#But I did not expect them to make another one

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

SO WHY DO GOOD GIRLS LIKE BAD GUYS ?! - the biker's route ☆ !

synopsis : leather jackets, motorcycles, a nasty attitude—and a smart ass mouth !! but it's just somethin' about him, y'know ??

an. route 3 is here after making yall wait !!! sorry yall exams r comin up but i hope yall enjoy this part >_<!! also i make a sneaky lil aphmau reference his here bc im very unfunny, enjoy!

when you wake up today, it takes you about 5 minutes to actually get up.

you look to your left and your right, half expecting to be met with another katsuki; maybe this one would be a merman or something?! and yet, nothing.

so you stare at your ceiling and wait. maybe this one will come blast through your bedroom wall like the dragon again..!

nothing, nothing and a whole lotta nothing.

so you finally decide to get up and start your day, things were actually back to normal today. you decide to ignore the slightest twinge of disappointment in your gut but you cheer up a bit when you remember the study date your boyfriend had not so graciously promised you.

you're just about done dressing up, about to tie your uniform tie when there's a knock on your door. katsuki is here to pick you up (despite saying he wouldn't anymore like two days ago, typical.) early and on time as usual, or maybe just a bit too early.

"coming !" you call out, pulling up your socks to line them up comfortably, hobbling towards the door to let your boyfriend in.

you swing the door open, already anticipating to be met with your boyfriend, "you're here ear..ly ?"

you stand corrected, it is him. no horns, no ears or tails..but still...a bit different.

first of all, he's not wearing his uniform, no book bag either. instead he's decked out in a black leather biker jacket, baggy black ripped jeans and silver jewellery around his neck, you catch some rings (and bandages) on his fingers when he reaches up to place a hand against his neck, groaning when it pops. and black combat boots. basically, the whole nine yards for a school day.

"oh." is all you can say, part impressed and partly, mostly, confused.

"thought you were gonna keep me waitin' forever." katsuki said, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. he leans in, tugging you forward by your tie to finish tying it for you.

"wha—i—you just got here." you stuttered "and also, not that i mind, but shouldn't you get dressed for class ?"

your boyfriend looks you up and down, tightly pulling the knot of your tie up properly. you can't help but feel a bit shy at how he's so openly scanning over you.

"nah, fuck that." he shrugs.

okay, now this was strange.

your katsuki with the perfect grades, the stickler, the secret goodie two shoes with perfect attendance wants to skip class?? something was very wrong.

he stands back like nothing happened, shoving his hands in his pockets "anyway, you ready to get outta here or what ?"

"huh ? where are we going ?"

"wherever we wanna, you got anything in mind ?" and he's already turning around, grabbing you by the arm with a smirk.

huh ?

"...is something—"

you can't even finish your question before you hear your name being called loudly, by katsuki. your katsuki, ready for school, book bag and everything just on time to pick you up.

ah, you knew he'd gotten here too damn early.

"dude, this is so creepy."

"how'd this even happen ?!"

"i wonder what type of quirk did this...."

you can catch the beginning of midoriya starting up on his nerdy rambling before sighing. you try tuning your classmates out with a sigh and turn your music up louder in your earbuds.

your homeroom teacher, who had clearly had enough of the surge of bakugou's appearing before him, had allowed this new edgy katsuki (as denki called him, somehow it managed to stick) to attend class. he looked normal enough and didn't look like he'd cause too much trouble, as long as he was attended to, that attendant being you, of course.

"there's another one ?!" you hear mineta cry, surely still traumatised from his experience with the wolfish katsuki almost having him as his early morning snack. the thought makes you laugh. you turn to look at the crowd of your classmates gathered around the twin katsuki's.

kaminari is the first to try and cause mischief, taking his chances since your homeroom teacher was taking a while, and had started a "spot the real bakugou!" contest. the contest was a bit flawed since they were both convinced they were the real original, but you decide not to step in on their fun. (and you have to admit it was a bit entertaining.)

"okay, everyone quiet down please! let's get back on track! " kaminari bellowed, wrapping his hands around his mouth to project his voice.

"gentlemen, whoever can answer this next question will receive..." he sings, drumming his hands on his desk in anticipation, neither katsuki's seem very amused.

kaminari jumps up, dramatically revealing a snickers bar "ta-daaaaa!! a free snickers bar from yours truly! though it's been sitting in my bag for a couple days.." he mutters quietly.

"i don't want that shit." both katsuki's say at the same time.

your entire class errupts into laughter and chaos. you shake your head in amusement and decide to scoot a bit closer to keep listening.

"um..could i request a question ?" midoriya pipes up, raising a hand.

"mister midoriya wishes to request a question ! what do you say, kacchan ?" kaminari the announcer encourages.

"fuck off, nerd!" both katsuki's say again, it's really starting to look like some kind of circus act now. you can't help but laugh along with your classmates.

"midoriya, you have the floor." kaminari giggles, leaning his makeshift fist microphone to your green-haired friends lips.

"how do you feel about having a clone of you ? is it scary ? do you feel connected in a way ? is it—"

kaminari interrupts before midoriya can go full blown geek "please, keep the questions to a minimum, sir !" he energetically spins back around, his chair squeaking loudly as he turns back to your boyfriend and edgysuki. "well, your response ?"

your boyfriend pipes up first with a scoff "like i care, i'm not scared of shit, let alone this dickbag. and no, i don't feel connected to this creep—don't ask me these weird fuckin' questions !"

your boyfriend almost takes this like a real interview, yelling at his childhood friend but diligently staying close to kaminari's fist like it was an actual mic. edgy katsuki seems to think the most important part had been said and doesn't add anything else, although once he spots you in the 'crowd', he makes sure to keep his eyes fixed on you. you quickly look away, your ears burn when you hear him chuckle.

soon after his response your classmates pipe up with more and more questions "oh, oh me ! i have a question !" and "can i go next ?!"s sound inside your class. you're just about to request a random question when sero beats you to it. you kick your legs excitedly, knowing he was always the first one to mess with your boyfriend.

"my question's for both the baku's, actually." he drawls, smirking lazily. he leans back in his chair like he knows he's about to start some shit.

"out of the both of you; who do you think likes yn the most ?"

....

huh.

"wha.." you wheeze, the noise stays stuck in your throat . you feel your ears burn, and it's most definitely intensified by the chorus of "ooooo's" overtaking your class. your class rep tries to save the situation, stating it was surely against the rules to ask such an inappropriate question. you nod to him in appreciation.

"i checked the rule book and this type of question is totally fine actually !" kaminari says.

"what rulebook ?!" you pipe up, embarrassed.

he grins at you, pointing to himself "this rulebook."

fuck, you should've seen that one coming.

"now, an answer if you may..." kaminari snickered bouncing on his chair excitedly, barely able to keep his excitement in check.

your boyfriend's eyes flit to you, likely sensing your embarrassment, his ears turn pink and he scoffs. crossing his arms and readjusting in his chair he grumbles. "this is stupid. m'not answerin' that—"

"—i do, obviously."

....

silence. pure silence after the other katsuki speaks.

"i obviously like her more." he repeats, this time making sure he looks at you while he speaks. he's so sure of himself, arms crossed as well and leaned back so casually with a smirk panting his face.

"...hah?" your boyfriend growls in warning "the fuck you just say..?"

"you got a hearin' problem or somethin' ? quit making me repeat myself, dick cheese." the other katsuki sneers back.

"ya think you like my girl more than me, jackass ?!"

"i know i like my girl more than some extra, shit stain!"

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLIN' AN EXTRA, YOU PIECE OF SHIT ?!"

"WHO ELSE WOULD I BE TALKIN' TO BUT YOU, YOU FUCKING MORON ?!"

it's chaos. shouting and howling and absolute chaos. but before things can break out into an all out fist fight, your homeroom teacher finally walks in. barely sparing any of you a glance and setting up his sleeping bag on the floor. until—

"you better all get in your seats by the time i'm finished or so help me..."

you have never moved faster in your life. you're sure you unlocked a hyper speed quirk with the way you zoomed back to your seat, head fixed down on your desk. your homeroom teacher sighs in exasperation, introducing the new katsuki you'd all managed to get very familiar in the span of a few minutes. he makes sure to warn you all with a "behave yourselves." kaminari gulps as he feels the teachers eyes very obviously fixed on him.

safe to say the lesson goes on without a hitch, everyone afraid to breath a little too loud.

you quietly scribbling in your notebook. you hope your teacher can't hear the way your heart hammers against your ribs.

you'd managed to survive your class day under the watchful eye of three people;

mister aizawa, who was already in a bad mood from your earlier predicament with your classmates.

your boyfriend who kept glancing back at you...

...probably because of the third hawk carefully watching you, bad boysuki,( or should you probably call him bullysuki) who was very subtle in chucking paper balls at you while the teachers were looking away. the entire day.

he was seated behind you in the back of the classroom, which gave him plenty of opportunities to kick the back of your chair and look oh, so innocent when you turned around to glare at him. during present mic's english class, he'd dropped his pencil inside the collar of your shirt and barely covered his snort when you shrieked in surprise.

truly, a fucking nuisance. too bad for him, you'd been dating said nuisance for more than a year now and this couldn't phase you in the least.

—before you can reach for your bag, you're brought out of your thoughts by katsuki, the all black one, snatching your bag and throwing it behind his shoulder casually. "you ready to blow this joint or what ?"

"i'm not blowing anything with you, jerk. m'starting to think being insufferable is how you breathe."

"aww. you mad at me, sweetheart ?" he coos, leaning down closer to you. you try not to show your surprise, curling your lip up and rolling your eyes at him. his eyes flit down to your mouth for a short moment. "m'just messin' with you a bit. s'all in good fun."

"it's not funny if you're the only one laughing." you counter. he rolls his eyes playfully. pulling you closer by your arm and leaning in way closer than he needed to.

"fine, s'my bad or whatever. how bout i make it up to you by takin' you out, hm ? got someplace in mind ?"

before you can speak, you're interrupted by your boyfriend snatching you back, causing a surprised noise to clog in your throat.

"she's not going anywhere with you, weirdo." katsuki readjusts his grip on your arm, his palms slightly sweaty. you can already feel he's whole body practically heating up.

bad boy katsuki's smirk is immediately replaced with a scowl, tilting his head back to mean mug your boyfriend. he has a few piercings in his ear too, you notice.

"hah?! s'far as i'm concerned, she hasn't said she was gonna go with anywhere with you."

"she doesn't need to tell you anything. besides, we already have plans. so, fuck. off." katsuki growls, putting extra strain on the fact you and him had a study session planned. the other katsuki doesn't seem to take the news well, cracking his bandages knuckles with a scowl.

"huh, that reminds me. we got interrupted before i got to kick your ass, huh?"

"if you wanna go all you gotta do is say when, pussy—"

before the both of them could start trading blows in the middle of your classroom, you stretch your arms, putting distance between the both of them and surprising them both.

"okay, boys. let's cut it out and use our big boy words okay ?" you sigh, irritated. "since, apparently, you're both toddlers, how about i call the shots here, yeah ?

i'm not going anywhere with either of you if you can't behave yourselves." you turn to look at edgysuki "i had a study date planned, so i unfortunately won't be going out with you. if you wanna come along, be my guest. i have a test coming up so if you test me, i will fuck your life up."

"and you," you turn back to your boyfriend, who's wide eyes are fixed on you "behave, okay ?" you warn, swatting at his chest. he jumps like the action snapped him out of his trance, and looks away with a scoff.

he grunts in agreement but grumbles about it, "should tell that other bastard that..."

that was more than enough for you. "alright, off we go." you usher the boys towards the hallway. your boyfriend moves with quickness, snatching your hand and pulling you away before the other katsuki can get a word in. while walking though, the other katsuki leans in to whisper hotly in your ear.

"that was hot as hell, sweets."

"be quiet." you whine.

"of course you'd get us kicked out of the library—of course of cou—how could i not have known ?!"

currently, you're trying your best to not lose your mind.

the difference between a half human hybrid katsuki and a shoujo bad boy male lead katsuki ? one was wild and untameable and it was definitely not the one you're thinking of.

you're honestly surprised the fucking wolf and dragon were easier to deal with than a biker jacket wearing delinquent.

it had started..okay ? maybe ? then again with any amount of katsuki's, going from 0 to 100 wasn't a hard task. you think maybe bad boysuki had started teasing you too much for your boyfriends liking. as protective as he was, and it sort of would've been flattering(you've always had a think for the delinquent type, okay ?!) if they hadn't started trying to have a showdown for your affection in the middle of a library.

and with the way they'd acted, it wouldn't be a big surprise if you were banned for life.

"i didn't even do shit but he—"

"he swung at me fi—"

"both of you shut the fuck up or so help me..." you groan, rubbing your temples. "i love both of you very much, unfortunately, but i'm only human and right now i'm having to hold back the very human urge of wringing your necks out like geese !" you shriek.

your boyfriend looks at the ground, kicking the toe of his shoe against some rocks, he never liked getting scolded after all. you'd almost feel bad, almost. (you still feel a little bad.)

"he—"

"quiet."

"yeah, quiet, loser." bad boy pipes up.

"you be quiet, too." you point, eyes wide. "you know what ? do whatever you want. fight to the death in the middle of the road like buffoons all you want, i do not care. do not come talk to me until you figure it out or...!" you splutter, trying to think of a fitting punishment "no smoochies for a month!"

your boyfriend's head shoots up, looking at you like you'd just admitted to torching his precious signed all might card "w-what the hell ?! that's basically only punishment for me!"

"figure. it. out." you conclude, turning your nose up and walking away and ignoring your boyfriends calling out for you. god, it was like dealing with two big baby's, and dealing with one was already more than enough!

but even if you are pissed off, your katsuki does have an extremely kissable face, and you don't know if you could hold up your end of the punishment.

you're sitting in your room now absentmindedly thinking about your predicament, study sheets splayed out around you. when you hear a knock at the door. you quickly get up, eager to leave your notes behind and stretch your legs. you're greeted with bad boy katsuki, looking down at the ground clutching something in his hand.

"you left this in the library..." he mutters, looking away and handing you your pencil case. you blink in surprise—you had no idea that you'd left it—but you manage to keep calm.

you clear your throat before responding "oh, thanks."

"should thank that other guy. he's the one that found it an' told me to bring it to you." he admits "even though i was gonna do it too, fuckin' bastard ordering me around..." he grits out, bitter.

your heart warms, your boyfriend was an idiot after all.

"where is katsuki anyway? well, my katsuki that is."

katsuki scoffs a laugh, finally looking back at you "m'right here, sweetheart."

wow, talk about déjà vu.

"but if you're looking for him he went off somewhere, said i should go see you first or whatever."

you sigh in relief "well, i'm glad you guys managed to get along."

"tch. i ain't getting along with that bastard. don't lump me in with him."

"kinda hard to do considering you are the same perso—."

"yeah, whatever—just—look." he steps closer, walking in your space and closing your door behind you. he backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you slump backwards with an "oof!". he has you where he wants you now. quickly shrugging off his jacket, revealing a tight short sleeved shirt (perfectly accentuating his muscles, mind you) his arms placing themselves on either side of your head. you lay there looking up at him speechless, wide eyed.

"it's stuffy in here. should open a window." he explains, eyes locking with yours.

"right..." you gulp.

"your room's a mess, too."

"okay, you can get it out if it bothers you." you snarked, squinting at him.

his eyes soften and he looks down at you seriously again. "look," he repeats"i don't—i'm not good at shit like this. but..." he looks off to the sound, grumbling. you catch how his ears bleed pink.

"i don't like you being mad..or whatever." he knocks his forehead to yours "...so stop it."

you snort "wow, so smooth." you chuckle when he shifts to shove his head into your shoulder with a quick "shut up."

his hands search and feel around until they get to yours, intertwining them. "don't..." the rest of his sentence is muffled into your shirt. "i can't hear you." you say curiously, he groans loudly.

"s-stop making me say embarrassing shit." he pulls his head out to look at you, your noses bump against each other. his lips oh, so close to yours.

"don't go...thinking that other guy likes you more than i do, got it..? and don't go liking him..more than me..." he trails off. eyes locked to yours, he waits for your response. you swallow harshly. you want to lick your lips, but he's so close you're worried they'll touch.

"well, i like the both of you just the same. so you don't need to worry about that." you say, managing to gather your thoughts you wrap your arms around him to pull him into a hug. he grunts, surprised, but melts into you quickly enough.

"guess that's good enough..." he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. he laughs when you squeal in surprise.

"i still like you more than him though."

and then, as soon as you blink, he was gone.

katsuki let's out a high pitched gasp when you surprise him in the common room kitchen, wrapping your arms around him.

"bwu—wh—what the hell?! don't just sneak up on me like that, dumbass !" he splutters, trying to make up from the cute little noise he let out. you giggle, squeezing his waist while he groans. he can't pull you off him as he's doing the dishes and that'd cause one big mess. (and since he's already on thin ice and doesn't wanna get his boyfriend privileges revoked, he'll stick this one out.)

he sighs, defeated "did that fucker fuck off yet ?" he asks.

"potty mouth," you laugh "and yeah, he's gone now. thanks for finding my pencil case for me, by the way."

he reaches to pinch you and you groan at the wet feeling on your skin, wiping your arm on his shirt. " keep having to pick up after your forgetful ass. should be more careful instead of having a hissy fit at me."

"don't start with me right now, katsuki."

he chuckles and shrugs, resigned. "you still mad ?"

"i wasn't anymore, but your little remark just made me re-mad at you."

your boyfriend stiffens and whips back to look at you, frowning. he squints, you squint back. after a heated stare down match he concedes and rolls his eyes.

"...sorry."

"meh. 2 points."

"what the hell?!" he groans, his hands splash around in the water causing soap bubbles to fly. you laugh and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. his mouth closes abruptly, surprise filling his features.

"well, i won't be taking away your smoochie privileges, at least."

"don't sneak up on me like that.." he scowls "and you better not. would've become your worst fuckin' nightmare till you gave in."

you snort "yeah, right. more like you'd become the whiniest baby."

"fuck off." he scoffs.

you giggle to yourself quietly. swaying lightly as your boyfriend silently does his job, the clinking of the dishes filling in the silence.

until katsuki decides to speak up. "hey."

"hm?"

"love ya."

your heart jumps, looking up at him as he keeps his back to you. your face heats and katsuki shows no sign of being bothered by your silence, if only the way he slows down just slightly in his washing.

smiling, you press a kiss to his back "i love you, too."

he stands straighter, almost electrocuted by your words. he huffs, shifting on his feet.

