted she is becoming to the feeling of having you like this, but it's impossible to think about that right now. With you eating her so well and making her forget all her problems.

You hum suddenly, satisfied at the taste, and at the vibration, Wanda loses it. There's a loud whimper escaping her throat as she arches against you, begging for more, but you hold her in place, your own hips grinding against the bed as Wanda starts to sound desperate for your tongue to go deeper.

When you risk teasing her again, shallow tongue strokes that leave her dizzy and shaking, Wanda loses her patience. She curses under her breath, and grabs your hair with determination, managing a satisfied grunt from you before she forces your face against her pussy. Not caring if she’s hurting you or suffocating you, Wanda chases her high with near desperation. She grinds her hips against your face, and locks her legs behind your back, using you until she comes.

She sounds so hot when it finally happens. Your name drips from her tongue as she drips into your mouth. It’s so strong that her body instantly goes weak, her legs shaking around you. You chuckle against her thigh, taking great satisfaction in leaving her like this.

Still catching her breath, she calls out. “Come here, asshole.”

You think she wanted a kiss, maybe another orgasm. But Wanda just adjusts you to her side, so she can rest against you. This is new too, spooning. It's the kind of thing casual encounters shouldn't do.

Of course she notices how tense you've become, and it only takes the moment for her to stop shaking for Wanda to look up, her chin resting on your chest.

"You don't have to overthink everything."

A nervous laugh escapes you. "I wasn’t."

Wanda makes a small grimace of unconvincedness. "I know you were. It's what you do. It's one of the things that makes you, you." She says, and it takes you a little by surprise. She sighs then, and looks away, resting her face against your chest again. You almost think she's not going to say anything else when she continues. "It's good that you think of all the possibilities. That way I'll never be able to disappoint you, you'll always see it coming."

You frown, absorbing her words in silence for a moment. Wanda begins to draw patterns on your stomach that look like her initials, until you sigh.

"I know we haven't named it what’s between us, but whatever it is, you can always tell me what's bothering you." You let her know quietly, your fingers playing through the strands of her hair. "And we can just talk, you know? It doesn't always have to end in sex. You don't have to get a new lingerie as an excuse to see me. No matter how hot you look on it."

She pinches you for the joke, but she’s smiling when she looks back at you.

“You’re not good at the whole casual sex thing, are you?” She teases, but she’s genuinely so happy with your previous words that she just can’t hide it.

You smile, watching her hover closer and closer. “You think? Because I think I’m doing pretty well at this, miss-Oh, baby, I’m gonna come,”

You do an imitation that makes Wanda's eyes widen and she blushes deeply while she huffs in embarrassment. You burst out laughing when she tries to cover your mouth and stop the teasing, and it ends up turning into a small fight of hands and tickles until Wanda ends up underneath again, now with her hands pinned on either side of her head.

There is an exchange of glances between the two of you, and you are smiling just like her.

You know that today, Wanda will not tell you what bothered her, what brought her here. She is right, however, you’re an overthinker and already have a hundred possibilities for what could have brought her there, and considering that you know from her friends how much she has been fighting with her father in the last few weeks, it is not hard to assume it is related to that.

But Wanda returns the intensity of your gaze, and you know that something between you has changed. She will tell you when she is ready.

Your grip on one of her hands loosens, and Wanda uses the opportunity to touch your cheek.

"What are you thinking about?"

You sigh, and she can tell. Her heart misses a beat, and she considers if she’s ready for a confession. If it would scare her or make her so happy, she would freeze. Maybe both.

But you grimace a little, and smirk, and Wanda feels silly for even considering.

"I'm definitely going to fail Miss Harkness's class this semester."

Wanda frowns and then bursts out laughing, confused and incredulous.

"What?" She asks between laughs. “Why would you be thinking about this now? With a naked girl in your bed, you nerd!”

You giggle at her words, your free hand fitting on her waist as you wait for her to stop chuckling. "I don't know why you're laughing, this is your fault. You ruined all my study sessions with your... distracting presence."

She rolls her eyes in a playful manner. “"Well, I could always just leave-"

You grip her waist tighter, holding her in place. "Nah, who cares about classes anyway? Come here."

Wanda will definitely help you study, she makes a mental promise. But she will kiss you first just a little longer.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #wanda maximoff imagines #elizabeth olsen #bottom!wanda

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avaredava · 2 days ago

Note

Sooo

You're "coworkers" with Toji/Shiu. Let's say you're like an independent contractor, similar work as them. Shiu walks in on Toji bending you over a counter and fucking you?

Oh man. I 100% believe Shiu has a filthy mouth and would tease you through it. Better yet, him AND Toji talk you through it.

I also think Shiu wouldn't really join. He MIGHT jerk off. He would definitely take pictures if he knew you were okay with it and tell you he would use them later.

I'm barking-

Damn marry me Malice 😩 YOU MALICE make me scratch at the walls and bark istg

MDNI

Master list

⯌Sum

Shiu helps you and Toji fuck like dogs ◖⚆ᴥ⚆◗

⯌ Wc

1.3k

(Not proof read)

⯌ Warnings

Shiu rubs your clit for a second, masturbation, toji's insane backshots, shiu smokes (duh), some killing, consensual groping (toji killed him), blood splatter, guns, crying, overstim, Shiu directing what Toji should do to you, size kink, size diff, praising, degradation, unprotected (wrap before you tap ya'll), creampies

୨୧・・・・୨୧

It was late at night and the air was crisp as you walked into this big mansion for this fancy gala. You needed information from a rich guy to effectively know what he does and also effectively kill him.

But he was also a horn dog...

So your objective was to seduce him while Toji and Shiu stay on the lookout.

When you were finally settled in, you went to the target, dancing and swaying beautifully. But Shiu's eyes were clearly planted on your ass. Toji elbowed him to focus on the targets movements and if he runs and shit like that.

What he really wanted was for Shiu to stop looking at your ass.

Eventually fucking ugly ass old man target (what Toji thinks he was), let out his obvious perv tendency's and the guy groped your ass. The objective was to kill him anyway and get information.

But Toji fully forgot about the last part and shot him in front of everyone. All the women in the fancy dresses screeched, scrunching their front of the long dresses up then running out.

The men screamed like little bitches it made you chuckle but the blood on your face made you disgusted. What made you more pissed is that you didn't get information that you needed since Toji got fucking jealous or something.

The three of you ran out and as soon as the cold air hit your skin in the skimpy dress you were wearing sent a shiver down your spine but you were still livid.

You and Shiu scolded Toji. He just smirked the whole time then you lost it. "Toji take one fucking thing serious! You can get us into big trouble! Just because you don't know how to control your stupid fucking emotions! You're so full of yourself! We can get in very bad danger not just from the cops knowing what we look like, but from the very dangerous people!"

You were panting heavily after the very long rant. Toji grinned at Shiu and he fucking smiled back, you were about to continue calling them both immature this time but you got cut off.

Toji was the one to talk first. "Such a brat." Shiu nodded and let out a huff before replying. "Last time I checked they need to be punished."

You should be yelling more but the way that Shiu grinned with a cigarette poking out of his rosy lips and Toji's deep raspy laugh just made your thighs squeeze shut and you get wet.

"Well she got quiet." Shiu commented. "Lets get her back to the office, eh Toji? Maybe make sure she makes other noises. Not the bratty ones; but the bratty ones are cute though."

You all eventually get to the office from the long car ride. Before Shiu even fully closes the door Toji's stuck to your body, kissing your neck like a hungry man. He really was hungry for you, for your body.

Shiu lights one of his cigarettes, some smoke filling the room. "Toji put her on the desk." Shiu commanded in that cold stern voice that made your juices practically drip down your legs because you were so wet and needy.

Toji picked you up throwing you over his shoulder smacking your ass and you let out a small needy whine. While Shiu sat down on the chair at his desk still smoking.

Toji put you beside the area where Shiu was sitting so he could get a full view of what he's gonna do to you. Shiu just kept smoking as Toji undressed you.

Toji slid up your dress and made out a deep chuckle, you tried to close your legs for some friction but obviously Toji didn't let you.

"No panties or bra? Such a little slut, you wanted this." He was about to take off your red heels that have ropes that wrap around your calves. But Shiu obviously thought it was hot. "Keep the heels on."

He did just that.

Toji tried to quickly undress but you were letting out needy whines so Shiu stood up and put his cigarette in your mouth. He put his lips to your forehead and rubbed your clit to keep you stimulated.

Toji let out possessive growls he really wanted to touch you.

Once he was finished he pushed Shiu to the side and took the cigarette out of your mouth and threw it back at Shiu. "Don't want the pretty girl to have damaged lungs huh?" He glared at Shiu.

He pumped his big cock. You let out a nervous whine. Shiu held your hand gently as toji lined up with your entrance. Your ass was still on the desk while your legs were around Toji's waist.