"hmph...i win, then."

curious, you look up at him again "what are you talking about ?"

he finally looks back at you, a feral grin forms on his face "that face stealing bastard can like ya all he wants, but i still love you more!" he snickers evilly.

your boyfriend was, truly, the biggest idiot.

taglist ! ( if your name is in bold i couldn't tag u :< )

@jastoo46 @cecelia77 @erenstitanweave @closehereyes @stoned-anime-babe @taxavoider @yannvi @sugurusmoon @allurearia @kaerotica @wonubby @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @ita606 @andysdrafts @omitea @lili-of-the-vally @serpent-hearted @ghostorchidd @shewki @pirana10 @witch-craft-works @kanvis @okkotsuus @dragonscribble @emmiesarchive @screaming-dough @napbatata @cacaandweewizzsstuff @redollface @meowsannie @katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba @moonshuul @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam @aspiringwriter1111 @redvelvetstan1 @niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia @qyuin @bakugouswaif @themultifandomgirl @icey-wonders

[mit0bee]

i am a FIRM believer that malleus does not care about any unspoken rule on "only one or two messages at a time". he can, will and has sent you paragraphs spanning over six or seven messages. he IS the lorum ipsum dolor on every doc or presentation. he uses words you usually wouldn't find in a text like resplendent or magnanimous. ace on the other hand refuses to use big words when texting. does he adhere to the rule? no. its a stupid rule to him, and he would rather have a conversation with you than share a single word every two hours. his texts are usually in all caps, something like "LMFAOOOO" or the like. he also uses "u" "ur" and "urs". i dont make the rules :P

idia, in the first few months of knowing you, literally texts you like a teenage boy who wants to seem cool. that's his idea of what normies text like, and sevens be damned, he wants to get to know you so bad, but he doesn't wanna scare you away with his lingo. now, if you're also a gamer, or its been enough time into your relationship, he's SPAMMING YOU with all sorts of texts. he also uses "u" and the like. hes not scared to be himself anymore, so expect multiple texts a day about this, that, and the next. leona doesn't text you dry or rarely to seem cool, he literally just has nothing to say. ruggie once turned off auto-cap on his phone as a prank, and he doesn't really care about changing it back. if he wants to capitalize a word, he can use shift. just because he doesn't have much to say doesn't mean he's not engaged in the conversation. if you're telling him about your day or something you bought, he's asking genuine questions. he will NEVER EVER EVER admit that your little typing bubble gives him butterflies. he'd rather die. azul is probably one of the few people who actually uses proper, perfect grammar in his texts. he doesn't word them like letters like a certain horned-fae, but he does use similarly big words. he wants to make you think he's super smart and savvy. i mean you probably already do but he doesn't believe it. oh floyd. deciphering his texts is like deciphering egyptian hieroglyphs before the rosetta stone was discovered. he types so fast you can't tell which words mean which. it takes you literal YEARS to be able to consistently understand them. switches between "u" and "you" just to be a bug. pick one or the other, please floyd. jade is similar to azul, but with one minor (major) difference. he corrects your grammar. use the wrong your because you haven't slept in three days? "you're*". you've almost punched him out for it. he once threw out all of his beautifully structured grammar for an april fools joke (he was texting you like he's floyd. you had to ask if it was him), and it threw you off so bad. he tried to gaslight you into thinking he never did it the next day. vil is another grammar corrector. but while jade does it mostly to bug you and see you get angry, vil does it because he wants you to how yourself the so-called respect he thinks you get from writing a good text. he once gave you and epel an entire lecture on how to text others with grace and poise.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

"Do you think anyone really cares about where dwarves get their blue dye?" At least two blue pigments are specifically derived from minerals (indigo and cobalt). That's part of why humans had trouble dying stuff blue until relatively recently, because we had to locate, extract, and refine the minerals, then process them into usable dye. Of course the dwarves have blue dye. If anything, they probably have a monopoly on the trade of blue dye, and would consider plant-based blue dye like woad a threat to their business. There's a whole plot there if you want to focus your story on the merchant class, or at least a compelling subplot for some ongoing background tension.

Ways an attack by a human-faced bear can fit into a story:

Local version of a manticore (lion with scorpion tail and human face), to worldbuild a setting with twists on established myths. If it has a humanoid face, can it also mimic a human voice calling for help, to lure travellers off the path?

Establish/confirm that there are dangerous animals in the area. Demonstrate how well- or ill-suited the characters are for dealing with this. Show that your characters are prepared and well-equipped, or overconfident and out of their depth.

(Do they have fantasy bear-spray? Did one of them fall for a scam and bring a charm that was supposed to keep human-faced bears away? Did they mistakenly believe they could talk to it? Could they talk to it, but it wasn't interested in what they had to say? How do they escape or drive it off? What injuries do they suffer, and what first aid are they able to give one another afterwards? Do they need to go to someone else for healing? Who and where?)

If trying to establish "anyone can die", an attack by an animal motivated by hunger or territoriality rather than targeted malevolence can be an effective way to kill off a character without making it look like some outside force is actively targeting the cast.

Give the audience the vicarious adrenaline rush of a monster attack scene or fight scene. Create tension of future attacks. Alternatively, release tension, because after building up fear of getting attacked, it's finally happened. (A story that constantly ramps up the tension with no release risks the audience getting exhausted and no longer caring.)

In a setting where this is the first indication of fantasy/sci-fi, give the audience the mystery of why it's a human-faced bear and not just a bear. Where did it come from? Was it once a normal bear, or human, and something happened? Is it from another world, and ended up on Earth somehow? Is the setting actually a fantasy or alien world, not Earth as we know it? Character reactions will help establish whether this is a dangerous-but-normal animal, or something they also recognize as abnormal.

Uncanny Valley! Unsettle the audience with a monster that looks like it might be a person, but is actually a non-sapient creature. Just because a creature looks part-human doesn't mean it is bound by human social conventions or has the ability to communicate. Good for setting up later wariness towards other apparent "hybrids" like merfolk, harpies, and centaurs - or, if those have previously been encountered as sapient, the non-sapient human-faced bear breaks the pattern, creating danger partly from inaccurate expectations.

Uncanny Valley! Unsettle the audience with a character that appears to be an unintelligent creature, but is actually a person. If sapient, why is it attacking? Establish territory conflict between humans and bear-folk.

Imply/reveal/confirm that a mad scientist or a magic-wielder has been creating human-animal hybrids, either just to see if they could, or to guard a specific area for some purpose. Set up future conflict with this character.

The thesis here, I think, is the "Show Don't Tell" principle. Telling your audience "this forest has human-faced bears in it" will not get the same reaction as "Character was walking through the forest and got attacked by a bear with a human face."

your dark fantasy novel doesn't need a logic-based magic system it needs a bear with a human face

[likelysobbing]

nah let reader get her lick back now cause I can’t have us going down like this. Reader needs to get with one of the team immediately but it’s not like no rebound things it’s fr serious and Paige cannot stand it but who cares anymore?

𖥻 STUNNED. azzi fudd x reader x ex!paige bueckers (for the streets 2)

synopsis: paige’s eyes are on other girls, so azzi’s eyes sure as hell won’t let off of you now—and they’re the loveliest you’ve ever had the honor to look back at.

notes: RAHHH here it is! FOR THE STREETS part 2 ! hi nonnie! this is lightly, lightly, lightly LIGHTLY based off a song called makasarili malambing by hev abi and kristina dawn. sorry this took so long i was receiving my education! also, 3k+ words. if u read this u better read it all the way…tell me what u think too. i love interaction hehehe. also, i tried not to make paige suffer VIVIDLY, because i feel like it hurts more for player!paige to just silently regret #EL EM AY OH. thank u. also i put emphasis on eyes (adoration), the color green (envy), and make a lot of references to the previous fic. it’s linked on this post so go on and read it if you haven’t already <3 also, tagging @elalfywhore as per request hehe. hope you guys like it.

cw: READER’S A BIT OF A BITCH AT FIRST, But ends up folding because no one resists azzi bro, readers sassy, azzi is insistent, paige has avoidant attachment issues, no distinct establishment of a relationship but there is an implication of azzi and reader being more and both parties being okay with that (except paige. paige didn’t consent), PLAYER!paige

azzi always watched you.

you ignored it, especially while you were with paige—but she always watched you. azzi’s eyes seemed to favor trailing down your body more than anything else. whenever you ran into her and paige, back when you were still a couple, you had always kissed paige on the cheek—and azzi nearly leaned in everytime you approached her for a hug; maybe she expected a kiss on the cheek too— that’s funny, actually. but that’s unlikely, right? you ignore it. there was no way. no way she could have had any sort of interest in you.

especially now that you’ve practically estranged yourself from paige and her friends; that includes the basketball team. you haven’t said anything to them beyond ‘hi’ , ‘bye’ and ‘have a good day’—and they know why. they understand why. who wouldn’t want to do the equivalent of bury themselves in a hole if their ex girlfriend who they were so intent on marrying ended it all through a phone call while getting head from another woman? come on. you were sure they understood.

included in this very obvious mass-in-real-life-ghosting phase was none other than paige’s closest friend, miss goo goo eyes, miss azzi fuckin’ fudd.

you really tried to get her eyes off you, but it didn’t matter in the end.

azzi always watched you.

or like, maybe it was watch over instead of simply watch. watching over was more akin to what she did—she always checked in on you, maybe when she thought you weren’t looking her eyes would end up somewhere on your body that wasn’t necessarily scandalous—more so the space between your neck and shoulder or a collarbone. regardless, she had her eyes on you.

but watching you or not, you’re sure azzi didn’t mind you distancing yourself. you’re 100% sure she understood you being a bit too far to look at now? there was no need to dwell on it. you’re sure. you’re 100% sure.

… okay, well, maybe you’re 99.99% sure.

azzi sat across from paige, eyes slightly narrowing and widening as she felt the burn of yet another shot. the bass boomed in both of their ears, and each beat rung through their brain, but all azzi could focus on was that paige had let you go.

you. sweet, lovely, you.

she knew she wasn’t being slick when she watched you—her eyes always seemed to rake down every one of your features, and she wasn’t embarrassed about it. you were beautiful, and in paige’s arms you found your place. azzi couldn’t trespass on that—not because of paige, but because of you. you genuinely believed paige was inlove with you—pathetic, unheard of, even—but with how paige treated you, azzi began to believe it too… or she would’ve, if she knew paige less.

azzi didn’t rain on your parade of delusions hemmed by paige’s beautifully sown in lies.

but she wouldn’t deny that you would look better with her.

“you’re thinking again.”

there it is; paige was never one to think a lot, so she always questioned why azzi did. her decisions spoke for themselves. azzi pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue, tilting her head just enough to turn her nose up at paige, who grins like she knows what this look is. azzi always seem to come up with the craziest shit, and right now—paige’s excited to see what she comes up with next.

“what you thinking of?” uconn’s number five asks, that drunken lilt unmistakable as she balanced speaking to uconn’s #35 and getting a lap dance from the girl she beckoned over (she knew nothing about her besides the fact she had a nice ass). azzi shakes her head, one side of her lips quirking up. that mystery only serves to make paige even more curious—as always, she doesn’t think twice about digging deeper.

“nah, come on, there’s something—“

“no, paige,”

“there’s someone.”

well, azzi can’t deny that, can she?

so, she burrows deeper into her seat and looks away. paige points at her like she just connected all the dots, going “oh!” like a frat boy surprised that his hunch was even correct. “who’s she?”

“she’s a she.”

“she’s a she and her name is what?”

“she.”

“that’s not a name, bro—“

“how do you know she isn’t a name?”

“bro. don’t do this. i’m drunk.”

by this point, azzi’s (a little bit!) drunk too. there’s adrenaline in her veins; sprinkle in that crazy audacity that paige seems to have all the time, and she could simply say what’s on her mind right now. or, maybe she should just say it to get it off her chest.

“your ex.” azzi murmurs. paige’s eyes darken, flickering from the common deviousness azzi’s so familiar with to something genuine she can’t seem to place. her jaw tightens, smile faltering just enough to make azzi’s own quirk up.

the lights flicker from red, yellow, green and purple randomly. by this point, she’s used to the strain—shes even memorized the pattern. the lights are going from red, to yellow, green, purple— purple again. so why … is paige all green?

“sorry, i don’t mean to impose,” was what she said to you first. you couldn’t even register she was near you at all. why was she even here, sitting next to you in a nearly empty library she’d probably benefit more studying alone in? you weren’t even in the same major. if she had a test to study for, you’d be of no help.

it was stupid of you to even assume studying was on her mind.

she just… did her own thing. in silence. she didn’t push, didn’t press, didn’t— she didn’t do anything. she was just on her phone. why was she in the library if she didn’t have any work to do? she had a whole friendgroup—maybe she did it to get away from them? wait, but why would she need to get away from them? did she need to hide? was she annoyed? why would she be annoyed? well, you don’t suppose it was paige, paige would definitely be quite an annoyance—

“yes?”

her voice is soft. softer than a feather landing on your skin. yet, like a feather, amidst how light her voice is—you feel it. it’s one word, but it takes just that to make you feel the one feeling you know will lead to more than multiple disasters.

interest.

you are interested in her.

azzi fudd’s big brown eyes were something you (and anyone in your place) could only resist for so long, and with one bat of her eyelashes and the flash of her sweet smile that—oddly—didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth. atleast, not like it usually did. you never saw her as anything more than paige’s bestfriend who was kind of into you (but also simultaneously there was no way she was into you because she was so pretty).

“you’ve been silent for the past two minutes.”

you blink. “… sorry.”

azzi smiles, again, and this time— you can’t help but smile back.

but it’s not that serious, isn’t it? there’s no harm in introducing new people into your life. there’s no harm even if it’s your ex’s bestfriend who’s watched you with for so long, and with such pretty eyes. there’s like, literally no harm.

you wouldn’t let there be any harm. you could open your heart to her a little. deal with her presence if it’s constant. bite back when needed, push away when called for, right?

“that’s okay.” she replies to you smoothly, looking back at her phone. “—just haven’t seen you in a while, you know.” she offers, and you freeze up. she doesn’t stop speaking. “i kind of.. missed you being close. like i get why—i understand, too, i just— you know..”

“yeah, i know you know. paige wasn’t really subtle with the breakup.” you murmured, “did she send you here to check on me, azzi?”

azzi blinks, scandalized by the accusation. “what… no? i don’t—i would never. i’m not like her— i mean, not like that— i just.. wanna be here?”

you raise an eyebrow, skeptically. “at this specific library?” and azzi inhales, “please don’t make me say what i know you know already.”

“i know a lot of things. but i don’t know what you think i know.”

“don’t you?”

“do i?”

“i just wanna be with you.”

that was easier to get out than you expected. hm, okay. okay— you tilt your head. “you’ve been with me enough, with how much you seem to hang around paige.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i’ve only ever known you as one of her minions.”

azzi’s eyes widen, and she nearly gasps—once again— SCANDALIZED, by your statement—but she doesn’t. infact, you don’t expect what she does—because she takes your jab in stride.

“wooow, minions, huh? okay, well—why don’t you try to get to know me beyond it?”

“i’d actually rather not. i know who you hang out with.”

“just because i hang out with her doesn’t mean—“

you interrupt her with the zip of your backpack and the slam! of your books closing. “you’re all talk. you never act.”

azzi tries to cut you off with a little “hey, wait—“, her hand on your wrist, her eyes wide and pleading but you do not budge.

you shake her hand off your wrist when she tries to stop you from standing up. it’s the perfect picture of cold ruthlessness you know paige doesn’t believe you have—and you know what? if azzi is going to act like a messenger pigeon, which you assume she is, then you’re going to make sure she has a lot to say to paige when she comes back.

unbeknownst to you, azzi looks at what was once your chair and frowns. she feels your absence more than paige does. more than paige ever will.

and it stings. both for you, and her.

she comes to you again. this time, you’re in another library, and somehow she has enough devotion to presumably ruining your life that she finds you. she smiles when she sees you, waving with a tiny ‘hello’.

you place your bag onto the chair next to you and go back to work. you’re in the zone, there’s nothing stopping you— apparently besides the girl plopping your bag down onto the (dirty!) floor. how rude. how does she have the nerve to sit next to you? why does she still think you’re good? she may want to ‘be in your presence’ but who said anything about you wanting to be in hers? what the hell does she think shes doing?

“i think maybe you should let me tell you what i’m doing here.”

“i actually think you should leave.”

“i’ve only sat next to you twice.”

“twice too many.”

theres a silence on the other end and you think you won. you can’t help the smile on your face—the rejection felt good, in a sort of cruel way. azzi didn’t have any part in you and paige’s downfall, but she did stand by and watch it—you—burn.

so you’d set fire to whatever she was dreaming of in return.

“i always thought you looked better with me.”

record scratch.

“you’re crazy.”

“i am not.” she replies, “just a tad bit tipsy.”

“it’s nine pm?” you scoff, and she shrugs, “pre-game. anyway, i mean it. i always thought you looked better with me. you would, wouldn’t you?”

this time, you leave in a hurry. there’s literally nothing but ‘evacuate’ in your head as you rush to pack your bags, spouting whatthefuckwhatthefuck in your brain as azzi, realizing the utter stupidity of her actions, begins to flail her arms around directionless as she tries to stop you from leaving again.

“okay maybe that was a little bit uncalled for, i’m sorry let me rephrase—“

“no, i am not letting you— and no, i do not wanna find out. you got me fucked all the way up—“

“listen, okay, i just think you’ve always been out of her league—“ she tries to reason, and you look at her incredulously.

“you’re talking about paige bueckers.” you say, back now turned to azzi as you begin to walk out.

azzi shakes her head, already toeing behind you— “i’m talking about my close friend. one who couldn’t see your worth— please, will you let me try again? god, i’m sorry— you’re just so pretty, okay? and you’re so fucking sweet, you have such a pretty face and i just can’t help but look at you—“

“that is so creepy, azzi.”

“it is! i’m sorry!” she whines, obviously more than tipsy, “i’m sorry! just—“ she takes you by the hand, and you freeze up because it’s been quite a while since you’ve had physical contact that had even a smidge of romantic intent, and when you look back— god, there it is.

big, brown eyes.

looking right at you, a tad bit glossy—wide, and paired with by far the prettiest pout you’ve ever seen. “please.” she whispers, keeping in mind how you’re technically still in the library and she’s been looked at thrice for her theatrics—“please? just… let me hang around. i’m not going to force anything i just—want to know you.”

you’re stunned.

you’re in no state to properly answer; your mind is going a mile a minute, and so in desparation to just speak— you speak with your heart.

“nnn… okay.”

that was your heart. it forgot all reason, dignity, and self respect, apparently.

maybe azzi giving you a wide, toothy smile was worth it though.

“you’re seeing her?” paige repeated, some drink she forgot the name of swirling in her cup. azzi nodded, “figured she’d need something soft to land on.” she murmured, and though her words seemed casual—there was more meaning to them than paige could understand. azzi’s tone was expectant, hopeful—she wanted something to bloom between the two of you—something nice. pretty. good.

“and what is that? your chest?” paige’s reply interrupts her, and though she tries to sound teasing—she sounds more... irritated.

“maybe.” azzi grins.

“get outta here.” paige scoffs, taking another swig of her drink as she slumps back into her chair. “you can have her, it’s whatever bro. liter-ally whatever.”

“mhm.”

azzi’s nonchalance only bothers paige even more.

“i hope you understand i’m not ready yet.” was the first thing you said right after that awkward moment back at the library, “for a relationship, i mean. like, this fast.” you clarified.

azzi nodded, bouncing off you well, “oh, me too—you don’t need to see me as a threat. i just want to know you. i know it’s going to be hard, considering well.. your ex is my best friend. paige doesn’t mind—“ she pauses, before trying to reword. “i mean that—“

“oh, that’s fine. i can tell she doesn’t.” you wave it off, and azzi just smiles apologetically as she continues. “even if it’s hard on the both of us, i want to see where this goes. i’ve watched you too long to not want to be close.” azzi shyly murmurs, before trying to rekindle a lighter atmosphere— “just don’t get sassy with me, okay? i don’t like fighting with you.”

it’s been five months now. since she’s said that.

specifically, since azzi began to try to woo you. every flower she gave was always your favorite one, every ramble you graced her with was met with actual listening ears and comprehension, and nearly every thing you wanted? you had it in your hands the next day. azzi wasted no time in trying to show you she in fact, wasn’t like bueckers (who seemed to be meaner these past weeks, impossibly)—you never had to doubt her.

like actually. you never had to doubt azzi.

she didn’t knock on your door three times, but she was… special. enough. to have a key by the third month. she didn’t look you in the eye all that much, too shy to properly maintain it, but you knew she watched over you anyway. and when she held your hand, she was the one that squeezed first.

even if she hasn’t popped the question yet, there is no doubt in your mind that she’s yours already. she may have had grandeur, but unlike paige, she did not let it define her love for you. no, she won you over by the littlest things. the things that mattered.

its been five months now. since she’s said that.

and it’s felt like… six / seven … years?

however long it’s been, you know there’s a connection. and azzi knows too, because why wouldn’t she? she somehow knows everything. there’s always solutions to problems with her, always an answer to a math equation or an existential crisis— its all so different.

different from paige, you mean.

with azzi, you’re always… stunned— from how much effort she puts in, how bright her smile is, how she never seems to not have time for you—hell, you’re stunned whenever you see her. you know there’s something there, but you don’t know who’s going to make a move first—or atleast, when she is.

you don’t know if you should care at all. you don’t know if you should put yourself first, or if you even have real questions. you can’t even ask azzi like you’ve formed a habit of doing because she somehow always says the right things—you can’t even muster up a question for her: what would you say? ‘bro please kiss me already?’ no way.

“you ready to go?” azzi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink to see her holding her hand out. ah, that’s right— you’re hanging out tonight. she’s taking you to her favorite spot across the town—that’s nice. you can’t wait to be with her.

you have so many questions you can’t muster, but maybe you don’t need to ask. maybe you just need to feel—her touch lingers far more than it stays, always tingling on your arm or your back; her absence causes you more heartache than you’d like; … it’s just her. maybe there are no more questions. maybe you don’t have questions, but either way, azzi has answers. she might as well be the answer to everything, actually. maybe there’s no need to dwell, no need to label it yet—lord knows what azzi wants.

you take azzi’s hand and she squeezes it first like she always does. it makes you smile wider this time.

this time, love is kind to you. it is soft and slow and yet passionate all the same. you don’t know where it might lead but the look in her eyes is worth it. this tenderness is worth it.

and you’re not afraid, wherever this might lead you.

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even. yet she’s not as big and bad as shes made herself out to be right now. not at all.

in the same booth she was a few months ago, paige now sits alone. there are girls aching to get home with her, and she’s half-picking who should get that honor—but she’s trying to distract herself more.

the lights go red, to yellow, green, purple—purple again. so why does she feel so green?

envy is a rattle snake, and it wraps around her entire body. it squeezes tight, cutting circulation off to the point she’s so stiff she might explode— but it’s not because of you and azzi.

it’s not.

not even when her jaw clenches at the thought of you. and azzi. azzi is her bestfriend, and when she outright admitted to thinking about making moves on you—paige brushed it off with a laugh and a playful “she can’t even talk to half of us, bro—i got her heart broken … or like heartbroken or something.” but now, here she is.

and she’s not heart broken. shes not even bothered at all. she’s not.

she just doesn’t like to see you so close. why would she want you close? she’s done her time. pulled you in closer. you always burrowed in deep, she felt you in her heart. maybe that’s what sickened her— the feeling of endearment. you tried to reach your way in, but to paige it felt like you were tearing her apart—ripping her to shreds to crush the organ in your hands and make the victory against her sweeter.

she’s not heart broken. why would she be? there’s no one here breaking her heart.

there’s no one she lets close enough to even have a shot at it.

there is only her. and while she may not accept it, especially now? now that you are gone? now that she’s driven you away like she once did with every other girl who’s ever tried to come close—although you came closest—who came her way?

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even.

but her heart breaks, and she’s the one breaking it.

@likelysobbing.

[saphiccarma]

wandnat x sleep training reader to be horny

it was wanda who had the idea - something that came to mind after fucking you to sleep.

She started with simply playing with your nipples next time you went to bed

you whine a little, glancing back at her with pleading eyes, but she simply kisses you on the lips and tells you to sleep

Once Natasha catches on she adores the idea.

Wanda had only planned to train you to get wet during bedtime, but Natasha did it whenever you fell asleep around them.

They would play with your clit, just light little touches, not enough to make you take action, but enough to make you squirm and get very wet.

The two try a vibrator next.

The first time they tried you came within a minute and that turned into a night where you all stayed up until the sun was out again.

Next time was a bit more of a success, although it really just ended with you being up alone and edged all night.

Third times a charm and you were able to fall asleep with the vibe in you, set to the perfect setting.

At that point you were conditioned to be wet and horny by bedtime, always expecting some sort of stimulation.

You hadn't even realized it until they both leave for a buisness trip with the order that you can't touch yourself.

As you try to sleep that night, you find yourself unexplainably wet, absolutely dripping.

It's impossible to sleep as you press your thighs together, groaning into the pillow and squirming all night.

The next night you end up facetiming them, even though they were supposed to be busy.

"Yes milaya?" Wanda's hair whips in her face as she walks around, hardly sparing you a glance.

"I need to touch myself," you whine softly, quietly, "Please."

You hear Natasha snort in the background, likely having one of the airpods.

Wanda pretends to consider it for a moment before smiling at you, "No."

You're left gaping, unable to respond before she hangs up on you with the claim they were occupied.

Another night you didn't sleep.

When they finally come home, you really, really want to spend all night with them, but instead you pass out

It was the first night in three days where your girlfriends were there and you recieved stimulation to fall asleep.

[lukie17]

As a follow up of sorts how would the LADS react to being gifted a body pillow of the reader?

LADS react to being gifted a body pillow of you

My first request ever! I hope you like it anon!

I do NOT write for Rafayel

Xavier

Xavier had been to bed rest after he went on a solo mission, he had broken one of his legs and he was not allowed to be your partner until he was fully recovered. He liked the fact that he had time to sleep but he did not like the fact that you would be going on solo missions for a while.

It got worse when you were going to go to another city for a uncover mission and he was the sulkiest man ever. What did you do? You decided to give him a little something until you came back. Xavier was still sleeping when you placed the pillow beside him.

Xavier woke up a few hours later with your printed face at his side. The sleep was still fogging his mind until he realized that the one beside him was not you, he found a little note at the side of the pillow.

I know that you will be lonely while I am going, so I hope this will keep you company ;) - You

Xavier felt so happy, even if you were miles away, he could still hug you. The pillow was his partner for the rest of his recovery, whenever you were away, he hugged it tightly to the point that it smelled like him. He almost killed Jeremiah when he laughed at him for the pillow, good thing that his leg was still recovering giving the time to Jeremiah to run.

Xavier used the pillow every time he was home, even when you were with him. he will hold you in his arms as the pillow rested at the other side of the bed. No matter where he turned, you will be him in bed! Though he preferred you over the pillow, it didn't not matter that you looked really pretty in the pillow, he could get freaky with it.

Zayne

Our favorite doctor felt conflicted to say the least. His reaction might have been different if you had sent the pillow to another location, like home, but you had decided to send it to his office at the hospital. The image was a little spicy to his liking, you were wearing a maid outfit and winking in the body pillow. And now Zayne would have trouble focusing on his work.

Did he like the pillow? He will never admit it out loud. That would be something that he could use behind closed doors or at home, but never in a public space like his office. Zayne will have to scold you for this, he liked your jokes, but it was too much.

He did not want to leave it in the office, but he also didn't want to take it home if someone saw it. His mind was conflicted, should he freeze the pillow? should he leave it here and hope no one would see it while he was working? It was a miracle that it had made all the way to his office without someone noticing what it was.

As he was pondering his options, he did not notice the door opening and Yvonne walking to leave some papers. They looked at each other in uncomfortable silence, until Zayne saw the flash of a camara, and he froze.

"Yvonne..."

"My! My!" the nurse chuckled "The fearsome doctor Zayne is a man after all, and he cannot resist the manly urge he has!"

"This is not what you think..."

But she walked away, calling for Gresyon in her leave. Zayne's gaze returned to the pillow, your checky expression was only annoying more. He will take the pillow home and with it a punishment. Hopefully, you would like the mandatory rest that he was going to force on you, and not because your heart condition, darling.

Sylus

It was a gift from the twins. They knew he sulked whenever you went away, so they took a photo session with you and made a body pillow for his boss! Only the best for the best boss man ever. But what they weren't expecting is that Sylus will have them in a hold as he examined the body pillow.

You looked ravishing in your little outfit, making a suggestive pose only for your husband. Sylus had made fun of you for the body pillow, and he was starting to see the appeal of it, but something was bothering him. Why did you let the twins take pictures of you? Why did you not let your husband take the pictures? He would have had more fun with you instead of them.

"We can explain!" Kieran cried as he was lifted into the air "It's a birthday gift! A birthday gift!" Luke nodded at his side.

"Is that so?" his red eyes scanning his henchmen "Then why has my gift arrived later?"

"We wanted to make it perfect, boss"

"So, you decided to take pictures of my wife," tightening his grip on the twins "in lingerie to put it on a pillow when I could just have my wife to myself?"

Sylus was unsure how to feel with the gift. He could have you whenever he wanted so why he needed a body pillow like that. He was both annoyed and amused. Was this some kind of revenge for him when he rearranged your insides after the body pillow accident? It didn't matter; Sylus was going to have to take measures for his kitten not to misbehave. And the twins? Well, let's say that they had taken a sudden mission at the other side of the globe.

Caleb

My man would be celebrating as if were a quinceañera that had been gifted the party and a trip for her birthday. We would have puppy Caleb at maximum level! What do you mean you are given him a body pillow of you? He was jumping with happiness. Especially because you were wearing a cheerleader costume, you looked so perfect.

It had arrived at his apartment in sky heaven, it was a nice pillow. And Caleb could not take his eyes off it, he had always wanted one, but he never crossed the line, but now you were giving him one!

Caleb would be so happy and would treat that pillow as if it were you, he would sleep so soundly with that pillow beside him, nightmares fading away due to his own personal cheerleader. But he still wondered why you had sent him one. He knew you had one of him, and he never thought you would, so why were you all nice to him right now?

He took his tablet and worked on one of his drones, trying to understand what you had done. When you were teenagers whenever you did something wrong, you would give him a gift and then drop the news on him. He could not find you anywhere, not in the arcade, nor in your favorite cafe, nor in your apartment.

He turned the GPS of your cellphone and found you in the N109 zone. Caleb knew who you went to see, and while he knew that your relationship with Sylus was platonic, that did not stop him from worry. Sylus was someone he wanted to punch in the face ever since he learned about him, especially because he took certain liberties with you. The pillow remained forgotten as Caleb walked out of his apartment, later there would be time to admire the pillow, now he had another matter to take care of.

[spiicii]

the usos / sibling rivalry

x fem!reader word count → 4.5k summary → what happens when jey loses a bet and jimmy wins a night with you? there’s only one condition: jey gets to watch. notes → a huge shoutout to the incredibly talented @wildbornsiren and her amazing fic that inspired this story. another source of inspiration would be this fantastic fic by @eringobragh420 which i cannot recommend enough. y’all are so talented … i bow to you!   links → masterlist / taglist  tags → unprotected piv sex, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, degradation, dirty talk, face-slapping, hair-pulling, restraints, dom/sub, orgasm delay, spanking, crying, squirting, breeding kink, fluff and aftercare at the end

“You ain’t gotta tie it so fucking tight,” Jey hissed, his eyes flashing in annoyance as he glared up at his older brother. His annoyance doubled when he met Jimmy’s wicked grin. 

“Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, uce.” Jimmy’s words were already taunting and Jey curled in his lip in response. 

“Jimmy,” you chided, watching them both from where you reclined on the bed. “Be nice.” 

Jimmy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes ma’am.” 

You watched as his deft fingers tied the intricate knots around his twin’s wrists, effectively restraining him to the chair by the bed. You hadn’t asked where Jimmy had learned to tie such complex knots, but it certainly wasn’t Boy Scout camp.  

Jimmy finally stood back to admire his work, his grin cocky. “Well, go on, uce. Try them.” 

Jey glared at him, but he still obeyed, tugging against the rope to test its strength. Jimmy’s cheshire grin widened, looking positively delighted at Jey’s predicament. 

“Looks like you ain’t going anywhere, little brother.” 

Jey’s eyes flashed again, his gaze downright murderous. Nobody knew how to press his buttons the same way his twin did. It was rare to see your normally easy-going boyfriend so riled up and you thought he’d never looked more beautiful. It was why you’d agreed to this, after all. Seeing Jey angry and restrained and begging to touch you was something you’d only fantasized about. 

You couldn’t help but jump down from the bed to approach him, reaching out a hand to trace his bearded jaw. You watched as Jey’s angry expression shifted into something far more vulnerable, his gaze up at you adoring. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” You murmured. The three of you had already talked about safewords and expectations, but you wanted to be sure. 

Jey offered you a reassuring smile. “A bet’s a bet. Besides, I don’t mind watching my girl put on a show for me.” 

You smiled back, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. Jey leaned into your touch, his hands instinctively tugging on the ropes in an effort to reach out and touch you. You couldn’t help but smile. 

“I think I like you like this,” you murmured, continuing to pet him. “You look so pretty all tied up.” 

Jey’s cheeks flushed, his eyes flickering self-consciously to his twin who was leaning against the bed to watch the two of you with amusement. 

“Don’t look at him.” Your hand shot out to grab Jey by the beard, forcing his eyes back at you. “Look at me. And only on me. Understand?” 

Jey quickly nodded and you didn’t miss the way his cock jumped in his shorts. 

“Good boy.” 

You released his beard and Jey leaned forward to chase your hand, eager for more of your touch. You chuckled and moved away, watching with amusement as Jey whimpered at the loss, his puppy eyes pleading. 

“No more for you tonight, baby.” You told him. “Now be a good boy and stay.” 

Jey seemed distressed, already beginning to tug against the ropes around his wrists.

“See, that’s why I had to tie you.” Jimmy’s grin showed far too many teeth. “Knew you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

Jey’s face twisted at his words. 

“Jimmy.” There was a new warning in your tone. “You promised to play nice tonight.” 

Jimmy spread his hands. “What? It ain’t every day I get to fuck my brother’s girl in front of him. I can’t have a little fun with it?” 

“You can do something productive with your mouth instead of running it.” You shot back, already climbing onto the bed and spreading your legs in invitation. “Unless you’d rather switch places with Jey?” 

Jimmy’s grin was devilish, but you were pleased when he finally tugged his shirt over his head. “I can’t say I’d be mad if a girl as pretty as you decided to tie me up.” He admitted, throwing you a cheeky wink as he crawled between your legs. “But I guess we’ll save that for next time, huh?” 

You raised an eyebrow at his words, but your incredulity quickly took a backseat to desire as he began pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh. 

“Excited to see this pretty pussy my brother keeps talking about,” he murmured. “You already wet for me, baby?” 

You wanted to offer him a clever retort, but all thoughts flew out the window when he used his teeth to tug your panties to the side, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of your soaked folds. 

“Even prettier than I imagined.” Jimmy breathed, his breath hot against you as he leaned closer. “Lemme have a taste, pretty girl.” 

You couldn’t help but moan as he licked a hot stripe up your leaking sex, throwing your head back against the pillow as the older twin began to explore you with his tongue. He ate you out leisurely, seemingly savoring your taste as he lapped up the nectar that was beginning to leak out of you. He nudged his tongue deeper into your hole and you shuddered at the feeling, the hairs from his beard tickling in the inside of your thigh. 

It should have felt strange having your boyfriend’s brother between your legs, but it didn’t. If anything, it felt strangely normal. Jimmy was familiar, his skin the same bronze, his own tribal ink similar to tattoos you’d already memorized. 

You realized that Jimmy was removing your panties, tossing them onto the floor to grant him better access to you. And when you met his gaze again, he was smiling. 

“Shirt too, baby,” he rumbled, motioning to the tank top you still wore. “Lemme see all of you.” 

You quickly obeyed, throwing the shirt onto the floor with the other pile of clothes to allow Jimmy’s large hands to reach up and palm at your breasts. 

“So beautiful,” Jimmy murmured, his gaze at you appreciative. “So lucky I get to see you like this, honey.” 

Before you had a chance to respond he dipped his head back down to resume licking at your swollen cunt, moving his hands back down to your thighs to keep you spread for him. 

Your gaze slid over to Jey, curious to see his reaction. The three of you had already spoken at great length about how things would go tonight, but now that it was really happening - Jimmy’s tongue exploring parts of you Jey had never imagined - you were worried he might be having second thoughts. He was normally pretty good about sharing with his brother, but he still had a jealous streak. What if he hated this? What if he regretted ever agreeing to it? What if he safeworded?

But you shouldn’t have had any doubts. 

Jey’s eyes were blown wide with lust, seemingly enraptured by the sight of his older brother feasting against your soaked folds like a starving man. You didn’t miss the way his cock jutted up from inside his shorts, a wet spot rapidly forming there. 

Jimmy’s teeth nipped at the inside of your thigh and you jumped at the sudden prick of pain. 

“Don’t look at him.” Jimmy growled, his fingers already reaching up to prod at your empty hole. “Look at me.” 

His fingers sank deeper inside you and you moaned, your eyelids fluttering as he scissored you open. His clever tongue found your clit and began circling the sensitive bud, his broad shoulders nudging at your legs to urge them further apart. 

Delicious heat curled at the base of your spine, another needy moan falling from your lips as Jimmy’s thick fingers explored deeper inside you. You could feel your gummy walls fluttering and clenching around him, greedily sucking him in. 

“Poor thing,” Jimmy tutted, his eyes glued to your cunt as it continued to leak around his fingers. “She’s hungry, ain’t she?” 

You gasped when he curled his fingers and found your g-spot, pleasure now throbbing between your legs. 

“Already close?” His words were taunting. “Knew you was a slut, but I didn’t think you’d come this fast.” 

“Jimmy.” You were writhing against the mattress now, Jimmy’s free hand gripping your thigh tighter to keep you still. His fingers were incessant, now pressing against that sweet spot inside you with devastating accuracy. You could feel yourself on the edge, your body tense as your orgasm rapidly approached. Then Jimmy withdrew his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, looking down at him in desperation. “Jimmy, please…” 

“Shut up.” He snarled, smacking the inside of your thigh and grinning when you yelped in surprise. “Don’t be greedy. I ain’t even fucked you yet.” 

You let out a whine, but Jimmy wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was now meeting his younger brother’s desperate gaze with a smirk, putting on a show as he licked his fingers clean. “Her pussy tastes even sweeter than I thought it would,” he jeered, his other hand still on your thigh to keep you spread open for Jey to see. “Too bad you can’t touch her, uce. She already begging for it.” 