"Biggg stretch." Toji mumbled in your ear getting you ready for his big cock. He pushed in and his veins were hitting spots you didn't know existed.

"Toji be more gentle." Shiu commanded. He looked at your poor small hole that was on display for him and chuckled. "Is he big baby?" You nod already cock drunk and it hasn't even been a minute.

Shiu noticed Toji was more pleasuring himself, not even trying to hit your g-spot so he stood up and whispered in his ear. "Thrust up a little, and go a little deeper."

He did exactly that and you practically screamed. Shiu had a small (big) problem. The way your pants and whines got louder because of his help just made the tent in his pants tight.

He sat back down before taking out his cock and pumping it slowly, teasing himself. "Thrust harder." Shiu said breathy. Toji's lips pressed to yours in a way that made your legs shake around him.

"I-I'm gonna cum!" You holler out. "Take it from the back." Shiu whined this time and that beautiful noise he made just made you squeeze around Toji so hard and get impossibly wet. Toji pulled out and made you get off the desk and bend over holding it. He slapped your ass before plunging in.

"Fuck your tight..." Toji moaned out. Shiu took some shaky pictures of your fucked out face drooling on his desk.

"Rub her clit- fuck." Shiu grunted out, once again Toji complied to his exact requests. He wanted to make you feel good! He never wanted to admit but, a big reason why he's listening is because, Shiu is a bit more experienced.

Toji wanted to cum so bad but he kept thinking of the ugliest things. It was worse especially when someone was watching. His fingers quickened on your clit making sure he was safe from cumming first.

The pleasure was mind shattering, the combination on his tip hitting your cervix and sliding out and massaging your g-spot made you feel absolutely nothing but his dick and those throbbing veins making you feel so good.

You felt your orgasm coming quick. "I-I'm gonna cum Toji!" You let out a little high pitched moan. "Harder and rub her clit quicker." Shiu commanded once again in that breathy tone that made your knees buckle.

The way his cock bruised you so nicely, Shiu's commanding tone that makes your mouth water. His hips smacking your ass so fast, his thick cock makes you squeeze so tight around him.

"Cum inside Toji."

That sentence you spoke in that breaking voice, that voice that clearly wants your insides painted white. The gross things didn't work anymore, he came instantly with a loud groan, you came right after with a beautiful moan.

You squirted, mixing with his cum as he fucked it back in with his cock. He pulled out, both of your juices and cum rolled down your legs.

He kisses your neck and grabs Shiu's tie that was hanging loosely around his neck to clean your messy thighs and pussy. Shiu grunted when he messed up his tie but he's gonna use it for personal matters later anyway.

Toji picked you up kissing your fucked out face as you leaned into his warmth. Unfortunately Shiu hasn't had an orgasm yet and has just been teasing himself.

"Well Toji you had your shot, my turn."

୨୧・・・・୨୧

A/N: omfg i had to re-write it twice bc it deleted the draft i'm so pissed

#jjk x reader #jjk drabble #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk toji #toji x you #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #jjk men #shiu kong #shiu x reader #jjk shiu #shiu smut

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urno1luv · 2 days ago

Note

all i can think about is ningning taking your virginity and making you her puppet, so i have to share it with u!!

like imagine being best friend with ningning and one day at sleepover she decides she wants to fuck you and she doesn’t know what to do so she randomly comes behind up and start massaging your boobs and you’re kind of confuse but it feels good and she’s like you like that? but you know you shouldn’t!! she’s your best friend after all, best friends don’t do that

then you confess to her you’re a virgin and she’s like i know babe but she still asks you if you can make her feel good so you try

then it leads to her fucking you with a strap!!

i hope you don't mind but i changed a little bit of the request bc i couldn’t write this, my brain was just not working👉👈kinda long

hot best friend ningning x oblivious reader

You'd had a hundred sleepovers with Ningning before — messy skincare routines, late-night snacks, and half-hearted movie marathons where you both ended up scrolling your phones instead. Tonight was supposed to be just like any other night.

Except... it wasn't.

Maybe it was how she'd been looking at you all evening — eyes lingering just a little too long, her playful teasing feeling heavier somehow. Or the way her fingers would brush your thigh under the blanket, pretending not to notice how your breath caught every time. You tried to tell yourself you were imagining it.

Ningning was your best friend. She'd always been touchy, always called you baby in that soft, sing-song voice. But when she suggested sharing the bed instead of setting up the couch like usual... something shifted. Now you're lying side by side in the dim light, both in oversized t-shirts and tiny shorts, bodies close under the blankets. Her perfume lingers between you — warm, sweet, dangerous.

"You tired?" she asks softly, her voice low, lazy. You shake your head, trying not to notice how her leg is pressed against yours. "No... not really."

There's a beat of silence.

You feel her shift, propping herself up on one elbow. When you glance at her, her eyes are already on you — darker than usual, half-lidded, like she's sizing you up.

"You always get so shy around me."

Your stomach flips. "I'm not—"

She cuts you off with a soft little laugh, fingers brushing over your bare thigh — just barely there, like she's testing how far she can push. "You are."

Her voice is quieter now, closer. "It's cute."

Your breath catches. You should pull away, crack a joke — anything to break whatever this is. But you don't.

You just lie there, heart pounding, heat pooling low in your stomach as her fingers trace slow circles against your skin. "You ever wonder what it would feel like?" she murmurs, leaning in so close her breath is warm against your lips. "What?"

Her eyes flick down to your mouth — then back up, lazy and deliberate.

"If I kissed you."

Your whole body goes still. You've never thought about Ningning like that... or maybe you have, but buried it so deep you forgot it was even there.

"I..."

She smiles — soft, teasing — like she knows exactly how flustered she's making you.

"You can tell me to stop." Her fingers slide higher, brushing just under the hem of your shorts. "But I don't think you want me to.

You don't. God, you don't.

"Ning..."

That's all you get out before her lips are on yours — slow, testing — like she's been holding back for way too long.

She tastes sweet, like the strawberry lip balm you borrowed earlier, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your waist. When she pulls back, her eyes flick between yours, waiting.

"You like when I'm soft with you, huh?" she whispers.

You nod, breathless.

Her lips brush your jaw, trailing lower — your neck, your collarbone — until you're tilting your head back without even thinking.

"But I could be so much meaner if you asked."

Her hand dips lower between your thighs, fingers brushing where you're already aching for her — barely there, just enough to make you gasp.

"You gonna let your best friend take care of you, baby?"

She's teasing, playing with you — but there's heat behind it, like she's been waiting for this moment longer than you'd ever realized.

You whimper — half nodding, half falling apart — and that's all the permission she needs.

Her fingers are still teasing between your thighs — featherlight touches that have your whole body trembling under the blanket. Ningning's smile is lazy, half-lidded, like she’s been waiting to get you like this for way too long.

"You always this quiet, baby?" she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're sure she can feel it under her palm. You're dizzy — from the heat, from how close she is, from how good her hands feel without even really doing anything yet.

"I—" Your voice catches in your throat. You squeeze your legs together, trying to squirm away from her touch — but she just smiles, pressing her thigh between yours to keep you in place.

"You what?" she whispers, breath warm against your ear.

Your whole face burns. You've never felt like this before — not with anyone. Every brush of her fingers sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but...

"I've never..."

You can't even finish the sentence.

Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

It's low, soft, teasing — like she just stumbled onto the best secret in the world.

"Oh my god..." she breathes, grinning down at you. "You're a virgin?"

You bite your lip, turning your face away — but she catches your chin between two fingers, making you look at her.

"Baby..." she coos, mock-sweet. "Were you just gonna let me ruin you without even telling me?"

You feel like you're going to die — but the worst part is how wet you are just from the sound of her voice.

"I didn't— I didn't think—"

"You didn't think I'd find out?" Her thumb brushes your bottom lip, smirking when you gasp. "Or you didn't think I'd like it?"

Your breath catches.

She likes it?

Her eyes flick down your body — to where you're squirming under her, thighs clenched tight around her leg — then back up to your face.

"Oh, baby..." she purrs. "You're so cute."

Her fingers slide higher, slipping under your shorts — still not touching where you want her, just teasing along the inside of your thigh.

"You want me to be gentle with you?"

You should nod. You should say yes. But the way she's looking at you — like she wants to devour you — makes your whole body ache.

You shake your head, breathless.

Ningning's smirk deepens.

"Didn't think so."

Her fingers brush over your soaked panties, and you gasp — hips bucking up into her hand without even meaning to. She watches every little twitch, every shaky breath, like she's studying you.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" she murmurs. "Letting your best friend touch you like this... even if you didn't wanna admit it.

You whimper — and that's all the answer she needs.

"Don't worry, baby..." she coos, finally slipping her fingers beneath the fabric. "I'll be gentle..."