Jey seethed in anger, tugging again helplessly against the ropes that kept him tied down. 

Jimmy chuckled, dipping his fingers back into your soaked folds one last time to gather more of your wetness. You watched with wide eyes as he slid off the bed and approached his brother’s side, holding out the fingers covered with your juices to his younger brother.  

“Wanna taste?” There was a challenge in Jimmy’s eyes and Jey’s anger wavered. He seemed uncertain now, his gaze flickering between you and his brother. 

“Well?” Jimmy’s grin was devilish. “How desperate are you, uce?” 

Jey stared at his fingers, practically licking his lips at the prospect of finally getting to taste you. But the line in the sand was clear. Would he cross it? 

Then Jey slowly opened his mouth. His cheeks turned a violent shade of red, his gaze up at his brother equal parts humiliated and desperate. 

“You an even bigger slut than her,” Jimmy huffed, though he seemed amused, quickly pushing his fingers into Jey’s mouth to allow him a taste. Jey’s eyelids fluttered, licking your juices from his brother’s fingers with fervor. 

Jimmy looked over to you with a smirk. “See how whipped you got him, girl? I’m impressed. Ain’t ever seen my brother this desperate before.” 

Your pussy clenched around nothing as you watched Jimmy remove his fingers from Jey’s mouth, Jey’s cheeks still beet red and his lips shiny with spit. He now looked thoroughly debauched, struggling to meet your gaze as Jimmy gave a derisive laugh. 

“Can’t say I blame you, uce.” Jimmy chuckled, picking up your discarded panties from the floor and wadding them up in his hands. “Now that I’ve had a taste, I get it.” 

Jimmy was quick to grab his twin by the hair, shoving your panties into Jey’s mouth when he let out a hiss of pain. 

“Good boy.” Jimmy’s words were mocking, offering his brother a condescending pat on the head just to watch Jey’s entire body flush crimson. “Now you just sit and watch. Might even learn a thing or two.” 

Jey’s eyes flashed murderously, his muscles rippling as he strained against the ropes. But when you met his gaze again, his pupils were blown wide. It was clear he hated this as much as he loved it. Your hole spasmed again when you saw that he didn’t spit out the panties in his mouth. 

“C’mere, slut.” 

Before you realized what was happening, Jimmy was grabbing you by the ankle, tugging you roughly until you were standing in front of him. 

“Pretty girl,” he cooed, reaching up to cup your cheek with his large hand. His eyes were softer now, staring down at you with unconcealed affection. “Can’t believe my brother’s been keeping you all to himself. Selfish, ain’t he?” 

You wanted to protest but he was quickly kissing you before you could, his lips warm against yours. You couldn’t help but lean into it, your knees already weak from his touch. His kisses were nothing like Jey’s. Jey was soft. Sweet. His kisses were always gentle, each one a sign of his love and affection. His kisses weren’t possessive - not like Jimmy’s. Jimmy kissed you like he owned you, his tongue bullying its way past your lips to claim your mouth for himself. And when his fingers reached up to tangle into your hair you gasped, your eyelids fluttering. 

“Such a submissive little thing,” Jimmy murmured, his eyes dark as he stared down at you. “That why you letting me do this to you? You like being roughed up like this?” 

Your cheeks grew warmer, suddenly unable to meet Jimmy’s smoldering gaze. Jimmy’s lip curled and he tugged on your hair again, a small whine escaping your lips at the feeling. 

“Answer me, slut.” He snarled. “You like being treated like this?” 

“Yes.” The word came out breathy, your voice hoarse. “Yes, I like it.” 

Jimmy smirked, his grip on your hair tightening. “That’s what I thought.” He leaned forward to lick up the side of your neck and you shivered. “That’s why you need this, baby. Need me to give you what my brother can’t.” 

He quickly released your hair and spun you around, pressing himself against your back as he held you close. You could feel Jey’s eyes watching you but you were too embarrassed to look at him. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Jimmy murmured, his breath hot in your ear. “Imma take care of you. Gonna give you whatchu been begging for.” 

He placed his hand between your shoulder blades and forced you to bend over the side of the bed. You felt a humiliating trickle of your own wetness run down your leg, the inside of your thighs already coated with it. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this wet. 

Jimmy’s cock nudged at your entrance and you gasped at the feeling. You hadn’t really gotten a good look at Jimmy’s dick before, but when you felt him pushing inside you, your hole spasming as it tried to accommodate his width, you realized that he was bigger than Jey. Much bigger. 

“Good girl,” Jimmy crooned, his hands roaming your body appreciatively as he gave you inch after agonizing inch. “Just made to take me, weren’t you, honey? Grippin’ my shit so tight. God, you feel so fucking good.” 

You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he pushed deeper and deeper inside you. Jesus, how big was he? You started to squirm, your hole fluttering helplessly around him as that delicious burn began to curl from within. 

“Be still.” Jimmy’s hand shot out and grabbed you by the hair, forcing your back to arch further for him. “What’s wrong, slut? Ain’t used to being split open like this, are you? Guess Jey been going too easy on you.” 

You could see Jey staring out of the corner of your eye, but you couldn’t look at him. Not like this. You instinctively moved to hide your face in the sheets but Jimmy’s tight grip on your hair made it impossible. Instead, you were forced to screw your eyes shut, your body hot with arousal and embarrassment. You felt so slutty like this: bent over the side of the bed with your boyfriend’s brother inside you, your back arched and your face on display like you were Jimmy’s trophy. You felt helpless beneath him, his mocking laughter only making things worse. 

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut,” Jimmy laughed, landing a harsh swat on your ass just to hear you moan. “You love this, don’t you? Love getting fucked in front of my little brother.” 

You wanted to protest, but your body betrayed you. Your leaking hole spasmed at his words and Jimmy laughed harder. 

“Nasty fucking whore,” he cackled, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing. “God, where’d Jey dig up a slut like you?” 

He finally bottomed out and you let out a cry at the feeling, your body trembling beneath him. God, you’d never had anything this big inside you before. Jimmy was massive. 

“It’s alright, baby.” Jimmy cooed, rubbing a reassuring hand down your hip. “I gotchu. I know what you need.” 

His first thrusts had you moaning, your hole still struggling to accommodate him. 

“Such a good girl,” Jimmy praised, though his words were breathless, your velvety walls still tightly gripping him as he began to pound into you. “God, you feel amazing. I can see why my brother’s so whipped. If I got to fuck this pretty pussy every day, I’d do anything you asked me to.” 

He finally released your hair, your face immediately falling into the mattress to hide. You hadn’t looked at Jey since Jimmy had stuffed your panties in his mouth. Unfortunately, Jimmy noticed. 

“Aw, who you hiding from, honey?” 

You could feel Jimmy leaning forward, draping himself across your back even as he kept drilling into your leaking hole. 

“Nah, you gon’ look at him. You gon’ look at my brother.” 

Before you realized what was happening, Jimmy had a firm hand around your throat, forcing your head up once again to look in Jey’s direction. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body burning with shame and embarrassment. It didn’t help that the pleasure from Jimmy’s thrusts were forcing small, breathy moans past your lips, your mind already growing hazy. 

“Look at him, slut.” Jimmy snarled, his breath hot in your ear, and your eyes flew open at his command. 

Jey’s eyes were impossibly wide, seemingly glued to the sight of his older twin fucking you in his own bed. His chest was heaving as he’d run a marathon, the skin around his wrists red from how hard he’d been tugging on the ropes. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his erection straining in his shorts. You couldn’t believe that he hadn’t spit out your panties yet, still holding them in his mouth to taste what little of you he could. 

“He fucking likes it,” Jimmy chuckled, his thrusts unfaltering as he continued to lean over you. “Likes seeing his girl fucked by his older brother. That’s because he knows I can do it better, ain’t that right, Jey?” 

Jey’s face went crimson, though you couldn’t be sure if it was from anger or arousal. 

Jimmy chuckled again, quickly flipping you onto your back to change his angle. 

“Just needed to see your pretty face, honey,” he purred, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. “I can’t believe Jey gets to see you like this all the time. Lucky bastard. You make the cutest faces when you’re getting fucked.” 

This new angle had Jimmy’s cock aligned perfectly with your g-spot, lightning bolts of pleasure shooting up your spine with every cruel thrust of his hips. Jimmy leaned over you, one of his hands gripping your hip tightly to keep you close while the other cradled your cheek. His gold chain dangled in front of your face, glinting in the light.

“That’s why you needed the older brother to take care of you, isn’t it, slut?” Jimmy’s words were cocky, his lip twisted into a smirk as he stared down at you. “Needed Big Jim to give you what you need. And you need it bad. I can tell. I know Jey don’t fuck you like this.” 

He aimed a vicious slap to your cheek and you couldn’t help but moan, Jimmy grinning sadistically as you began to writhe beneath him. 

“You gonna come on this dick, bitch?” Jimmy’s words were strained now, his thrusts stuttering as he grew closer and closer to his own release. “Gonna cream all over my dick while your boyfriend watches?” 

You could barely keep your eyes open, the pleasure threatening to drown you. You could only nod, another moan tearing from your throat when Jimmy slapped you again. 

No matter how embarrassed you were at his words, you knew that Jimmy was right. Jey had never fucked you like this. And when you finally came, squirting all over Jimmy’s dick with a high-pitched keen, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure this intense before. The spray coated both of your stomachs, surprising Jimmy so much that he leaned back to watch with wide eyes. 

“Holy shit,” Jimmy looked stunned. “You squirting just for me, baby?” 

You were too exhausted to feel embarrassed, your hole continuing to spasm and convulse around Jimmy’s massive length. You opened your eyes just enough to see Jimmy’s triumphant grin, his eyes now on his brother. 

“Yeah, I bet she ain’t ever done that shit for you, uce. Gushing all over my dick like a goddamn fountain.” 

You couldn’t see Jey at this angle, but you could hear his heavy breathing behind you. You could only imagine what he looked like - your panties still between his teeth, his face a beautiful shade of red. 

“Gonna come inside your girl, Jey,” Jimmy’s voice was a low growl, leaning forward to cage you in possessively as his hips stuttered out of rhythm. You caught a glimpse of Jimmy’s gaze and it was wicked. “Gonna breed her and make her mine. And whatchu gonna do about it? Just gonna have to sit there and watch, won’t you, little brother?” 

You could have sworn you were going to come again from the brutal way he was pounding into you, your body still twitching from pleasure and overstimulation. You couldn’t help but moan when Jimmy finally spilled inside you, hot ropes of come painting your gummy walls white. You could feel your cunt fluttering and convulsing around him, trying to milk every last drop from his softening cock. 

Eventually Jimmy stilled, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants. 

The room suddenly seemed very quiet, your soft moan sounding louder than usual when Jimmy finally pulled out of you. 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Jimmy’s words were sweet, a stark contrast to the nasty filth he’d been spitting before. “I gotchu, baby. You’re okay.” 

He quickly retreated to grab a warm washcloth, washing your tearstained face and cleaning the mess between your legs. You let out a low hum of contentment when he maneuvered you to the middle of bed, tucking you into the sheets before pressing one final kiss to your cheek. 

“Sweet girl.” He murmured affectionately before pulling away, his eyes now on his younger brother.

Jimmy chewed his lip in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, slowly climbing off the bed to approach the chair where Jey was tied. Jey watched him warily. He had spit out of your panties long ago, his fingers now flexing dangerously as Jimmy got closer. 

“I’ll…get the ropes.” Jimmy mumbled, kneeling beside his brother to undo the intricate knots around Jey’s wrists. Jey said nothing in return, his expression inscrutable. While everything that happened tonight had followed the expectations set up in advance, Jimmy had certainly taken some creative liberties. Would Jey be angry? 

The air felt tense. Jimmy’s brow furrowed in concentration as he finally freed Jey’s left arm. Jey let out a sigh, grimacing as he attempted to stretch the sore muscle. Jimmy watched him carefully. He seemed to be expecting a hit from Jey’s newly freed hand, his body stiff from where he knelt beside his brother. 

“You gonna untie my other arm or you want me to do it?” 

Jimmy seemed startled by Jey’s words. “Nah, I got it, uce.” he muttered, now focused on Jey’s other arm until it was finally free. 

Jey grimaced again, rubbing his chafed wrists. 

“Hold on, lemme grab something.” Jimmy was quick to stand, retreating into the bathroom and returning with an aloe cream. Jey raised an eyebrow when Jimmy knelt beside him again, squirting some of the aloe onto his own fingers and gingerly reaching out to take his younger brother’s arm.  

“Lemme help, uce.” He murmured, rubbing the aloe across the red skin and massaging Jey’s sore wrists. “I know it gotta hurt.” 

Jey allowed it, his eyes never leaving his brother’s even when Jimmy finally retracted his hands and stared up at him. 

“We good?” 

Jimmy’s question was tentative, his eyes flickering down to Jey’s hands. You wondered if he would fight back if Jey decided to hit him. Some of Jimmy’s dirty talk had been diabolical. Had it been anyone else, you had no doubt that Jey would have killed them. 

Your heart soared when you saw the barest traces of a smile on Jey’s lips. “Yeah, we always good, uce.” 

Jimmy’s smile was so bright that it felt like you were staring into the sun. “Oh, good.” He seemed relieved. “I guess I went a little overboard, huh?" 

Jey shrugged, helping his brother to his feet. “Nah. We already talked about it beforehand. I knew what I was getting into. Besides, a bet’s a bet.” 

You struggled to follow the rest of the conversation, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to Jey shuffle to the bathroom to clean up. It wasn’t until he crawled into the bed with you, his lips brushing across your temple, that you opened your eyes again. 

“You alright, baby?” Jey murmured, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close. 

“Mm hm.” You hummed, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Are you?” 

Jey grinned. “Yeah, I’m alright. More than alright actually. That was hot as fuck.” 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Wasn’t sure if you’d like it.” 

“Only thing I didn’t like was the damn rope.” Jey chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “And that’s only because it hurt. Next we using cuffs or some shit.” 

“Next time?” 

A splotch of pink dotted Jey’s bronze cheeks, but he still maintained your gaze. “Yeah. Next time.” 

You heard a small cough and turned your gaze to the bedroom door. Jimmy stood in the threshold, now fully clothed with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Well, I guess I better head out.” He said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. He seemed to have trouble meeting your gaze. “I’ll see y’all later.” 

“Where are you going?” You asked, sitting up in concern to stare at him. 

Jimmy furrowed his brow in confusion. “Whatchu mean?” 

“I…” You suddenly felt embarrassed. The three of you hadn’t discussed what would happen afterwards. “I don’t want you to go.” 

Jimmy’s eyes flickered over to his brother, but Jey seemed unbothered, reclining further back into the pillows to give a cat-like stretch. 

“You want me to stay?” This seemed like a revelation to Jimmy, his eyes wide as he stared at you. 

“What, you got a hearing problem now?” Jey’s words were sharp, but his eyes sparkled with humor. “Come on, uce. We ain’t got all night.” 

Jimmy dropped his bag, approaching the side of the bed with caution. You offered him a reassuring smile. 

“Thought you liked to cuddle?” You questioned, pulling the sheets back to welcome him in. Jimmy removed his shoes and jacket, only stripping off his pants when you gave him an encouraging nod. 

“I do.” he muttered, finally climbing into bed with you. “I just didn’t wanna impose.” 

“I think we’re past that now, Jim.” You chuckled, reaching out to take his hand. “Don’t you?” 

Jimmy couldn’t help but smile, interlacing your fingers together and giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah.” he said. “Yeah, I think we are.”  

_____

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20 @ayeeeitsmiracle @buttercup0024 @punksyeet @pr0wlerpunk @lilucey @cassrox @cosmiccandydreamer @sarlaccussy @fearlesschimera @hadesorion @rollinssection @levissslutt @mingisfavgf @aaira3333 @thealliasylum

[the-halloween-jack]

Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human. 

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge. 

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.  

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable. 

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there. 

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last. 

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection. 

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night. 

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question. 

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind? 

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception. 

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation. 

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added. 

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself. 

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work. 

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady. 

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.  

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’  

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.  

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.  

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. 

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.  

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.  

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.  

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.  

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.  

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch. 

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.  

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @aidansloth

[yamumsyadadd]

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part 1, part 2.

this one is short, i had to find the best spot to cut it in half. there will be 1 more part :)

Returning home was supposed to be relaxing, but instead it filled you with anxiety. You hadn’t been bothered to turn your phone back on, not wanting to deal with Alexia’s excuses.

But as you sat in your childhood bedroom, the same room that saw you confuse your love to your best friend, the same room that you kissed in, you couldn’t help but feel a dull ache in your chest.

You want Alexia to be here, experience your childhood house, your parents and brothers to embarrass you with silly stories. But that wouldn’t be happening. Instead, you were stuck in your room silently crying.

There was only one place you could think to go. Portland was your home for so many years, it’s where you grew up, fell in love for the first time and soccer your first professional goal.

It didn’t take long for someone to join you. You knew who it was as soon as she sat on the swing next to you.

“Your mom is worried about you.” You didn’t look up, just continued to kick the bark beneath the swing, “do you want to talk about it?”

“I was seeing someone.” You looked up at her, really looking at her. She was older now, as were you, but she was still the girl you fell in love with, even if you weren’t in love with her anymore. “I love her Sam. I really do but I can’t kept being a secret. I didn’t even want to go public, just met her friends and family. Every time I tried to push it, she would snap, and we would fight. Loving her is so exhausting.” Sam let you sit there and cry, and when you were done, she reached over and hugged you.

“you don’t deserve to be a secret, if she cant love you loudly and proudly, then she doesn’t deserve to love you in private.” You knew she was right but that didn’t make it hurt any less. for while, you both just stayed there. It was like you were kids again, talking about everything and nothing, while swinging on the swings or sitting o the slides.

When camp started you felt lighter, you were focused and ready to go. After the last Olympics and the disaster of a world cup, you were prepared to fight as hard as possible to medal.

The USA was grouped with Germany, Australia and Zambia. Out of the three teams, Australia and Germany were the two toughest, you never knew how the games could go.

France in the summer was beautiful; it was the best place for the USA to play some beautiful football and you did. The first game was 3-0 win against Zambia, then another win against Germany and finally the hardest game you’d have to play, against Australia, winning 2-1.

The communication with alexia had been silent and you were glad for that. She tried a few times to call and text, but once her own camp started, she left you alone. The Barca girls didn’t though, the group chat with Cata, Pina and Patri was consistently going off.

Mainly the conversations were about the Olympics and a quick trip away before pre-season, expect there was one comment that made you hold your breath.

“Alexia is upset. Irene seems to be on the war path about it.”

To them it was just gossip, but to you. To you it made your chest tight, your hands clamming and your eyes hurt. Alexia had obviously mentioned something to Irene. Your other captain.

You threw your phone onto the desk and walked out. This was not the time nor the place for this. You needed to focus, to do better and be better. There wasn’t time for feelings or apologies. Later, if the time came, you could deal with it then.

As the Olympics continued on, you secretly watched Spain play. They were going well, by the time the knockout round came, you could see how exhausted they all were. It was their first Olympics, none of them had been here before, felt how exhausting it was, bone crushing, soul burning, exhausting.