Her lips brush your ear — voice dropping lower —

"...at first."

You're gone. Completely. All those years of friendship, every line you thought you'd never cross — they're already ruined under her hands, and she's only just getting started.

Her hand drifts lower under the blanket, fingers brushing between your legs again — but this time, she doesn't tease. She cups you through your ruined panties, palm pressing down just enough to make your hips buck into her hand.

"You want me to stretch you out, baby?" she whispers against your lips. "Wanna feel what it's like to really get fucked?"

Your breath catches — and you don't even realize you're nodding until she's already smirking down at you like she owns you.

"Good girl."

You barely register her slipping out of bed — too dazed, too soaked between your thighs to do anything but watch as she opens her overnight bag and pulls out...

Oh.

You sit up on your elbows, eyes wide.

"Ning... you brought that to a sleepover?"

She flashes you a wicked little grin, the black strap-on hanging loose from her fingers.

"I was hoping you'd finally let me fuck you sooner or later."

Your whole body burns — but before you can even think of something smart to say, she's crawling back onto the bed, strapping the harness low on her hips like she's done it a million times before.

"You still want me to be gentle, baby?" she purrs, stroking the silicone along your thigh — not quite where you need it, just enough to make you squirm.

You bite your lip, eyes flicking between her face and the strap — heart pounding so hard you're sure she can hear it.

"...No."

Her smile curves slow and dangerous.

"That's what I thought."

She hooks her fingers under your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs in one slow motion —Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

You're already soaked again, slick dripping down your thighs — and Ningning sees it. Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, eyes locked on your messy little cunt like she's ready to eat you alive.

"Fuck, baby... you're so wet for me."

You whimper — half embarrassed, half aching — but she just shushes you, leaning down to kiss your thigh.

"I'll make it feel good," she promises softly. "Gonna make you forget anyone else ever even touched you."

She lines the strap up between your legs, dragging the head through your slick folds — slow, teasing — just to watch you squirm.

"Look at you..." she murmurs, voice low and sweet. "All shy and innocent — and now you're about to let your best friend fuck you."

You gasp, clutching at the sheets as the tip nudges against your entrance — stretching you open inch by inch, so slow it hurts.

Ningning groans low under her breath, even though she can't feel it — like she's imagining how tight you are, how wet.

"You're so fucking tight, baby..." she breathes, hips rolling forward just a little deeper. "Relax... let me in."

You try — but she's so big, and it's so much — and she can feel you clenching around the strap, watching every little whimper that spills from your lips.

"You're taking me so well, baby..." she coos, kissing your cheek. "Such a good girl for me."

She doesn't stop until she's buried to the hilt — hips flush against yours, her breath hot against your neck.

You feel so full you're dizzy — stretched open and ruined on your best friend's cock, panting into her mouth as she starts to move.

Slow at first — gentle — just rocking her hips against yours while one hand slips between your thighs to rub soft little circles over your clit.

"That's it, baby... let me take care of you..."

You can't do anything but take it — legs wrapped around her waist, nails digging into her back as she fucks you into the mattress.

Every thrust makes you gasp — this slow, steady rhythm that has your body melting under her. "Does it feel good?" she whispers, biting at your jaw. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes — so overwhelmed you can't even speak. Ningning loves it. "Poor baby..." she coos, pressing her thumb harder against your clit. "Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna let your best friend fuck all those shy little noises out of you?"

You're already so close — hips grinding up into hers, breath catching with every slow, deep thrust. She leans in — lips brushing your ear —

"Come for me, baby... let me ruin you."

And you do — falling apart under her with a broken little cry, legs shaking around her waist as she fucks you through it. When it's over, she doesn't pull out right away — just holds you there, cock still buried deep, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You did so good for me..." she murmurs, brushing sweaty hair out of your face.

"Such a pretty little slut."

You're still trembling when she finally pulls out — slick dripping down your thighs, body wrecked from the inside out.

But Ningning just smirks, pulling you close against her chest. "You want me to clean you up?" she whispers, trailing her fingers down your stomach.

"Or shall we find out how many times i can make you cum before the sun comes up?"

#urno1luv #aespa x reader #girl group x female reader #ningning x reader #ningning x fem reader #ning yizhou #girl group smut

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homeofthelonelywriter · 2 days ago

Text

Pt. 1

You couldn't help but anxiously fiddle with the hem of your dress as you sat beside Simon, one of his hands resting on your thigh, while the other gripped the steering wheel. "It's going to be fine, sweetheart. They're going to love you." Unsure, you glanced up at him, a frown on your pretty face. "Are you sure? Maybe they'll just see me as an inconvenience that will keep you from them in the future. Or maybe they'll-" Simon interrupted you as he tightly squeezed the fat of your thigh, a possessive growl leaving his throat. "They'd never. Trust me." With a sigh, you nodded. And he was right.

From the moment you two walked into the same dingy pub where you first met, the others treated you as if they'd known you for years, and you were a part of the friend group. The entire evening, you laughed and drank, Simon's hand constantly on you. At least until he left to go take a piss and smoke a cigarette.

The moment you were alone with the three men, the Scottish one leaned across the table, a gigantic grin on his face. "So? How did ya two meet?" The older one quickly pulled the Scottish one back, a scowl on his face, as he regarded his team member, but there was a certain hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

You chuckled, thinking back to the day.

Excitement cursed through you as you stepped out of the cab, your phone in your hand as you watched your best friend type. But the moment she sent her message, the excitement dissipated. "I'm so sorry, but I can't make it! I'll make it up to you though!"

You rolled your eyes, glancing at the sign of the pub you were standing in front of. She couldn't have let you know before you made your way there, could she? Inside you, two demons started to fight. One yelling at you to go back home and gulp down an entire ice cream pint. The other one calmly stating that you were already here and should at least get a little bit wasted. Before you knew it, the calm demon had won and you walked into the pub, quickly finding a place at the bar. But you noticed him immediately. Sitting in a dark corner, his face almost completely hidden. And very obviously staring at you. It didn't matter when during the evening you turned around, his eyes were always on you. At first, it creeped you out, but before long, you felt warmth spread through you. You almost felt protected, his obvious attention keeping all the usual creepers at bay. So, you decided you at least wanted his number.

But when you paid for your tab, hoping to be able to join him at his table, you watched as he stood up and walked outside. As quickly as you could, without tripping over the air, you rushed after him, finding him outside, leaning against a wall. After taking a deep breath, you started to walk over to him, but he immediately pushed off the wall and started to walk away. Were you really this repulsing?

Before doubts could start to fill you, you called out to him. "Uhm, I'm sorry, Sir?" He stopped and slowly turned around to face you. With a small and hopeful smile, you crossed the distance. The closer you got to him, the more you could really see him. While the lower half of his face was hidden behind a black surgical mask, you could see the top of his cheeks. And they were red, practically glowing with heat. Adorable.

"I'm sorry, I hope this isn't too direct, but I wanted to ask if I could have your number? You're really handsome and seem like a nice man. Of course, it's okay if not, I don't want to pressure you or anything. I-" You stopped, your eyes wide as you watched his entire body trembling slightly. Like a robot, he slowly stretched out his hand to you. Your eyes focused on it and you watched for a few beats as the trembling only got worse. Then, you quickly pulled out your phone and handed it to him.

Once again moving like a robot, the man slowly plugged in his number, his hands trembling bad enough, that you thought he would drop your phone at some point. When he handed your phone back, you looked down and saw that he had also put in his name. But it was a mix of upper and lower cases, making you chuckle. You grinned up at him and pocketed your phone. “Thank you…well…have a good night.”

You turned around and walked a couple of steps before his shaking hand on your elbow stopped you. “U-Uh…uhm…eat? Uh now?” His voice was shaking even more than his hands and he kept stumbling over his words, but when he got the question out, you couldn’t help but nod with a smile.

“And yeah, that’s it.” The Scottish and the pretty one immediately burst into laughter, slapping their thighs and each other, while the older one just smirked, slowly shaking his head. You looked at them, confused. “What…?”

“What did I miss?” Simon slid into his chair beside you, his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders. His friends immediately started to tease him, recounting points from what you had just told them. Immediately, the blush was back on his face, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along. At least until his hand came to rest on your thigh, and squeezed tightly. Oh, you were in for a night.

A/N: Here we go! Part two and the real story all wrapped up in one! Hope you like it! Edit: Re-upload because I forgot to add tags... :)

@skeletonsucker

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod #cod fanfiction #cod x reader

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fireladyofink · 23 hours ago

Text

Oh God.. uuhhhh.. been a minute since I tried one of these..

Skipping 1, hate first person, just can't do it, not even read it.

2 is 100% Andlàtkyn. There's some issues here and there but it will always be my pride and joy.

Due to not posting on AO3 (even though I really should be), 3 is mostly ineffective. Except Wattpad has tags. I'd say UTAU, dragons and crossover.

4, lol. Literally. Lately I keep using that (only when texting others) and it's bothering me. I feel like a simpleton because of how much I'm saying that, eugh.

5 I've honestly learned a lot while researching fics. For one, I found out lantana berries are toxic to humans yet taste like blueberries, and I have them growing in my backyard. They're actually my favorite plant! I love their flowers; so pretty, and they have such a uniquely funky smell as well. Part of why I adore them, it stands out so much without being a bad smell. And the leaves have a sort of citrus smell? I love lantanas.

6 I don't know. I've thought about requests due to the money, but I feel like I'd either struggle to start writing it or get carried away with it- or straight up not finish in a reasonable timeframe. Commissions? Like art commissions? Maybe in a few years when I'm more confident in my skills and also somehow have a drawing tablet to properly draw digitally. Something like that.

7 Either or. I love making sickeningly sweet coffee or various different teas.

8 Is honestly hard to decide! Off the top of my head I can think of Dust initially meeting Killer with the hilariously absurd question of "What do you mean you don't have a mouth? How are you speaking right now? Your ass?"

9 Believe it or not it was basically when I first got a phone and commented a short story in the comments of a YouTube video. Someone replied with a suggestion of Wattpad. The rest is history, lol.

10 Off the top of my head I can't think of anything beyond something very specific for the fic I've been thinking about again lately, Ninjagaësia. Only time I've written outside of the UT fandom too, I specifically want to get around to writing that version of Zane more. What I had planned for him is fun as hell. An absolute badass.

11 Lots of comments, votes and people enjoying it. Which, continuing the above mention, Ninjagaësia doesn't qualify for. Pretty unsuccessful, but for once I don't really care.

12 Undertale AU's. I doubt I'll ever leave, either.

13 No. Hell, my ultimate fic of Andlàtkyn was written throughout the later half of highschool. I am technically working on an original story on the sidelines, I call it my worldbuilding project because I'm building up so much lore in this world before I actually touch on the story itself outside of a vague idea. About 60-ish different species of people, including the were-diseases. Last I counted, anyway. I'll be working on it for years, I know it, and I don't mind that either.

14 Comments talking about my fics on said fics. Actual interactions! It brings me joy. 🧡

15 My family is well aware. I don't bring up a lot of details but the last time I went into vague detail with my mother it was over a scene in Andlàtkyn (no direct spoilers) and she interpreted it weirdly and now she teases me by asking if I'm killing babies again! A bit awkward..

16 Actually finishing a damn story. I don't mind the periods of no writing until I get inspired again, but what annoys me is when I can't seem to finish anything. Only ever finished Andlàtkyn. I still have yet to write anything for the sequel to it, either! Zeradelsída is still just a bunch of loose plot points..

17 I am semi successfully writing benevolent eldritch horror. It doesn't intend harm, but it is truly.. horrifying nonetheless. The uncertainty of someone knowing he died, feeling his own heart stop beating, and feeling something OTHER seep inside and force it to start again, pulsing in his veins, fusing with his anatomy, permanently altering both him and itself into something completely unknowable.. I'm rambling. Anyone who hasn't seen my Wattpad, read Awakened. If you don't mind ridiculously long fics, read Andlàtkyn too!

18 I have at least 7 I mostly expect to finish, with at least 4 others just kind of.. there. I don't think I've posted any of those, either. I also have ideas inspired by dreams that I'd love to write down someday, though don't really expect to actually codify.

19 I kind of just don't. I work on different projects as the inspiration hits, take a backseat for a month or so, then come back to either the same project or a different one.

20 Hmmm.. Hard to think of something specific. I'm leaning towards stuff in Andlàtkyn. I don't really have a favorite kiss scene because I don't do romance. I write adventure! Andlàtkyn has some side romance though- not that any of it is my favorite. Platonic stuff, though.. I'd say my favorite is honestly Lust and Alter incidentally befriending each other and becoming venting buddies. It's the cutest thing, their friendship is adorable and wholesome despite the background angst. I didn't write nearly as much of them as deserved.

21 Honestly it's mostly lack of inspiration that I'm pretty sure stems from depression. If I could get an ADHD prescription or depression meds I'd probably be a lot better but like. I am completely broke. So much so that those issues aren't even in the top 10 of pressing problems solved with money.

22 Given I've literally only done it once.. not really. I guess I post it around everywhere I can think of in excitement?

23 That one continuous dream I had that went on over a month centered on a Nightmare that was freshly corrupted. He was honestly so nerdy and adorable despite putting on the brave and mildly "evil" front. The boy. Him. Goddamnit I want to write that at some point.

24 Honestly I can't think of anything for this one.

25 Oh yeah, I can't think of anything off the top of my head but there's a lot I'd like to fix in all of my stories, lol.

26 Kind of? It's a more recent development, did it for Zeradelsída which still has yet to be written, did it for that Ninjagaësia too. A little bit of a broad, even vaguer outline for things I want to happen in Awakened, too? More like events, no particular order or connection.

27 A few of those WIP's that haven't been posted... Okay technically just one. There's also the very first fic I wrote that is subsequently the only one I've ever deleted.

28 Angstiest often coincides with cursed for some reason, so I'll just go with the ending of Andlàtkyn for the Apple Twins.

29 I kind of just.. don't. If I do, I start hating everything, and because I'm not THAT bad at spelling and grammar I think it's mostly fine the way it is.

30 Oh absolutely. It's particularly obvious when one looks at Andlàtkyn, which I wrote over the course of 4 years. Really neat transition, if I ever manage to do it, I'd rewrite the beginning a little to match the rest when crossposting to AO3. If I ever get around to that.

31 Again, Andlàtkyn. That fic is my baby, man. It's so precious to me.

32 Honestly I don't know for this one, which is weird.

33 100% Ink of Awakened. My little boy. I have some friends that would rib the hell out of me if they ever found out, lol. Thankfully the main one doesn't even remember that he has a Tumblr.

34 I was not expecting how hard of a question this is! I thought it was Andlàtkyn, but thinking about it.. I don't think so? It might simply just change depending on which one I'm currently fixated on, but at the moment I think my favorites to get that on is Awakened and Ninjagaësia, second of which already has basically nothing to begin with.

35 I don't have anything, oof.

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

What are some words or phrases you feel like you overuse?

What’s something you learned while researching a fic?

Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

Coffee or tea while you write?

What is your favorite line/section from [insert fic]?

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Is there a character or ship you'd love to write for, but haven't yet?

What makes a fic 'successful' in your opinion?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Does anyone you know in real life know you write fanfiction?

What do you struggle with most when writing?

What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

How many WIPs do you have and how many do you expect to finish?

How do you get over writer's block?

Share your favorite kiss scene from [insert fic]. If there's no kiss scene, share your favorite moment of intimacy (romantic or platonic)

What stops you from writing more in your free time?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Which scene/theme was the inspiration for [insert fic]?

Are there any moments in [insert fic] that feel "blurry" to you? Is this a stylistic choice, or would you go back and clarify the descriptions if you were given the chance?

Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Are any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Have you noticed your style change over time?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

A character you enjoy making suffer.

A character you want to protect.

What is your favorite fic to get comments/messages on?

Wild Card: Ask me something else!

#questions #ask game #asks

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flowersforthemachines · 1 day ago

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Useless Veilguard fact of the day: Day 30

Varric has lines for notifying Rook about companions' new personal quests.

Bellara

I think you should make sure Bellara's okay, Rook. Rook? You might want to see what Bellara's up to. Hey, Rook. I think something's up with Bellara.

Davrin

Hey, Rook. Maybe see what's up with Davrin? He seems to have his hands full. Is Davrin all right? I heard gryphon screeching and a lot of cursing just now. You might want to check on Davrin.

Emmrich

Hey, Rook. There was either muttering or chanting coming from Emmrich's room. Maybe… check that out? Hey, Rook, could you check on Emmrich? He seems… weirder than usual. Rook, could you check on Emmrich? I think I heard him talking to himself. Weird, even for him.

Harding

Is Harding all right? I don't want to say that she's scaring me more than usual, but… she is. Rook, could you check on Harding? She's doing that… terrifyingly cheery thing she does. I'm getting a little worried about Harding, Rook. Maybe see what's going on with her, would you?

Lucanis

Rook, you realize Lucanis had eleven cups of coffee today? Maybe… see if he's still alive? Lucanis looks broodier than usual. Maybe you should check in on him. You should always keep an eye on the broody ones, Rook. By which I mean Lucanis. He's starting to worry me.

Neve

Hey, is something up with Neve? Maybe you should check on her. Okay, so Neve hasn't left her room in… I don't know how long. See if she's trapped under something heavy. Is it just me, or does Neve seem preoccupied? Worse than usual, I mean.