You were sure Spain would make it through to the Gold Medal game, but when Monste didn’t start their best player, Alexia, a horrible feeling washed over you. By the time she could subbed on, it was too late. The damage had been done, Brazil had scored four goals and that was a lot for them to make up in less than thirty minutes.

As the camera panned over the Spanish team, their tears and disappointment was clear but it wasn’t until you saw alexia that a few of your own tears fell. Your heart broke for her, she looked so sad, so exhausted and you wished you could reach out but you couldn’t bring yourself to face the hurt again.

After your own game against Japan, your phone was blowing up, as it turns out, the Spanish girls had also watched. They sat through the entire 120 minutes, some cheering as you tackled and won back the ball. You must’ve watched the videos back three or four times, watching everyone’s different emotions.

The bronze medal match between Spain and Germany took place the day before your gold medal game. You were holed up in your hotel room, away from the conference room and your teammates. You wanted to keep a little bit of dignity.

When Spain went down 1-0, you almost cried. They were playing so hard, pushing their bodies as much as they would go but it wasn’t enough. There was hope, a minute before the end of the game, a penalty was given to Spain and you knew that Mario was the first in line to take them, but then she didn’t. Alexia did.

And she missed. Your heart broke all over again, and for different reasons. You knew she was getting older and by the next Olympics she might not even be playing or selected. When the game ended a minute later, your eyes stayed focussed on her. She went through the motions, shaking hands, swapping shirts, but you knew behind it all, she was broken and exhausted.

The only text you sent off was to the group chat, extending your apologies. You wanted to reach out, to say something, anything, but you were pulled away for dinner.

Everyone knew the game was going to be hard, this would be Marta’s last chance at an Olympics, a chance for someone completely different to win. But somehow, the football gods were in your favour. When you scored in the 57th minute, the team crashed onto you. All you could think about is holding the led, even scoring again.

At no point did you think to look at the crowd, it was something you didn’t do until the end of them game. So when the final whistle blew and the celebrations finally slowed down, you finally took the time to look around.

The stadium was packed, different people, friends, families, strangers all littered the stand. They were all there because they wanted to be, they wanted to enjoy the atmosphere and enjoy women’s football.

When you spotted your Barcelona teammates, a smile broke out on your face, you made your way to the barrier but stopped just before you reached them. Admits the team, there she was. A white tee shirt, jeans and her favourite sunnies covering her face.

Alexia.

For a split second, you let your emotions show all over your face, forgetting about the cameras and the people around. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything.

The girls all said their congratulations, gushing over how well you played and how proud they were. Only two people were silent, alexia you expected, but Irene you didn’t.

The post-Olympic celebrations carried on all night, the drinks were free, and the music was loud. You were so happy, almost the happiest you’d ever been. There was a moment, as the couple filled the dance floor, that hurt. You needed air and left.

You let the tears fall as you watched them all dance together, sharing their love with the ones around them, laughing and enjoying yourself. It made you remember the night on the beach with Alexia.

“After I win the Gold medal with Spain, we will go away. Somewhere quiet, on the beach, just the two of us.”

“oh you think you’re winning the gold over me?” you laughed as she scrunched her eyebrows.

“of course. I will win the Gold, and you will win the Silver. What is that Vicky says? We would be a power couple.”

“a power couple?” you laughed again as she pulled you into her and spun you around.

You didn’t hear the doors to the balcony open or the footsteps towards you. So when two different people wrapped their arms around you, it startled you.

“it’s okay baby girl. Your okay.” Christens voiced filled your ears and you couldn’t help but cry harder. You loved alexia, you loved her so much that for entire year you put your own wants and needs on hold. She was more important, and you would do anything to get back to her.

‘I’m in love with alexia Putellas… I don’t want to be a secret anymore… it hurts so bad.” You sobbed out, barely able to make any sense.

Sam had watched you leave the room in a hurry, she knew she couldn’t follow, she wasn’t what you needed anymore so she got Christen and Tobin. They would know what to do, they always did.

For an hour they sat with you, calming you down and sharing their own stories of their hidden relationship. By the end of it, you were exhausted, from playing a full came, the excitement and the sadness.

They helped you get into your hotel room, leaving you with water and Panadol for the incoming headache. Before you passed out from exhaustion, you finally let yourself message Alexia.

To Alexia: I am very sorry that you lost. You were defs the player of the Olympics, you deserved to win. You deserve everything Ale.

Your stupid drunk brain couldn’t just leave it there though.

I love you. I love you and you broke my heart, but I still love you. I don’t think ill stop.

You didn’t notice her reply in the morning or for the following weeks. Somehow, you had managed to mute the text thread with her in your drunken state. It wouldn’t be until you went back for pre-season that things would come out.

[screaminglygay]

No way back

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

summary: you and natasha joined S.H.I.E.L.D. at the same time, but you're the only one who feels truly at home. while you find your footing, natasha struggles with the unfamiliarity of it all - new people, new rules, and the overwhelming sense that she doesn’t quite belong, but you try your best to make her feel like she´s at home

warnings: slow burn, teasing, kissing, fighting, swearing, light angst, overthinking, Natasha feeling out of place, mentions of a brother's passing, emotional vulnerability

word count: 9.6k

an: thank you for the request!! i had fun writing it, once again sorry it took me forever, the next two parts will be even more angsty!!

part one I part two I part three

The air in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility was thick with unspoken words. Conversations lowered to hushed tones whenever she walked past. The few who didn’t bother whispering let their disapproval show in glances, in the way their shoulders stiffened when she entered a room.

Natasha Romanoff was used to isolation. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just suspicion, it was hatred.

The KGB had collapsed, and the Red Room along with it. She was one of the lucky few who got a second chance, but the agents here didn’t see it that way. To them, she wasn’t just a recruit, she was an enemy, a traitor, a remnant of something they wanted erased. They didn’t see a woman trying to rebuild herself, only the ghost of something they despised.

And yet, there was you.

Bright-eyed and eager, just another fresh recruit with no bloodstained history weighing you down. You weren’t a Widow. You weren’t special. But you were kind. And unlike everyone else, you didn’t look at her like she was something vile.

Natasha noticed it from the start, the way your gaze didn’t linger with wariness, the way your voice didn’t lower when she was near. And when she entered the training room that afternoon, she noticed you again.

The training mats were filled with recruits testing their combat skills. You were off to the side, holding pads for another agent, excitement lighting up your features as you explained something with your hands moving animatedly.

Natasha didn’t care for small talk, but something about the way you smiled… so open, so easy, made her pause.

Moments later, she was called up for testing. Evaluating abilities, strengths, weaknesses. Seeing where she fit. She knew how they expected her to perform, like a ruthless machine. So she did. She made quick work of her opponents, every strike precise, efficient. No wasted movement. No hesitation. When she finally stepped off the mat, there was silence. Not admiration, not respect, just discomfort. A reminder that she wasn’t one of them.

And then you spoke.

"That was insane." Your voice cut through the tension, bright and impressed, not a hint of unease. "How the hell did you move like that?"

Natasha blinked. People didn’t usually direct questions at her unless they had to.

You took her silence as an invitation to continue, unfazed. "I mean, I know it’s years of training and all, but-" you gestured vaguely, still catching your breath from your own sparring match. "That was like some ninja stuff ."

She just stared, unsure what to do with the unexpected enthusiasm directed her way. You were still looking at her, waiting, expecting an answer. No hostility, no apprehension.

She exhaled sharply. "Practice."

You grinned. "Yeah? Guess I should be practicing a hell of a lot more, then." You chuckle. You are not a bad at this, no. You are fast and quick, but these moves, that Natasha made… they were something else.

Natasha almost smirked, but before she could respond, your instructor called for a break. The recruits scattered, finding their usual groups.

She didn’t have one. She was used to sitting alone. It didn’t bother her.

But then-

"Hey, uh, you good?" Your voice again. You were standing in front of her now, holding two water bottles, offering one out. "You kinda just wrecked everyone, figured you might need this."

She eyed the bottle warily before taking it. "Thanks."

You sat down beside her without invitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Natasha waited for the hesitation, the awkward excuse to leave, but it didn’t come.

After many days of training, it became more harsher and more exhausting, you knew it was S.H.I.E.L.D. testing you, trying to sort just the best one, but it was a lot, but not for her, at least it didn´t look like it.

Natasha sat in the corner of the training room, carefully adjusting the bandages wrapped around her hand. It wasn’t a bad injury, just a scrape from earlier drills, but the fabric had stuck to the wound. She barely reacted to the discomfort, her expression cold as ever.

You noticed, though. "Hey, looks like that’s stuck. You need help?" you asked, crouching beside her.

Natasha didn’t even look up. "No."

You grinned, undeterred. "I wasn’t really asking." Before she could pull away, you were already untying the bandages with quick, precise fingers. The fabric peeled away from her skin, and Natasha finally looked at you, her sharp green eyes studying you, not with anger, but with something closer to surprise. She didn’t say anything. Just watched.

"There," you said, satisfied. "That’s better, right?"

Natasha flexed her fingers slightly, testing. "I suppose."

You took that as a win.

From that moment, you made it your mission to include Natasha, whether she wanted it or not. It wasn’t hard, everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. liked you. You were warm, helpful, and easy to talk to. Even the most hardened agents softened in your presence. But when it came to Natasha, people kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones when she passed by, leaving her to sit alone during briefings.

You weren’t having it.

Every conversation, every briefing, every group training, if you were there, you made sure Natasha was a part of it. When you laughed at a joke, you turned to see if she was listening. When you partnered up for drills, you dragged her into the mix. If she tried to stay in the background, you pulled her forward. At first, people didn’t know what to do with it. Some just stared. Some whispered. But you? You smiled at Natasha like she was just another teammate, not the ex-KGB assassin everyone was afraid of. And eventually, even if she didn’t say it, you could tell, she appraciated it.

She appraciate you.

You weren’t exactly sure when things started to shift. Maybe it was during that one mission, the first time you and Natasha had to rely on each other for real. A simple recon op that went sideways, forcing you and her to fight back-to-back. It was the first time she saw you as more than just the kind recruit who wouldn’t leave her alone. The first time she saw that you could handle yourself.

By the time you both got back to base, bruised but victorious, something had changed. It wasn’t big, not yet. Just small moments.

The way Natasha sat closer during briefings, the way her gaze lingered when you spoke. Like she was watching, waiting, trying to figure you out.

So you decided to push things a little further, trying to make her feel more… comfortable and safe. Make her feel more like she belongs here.

"Come with me," you said one evening, right after dinner.

Natasha raised a brow. "Where?"

"The shooting range." You said simply.

She studied you for a long moment. "At this hour? There won’t be anyone else."

"Nope," you grinned. "Just us. I wanted to see the real things you can do with a gun. And I want you to teach me."

Natasha folded her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. "You don’t think it’s- "

"Scary?" you interrupted. "No. Badass? Yup."

She blinked, surprised, before shaking her head with something dangerously close to amusement. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re avoiding the question." You smiled at her, knowing she will say yes, but won´t go down without looking like a scary person.

Which is funny, because not even after bunch of stories you heard, not a single time did you think she was scary. Interesting and strong, definetly, but never scary.

Natasha sighed, but there was no real resistance. She stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Fine. But don’t embarrass yourself."

You grinned. "No promises."

The range was quiet at night, the fluorescent lights casting a cool glow over the empty stalls. You handed Natasha a pistol, watching as she inspected it with the kind of precision that could only come from years of training.

"So, what do you wanna learn?" she asked, slipping into that calm, focused state that made her so lethal in the field.

You thought about it for a second. "Everything."

Natasha let out a short laugh, a real one. "That’s ambitious."

"You´re good with guns, so…"

Her expression faltered, just for a second. She wasn’t used to compliments. Not the genuine kind. But she recovered quickly, loading the gun and placing it in your hands.

"Alright then," she murmured, stepping behind you. "Let’s start with your grip."

Her hands covered yours, adjusting your fingers, pressing against your back to fix your stance. Her touch was careful but firm, her voice smooth as she explained each movement. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of her body so close or the sheer focus in her tone, but your pulse quickened.

And when you fired the first shot, dead center on the target, you swore you heard a quiet hum of approval.

"Not bad," Natasha admitted.

You smirked. "Told you I wouldn’t embarrass myself. But why is the grip so important? It´s just the shot, no?"

She rolled her eyes, but this time, she didn’t pull away so fast. "Is your gun loaded?"

"No. I had only one bullet in-" before you could finish that sentence, Natasha not so harshly bumped into your wrist and the gun you were holding fell easily down. "Oh… I see now." You turned your head so you can look at her, you smiled a bit, even though you can feel your heart in your throat.

After that bonding the smiles started. They weren’t much at first - hesitant, uncertain - but they were there. Agents who once ignored her were now nodding in acknowledgment. Some even started greeting her by name. It wasn’t lost on Natasha that this shift had everything to do with you.

You had always been easy to like, weaving yourself effortlessly into the cracks of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cold walls. You helped agents with their reports, sparred with them without making it a competition, and always - always - made sure Natasha was included.

At first, people didn’t know how to react. They weren’t sure if you were just being polite or if you really meant it. But then, in the middle of a late-night training session, you made sure to give Natasha the credit, she didn´t think was even there.

"Damn, how did you pull that off?" one of the agents asked after you had effortlessly flipped them onto the mat.

You grinned, wiping sweat from your forehead. "Natasha taught me." Silence. A few skeptical glances were exchanged. "…Romanoff?" someone finally muttered.

"Yeah," you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, no one knew what to say. But then, one of the agents turned to Natasha, hesitant but genuinely curious. "Wait… you actualy train others?"

Natasha, who had been leaning against the wall watching the interaction unfold, tilted her head slightly. "When I feel like it."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t listen to her. She does and she’s actually great at it."

A few agents exchanged glances before someone hesitantly asked, "Can you show us?"

Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t fear. It was just… unfamiliar. People looking at her with interest instead of distrust.

You gave her a little nudge. "C’mon, show off a little." And once again you chuckle, pushing Natasha´s buttons a bit more. Making her open more and show others, that she´s not so cold and scary looking lady.

A beat passed. Then, Natasha sighed and stepped forward. "Fine."

That was the moment everything truly changed. The next few weeks, more agents started joining in. What started as casual observations turned into genuine respect. They saw how skilled she was, how efficient her movements were.

"Oh my god, who taught you that?" someone asked you after another sparring session.

"Natasha did," you answered with a smirk.

And instead of the usual shock or discomfort, the response was different this time. "Damn," one agent muttered. "She’s really good."

"She really is," another admitted.

It was subtle, but Natasha noticed it. The way people started sitting next to her in meetings. The way conversations didn’t immediately die when she entered a room. The way people started listening. For the first time since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., she didn’t feel like an outsider, at least not that much, she felt like this could really be a new beggining for her.

As the days comes by Natasha finally catch you after a training, finally being able to talk to you properly. The gym was empty now, except for the two of you. Sweat clung to your skin, muscles sore from sparring, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave today. Natasha had been improving fast, not just physically, but in how she carried herself around the others. She was more comfortable now, less guarded. It was something you had noticed gradually, and honestly, you were proud of her.

That’s why it caught you off guard when she suddenly said, "Thanks."

You blinked. "For what?"

Natasha exhaled, running a hand through her damp hair before leaning against the wall. "For making me look friendly. Helping me fit in."

You shook your head with a small smile. "Zero idea what you’re talking about."

She shot you a dry look. "Oh, shut up."

You chuckled. "That was all you, Nat. They just needed a little push. So did you."

Natasha didn’t argue with that. She let the words settle between you before glancing down at her hands, quiet for a long moment. Then, almost hesitantly, she said, "I don’t blame them, you know."

You frowned at her, letting her speak.

"The others. For being wary of me." She sighed. "I was trained in the Red Room. Worked for the KGB. I know what people like me have done." She hesitated, then her voice dropped slightly. "I know what I’ve done, I know who I am..."

She didn’t say it, but you heard the word she left unsaid.

Monster.

Your chest ached for her.

"We all make mistakes," you said softly. "But you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? You want to change. To do something good. What happened… happened. You can’t change the past, but you can choose who you want to be."

Natasha let out a breath, something shifting in her expression. "You ate a wisdom, hm?" she muttered.

You grinned, "that’s my daily bread."

A small chuckle escaped her lips, quiet but real. It was rare to hear her laugh, but when she did, it was worth it.

After that, things between you and Natasha just… clicked. Wherever she was, you weren’t far behind. And wherever you were, she was right there with you. People started joking about it. "If we need to find Romanoff, just look for (Y/N)."

"I swear, they come as a set," another agent laughed at that.

You started doing things together outside of training. Natasha would drag you to the shooting range at odd hours, testing out different weapons while you tried (and often failed) to match her skill. In return, you convinced her to join you in normal, non-mission-related activities - grabbing coffee, watching movies, playing pool in the rec room.

And then there were the missions. You worked better together than anyone expected. It was seamless, almost instinctive. The way you covered each other’s backs, how one glance was enough to understand what the other was thinking. You weren’t just teammates. You were a duo.

Time goes by, and it was the one-year celebration of you being in S.H.I.E.L.D. The same goes for Natasha. The party was in full swing, the usually serious S.H.I.E.L.D agents actually let loose, drinks in hand, music a little too loud for a facility, and even the higher-ups seem to have abandoned their usual stiff posture. For once, the atmosphere was light, warm. You had a good time, chatting with everyone, laughing at dumb jokes, even letting yourself get a little tipsy.

But even you had limits, your social battery is wearing thin, and the heat of the crowded room got to you. So, without much thought, you slipped out of the main hall and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the training center’s rooftop. The night air was cool against your skin, refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the party. The city lights stretched out in the distance, flickering like a thousand little stars, and you sighed, leaning against the railing.

Peace. At least for a moment.

Because not long after, the door creaked open again. You didn´t have to turn around to know who it was. Natasha stepped forward, her footsteps light, almost silent. She stopped beside you, resting her arms on the railing. You glanced at her, she looked the same as always, calm, composed.

"You’re not drunk," you observed.

She huffed out something like a chuckle. "Of course not."

"Why? Afraid of letting loose?" you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

She didn´t respond immediately, just watched the city below. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "I grew up in Russia. Tolerance to alcohol is kind of in my blood."

You raised an eyebrow. "Then why you’re not even slightly tipsy?"

"Would take a hell of a lot more than what they’re serving in there," she said, nodding towards the party. "It’s a little pathetic, honestly."

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

"Maybe I should teach you... you look like you would need it," she teased.

"Excuse you, I have some tolerance." You glanced at her, "besides I did have my own growing up experience with drinking."

Natasha looked at you, silent, waiting.

"My brother taught me how to drink," you chuckled, "at least tried to." You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “His names is Thomas.” A pause. “Was.”

She didn´t say anything, but she turned fully toward you, giving you her full attention.

"He was in the Navy," you continued. "One of the best. Smart, strong… better than me in everything, really. But he was also the kind of guy who couldn’t sit back if someone needed help." You took a breath. "There was an accident. A mission gone wrong. He saved his teammate… but he didn’t make it."

You swallowed, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. Even after all this time, it didn´t go away. It´s the alcohol that made your shiny personality, to get a little cloudy.

Natasha was still quiet, but she watched you with something soft in her expression. Understanding.