Taash

Do you smell smoke, Rook? Maybe you should go… check on Taash. So… I heard what sounded like Taash beating the shit out of something. Maybe see what's up? There were a lot of… punching sounds coming from Taash's direction. You might want to see if there's casualties.

Check out the tag for more useless facts: #useless davg fact of the day!

And also my DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

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dailymanners · 2 days ago

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Maybe I'm just stating the obvious here, but if you shoplift, please do not shoplift from small mom & pop stores, and especially do not shoplift things like art and photo prints by local artists or crafts made by local artists and artisans. You are causing direct harm to people likely barely scraping by when you do that. Shoplift from mega-corporations all you want I don't care, but often mom & pop shop owners and artists & artisans selling their goods in local shops aren't going to be much better off than you, if at all.

For years I worked in a small local gift / souvenir shop. It was truly family owned, and the family that owned the shop would often have me and other staff members over for dinner. Even though I no longer work there I'm still in good contact and regularly talk with my old employers and co-workers. And I have to say, especially during low season, every sale counted and could make a difference.

A lot of the stuff we sold was handmade by local artists and artisans, including by some of my co-workers. A lot of my co-workers were artists, photographers, and crafters who sold what they made in the store.

One of my co-workers at the time, a photographer, only managed to scrape together enough to leave her toxic and emotionally abusive relationship because of the extra money she made from selling her photo prints in the shop.

One of my co-workers, a lovely woman who would hand crochet dolls to sell in the store, she told me each one took her hours, sometimes days, to make. One time when some tourists shoved several of her hand crocheted dolls in their pockets and booked it out of the store before anyone could stop them she broke down into tears from frustration. That cost her.

Nobody needs photo prints of the northern lights or a glacier. Nobody needs a hand crocheted puffin doll. Nobody needs a hand sculpted volcano candle holder. Nobody needs to steal those things. But if you do want them, the artists who made those do need that money that you would ideally pay for them.

It's one thing for a struggling single parent to shoplift formula for their baby or bread for their young child. It's another thing for a tourist who could afford a vacation abroad to steal hand crafted art from a mom & pop shop. If you really think you need to shoplift just for the thrill of it, just go find some big chain company and leave the mom & pop shops selling local hand made art alone.

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obsessedhoneycomb · 2 days ago

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Teamwork - part two

George Russell x fem!reader, Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: smutty part two of this

Warnings: 18+!, degradation, double penetration, oral (m receiving), p in v, p in a, explicit language, unprotected sex

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Whooof... I don't know what to say, this idea came today in the morning and it made me feel many things. Sometimes I struggle with words or how to put things together, but I hope you’re gonna enjoy it anyway. Read warnings, because it's filthy and naughty. But you wanted it. ;)

Any feedback is welcomed. :)

---

“It’s too-“ your whines were silenced by Max holding a handful of your hair, pushing his thick cock down your throat. George sat on the bed, palming his hard dick, watching how you were on your knees, your nails digging into Max’s thighs as you tried your best not to gag on his length, which was really not easy task.

“Fuck, I don’t know how can you even think straight when she’s good at this…” Max moaned loudly, his brows furrowed from the intensity of your warm and wet mouth.

George just chuckled darkly, biting into his lip, finding this situation scandalous but arousing at the same time.

“Maybe we should use her more often to clear the bad blood between us.”

You were about to protest, moving your head away from Max’s hardness, but he was in no mood to let you go.

“Just take it, baby, get used to being our little slut.” Max huffed, sticking himself as far as he could in your throat.

George moved closer to kneel behind you, pulling your skirt over your ass, spanking it, your throat forcing out the gagging sounds, one of your hands trying to pry him off.

He took your hand and placed it around Max’s cock, helping you to pump it while Max was moving your head at a torturous pace.

“Take care of him, nice and slow. Just like you treat me all the time.” George whispered into your hair, looking up at Max to see his shocked expression. Sight of you and George being on your knees for him shot a strange bolt of satisfaction through his body, making him smirk.

Your body shivered, mind filled with many things you wanted to scream out but at the same time you were so turned on, and you started to melt to what is just happening. And the fact that George just ripped your panties off of you wasn’t helping much.

Pushing two fingers into your gushing pussy, George let out a loud groan. “Love, you’re so freaking wet, unbelievable.”

Max was still fucking your throat, drool dripping down staining your white shirt. “Prepare her. She’s gonna take us both.”

Your eyes went wide when you felt George’s thumb circling your butthole. Trying to wiggle yourself away, he grabbed your hips to steady you in place, his other hand still deep in your pussy.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll make you open and relaxed.” George spit on your lower back only for the fluid to get down between your ass cheeks to lubricate his thumb. With a little pressure he started to probe your tight hole.

“She never let me use her ass before. I'm gonna enjoy this so much.” He shot a brief look of excitement at Max, then he averted his attention back to you, to stretch both of your holes.

Overwhelmed and breathless you started to pass out, Max noticing so and pulling your head gently from him to allow you to take a breath. A loud gasp is heard as your body falls against George’s chest, his thumb now deep inside your tight ass.

“I c-can’t-“ you manage to whisper, your body trembling violently, eyes half lidded.

Max took off all his clothes, now standing naked in front of you both, watching you. George moved his fingers slowly but firmly, forcing you to moan softly, leaving your cheeks flushed at the embarrassment of how much you love the position you’re in.

“You like it, don’t you? I knew you’d love this. You’re my filthy girl.” George whispered with a victorious smile, his hard dick pressing against your ass cheek, leaking with precum.

“N-no-“ you tried to oppose but it was pointless since your body craved to be taken like that.

“Don’t lie. I can see it in your eyes.” Max rumbled under his breath, stroking his cock. You shot him a sharp glare, thinking that if it wasn’t for his talking mouth, they wouldn’t be doing this.

While you were distracted by him, George took advantage of it to replace his thumb with his length, pressing it against the tight entrance of your ass, your body reacting by moving away from him, eyes full of tears, a loud panicked squeak leaving your mouth. “George! No-“

“Shhhhh. Relax baby. Or I’ll hurt you and I don’t want to do that. Take it easy.” He pressed a kiss against your temple, one of his hands wandering under your drool stained shirt to grab your breast while his other was on your hip, keeping you in place.

You tried to relax, huffing, your brows furrowing, biting on your lip to leave it swollen, after he was finally fully in. It was like something switched inside your brain, you looked up at Max, eyes filled with filth and lust.

“You just made her so fucking cock drunk, George.” Max chuckled, his fingers sliding along your jaw taking in your expression.

“F-fuck, mate, she’s clenching like crazy around me. Come on, help me get her up, and you're gonna fill her pussy.” George grunted, trying to get up, while being deep in your ass when Max grabbed you under your thighs. They were now standing, you between them, George holding you up under your knees, your legs parted widely for Max to look at your leaking pussy.

“I want to hear her say it.” he stared into your eyes with a wide smirk, while George was railing your ass like there was no tomorrow.

“I’m not-” you were breathless, tears of pleasure smudging your makeup more than it already was, not able to put in a coherent sentence.

“Say ‘Please, Max, fuck me.’” his sinister expression flipped your stomach around.

George bit onto your shoulder and groaned into your ear. “Just say it, love. And let him finally fuck you, hm? He’s gonna do that anyway, you’re not gonna get out of it.”

Shiver went down your spine, your face twisting in distaste but the feeling of George being so deep inside you, you simply missed another man in your other hole.

With a frustrated sigh you moaned desperately. “Max, please. Just fuck me.”

Max nodded, completely ready to fuck your brains out, he stepped closer, slapping his swollen cock against your clit, making you whimper. George behind you groaned at your clenches of pleasure, feeling it tight.

Within the moment, you were filled by two men at once. While George held you up from behind, Max gripped your waist, grunting with each thrust. You were losing your mind, moaning and gasping for air, your lungs on fire same as your throat.

“F-fuck… this is… fuuuck….” was all you could muster out of your mouth and it made the two of them laugh softly.

Max and George found the same pace, thrusting in you in unison, ripping through your insides.

“How’s that baby girl, huh? Still wanna listen to your shit talking boyfriend?” the fourth time champion mocked you, his hand finding a way to rub that sensitive bundle of nerves of yours, which shot a bolt of pleasure through your body and you squealed loudly.

“Are you for real right now Max?” George moaned breathlessly, his brows furrowed and he pounded into you more and more due to his annoyance.

“I am so real. You’re full of shit, Russell.” Max chuckled viciously, pulling in and out of you, always getting back harder and harder.

Your mouth was wide open, eyes rolled to the back of your head as you were nearly limp against George.

“Like if you’re any better, Verstappen. Just stop with this nonsense. Focus on making her cum, she may enjoy this to the fullest, but taking her to her high, that's a real challenge.” George smirked, remembering his own hard way to find the right spot to make you come.

“Hm… Easy.” Max grunted, his cock growing even more harder at the amount of sloppines of your pussy. You suddenly came back to your senses, wrapping your hands around Max’s neck, staring deep into his eyes.

“Make me cum, champion.”

And well, that was like some kind of drug and he obeyed, flicking your clit like crazy along with deep thrusts. You let out a desperate huff, frowning, not really happy with how he was doing it. Even if he was behind you, George could see your face and he chuckled.

“I bet I can make her come just by fucking her ass. You can’t do a shit, Max.” he picked up the pace, abusing your tight hole, the pleasure pooling in your belly.

“Fuckfuckfuck, no, I'm gonna make her come!” Max nearly yelled in absolute madness, the grip on your waist endless, as he pushed into you with all his might and he stopped in his tracks, twitching inside you, to make you feel how huge he really was, while circling your clit in different angle. That made you nearly see stars, biting into your lip, avoiding his look.

“Look at me. Fucking look at me.” Max gritted through his teeth, and you turned your head to look at him. “You’re a fucking slut, taking us both, look how freaking soaked you are, you’re all over my cock, darling.”

You whined, rolling your eyes.

“That’s it, baby, let go, mhm, yes, yes. Just like that.” his devilish laugh rumbled through his chest, and as he flicked your clit again you were done.

Your shameful screams filled the hotel room, your drenched cunt squeezing Max tight the same as your ass did to George. It was so intense, that you all nearly lost it.

“Shit, dude. I’m gonna get there soon.” George groaned, his hips carving into yours. Max only huffed with a nod. “Let’s fill her to the brim together.”

A few moans and huffs later, they managed to come together, filling you with their seed.

Standing at the edge of the bed, watching you laying there on your side, their cum oozing from your holes, seeping to the silky sheets, while you were still breathing heavily, your gaze hazed from the overstimulation, George shot a look at his rival.

“Was it worth it?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

While they chuckled, you lifted your gaze at them with an annoyed and croaked voice. “I’m gonna kill you both.”

“I guess that she needs to be reminded again that her words mean nothing.” Max smirked, his cock getting hard again.

George let out a soft laugh, looking at you, grabbing you by your ankle. “You’re right, let's shut that pretty mouth of hers.”

———

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

Tags: @chilling-seavey , @tammyfortis , @gracie23x

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alynnia · 2 days ago

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Sylus x Rafayel (x MC) ramblings

The fujo came out of me with this one. After my little karaoke blurb I had an epiphany and had to get it out of my system. I'm no writer but I like to write. The below is litterally brain vomit of ideas and situations spilling out as they come and they're free to the public to play with. These two have quite a bit in common and potentially have chemistry? I dunno, could be my fujo goggles.

MDNI because the last section is lewd. Nothing explicit just options of how I think the sexual part of their relationship might be.

Both bonded to MC

•Sylus, through a shared soul and Raf through an eternal bond. Both of these continue through lifetimes. So imagine Rafayel's shock when courting MC he gets two instead of one. Does he just love half of her soul or all of it? Now we don't know the exact timelines of the myths if they all share the same universe and same Philos, but let's say they did. Sylus' soul sharing with MC came first so when Rafayel bonded with MC, he was unknowingly bonding with Sylus as well. He would be reluctant in this set up, believing that MC was the one he is tied to and only her (this is true of course but we are playing pretend here) but why does he feel a similar pull from Sylus? The fiend is nonchalant about it outwardly but I can see him teasing the fuck out of fish boy. " I guess that makes me your 'beloved' as well but...I don't bow to gods, puppy. I end them. " and then gives him a few smug paps on the cheek. This likely results in a fight MC has to break up and it happens often.

•They would both try and show each other up with showing affection to MC, but Sylus would always include Rafayel in his gifting. If he buys a dress for her, he's buying a suit for him. If she gets a ruby necklace, he gets ruby cufflinks. While MC can have any color jewels she wants, he defaults to red gems. After a while, Rafayel takes notice that the crow boy likes to "mark" them with rubies as a subtle way of telling the world the two of them are both his. It's hard to say if he's doing this as a show of dominance or something more but the way Sylus gives him a satisfied smirk/smile when he sees them both wearing matching onyx and ruby brooches makes his eye twitch and his heart skip. Sensing danger between them, MC would excitedly suggest that Sylus wear one too so all three could match, a subtle way on her part to say they are all equal here.

•When talking to MC about Rafayel, he uses "our".

"I think our husband is throwing a tantrum again~"

" I am NOT your husband. "

" Tch, aaw. Tough luck, you're stuck with us both. "

" Then I want a divorce. There's got to be some way to break out of this, a loophole or a spell to break this curse... "

" You hear that sweetie? Our husband wants to break up with us. Maybe he's not as devoted as he says. "

" N-not her! JUST YOU! You are the curse that defiles our sacred bond and I will not stand for it! "

" And how do you plan to do that? Hm? Rip our very soul asunder? That can't be good for either of us, puppy~ " And he's just smirking the entire time with an arm around MC. " But if you insist, I may know someone who can help you. Very experimental, has not had one survivor yet. But! You seem to be very set on tearing her apart...are you willing to take the risk~? " He just loves challenging gods and seeing Rafayel seething is just too precious.

Both rich as fuck

•As someone else here on tumblr mentioned, Rafayel is spoiled prince rich and Sylus is mafia rich. Raf seeing Sy spend money like it was nothing takes these acts as a challenge on his own wealth. He'll offer to pay for things with a smug smile and Sylus lets him do it without a fuss, merely raising an eyebrow then smirking. Neither let MC pay for anything. This ends up frustrating Rafayel after a while. Why doesn't he say anything? Is he just going to let him pay for it all? Greedy crow. ):< Finally fed up, he confronts Sylus saying that he should pay him back with interest. Raf doesn't need the money but it's the principle of the matter! Sylus is just…

"Alright, if it will shut you up." and points him to a page of restraunts on a tablet he was looking over. Rafayel figures he's being asked where he wants to eat on Sy's tab so he chooses the most expensive establishment. The kind you need to make a reservation for a year in advance. He's already planning to order top shelf, the highest priced items on the menu and exclusive private seating for all of them. Sylus looks over the selected place and scoffs, " Pompous. " A little later when Rafayel is expecting to go out, Sylus just slaps down paperwork in front of him and tells him to sign it. What is it? Essentially the transfer of ownership of that place he chose. Apparently it had already belonged to Sylus and now it's Raf's. " This should cover it, yes? "

Both are mythical creatures

• Raf being a mermaid (God of tides) and Sylus being a dragon (Bringer of Ruin) Gods create, fiends destroy. Sy is for the skies and Raf for the seas. They're both beings of power and forces of nature.

• Being the dragon he is, Sylus would likely keep all of the art he doesn't put away or keep track of. It comes from the need to hoard treasures and because the fish is terrible with leaving his work all over the place. Don't get him started on the paintbrushes he keeps stepping on. Thomas would think him a life saver for keeping things organized and available but Sylus would charge him every time he wanted to retrieve work from him. So Thomas is left with the choice of dealing with Rafayel or paying a stupid amount of money to Sylus to bypass the anguish.

•On the flip side, After Raf has seen Sylus' treasure trove of gemstones, he would also just so happen to pick up jewels from museums to add to his own collection. Ones Sylus possibly have never seen or heard of due to their connections with Lemuria. Sylus would make a comment about Lemurians crying pearls he heard once, baiting Rafayel and of course the mermaid can't help but confirm he's able to do this. (They both know what they are by this point) But isn't that a dangerous thing to admit to a greedy dragon? Perhaps Sylus should lock him up and force him to cry to obtain such beauties. But he figures he doesn't need to. Rafayel himself is enough of a rare treasure to keep after all. He would say this right to his face without flinching, as if it was just common sense. He pins another ruby trinket to his lapel to which Raf would find himself blushing then storming off somewhere. He would like to see those scales though. They sure are shiny and our Sylus likes shiny things.

• Sylus walks in on Rafayel in the bath and sees his mermaid tail for the first time. He's enamored but doesn't show it on his face. The mermaid is squawking, telling him he shouldn't enter when someone is in here without knocking but Sylus just ignores him, grabbing what he needs and is about to head out. The mermaid did catch those eyes looking at him in a particular way, wondering why he doesn't ask about the tail.

" So...you're not going to say anything about this? "

" Should I? "

" You've just bore witness to a rare sight, the scales of real Lemurian in his full glory. You would be a fool not to admire. "

" Oh, in that case do forgive me~ " turning around casually he takes wide steps and looms over the tub, his shadow cast over the Lemurian's form, " Then allow me take a closer look... " That's when Sylus runs his hands over the glistening tail, face unchanging as he studies it's quality. This envokes the wrath of Raf smacking his hand away, " No one said you could touch! " Sylus removes his hand but smirks in response. His gaze lingers on the glittering on the mermaid's face before rising up and heading back to the door, " I've seen better. "

" ......WHAT? Where?! No you haven't! Who else has-! " the door is already shut and he's gone.