"That’s why I trained," you said finally. "Why I kept pushing myself. My biggest dream was to work for the CIA, actually." You chuckled, shaking your head. "And I almost made it. Passed all the tests, was about to get in, until a guy with one eye came in and basically stole me."

Natasha’s lips quirked. "Fury?"

You nodded, "Fury."

There was a comfortable silence between you after that. Just the sound of the wind, the faint music from the party below, and the distant hum of the city.

Then, quietly, Natasha said, "I’m sorry about your brother."

You glanced at her, giving her a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Another beat of silence. Then, in a rare, quiet admission, she added, "He sounds like a nice guy."

You chuckled, tilting your head. "He would’ve liked you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "even though I’m Russian?"

You nudged her shoulder. "Even though you’re Russian." It was very easy to talk to you, to joke with you and to let her guards down, she liked this... she liked spending time with you.

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning your elbows on the railing as you gaze out over the cityscape. The cool night air does little to sober you up, but you didn´t mind the warmth in your cheeks. It was a nice buzz, one that made you loosen up, talk more freely.

"He actually was really into women who could take care of themselves," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Natasha. "His captain was a woman. I remember how head over heels he was for her… it was crazy. He was thirteen again, having a crush like a little boy."

You laughed at the memory, shaking your head. "I swear, he would talk about her like she walked on water. All serious and professional when she was around, but then the second she left? He’d go on and on about how badass she was."

Natasha chuckled at your rambling, a rare amusement flickering in her expression. You were slightly tipsy, your words a little looser than usual, but she didn´t mind. There was something… nice about it. About you just talking, sharing pieces of your life like they were meant to be told.

She watched as you grin to yourself, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the railing. There was a soft flush to your cheeks, not just from the alcohol, but from the warmth of the memory. It made her hesitate, just for a moment, before she spoke.

"I get it," Natasha finally said, exhaling softly. "Having someone you admire like that."

You glanced at her, intrigued. "Yeah?" And Natasha just hummed.

After few minutes of just silence once again, her gaze fell back on the city. “I had a sister.” A pause. "Have a sister."

Your head tilted slightly, your attention sharpening. "You do?"

Natasha nodded again. "Yelena. She’s younger than me. Stubborn as hell, always had something to prove." A small, almost fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "We grew up together… well, as much as we could. The Red Room didn’t exactly allow for normal childhoods."

You didn´t push, just let her talk, sensing the weight of her words.

"I haven’t seen her in years," Natasha continued, fingers flexing slightly against the railing. "Not since I left." There’s a flicker of something in her expression - guilt, longing. "I don’t even know where she is. If she’s okay. But I still think about her."

You were quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between you. Then, gently, you asked, "What was she like? Back then?"

Natasha exhaled a short laugh. "A menace."

You grined at that. "Sounds about right for a younger sibling."

"She always had this way of getting under my skin," Natasha admited, shaking her head slightly. "Always trying to prove she could be better, faster, stronger. But she was also… kind. Not in the traditional way, but in the way that mattered. She cared… deeply. Even when she tried to hide it."

You watched Natasha’s expression shift, soft in a way you don’t see often. It was different from her usual guarded demeanor, there was something raw in it. Something real.

"I hope she’s okay," Natasha murmured.

You reached out, hesitating for only a second before gently placing your hand on hers. "If she’s anything like you, I’d bet she is."

Natasha looked at you then, her green eyes flickering at your hand on hers, then back at you. But after a moment, she just huffed out a quiet breath, shaking her head. "You’re really bad at this whole tough S.H.I.E.L.D. agent thing, you know?" she said.

You grined, "yeah, well. Someone’s gotta balance you out."

She didn´t argue. Instead, she just let out another soft chuckle, turning her gaze back toward the city. And for a while, the two of you just stayed like that. Side by side, watching the world move below, the weight of past and present settling comfortably between you.

One second, you were just standing there, glancing at Natasha, enjoying her presence - the next, her lips were on yours. Soft. Warm.

A little hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she should be doing this, but then firmer, more certain.

Your breath hitched, heart slamming against your ribs as your brain caught up with what was happening. Natasha Romanoff - Natasha - was kissing you.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, she pulled away, eyes wide, looking more startled than you felt. "Oh, shit," she breathed. "I- I didn’t mean to-"

You blinked at her, still processing, still feeling the ghost of her lips on yours. Butteflies flying everywhere.

"I mean, I did, but I- I don’t know why I-" She took a half-step back, running a hand over her face. "That was- I wasn’t thinking, I just-"

She was spiraling. Natasha Romanoff was spiraling. And honestly? It was kind of adorable.

You grinned, heart still racing, but in the best way. "Nat."

"I shouldn’t have-"

"Natasha."

She shut up, blinking at you.

"Don’t apologize," you said softly, still feeling the warmth of her lips lingering on yours. "That was nice."

She blinked again. "Nice?"

"Very nice." You nodded and as Natasha looked at you fully so she could notice the blush on your cheeks. Knowing very well it wasn´t from the alcohol.

Her brows furrowed, like her brain was still struggling to process the fact that you weren’t mad, weren’t pulling away. "But I just- I didn’t even ask, I just-"

"Yeah, I noticed," you teased, a giddy little laugh bubbling up. "Not that I’m complaining."

Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is not how I wanted to do this."

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. "Oh? So you wanted to kiss me?"

Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. "I- That’s not- I mean-"

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. A bright, breathless, happy sound.

"I knew it," you teased, poking her arm.

Natasha scowled, but the way her ears were turning pink betrayed her, "you did?"

"Nope, but I wanted you to do it so badly, so… manifestation." You smiled widely at her.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

"And you just kissed me," you pointed out, grinning.

She groaned again, looking up at the sky like it might save her. You just smiled, reaching for her hand and giving it a small squeeze.

"Hey," you said softly. She looked at you, and there was still a little hesitation there, a little uncertainty.

You squeezed her hand again. "This is nice," you repeated, gentler this time. "You are nice. To me. And that’s all that matters."

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, like she was still trying to find a way out of this. But then, finally, finally, she let out a breath. "You’re really something else," she murmured, shaking her head.

You grinned. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of your hand.

…

From the moment that kiss happened on the rooftop, something between you and Natasha changed.

Not in a way that was overwhelming or scary - no, it was easy, like flipping a switch that was waiting to be turned on. You still trained together, ate lunch at the same table, sat beside each other in meetings, but now there was an added something to it all. A kind of warmth, a softness.

Like how Natasha would nudge your arm when she passed by, or how she’d steal your drink without asking, giving you a smirk when you huffed at her. Or how she’d lean into your side when you sat next to each other, casually draping her arm over the back of your chair, fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder absentmindedly.

Little things. Easy things.

Dating Natasha Romanoff was surprisingly not some impossible, larger-than-life thing. It was waking up and getting coffee together before morning drills, where she’d always roll her eyes but still make sure you had your favorite one.

It was stealing quick, hidden moments in hallways when no one was looking, Natasha rolling her eyes at how obvious you were, only to pull you in for a kiss when she thought no one was around. It was training together, still pushing each other, but now with teasing smirks and stolen kisses. It was, you had to admit, kind of perfect.

Natasha was perfect. And everyone was noticing.

Once word got out, because of course it got out, that you, arguably the kindest person in S.H.I.E.L.D., chose Natasha, something shifted in how people treated her.

Not in a bad way, though.

Before, people had been friendly enough, mostly because you kept bringing Natasha into group activities and conversations, but there had always been a kind of caution. A distance. They still saw her as Black Widow, the woman who had red in her ledger, who had a history drenched in violence.

But now?

Now, people looked at her differently.

If you, the person who always went out of their way to help others, who saw the best in everyone, liked Natasha, then maybe she wasn’t someone to be feared. Maybe she deserved a second chance. And Natasha? Oh, she noticed.

People started smiling at her more in the hallways.

They started asking for her help with things - small tasks, not only minor training exercises, more little things they never would have approached her for before.

And the flirting?

The flirting was insane.

It was like the moment people saw Natasha through your eyes, they realized she wasn’t just a deadly assassin… she was hot.

You’d never seen her ego this big before. Training days became something else entirely.

"Alright, everyone, partner up." Maria Hill, Fury´s right hand yelled, so everyone can hear her.

Immediately, half the room turned to Natasha. You watched as agents practically scrambled to be the first to get to her, some subtly and not so subtly bumping into each other in their rush. Natasha smirked.

"Oh," she mused, glancing at you from across the room. "Guess I’m popular now."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "You’re impossible." Not thinking about it as a big deal.

She gave you a smug little smile, tilting her head. "Jealous?" You scoffed, trying not to let her entirely correct assumption show on your face.

She chuckled, then turns to some random rookie, “sorry, but I already have a partner," she said simply, jerking her head toward you.

The rookie looked both disappointed and terrified.

You, however, were fighting back a grin. She is yours and you are hers.

Natasha made her way over, stopping just in front of you. "You don’t mind, do you?"

You huffed, "like you’d let me say no."

She smirked, leaning in just enough for her voice to drop, “exactly."

You swallowed, because god, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright, alright," Maria called, clapping her hands. "Let’s get started."

You were going to kill her.

Or kiss her.

Possibly both.

And Natasha? She knew exactly what she was doing.

After training wrapped up, you and Natasha made your way to the locker room. The adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins, your body buzzing with the remnants of sparring.

Or maybe it was just her. Who knows?

Natasha was grinning, that signature, smug little smirk plastered on her lips as she leaned against the lockers with her arms crossed. "See how much people wanted to spar with me today?" she teased, tilting her head as she looked at you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. It was a little desperate if you ask me."

Natasha gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Desperate? They chose me.”

You huffed, turning away to open your locker. "Yeah, well, I think I’m gonna have to start charging them if they want to breathe the same air as my girlfriend." There was a tiny hint of jealousy and of course she noticed it.

Natasha let out a delighted laugh. "Oh? So I’m yours now?"

You turned to her, lifting a brow. "You were always mine."

That shut her up, momentarily.

Then, she grinned, stepping closer. "Oh, is someone turning green?"

You turned away quickly, but Natasha was faster. Before you could even think of hiding, she had you pinned against the lockers, her hands firm on either side of your head as she leaned in.

"I think you are," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke.

"I am not," you mumbled, though your resolve was very quickly dissolving.

Natasha chuckled. "Mhm." And then she kissed you. It was soft at first, just a slow, teasing press of her lips against yours. Then, it grew deeper, her hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. You sighed against her mouth, your hands moving to cup her face, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

She was being so affectionate. Touching you like she needed to, kissing you like she wanted to pour everything she felt into you. When she pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, you found yourself whispering, "We’re together… together."

She smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. "We are…" Another kiss to your cheek, "…together." Another to your jaw, "…which is why you should move in with me."

You blinked, your mind short-circuiting. "Wait. What?"

She pulled back slightly, her hands still on your waist. "Move in with me."

You stared at her.

She tilted her head. "What?"

You blinked again. "You just said- wait. Are you serious?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Of course I’m serious. We basically spend all our time together anyway."

You hesitated, your heart pounding. "But we-"

"You want to." She grinned, leaning in again, her lips brushing over yours. "I know you do."

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at her. "…I hate how well you know me."

She smirked, "so?"

You sighed, dramatically, "fine."

"Fine? Just fine?" She can´t help, but chuckle again.

You chuckled as well, "fine, I’ll move in."

Natasha grinned, "good," and then she kissed you again.

The only thing left to do was tell Fury. So you did the next day, since the word travels fast in this facility. You weren’t nervous, per se, but still… this was Fury. You stood in front of his desk, back straight, hands clasped behind you. Natasha was waiting outside, mostly because she didn’t want to hear Fury’s inevitable sarcasm firsthand.

Fury looked at you over the rim of his coffee cup, unimpressed. "You want to what?"

"Move in with agent Romanoff, sir."

He blinked, setting his cup down, "you’re already living in headquarters."

"Yes, sir."

"And now you want to live together?"

"…Yes, sir."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "I’m happy for you." He said that with total blank expression, so it was hard to tell if he meant it or not.

You blinked, "wait, really?"

"But," Fury continued, leveling you with a look, "don’t you dare let it affect your work."

You swallowed, “it won’t, sir."

"You and Romanoff are my top agents," he said firmly. "I don’t have time for relationship drama messing with my missions. So don’t you dare."

You straightened, "I understand. Don’t worry, sir."

Fury eyed you for a moment before sighing. "Good. Now get out of my office."

You tried not to smile as you turned on your heel and walked out.

Natasha was waiting in the hallway, arms crossed. "Well?"

You grinned. "He said yes."

"Told you he would" Natasha smirked.

You rolled your eyes, nudging her. "Come on, roomie."

She chuckled, draping an arm over your shoulders as you walked away together. Words can´t describe how happy you felt, in this moment… there is nothing more you wish for, maybe more free time, but you´re not gonna push Fury´s buttons. Not yet at least

Each morning from that moment the first thing you registered was warmth. The second was the scent of Natasha, something sweet and faintly floral, mixed with the crispness of freshly washed sheets. The third was movement. Something was shifting beside you, and before you could even react, a hand brushed over your hair, fingers lightly threading through it.

"Mhm," you grumbled, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

A chuckle, "good morning, sweetheart."

You groaned in response, curling further into the blankets.

"Come on, wake up." Natasha’s voice was far too cheerful for this time of day.

You pried one eye open, glaring at her, or at least, attempting to. It probably looked more like a squint. "It’s six in the morning."

"It is."

"Six, Natasha." Ugh. How you hated mornings, early mornings to be exact.

"I heard you the first time."

You groaned again, flopping onto your back and rubbing your face. "This is cruel. I thought you liked me."

Natasha laughed, stretching her arms above her head, the muscles in her back flexing beneath the soft fabric of her tank top. "I do like you."

You pouted up at her. "Then why are you waking me up at an ungodly hour?"

She grinned, leaning on her elbow beside you. "Because you’re adorable when you’re grumpy."

You narrowed your eyes at her, "I hate you." And you mumble something else.

"No, you don’t," she poked your cheek. "But everyone should see this. Our lovely, happy, kind little sunshine is currently wishing me all the worst just because I woke her up."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "That is not true," maybe it was… a little.

"Oh?" Natasha teased, nudging you playfully. "What was it you just mumbled? Something about me rotting in hell?"

You peeked at her through your fingers, "…maybe."

She laughed, and God, it was the best sound in the world. Even though it´s six in the morning, you don´t really mind the reason you´re awake now.

"You’re an agent, baby," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Not in the next five minutes," you mumbled, reaching for her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers, "Cuddles?"

Natasha let out a dramatic sigh, "fine, but only for five minutes."

You grinned sleepily, tugging her down into your arms. She didn’t resist, in fact, she melted into you, resting her head against your chest, her fingers idly tracing shapes against your arm.

"This is nice," she murmured.

You hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head, "told you."

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Alright, I’ll admit it. You might have been right."

"Might have been?" You smirked at her.

She sighed, "alright, fine, you were right."

You grinned triumphantly, hugging her tighter. Natasha chuckled, tilting her head up to look at you. Her green eyes softened, and she reached up to brush her thumb over your cheek.

"I love you," she murmured.

Oh my god.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. Your sleep-addled brain scrambled to catch up, to process that Natasha Romanoff had just said I love you for the first time. The room was still, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of the sheets as Natasha shifted slightly beside you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, like it knew the weight of those words before your brain could fully register them. She had said it so softly, so easily, like she wasn’t even afraid of it. Like it wasn’t some impossible, unreachable thing.

Natasha looked at you, her green eyes searching yours, and for the second time ever, she looked nervous. Like she thought maybe she had messed up. Like she thought maybe you wouldn’t say it back. Which was insane, because of course you would.

Of course, you did.

"Say it again," you whispered, barely realizing the words had left your mouth.

Natasha blinked. "What?"

"Say it again." Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still breathless, like you’d just been hit with a wave of something so big it knocked the air from your lungs.

Natasha's lips twitched into the faintest smile. And then quieter, but with no less certainty-

"I love you."

Something in your chest burst. You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, before grabbing her face and kissing her senseless. Natasha let out a surprised sound but melted into it instantly, her arms winding around your waist as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. When you finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, you were grinning like an absolute fool.

"You-" You shook your head, pressing another quick kiss to her lips, "you love me."

"I do." Natasha’s voice was amused now, a little lighter, a little happier.

"You love me," you repeated, as if testing the words in your mouth.

Natasha chuckled. "Is that really so surprising?"

"Yes! No! I mean-" You laughed again, completely overwhelmed, "I just- God, I love you so much."

Natasha's expression softened, and you swore you saw her eyes shine just a little. "Yeah?" she murmured.

"Yeah," you breathed. "So much."

She smiled, the kind of smile that made your knees weak, even though you were already lying down.

Since Natasha had told you she loved you, everything had been amazing. She had never been an overly affectionate person before, but now? Now she was. She kissed you in the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.. She pulled you into her lap when you both sat on the couch, arms wrapped around you like she needed to physically anchor herself to you. She always, always held your hand whenever you were walking together.

She made you feel loved. And in return, you loved her hard. You loved her with your touch, with the way you reached for her first thing in the morning, still groggy but always needing her close. You loved her with your words, whispering soft things against her skin late at night, telling her all the reasons she was good, she was worthy. You loved her with your patience, never pushing when she got quiet, never demanding more than she was ready to give.

But still…

Still, something lingered in her.

Although things were better, although she had you and people were being nicer, there was something inside her that just wouldn't settle. A restlessness. Some nights, when you were fast asleep, Natasha would sit at the edge of the bed and just watch you. She would grip the blanket tight in her fists, pressing the fabric to her face just so she could smell you, so she could drown herself in something warm, something real.

She didn’t know why she did it. Or maybe she did.

Maybe it was because she was still trying to believe it.

Trying to believe that this was real. That you were real. That the love you gave her wasn’t something temporary, wasn’t something that would be ripped away the moment she blinked too long. She wanted to believe she belonged here. That this - this bed, this warmth, this person - was home.

But… what was home, really?

The Red Room? Moscow? The cold walls of S.H.I.E.L.D.? The battlefield?

Was she the assassin, the spy, the Black Widow capable of having a home?

Sometimes, she would stare at you, watching the way your lips would part slightly when you slept, the way your brows would furrow if she shifted too much.

And she would wonder… does she love the real me?

The real her. The one with blood-stained hands. The one who had taken lives, who had done horrible things. The one who, despite everything, still questioned whether she was anything more than a killer. Maybe you loved the version of her that you saw. The one who teased you in the mornings, who kissed you breathless in empty hallways, who pulled you into her arms without hesitation.

Maybe you loved that Natasha.

But what about the other one?

What about the Natasha who had once followed orders without question? The Natasha who had ended lives with a steady hand and an empty heart? The Natasha who still, even now, sometimes felt like she was nothing more than a weapon?

Did you love her, too?

Would you still love her if you knew, if you really knew, what she had done?

She didn't know. And she was scared to find out.

So after some time she just thought that faking till you make it sounded like a great idea. It started small. The lingering glances. The playful smirks. The way Natasha would lean in just a little too close when someone was talking to her, her eyes sharp and inviting in a way that made people stumble over their words.

At first, you brushed it off.