• What if Sylus took MC's place in Rafayel's myth? A fiend finally captured, tied up and thrown into the ocean. We have hints that Sylus may not know how to swim so perhaps this is his weakness. Rafayel comes across this strange drowning creature who isn't quite human but curious to know more. He cuts him free and planned to just let whatever happens to him, happen but Sylus is quick, desperate to live and be out of this water. Having heard of the Lemurian tales he grabs hold of his savior and tries to steal his breath with a kiss, biting his lip in the process just like MC did. And you know the rest after that. Would make an interesting AU I think but would divert from the myth a looot from there. Still could be a fun ride. Raf can show him the ocean and Sy could show him the skies.

A weakness and a fear

•I don't think Sylus can swim. There's an Abyssal Chaos situation that hints at this and it's living rent free in my head but he does have a pool so who knows. I'm going with the idea that he can't swim for this. So...Sylus would almost always get the one-up on Rafayel, teasing and bullying him but when it comes to water, the fish finally has the upper hand here. Sylus would never admit this weakness out loud to anyone but MC. If they went to the beach he would just stay out of deep areas and Rafayel would take notice. Being a cheeky one and in his element, he'd somehow get the drop on him and pull Sylus over into the deep side to see what happens. Also for revenge. But Sylus isn't reacting the way he thought? This big tough guy is actually going to drown if he doesn't do something. He could be rid of him finally, let the man drown and have MC all to himself. He watches him sink, feeling a twinge of satisfaction but just as he's about to take off, the mark on his chest lights up. It can't be helped, can it?

After "saving" him, Rafayel tells him it's about time he learned how to swim. It's an essential skill and it's a crime to not beable to appreciate the beauty of the ocean. Sylus, surprisingly to Raf, agrees. " Then you should teach me. It's the least you can do after trying to kill me. " Not that it would work I think. How far does his immortality go anyway? Que montage of the two of them in the water together.

• Rafayel has a fear of cats. Sylus likes cats. After all, their beloved MC is their kitten and he's raised a lion cub before. The Lemurian god is offended that he would call MC such a horrid nickname as it's essentially calling her a demon. Sy quickly picks up on the fear and like the earlier scenario, tries to tease him with it. Though it's to a lesser degree in the form of just bringing strays for MC to take care of in front of him. If she's loving the cats, there's no way Rafayel can say no to her. Sylus knows this and pushes it further holding a kitten to his face, " To think a mighty god could be felled by such a small creature. " This prompts Raf to suck it up and slowly but surely start to confront his fear of cats, Sylus happily "helping". Que montage of the two interacting with cats from kittens to tigers.

Break out?

• Sylus doesn't believe beasts should be in cages and Rafayel hates the way humans treat animals. One night, after getting drunk and arguing which leads to a bet, they set local zoo animals free or something. They will never be caught.

Music

•They would share playlists and talk shit about each other's taste but still give genuine listens. Sylus prefers records and buys one for him just to prove how much better it sounds in this format instead of digital.

•They go to the opera together. Sylus is enjoying himself but Rafayel has some harsh critisms. He can do better. Sylus would ask for a demonstration and he says it would kill him. Crow boy sees that as a challenge because well, he can't die. So perhaps he could be one of the few who could listen to his death song without dying and appreciate it. It'd still probably hurt, but maybe it's worth it? Would be funny to see Sylus wheezing in Rafayel's arms, bleeding from his ears and still tell him his singing was shit just to rile him up. It's a lie, but picking on him is too much fun.

•Singing together. See the Karaoke blurb.

If they were in a relationship (Lewd bits)

•OT3. MC is far too important to them and their own connections would be their shared loved for her. They'd prefer to be seperate with her at first but over time Sylus would be the first to invite him together with MC. Rafayel is going to say no the first couple of times (it's not offered often) but eventually warms up to the idea if only to prove to the other that he can perform better than him. Then it becomes another game of chicken when Sy leans in closer to Raf with MC in the middle. Sylus will give looks, light touches in passing but won't be the one to give in. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he wants Rafayel to be absolutely sure he's into it and he gets a kick at making him buckle. Which he will and of course, Sylus obliges letting Rafayel think he's the one that "won" in this. MC is happy to see them get along.

•The longer this OT3 relationship goes on, the more likely sometimes it would be just the two of them while MC is off on a mission somewhere in the world that takes days to complete. At this point they're used to it and the roughness becomes more gentle and tender. Well, Sylus almost always had been the more gentle one and Rafayel the more agressive and it only took them being alone for Rafayel realize it.

• They would be competative in bed but even when bottoming, Sylus more often than not has control and directing Rafayel. Telling him there's no need to go easy on him. Raf will always fight for control and sometimes "win" but he melts too easily and loses himself in the moment. His most dominant side comes out during a certain season which is a pleasant surprise for Sy. They're both waking up with scars but Sylus more so. He doesn't let them heal quickly just to show off the result to Rafayel when he wakes up.

" Are you not proud of your work? " Oh he is proud. Embarrassed seeing what he's done to him and the memories of the night flashing in the back of his mind, but proud. Another win for the fish, "conquering" such a large man. Snatching Sylus by the chin, he'd give a warning with a hint of slight concern for his bird boy, " It would be wise not to forget what I can do to you. "

" Do what? These little marks? " He brushes them away with his evol, " Oh no. Look, they're all gone. I guess you'll have to try harder. "

And now I wonder if Rafayel could end up leaving a mark on him that not even Sylus can heal through his god mode. 🤔

•Playing with the headcanon of Sylus' draconic habits and urges being active in his current life, I wonder if they would "sync" up. Honestly it sounds dangerous, Sylus may very well eat the guy. Literally. That's for the tragedy enjoyers. For the degenerates…4 swords, eh? Okay on the tamer side of things, I can see them taking it out on each other to spare the worst of it from MC. Locking themselves away just to go all out. But back to degeneracy, she'd probably end up peeking out of curiosity and end up dragged into it. Rest in Peace girlie. 🙏

•So what would a dragon/mermaid kid look lik-

OKAY OKAY I'M DONE. IT'S OUT OF MY SYSTEM. DO NOT PERCEIVE MEEEE!! But really though, this was fun. Is this 1k words? I have no idea.

I think this is how you tag people? @crutoyu @turkeysamwichh

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace rafayel #lads rafayel #sylus x rafayel #sylus x mc x rafayel #BL?

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nerdygirlramblings · 3 days ago

Text

Off to See the Wizard (9)

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cw: poorly executed accents

Hours later, you're staring at code, but nothing is penetrating the fog you've been in since you met Kyle. His words reverberate around your skull and you wonder how you missed the signs. How was it not clear in those long conversations that they were feeling something for you?

You struggle, too, with the knowledge that they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together. How do they even think you can compete with the years they have and the bonds they forged?

Though your instincts screen not to, you reach out to Laswell with a simple text: "Did you know?"

You don't expect a response right away and so turn back to the papers in front of you. Transport manifests and heat maps, threads from various dark web servers. You have to brief the boys tomorrow, and they leave two days after that. Kyle's words hit you again: a mission they might not all make it back from. Your heart skips a beat at the idea that your boys might not all make it home. You know it isn't fair to ignore the information Kyle dropped in your lap, but you're not ready to face them with a response yet.

You trust him when he says they want you. In conversations with you, John and Simon and Soap had made their desire abundantly clear. And you decided long ago that if you planned to be honest with anyone, you needed to be honest with yourself always. So you refuse to lie and say that you don't want them all. But this? Multiple partners? Committing to a relationship that would always come second to the job, that would always put one or more of your potential lovers in harm's way, was a hard pill to swallow. Never mind the fact that you're only in the UK temporarily. How would this work when you're back in the states?

The clock creeps closer to dinner, and you're panicking. You have no answer for the boys, despite how you feel about them all. The weight of their stares is going to make any meal uncomfortable until you can give them some sort of response. The worst part is, you can't even escape to your room because it's in their barracks. There's nowhere to go to avoid the uncomfortable conversation to come. Just as you're about to log off and catch a bus into town, stalling a little longer while you collect your thoughts, the classified line in your office rings.

The only people with the number are ones directly associated with the upcoming mission: Laswell, Nikolai, and your boys. Unless Laswell has given the number to other operators, you know the call isn't Nikolai. Your boys know how to find you on base, so there's no need for them to call you. Maybe Laswell decided you deserved more than a text in response.

Picking up the phone, you ask, "What do you wish in the Emerald City?" cringing a little at the way your call sign has manifested an entire mythos. However, you know that the trappings of your call sign serve as the first line of defense for anyone who may find your number. An incorrect response to your question is the first red flag that something has gone wrong with the mission. So while it technically hasn't started yet, you still anxiously await the response.

Sure enough Laswell's voice comes through the line, "We came here to see the Great Oz."

"Laswell," you reply, voice clipped to avoid pouring too much emotion into your words. You have to know what she knows. You can't let her know how much their desire rattles you.

"Got your text," she replies, voice equally neutral. If the situation were any different, you'd laugh. Two of you are acting like alley cats trying to avoid a fight. You know your frustration isn't really with her but with being caught off guard, so you allow a trickle of warmth back into your voice and say, "Got some, interesting intel from the boys today."

There's a long pause on Laswell's end, and you wonder what she's thinking. You're grateful for the phone call but wish you could see her face. She doesn't like to admit it, but you're one of the few people who can read her emotions, and you're dying to know how she's reacting. All she does is respond with, "Oh? About the op? Or something else?"

To give yourself something to do, you pull up what records you have access to of the 141: task force service records, commendations, op histories - at least what's not redacted - and a handful of photos. One photo in particular catches your eye, the four of them in a desert somewhere standing with a few other operators, including a beautiful Middle Eastern woman who has to be Farah Karim. Though she has her arm around Kyle's waist and he's smiling wide, it's not the same smile he gives you. Scanning the photo more closely, you notice how Simon's and Soap's hands are hanging side-by-side, nearly brushing one another. John has his bent, forearm resting on Kyle's other shoulder, his hand hanging over Kyle's chest. Now that you know what to look for, it's impossible to miss the closeness the four of them share.

On the other end of the phone, Laswell clears her throat. "Oz? That intel?"

From the way she says it, you're sure she knows you learned nothing about the op and everything about the 141, but you know better than to charge ahead without proof. For the first time, you hesitate. Does Laswell know the boys are together? If not, is it your place to tell her? You have to believe she knows because of how close she is with John, how long she's takes them with missions around the world.

Besides, if they've told you because they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together, even if Laswell doesn't know yet, she would have to. Either because you'd be looking for a permanent transfer or because communication between you and the 141 would dramatically increase.

If you accept what they're offering, that is.

So you charge ahead, hoping you're not sticking a foot in it, and ask, "Did you know the four of them are romantically involved?"

True to form, Laswell's answer isn't really an answer. "Yes. I know they have personal lives outside the ops and that those personal lives include significant others."

You hate having to be so straightforward, but you know you won't get clear answers any other way, so you ask, "Are you aware that the 141's romantic partners are the remaining members of the 141? That the four of them are some sort of polyamorous thing?"

"Instead of answering that," Laswell says, "I think I should be asking how you know that."

You tell her as much about the boys and what they've told you as you feel comfortable with before you drop the hammer with your final statement. "They've asked me to be part of that relationship. Did you have any idea that would happen if I came here?"

There is no mistaking the sharp inhale Laswell makes on her end at your declaration. She doesn't respond when you finish. The quiet on her end stretches like taffy until you're so worked up waiting for her to break her silence. And still you wait. This is as delicate a situation as diffusing a bomb. In fact, Kyle dropped a bomb in your lap at the cafe, and you've reached out to Laswell for help in making sure it doesn't blow up in anyone's face.

When she does finally speak, you're surprised by her response. "How does their desire make you feel?"

You and Laswell aren't really the type to talk in depth about your personal lives. You know her wife and have been to several work-related events where you shuck some of the formality of what you do, but you're not the type to talk about your romantic partners.

"I need to know, when you picked me, did you know?" you plead. To her credit, Laswell doesn't push for an answer to her question.

"No, I didn't know. But John was definitely pleased when I told him who I was sending. Makes sense given what you said."

You latch onto her comment. "How did you know John was happy about it?"

"Work long enough with someone, Oz, and you can tell a lot from what they say and their silences without ever needing to see their face. There was something about the way John responded when I told him you'd be the one taking forward point on this. I can't tell you exactly what, but I know it meant he was happy with the situation."

You bite your lip, wondering how things would have been different if you'd stayed back in DC and Laswell had sent someone else in your place. "Did you ever think to send anyone else?" you ask.

Again, there's a long, weighty pause on Laswell's end. "Do you want an honest answer? Or do you want me to tell you what I think you need to hear?"

It strikes you how naive you are not to realize the two could be separate things. Your fingers idly tap against the keyboard, writing nonsense code while you think. If you put yourself in Laswell's shoes, it's clear there are a number of other tech operatives she could have sent, people more senior than you. But is there anyone else who cares enough about the 141 to do everything in their power to ensure the boys are successful and come home whole? Other than Kate herself, you know the answer to that is no. It comes out barely louder than a whisper when you reply, "You could have sent any of us, but you know I'll do my damndest to protect them."

You can practically hear Laswell's grin. "That's why you're there and not here. And I'd wager a bet that it's why they want you, too."

Much as you hoped a conversation with her would give you some clarity, you're almost more conflicted after the phone call. You thank Laswell for her time and hang up, slowly packing your things. It's after 7:00, and no one has come looking for you. Clearly the boys are waiting on your next move. Instead of heading for the mess or the barracks, you follow your earlier plan and take the bus into town again. This afternoon, you'd noticed a little greek restaurant a few doors down from the bus stop in town, so you head there.

Like many other restaurants on the street, almost the entire front is open to the sidewalk. You sit yourself at a small table for two off to the side. Menus are scattered about, so you snag one, only glancing through the options half-heartedly. When a good looking man in his thirties comes over, winning smile already on his face, and asking in accented English, "What would you like, lovely lady?", you find yourself stuttering over an answer.

What would you like?

Sitting here alone, watching the crowds pass, it hits you exactly what you want. You have an answer, for yourself and the boys.

You utter an apology to the waiter, vowing to yourself to come back later, and hastily grab your things. As you round the edge of the shop, you see a bus coming down the road and recognize the line number as the one you need. Your heels click faster as you race to the bus, hopping on just as the driver is shutting the door. You meander down the aisle, taking a seat near the back and stewing all the way back to base.

Your leg jiggles, foot tapping a nervous staccato as the bus makes its stops. The drive back feels agonizingly longer than the ride to town. By the time you see the base through the front window, you're nearly out of your skin with nerves. You scurry across base and throw open the barracks door open with more force than you intended. There's sound coming from the rec room, so you turn your feet in that direction. You only hope they're all here. You don't know if you have the nerves to do this more than once.

When you open the rec room door, sounds cut off almost immediately. Four pairs of eyes whip to you from various spots around around the room. Simon's eyes rove over you like a starving man at an oasis. Between his watery eyes and the guarded way he's holding himself, Soap reminds of you a hit dog, waiting to see if the next blow will land. John assesses you like a potential threat: what damage might you do to him and his boys? Kyle takes a glance at you and breaks out into a grin as if he knows what you're about to say.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 10

"Uh, hi," you stammer. "Um, I know I've been avoiding you, and I wanted to apologize." You pause and are shocked no one jumps in with a comment the way they usually would. Perhaps they all recognize this for what it is, a defining moment in their lives where they will either get what they've been wanting or lose a chance at it forever.

Your gaze drifts over each man, and you take a deep steadying breath before continuing. "Kyle gave me, well, all of you, really, gave me a lot to think about. About what I want and what you want and what it all means." Though this confession is hard, you try to be as brave as your boys. "I don't know what to do because you're right. I do like you all. I have feelings for you all. And if it were just one, my answer would be easy."

This time when you stop, John says what's already on your heart. "Life is rarely easy, dove. But the best things are worth fightin' for." He gifts you the ghost of a smile.

You nod, "Yes. And you're right. I shouldn't be scared of something just because it's hard. And I'm not, not really."

"Then what?" Simon's voice cuts in, barely restrained agony lancing the words.

"I want to be with you all, but it's going to be hard for me. I'm going to need you to be patient," you tell them.

A smile breaks over Soap's face like a wave crashing ashore. "Bonnie, fer ye, we'd do anything."

Kyle's off his seat and in front of you, hands hovering over your arms. "Does this mean you'll be ours, Oz?" he asks tenderly. Your chin dips slightly, only once, but it's enough. He wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear, "Always knew ya were meant for us." He presses a kiss to your temple as you feel the others moving around you.

John's lips kiss your cheek again as he says, "That's our girl."

Simon's massive build radiates heat behind you, his hands a warm, comforting weight on your waist as you feel the fabric of his mask press against the crown of your head.

Soap crowds in between Simon and Gaz. His hands cup your cheeks and turn your head to him. He rests his forehead against your and mumbles, "Ye dinnae ken hoo happy this makes me, make us all, tae call ye oors," as he drops a featherlight kiss on your lips.

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21 @lil-writer-523 @mordacioust @echo9821 @yunho-leeknow @aria-writer @chaosundcoffee @boogeysmoth

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick #simon riley #john price #johnny mactavish #nerdygirl says

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