You knew Natasha. You knew she wasn’t the type to cheat, not even close. But it was hard to ignore how much she entertained it. The winks she threw back. The way she’d chuckle at comments that were a little too flirtatious. The way she let people’s hands linger on her arm or shoulder when they spoke.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just her way of fitting in, showing people she wasn’t the cold, untouchable Black Widow they once thought she was.

And you got it. You did. For so long, she had felt unwanted, feared, alone.

And now, for the first time, people were seeing her differently. They were choosing her. Not because she was a weapon or a threat, but because they liked her.

And it made her feel… valued.

So you let it go.

Until you couldn’t.

It was one night in your shared room, Natasha sitting at the small desk while cleaning one of her knives, humming softly to herself. You sat on the bed, playing with the hem of your shirt, thoughts swirling too fast in your mind.

"Nat?"

She hummed in response but didn’t look up.

You took a breath. "I love you."

That made her pause. Her hands stilled, and she turned her head to look at you, brows furrowing slightly. "I know," she said softly with a small smile.

But you weren’t really saying it to her. You were saying it to yourself. Like some kind of reassurance. A desperate attempt to convince yourself that everything was okay. That she loved you… that she wanted you.

That this didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t, right? But still, something gnawed at you. Something bitter and heavy, curling in your stomach, whispering thoughts you didn’t want to listen to.

Am I enough?

Maybe the others were more fun. Maybe they weren’t as serious. Maybe they made her laugh more.Maybe they didn’t come with the weight of whispered confessions in the dark, the burden of knowing all her scars, inside and out. Maybe it was easier with them.

Maybe-

"Hey," Natasha’s voice pulled you back, soft but firm. She was kneeling in front of you now, her hands gently resting on your thighs, brows drawn together in concern, "what’s wrong?”

You swallowed, shaking your head, "nothing."

She didn’t believe you. Of course, she didn’t. She tilted her head slightly, studying you the way she did when analyzing an opponent in a fight, like she was picking apart every little movement, every hesitation, every weakness. "Talk to me," she said quietly.

And you wanted to. You really wanted to.

But how could you?

How could you tell her that while she was struggling with believing she belonged, you were struggling with believing you were enough? You sighed, rubbing your palms over your face. "It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been overthinking a lot."

Natasha didn’t move from her spot in front of you, still kneeling, her hands now tracing slow circles over your thighs. "Overthinking what?"

You hesitated. You weren’t lying, not really. But you weren’t saying everything either. Because if you did, if you voiced all the thoughts racing through your mind it might make them real.

So instead, you forced a small smile, shaking your head. "Just… if what I’m doing now is enough."

Natasha’s brows furrowed. "Enough?"

You exhaled, "like… as an agent, as a person, in-" Your voice wavered. "In us." It slipped out.

Her grip on you tightened slightly. "Of course, you’re enough." And the way she said it, so fiercely, so certainly, made your chest ache. She shifted, lifting herself up to sit beside you on the bed, her hand finding yours. "What’s making you feel this way?"

You shrugged, staring down at your intertwined fingers. "I don’t know. I think it’s just… everything."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, and you could almost see the gears turning in her head, the way her mind dissected every little piece of information you gave her. Finally, she sighed, leaning in and pressing her lips softly to your temple. "I love you," she murmured against your skin.

It sent a warmth through your chest, but it didn’t erase the lingering thoughts completely.

And maybe Natasha knew that.

Maybe that’s why, as she pulled back, she searched your face so intently, as if trying to see past whatever walls you were keeping up.

But then something shifted in her own expression. Something almost unreadable. She glanced away, exhaling slowly.

And that’s when you realized-

She was thinking, too.

Overthinking.

You squeezed her hand. "Nat?"

She didn’t answer right away, staring at a spot on the floor like it had the answers to something she didn’t even know how to ask. "I just…" she started, but then shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh that lacked any humor.

"Now you’re overthinking," you pointed out gently.

Natasha exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… you’re not the only one who does it."

Your brows knit together. "What are you overthinking?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. And for the first time in a while, Natasha looked uncertain. She was always so sure, so sharp, so steady. But now, there was something hesitant in the way she held herself. Like she wasn’t sure if she was standing on solid ground anymore.

You turned to face her fully, giving her the same patience she had given you. "Talk to me."

She scoffed softly, "that’s my line."

You smiled, nudging her lightly, "it can be mine, too."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I just…” She swallowed, "I´m not sure if I fit in."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

She ran a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “I mean, what if people like the fun me, not the weird killer one, but the one that´s…” she gestured vaguely, "normal."

Your chest tightened. "Nat-" You stared at her, heart aching. Because you understood. You understood the weight she carried, the doubt that gnawed at her, the fear of being seen as something she wasn’t sure she could escape. "People like you for who you are, right now. They enjoy your presence, I enjoy your presence. All the time."

To you, there was no version of Natasha to love. There was just her. And maybe… maybe you both needed to figure that out together. So after your talk you just spend cuddling tighter than usual, not talking at all, just enjoying your time together.

Over the days, Natasha had been even more open to others, for some reason, which didn´t help you with the "overthinking" part. It wasn’t just the occasional banter anymore, it was something more. The teasing smirks, the way she leaned in just a little too close when speaking, the way her fingers ghosted over arms, her laugh coming a little softer, a little sweeter.

You wanted to understand this, but the only think you could do was to stend back and watch. She joked with Maria Hill in the training center, standing a little too close, her fingers lingering on Maria’s wrist just a beat longer than necessary as they laughed about something. You weren’t even sure what had been said, but it didn’t really matter. It was the pattern that was beginning to form. It wasn’t just Maria. Natasha was always surrounded by someone now, their attention drawn to her like moths to a flame. And she let them. Agents who barely looked at her months ago now jumped at the chance to train with her, to sit with her in the cafeteria, to find excuses to be near her.

And Natasha? She basked in it.

You didn´t said anything… but days turned to weeks, and it never stopped. If anything it got worse.

It was after training when you finally said something. The adrenaline still thrummed in your veins from sparring, your muscles sore in the best way, but all of it was overshadowed by the tight knot in your chest.

Natasha was drinking from her water bottle, wiping sweat from her forehead when you finally broke the silence.

"The flirting is too much."

She froze mid-motion, brow raising slightly as she looked at you, "wha- baby, you know I would never"

"I know," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I know you wouldn’t do anything, but… I just don’t like them thinking they have a chance, you know?"

For a second, something flickered in Natasha’s expression, something uncertain, but then it was gone, replaced with that easy, confident smirk that had charmed so many people lately.

"You’re the only girl in my sight," she murmured, stepping closer, her voice dropping into something lower, something smoother. Your lips pressed into a thin line. She was doing it again. The charming words, the flirtation, the teasing little game she played when things got too close, too real. And then her fingers traced down your arm, light, deliberate, the heat of her touch sending shivers up your spine.

"You don’t need to worry," she whispered, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "I only want you."

You wanted to stay firm. You wanted to keep pushing, to tell her that wasn’t the point. But then her hands were on you, guiding, coaxing, pulling you into her orbit like she always did. Natasha had always been a master of control, of knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to pull someone under. And she knew exactly how to make you forget.

Natasha led you through the hallways of the compound, her fingers interlaced with yours, her touch grounding, magnetic. You weren’t fighting it anymore. Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have pressed harder, but right now, in this moment, you just wanted her.

"Our room," she murmured, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, a small smirk playing at her lips, "we can shower together." Her voice was low, inviting, and there was no point in pretending you didn’t want that too.

By the time you reached her room, Natasha was already peeling off her shirt, throwing it onto the chair in the corner without care. She turned back to you, stepping close, her fingers immediately finding your waist, tracing over your skin like she needed to remind herself you were real.

She kissed you - slow, deliberate, her lips moving over yours like she had all the time in the world. And then she whispered against your lips, "You’re mine." Her hands slid up, her palms warm against your skin.

"I’m yours," she murmured, pressing another kiss just beneath your jaw. "You’re amazing." The words kept coming, soft and steady, an anchor against the storm of thoughts that had been brewing in your mind for weeks. "You’re everything," she breathed.

Your fingers curled against her back, holding onto her, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto these words and let them fill the cracks that had started to form inside you.

Natasha rested her forehead against yours, her hands still tracing slow, soothing patterns against your sides. "No overthinking. Not right now," she whispered. "Just me and you."

She kissed you again, and for a little while, you let yourself believe her.

The steam curled around both of you, thick and warm, as the water cascaded down, soaking into your skin. Natasha’s hands never left you, not for a second. They traced along your arms, your waist, the curve of your back, as if she was mapping you out, committing you to memory, ensuring you were still here, still hers.

The shower wasn’t just a shower… it was something else entirely. A quiet space where the world didn’t exist, where doubts couldn’t reach, where words weren’t needed because her touch spoke louder than anything she could say.

Her forehead pressed against yours, water dripping between you, and she whispered it again, "I love you". Over and over again. It was reverent, almost fragile, like she was convincing herself just as much as she was convincing you.

Your hands found her, fingers threading through damp strands of red as she kissed you, deep and slow, like she was breathing you in. Every touch, every movement, felt like a plea - don’t doubt me, don’t doubt this, don’t leave.

She held you like you were something precious. Like you were something she wasn’t sure she deserved but was too afraid to let go of. Her lips brushed over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she murmured, "you´re everything to me."

The weight of those words settled deep in your chest. She didn’t say it often, definetly not like this. Not stripped down to its rawest form, with no teasing, no distractions. Just her, open and vulnerable, asking for something she didn’t quite know how to name. So you gave it to her.

Your fingers trailed along her spine, tracing invisible lines over old scars, new ones, the history of everything she had endured and survived. "I love you too, so much," you whispered, barely audible over the steady rush of water.

Natasha exhaled, a shaky breath against your skin, and then she held you tighter, as if grounding herself in your warmth. She kissed you again, not rushed, not desperate. Just deep. Meaningful. Like she was pouring everything into it, everything she didn’t know how to say.

taglist: @starrycherie, @esposadejoyhuerta

[billysgirllol]

“yeah, in a way that’s true, but we also can’t focus on all the time we’ve lost.” pointer finger gently still twisting a dark lock of his around. then she goes silent momentarily, basking in what billy has to say to her, doe eyes becoming like melted chocolate bars in the summer heat. glowing like a fourth of july sun. it tenderizes her heart and then she sighs, “you make it impossible not to love, billy bonney.” lucy gray states, a good way to express she loves him too without having to make any commitment. “well, maybe he’s scared. did he have a hard life growin’ up? saw two parents who were married but didn’t love each other? sometimes it works on people that way. long as he’s committed to her though, that’s all right.” she rambles on while he’s wanting to show her something… when the phone faces back her way though, lucy gray doesn’t expect to register tickets to gatsby. “what’s this darlin’?” eyes go stunned, “for me?” brows lifting, taking a second look. “awww! billy you did this for me?! got us tickets to see one of my favorites?! you’re the sweetest billy bean in the world, thank you baby! you shouldn’t done that!” arms immediately lock around his neck, squeezing him tight. “i can’t believe you.” what a thoughtful precious man. “we’re really goin’ to see it when i thought we wouldn’t-” NOW she remembers and can’t help but grin and clap her hands excitedly. “well you got lucky, you didn’t want to come get me— so another man almost took that spot, hum? would’ve had to been angry your whole life and so would i.” sneaking in the part where she’d be upset and devastated seeing him be a dad to another woman’s child. all that time together of playing house and loving each other since they were babies, just to end with others. it doesn’t sound right and would’ve been straight cruel for them both. “yeah, we did.” confirming honestly, laughing at his grumbling about it— because that’s his own fault. “you’ll show me, huh?” playfully giving him a skeptical look. “well alright. i’ll BELIEVE it when i see it. for now, i don’t.” saying things just to try and challenge him just because she likes this side of him, the one who fights for her affections. puts a devious little smile on her face.

“well i have no choice but to forgive you now, but it really hurt back then.” little lucy gray would have been so happy to know future billy would one day apologize for the hurt she was feeling. “alright, i’m countin’ on you.” to tell her whatever he feels like is bothering him instead of repeating history. “well how darlin’ of you, baby boy,” hand rubs his cheek, “only us though.” a soft laugh emits, only they as children would want marriage that soon— but didn’t that prove they really were written in the stars all the more? “yeah, maybe i do.” she values marriage and daydreams about it, “but it has to be with you and if it doesn’t end up bein’ with you, i won’t want it.” lucy gray admits, deciding to completely honest about it since her mind is made all up on her stance about marriage anyway after experiencing what relationships are like when they’re not with her soulmate; the one meant for her. hearing his answers to her question, brows gently lift as she stares at him, “oh, alright.” saying casually, despite a little skepticism hidden deep down. “just left so easily like that?” sounds like a rebound, then. “abused…? never. you’re a drama king,” she giggles softly, watching the movie. “that’s what it means, billy b.” a smirk. a long pause in between them before she finally speaks again, “we’re insane.” that’s what she decides on, dropping these kisses and love confessions, but not officially being together… it’s insane.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence, Gore (Horror Movie)

You lean back on your elbows, tilting your face up to the sky. The final heat wave of the year had finally passed, and the evenings were starting to become much cooler with a welcoming breeze. With your eyes closed, you take in the sun rays before the gray clouds take over the clear sky, making the little warmth they offer sparse.

“OOOHHHHHH, nothing but net once again,” Nicky yells as you hear the basketball go through the hoop. “I'm on fire tonight.”

Smiling to yourself, you push your sunglasses up your head and look at him and Yoongi running around the park's concret court chasing after one another, trying to take the round orange ball from the other person. Yoongi had approached you carefully throughout the week, texting you during the day to make plans with you after practice. If you said you were busy, he dropped it. If you gave him the go-ahead, he showed up for dinner and a simple walk to the park that was just down the road from your house. This is the second time this week you have sat here watching them play on a set of metal bleachers. They weren't practicing, going over plays. They were just….having fun. No pressure, no expectation, just having fun. Just two people running around playing one on one because they enjoyed it.

“Come on, sunshine,” Nicky calls out, waving you over. “Come out and play with us.”

“I'll pass, thanks,” you call back, waving your hand, dismissing them.

“You're boring,” he complains and sits down on the court, pulling out his phone.

Yoongi walks over to you, casually dribbling the ball between his two hands. Sitting down next to you, he throws the ball in the air, making you catch it as it comes down in front of your face.

“Why does he call you sunshine?” He asks, leaning back, mimicking your previous position. “I don't think I have ever heard him use your name.”

“You know that song?” You ask, squinting your eyes under the glare of the sun as you look over at him. “You are my sunshine….,” you start to sing as he nods. “Yeah, that’s it. I sang it to him all the time when he was little. My dad and my brother even call me sunshine most of the time. The name just kind of stuck after all these years.”

“He was telling me about his dad,” he informs you.

“Really?” You ask, surprised that he was opening up to him. “What did he say? He doesn't ever really talk about him.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi confirms, nodding his head. “He didn't say much. Just that his dad was a really good basketball player, too. He led his high school team to the state championship.”

“He did, and they won,” you tell him. “He played in college for a little bit before he had to quit. I mean… he didn't have to quit, but he chose to quit.”

“Why did he quit?” Yoongi asks, and you sigh, looking at the boy on the court.

“He got his girlfriend pregnant,” you answer.

“Ah,” he said in understanding.

“He focused on getting a job to start saving money while trying to finish school. My parents really stepped up to support both him and Nicky's mom. It was a pretty chaotic time,” you explain.

“Yeah, I bet,” he agrees.

“Did you really think I was his mom?” You ask, laughing a little bit. “I don't think that I really give off mom vibes. Besides, it shows you clearly never read my paperwork. With all the damn information I had to put down, you would have seen I was twelve when he was born.”

“I didn't know, and Jungkook deals with all the paperwork. All I knew was that there was a hot woman in a tight skirt I had never seen before giving me a bunch of shit,” he said, smiling.

“Hot?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I still think about you in those skirts, doll,” he whispers, leaning close to your face.

“You're disgusting,” you whisper back.

“You didn't think that I was disgusting when I had you pinned to your bed,” he smirks.

“I don't remember,” you feign confusion.

“Well, I'll be happy to jog your memory whenever you want me to,” Yoongi leans closer and presses his lips to yours.

“Gross are two always going to be kissing?” Nicky asks, making the two of you break apart.

“Wait until you get a girlfriend,” you tell him, shoving the orange ball at him.

“No way,” he says. “I’m not going to let some girl get between me and basketball. I have a plan, and a girl is not a part of them.”

“Sure,” you say. “I'll make sure to hold you to that when the time comes and some little girl is fawning all over you.”

Nicky pulls a face and walks off down the sidewalk. You and Yoongi get up, following him back down the street to your house. Yoongi fingers brush up against yours as you slowly stroll side by side. It wasn't long until his long, bony digits entwined with your own. It wasn't a firm hold making sure that you stayed put where he wanted you. It was lax, allowing you to pull free if you wanted. The innocent act had your heart pounding, and you hoped that you played it off like it was nothing, but it was. It was him slowly testing the waters. Letting you tiptoe in the shallow end instead of throwing you in the deep end and seeing if you can swim and you appreciate it more than he'll ever know.

“What are you doing?” You ask Nicky as he stood at the kitchen counter scrubbing his already clean white basketball shoes with a toothbrush.

“They looked dirty,” he said, focused on his task.

“They're brand new,” you tell him, leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. “They are perfectly clean.”

“Nope, they had fingerprints on them, and I need them to be perfect for tomorrow,” he informs you. “If I can see them, then so can other people.”

“It's okay to be nervous,” you gently say. “It's your first game with a whole new team. It's perfectly normal to feel nervous.”

“I'm not nervous,” he denies, scrubbing a bit harder. You walk over to him and take the footwear away from him, placing it on the counter. “Hey!”

“Go sit on the couch. I think I have something for you,” you say, walking down the hallway to your bedroom.

Opening your closet, you step up on a small wooden step stool to reach the box that was shoved to the very back on the upper shelf. Once you grab it, you smile and grab two items inside and place the box back where you retrieved it. Stepping down, you head back into the living room to your waiting nephew. Sitting in front of him on the coffee table, you hand him the two items in your hand.

“What are these?” He asks, taking them from you.

“These belonged to your dad. It's his captain badge from high school and his lucky headband,” you explain, taking the head band back and placing it over his head to rest on his forehead. You untuck his hair so it falls around the thick black material. “I found them in a box that was in the attic of your old house when we were packing. He wouldn't let grandma wash it in case it caused his team to lose. She didn't listen and washed it anyway, and they still won.”

“How do I look,” he asks quietly, adjusting the headband around his head.

“Like the spitting image of your father,” you answer, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat and take the patch back from him. “You're going to kill it out on the court tomorrow. I'll sew this in your undershirt where it's hidden. It will give you some extra good luck even though you won't need it .”

“I'm going to win it for him,” he says with determination in his voice. “I'm going to make him and mom proud.’

“I know you will,” you wrap your arms around him tightly.

You're not religious or spiritual in any sense. You lost any faith that you did have years ago. However, there was a part of you that hoped your brother would be with him tomorrow. Hopefully, the small items you have given him will help him feel close to his dads spirit when he can't physically have him. You hoped it eased his worries, even if it was for just a little bit.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask, pulling back from him, and he nods. “Are you okay with me and Coach Min?”

“I mean, it's a little weird, but I'm okay with it,” he assures you. “I barely remember the last time you had a boyfriend. I kind of remember a guy with a beard, and I think I remember mom and dad fighting about dad hitting him.”

“You what?” You asked, shocked.

“Yeah, I remember dad having a cast on his hand and mom yelling at him about dad hitting him,” he says. “Does coach make you happy?”

“I think so,” you say quietly, trying to come to terms with what he just told you. You thought you had protected him from your trauma, but he was always way smarter than you gave him credit for. “I hope he will anyway. I want you to promise me something. Promise me that if at any time, you are uncomfortable with us…. being together. You tell me. I don't want you to ever be afraid to tell me if you get uncomfortable with us. You will always be my number one, and I don't want you to forget that.”

“I promise,” he agrees, holding his pinky finger out.

You smile and wrap your pinky around his as you both kiss your respective fist. Nicky adjusts the headband once more as he leaves you sitting there on the coffee table with your brother's patch in your hand. You close your hand tightly around the material and take a shuddering breath. Sniffling, you shake your head, trying to clear all the emotions you are feeling right now.

You're fine.

Everything is fine.

Nothing is fine.

Nothing was ever fine, and everyone knew it.

Hopefully….it will be.

You organize the shiny, colorful bags of chips off to the side of the window for easy access. Elly works behind you, mixing large containers of nacho cheese together. Bringing it to a nice smooth consistency over the heat on an induction plate in a large silver pot. She was your saving grace today after she volunteered her time to help you run the concession stand. You're pretty sure she was using it as an excuse so she wouldn't have to spend the whole time with your mom defending her choices for her and Chris's upcoming wedding. You don't question her motives for volunteering. You were happy that you didn't have to go at this alone.

“So,” Yoongi says, leaning over the counter separating the kitchen and the cafeteria to look at you. “Do I get a good luck kiss?”

“Why?” You ask, breaking down the large chip box, not sparing him a look. “You're not playing.”

Elly's giggle in the background makes you break character and smile. Sucking your cheeks in, you try to school your features. Yoongi audibly sighs dramatically, playing along with your foolishness. You finally look over at him, and he smirks at you.

“How about if we win?” He asks, licking his bottom lip as his eyes dart to your mouth. “Do I get… something then?”

“Possibly,” you answer with a shrug, looking at him with an arched eyebrow. “I guess you better win to find out.”

“You two are gross,” Elly giggles behind you, making Yoongi smirk widen and shrug his shoulders.

Winking at you, he turns, walking away to the gymnasium as his players start showing up. Throwing the box in your hands off to the side, you turn to look at Elly. She looks back at you with a million questions ready to be asked. Shaking your head at her, she just laughs. You grab your next box and repeat your earlier process, smiling to yourself. Yes, you think. You just might give him something.

You had over estimated how busy working the concession stand would be. Snot nosed kids demanded everything and anything that they could get their grubby little hands on while their parents were trying to order over their yelling. You almost couldn't keep up. The food was going pretty fast, and unfortunately, Yoongi was right. The tips sucked. You figure you must only be charming to old biker men who had one too many drinks and not the moms who drive minivans. You bet if you had worn a low-cut top, some of the dads would have tipped a bit more.

“Maybe I should have tied my shirt up,” you say to Elly, who was starting to clean up. “Show a little skin, you know?”

“Yes, I'm sure your boyfriend would love that,” she says, laughing, making you scoff at the word boyfriend, but you know it's true. “Could you imagine your mom seeing you like that here. Y/N, cover up right now.” She says imitating your mom.

“Y/N, you’re embarrassing the family,” you say, joining in on the mocking of your mother.

“I can't believe her sometimes,” she grumbles, scrubbing away at the nacho cheese pot maybe a little too aggressively. “She always has to have an opinion.”

“And yet, you are still going to marry into this family,” you tease her as you wipe some crumbs away off the counter. “I don't know who is crazier. Us or you.”

“If I didn't love you and your brother, I would have ran a long time ago,” she admits.

“Can I have a water, please?” A manly voice asks, interrupting your conversation.

“Two dollars,” you answer, placing a water bottle on the metal counter. You look at the handsome man in front of you wearing a shirt with the team's logo on it. “Anything else for you?”

“Are you Min's girlfriend?” He asks, looking at you quizzically as he ignores your question.

“No,” you answer quickly, getting back to the topic of payment. “Two dollars, please.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans. He fingers through the bills before finally pulling out the two dollar bills. “I saw you earlier here with him. You two looked awfully chummy.”

“I'm sure,” you ask, holding your hand out, making him laugh quietly.

“I don't believe you,” he tells you, handing you the money. “Trust me when I say this….stay away from him. He likes to sleep with the moms, and he doesn't care if they are married.”

Your heart stops.

A sharp pain.

Betrayal.

Moms?

Your stomach drops as your joking words from before come back to haunt you.

“I don't know you,” you say defensively as you try not to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. “Why should I believe you?”

“Well, when I walked in on him and my wife in my bed….I think I know what I'm talking about,” he tells you, giving you a tight smile. “I just thought that you should know who you're getting involved in. He's not some great basketball coach who cares about the kids. He prays on moms during weak moments. You're not his first victim, and you probably won't be his last.”

He drops a twenty dollar bill in your tip jar before he turns to walk away. You watch him, blood rushing to your ears, heart beating out of your chest. Taking a deep breath, you call out to him.

“Who's your wife?” You ask, not wanting to know the answer, but you were always a glutton for punishment.

“Ara,” he says, simply before finally walking away and disappearing through the gym doors.

Ara.

The bitch.

The one who thinks she calls the shots.

The one who yelled at Yoongi because of you.

Yoongi and Ara.

Ara and Yoongi.

You feel like an idiot. You feel like he's playing you for a fool. He knew you had to sit there in the bleachers with her almost every night and didn't say one word about his past with her. He probably wasn't ever going to mention it to you. He think's he's so fucking slick.

“Are you okay?” Elly asks, coming up to stand next to you. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. I'm fine,” you answer, lowering your eyes to the twenty dollar bill.

You were a liar. You were not fine, but there was no way in hell that you were going to show it. You were never good at much, but you have perfected lying about your emotions. You have perfected being cold and stonewalling. It's kept you safe. That is…until now. You got soft, and that just wouldn't do.

“I just have to hand over the money and have one of the coaches verify the amount. I can't help it if they take forever,” you snap at her. “What do you want me to do?”

“You better not be late,” your mother tells you as you stand by the kitchen, money bag in hand.

“You already missed his first game. You can't miss his first celebratory dinner,” she chides. “You need to celebrate his win.”

“Coach made her work the concession stand,” Nicky says, defending you. “She's being a team player. Mom used to do it all the time.”

“She will meet us at the restaurant,” your dad says, stepping between the two of you. “Look, here comes one of the coaches.”

“Finally,” you say, eyes searching the crowd, hoping that you see Coach Jeon walking your way, but of course, you weren't that lucky.

“Congratulations on the win,” your dad said in greeting when Yoongi made it to your little group and shook his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” Yoongi says politely before looking at you almost expectantly. It was as if he wanted you to introduce your family to him.

You'll pass on that.

You give nothing away as you look back at him and then down to the money bag in your hands. You could feel the burning gaze of your mother on you. As you look at her, you see her eyes flint between you and Nicky's coach. There was something almost accusatory in the look behind her eyes. You knew she could probably read you like an open book. It was one of her most useful evil powers. She could always smell it on you….the guilt….the lies. You could never hide from her when she was actually paying attention.

“You better not be too late,” she tells you. “We will order without you, and I will not order for you.”

“I told you I will be there. He just needs to count the money,” you say through gritted teeth.

Your mother doesn't respond before she turns and walks away. Your dad visibly sighs, patting you on the shoulder before following his wife with Nicky in tow. Looking at Yoongi, you practically throw the money bag at him.

“Your mom kind of scares me,” he said, chuckling, but you don't. You look at him with very little emotion, making him tic his head to the side, studying you. “What's going on?”

“Can you just count the money so I can go,” you tell him. “Obviously you can see I'm in a hurry.”

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to grab you but you back away, shaking your head at him. “Clearly you're pissed at me. What could I have possibly done? I haven't seen you in an hour.”

“I met someone interesting today,” you tell him, crossing your arms and closing yourself off. Yoongi looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish. “Ara's husband.” His expression goes blank, and it tells you everything that you need to know. “So, it's true?”

“How come I get the feeling that no matter what I say, it's going to be the wrong thing,” he tells you, not denying anything.

“Ew,” you say, shaking your head, grimacing. “Ew, ew, ew. I think I need a scalding hot shower, possibly a shot of something and penicillin. Oh my god, ew.”

“Hey,” he said, looking offended. You look over his shoulder to see the couple in question, walking out of the gym and through the cafeteria to leave the building. They were holding hands, looking like the picture-perfect couple, but you know it couldn't be further from the truth. “Listen….”

“Count the money,” you tell him, interrupting whatever it was that he was going to say. You didn't want to hear it. You didn't care. “Forge my signature. I don't care. Have a good weekend…coach.”

You don't spare him one glance as you walk away. As you make your way to your car, you can feel those chains that he was breaking through, locking tightly once more. Locking so tight that you swear you can feel your chest hurt. It hurt so badly. It felt like you couldn't breathe. Shaking your head, you were so mad at yourself that you let yourself like someone like that once again. It was time to bury your heart again. It was time to bury it even deeper, and this time….you weren't digging it out.

《Chapter 8》

A/N: Do I need to run and hide?

Tagged Readers:

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[bloodybunniprincess]

simon helping your aching heart with his aching cock !

{mdni} {wc : 2k} simon is a bit of a meani :(

it wasn’t a surprise, not a shock to your core that you had expected. not the same overbearing despair of when your mother left the ground, or even when your first puppy came to join her. more of a relief. fresh breath of air that your lungs had been begging your weak body for. he was gone, down in the ground, six feet deep, hands finally releasing its tight grip on the glass bottle.

the funeral was a breeze. it felt nice. relatives sobbed like they were close with him. they didn’t know how he charged towards you behind closed doors—how you would be on your bruised knees, desperately trying to clean up the broken shards of glass that he had broken. having to look over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t risen off the floorboards he had passed out on.

yet, despite your fathers antics—you visited. you gracefully set down flowers on his grave that were supposed to be a bouquet you would carry down the isle, arm hooked with his. soon they would be shriveled up and you’d come around like you had to—like it was your duty, making another delivery to his headstone. if no one else did it, he’d be forgotten, and you couldn’t come to terms with whether you’d want that or not.

“still bringing posies i see.” it’s gruff, and you recognize it easily. his voice was reassuring, but you wouldn’t let yourself be pliant in it, to bask in it. you were bowed in front of your fathers name, as if he deserved the treatment. simon wanted to take that from your father. you being a good pup for him instead. “it’s not gonna go away easily just because you act like you don’t give a shit.” the grass next to you withers underneath the weight of his heavy knees, but to you it felt like the earth shook.

you let out a breath. “you don’t know that.” your tone is sharp, words eager to leave your mouth and you don’t care to control the anger in them. you’re closed in, shoulders crunching together solemnly, a shield to protect yourself. it was built nicely and with care, took years to get to its full potential.

sooner or later you’d crack, realizing your deadbeat dad was set out in the ground and left to rot. and simon was sure of that. dark eyes peering over you, you felt them. he could easily get under your skin and plant himself there, but he never took that advantage to his use yet. it’s been thought about, resting in the crook of his brain that dark memories settled coldly.

“never taught ya how to ride a bicycle, how to tie your own shoes, how to do your math homework. did he?” you waited for his words to go in one ear and out the other but it stuck right in the center of your brain. mocking. and simon did it well.

“wasn’t there for ya first day of middle school. wasn’t there when you got your first car. didn’t give a shit about prom, or your first boyfriend and when the scumbag left when the pureness was fucked right out of you.” you flinch.

simon watches you like you’re his prey, to see how you would fold. how you would crumble and roll over into his arms, away from the man below them. watching as your tightly knit shell unraveled and laid out for him to tear apart even more—and then sew it back together again. to become that new higher figure for you to go to. that shoulder to lean on.

your mouth is wired shut, teeth running across the fronts, waiting to be pried open and let out some harsh thoughts, to prove he was wrong—defend your father who had nothing worth defending. but you had none to give. you couldn’t. simon was there for all those events. the special ones that should’ve been photographed. when you’re dad was knocked out cold on the couch, simon was on the front porch watching you like you were his own. simon acted as that overprotective father when your prom date arrived, eyes low and prowling, ready to rip of the boys head if he dared touch you the wrong way.

“your father sure is somethin.” you didn’t make the move to correct your date that he wasn’t your father—you two weren’t even related. but it didn’t feel necessary to tell that fact. would it really be all that untrue? simon was that father figure you needed. he was gentle. firm but encouraging. all he wanted was the best for you—make you come out a bit better than you would if he wasn’t around.

that or maybe he wanted to be the owner of you. make you bow down to him just like you were now at your fathers grave. make you need him. and in return he could lick up your tears and kiss down on your cheeks with mock care. cooing sweetly before managing to press his lips against your soft, pouty ones just to be able to stick his tongue down deep and rough later. he didn’t care about your well-being, just how far he could make you go until you caved in, to let him indulge in his cravings.

the tears that refused to come out at the ceremony ran loose as it all settled into the nook of your skull. simon knew he had you now. his lips tighten in a straight line in a way to seem distressed by your behavior, eyes holding mock pity but you saw it as sympathy. saw a person that cared, that was willing to take you under his wing—like he always had. simon kept you safe and tucked in his arms, to comfort you from both the situation and the cold that started to creep up your arms as night settled in. you had caved. pliant in his strong arms scarred from stories he swore to never tell you—and he was firm on that. to keep you unaware of the harm he could do. to keep you thinking he was your savior, the only one you could rely on.

the cloth of his black t was stained with your salty tears, he knew what they would taste like. he’d imagine countless times before—darting his tongue out to draaag the roughness down your cheek, receiving a pathetic whine of displeasure from you. maybe even a little shove to get him away, only for him to drive you back into his bulk, forcing you to let him clean you up.

he’d like to see you squirm—propping you up in his lap so you could feel his very noteworthy bulge resting against the skin of your thigh. get you all warm and comfortable with his hard, make you wet enough—that you would give into the intensity of the throbbing sensation in between your legs. make you needy. not for some silly boy—or even the need to be comforted by your father. but for him. for his comfort. for his body, for his cock. have you mewling for it, foaming at the mouth like a little puppy dog. scratching against his chest, as if it would hurt him. as if it could make him give in.

he was trained to not give into his desires, his dirty fantasies he’d been having since you were in highschool. he was able to wait—and he’d wait until you were begging, sobbing for some sort of relief. make you grieve over it, your cunt soppy from ceaselessly grinding against the clothed bulge, already imagining it stuffing you full. keep you from needing any kind of meal.

and now he wouldn’t have to imagine.

his cock was wrapped snuggly in your tight hole, warm and just so pleasant. the warmth of your pussy making him go a bit hazy, eyes barley open but the smug look on his lips was clear. though, you couldn’t see it for your face was buried deep, deep into the crook of his neck. hiding your face, the shame of being seated on your father’s friends lap. right in front of his grave. ashamed that it felt so good—but so disgusting.

your tears were hot. simon found them hot. falling on his neck making him grip your hips with an unknown amount of pressure you had ever felt before—it made you squeak. your tears made him hard—making him want to fuck you hard, enough for you to loose consciousness, enough to make you sob, to cum right into that tight little hole that had only been fucked once.

simon saw the guilt—chagrin on your face. god he loved it. “dirty girl.” he purred, mouth pressed against your ear, breathing heavily into it. “sittin on my cock—right next to daddy, huh? and just so worked up for me.” your pussy quenched around him, sucking him into your sloppy folds.

you shook your head—trying to defend yourself. make a practical excuse that you wanted to make yourself believe. “please—please don’t s-say that.” you’re shaking, hands trembling as they grab his wide shoulders for some sort of support.

“why, afraid he’s listening?” his laugh his predatory—mocking. he got you on his cock so comfort was needed no more from his part. though, he couldn’t help his thumbs from rubbing small circles on the sides of your hips, the slightest bit of comfort in the pain you were facing.

simon was huge, thick and girthy, more than enough to fill you up to the brim, leaving his oozing, pink tip brushing against that sweet spot that hadn’t been touched effectively before.

he sighs deeply, “ya know…he probably is listenin. looking down—or may i say up—at us. cursing me, cursing you for being such a filthy, nasty girl. a whore as his daughter.” his mouth his pressed firmly on your cheek as he speaks, forcing you to listen and take it. “thinking where he went wrong. alcoholic tendencies is my guess.”

you couldn’t help but feel your slick run down your thigh, bouncing with little strength you had with moans that made him chuckle lowly. his words were so cruel, hitting your heart but hitting your cunt deeper. “come on darling. gotta apologize to daddy for being such a dirty whore.” he muffles. a sharp spank to your ass makes you jump with a whimper, pussy quivering around him.

“i…i’m sorry, daddy!” you squeal. tears rolling down your eyes like a little babi. so cute. you feel his hands grip you tighter if it was even possible—slamming you down on his cock, making you cry out with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “i said i was sorry! i’m so, so sorry.”

simon’s heavy pointer lazily circles down to your clit, his movements softer but anxiously slow. “sorry about what? be specific, darling.” he feels your hips jerk forward in attempt to get more out of him, causing another sharp spank to your other ass cheek, and gently massaging the reddened skin afterward.

“i’m sorry for being—being a d-dirty, whore! i’m sorry for disappointing daddy.” your plea is whiny, your clit aching for more stimulation. eyes are strained—everything is. tight and wanting permission to let loose.

“don’t just say it to me. say it to him.” his chin nods to the headstone just a few feet away. you could practically smell his rotting corpse melting in the dirt, making you queasy. mortified, eyes shaking from left to right. you wanted to ask if it was necessary—to lock eyes with something that would make you feel so much more than shame. but the look on simons face was firm.

your head turns and locks eyes with your father name engraved on the stone, barely visible from the lack of light left in the sky. “i am so sorry daddy. im sorry for being a filthy whore—for sitting on s-simons cock.” the words are slurred and easily fall from your lips. and you’re rewarded with his fingers moving the slightest bit faster on your clit, simultaneously moving you up and down his cock.

“there ya go, sweetheart.” he drawls quietly, lips pressing a soft, sticky kiss to your forehead and then to your collarbone. “thats a good girl, ain’t it?” his brows are furrowed, breaths a bit ragged now. your movements hasty, grinding to get his dick to hit just the right spot. “gonna fuck you nasty right on my cock—don’t worry, i’m sure daddy will understand.”

➽───────❥

[koyagifs]

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

pairing: yeosang x reader | ot8 x reader au: idol | friends to lovers genre: angst with comfort word count: 2.5k synopsis: the aftermath of your forgotten birthday warning(s): boys getting their asses chewed, yeosang being the SWEETEST BOY

It had been a week since you’d last seen the others. Only Yeosang had come by—every single night without fail. His presence had become your quiet comfort, and with each visit, your heart swelled just a little more.

One evening, as you lay nestled between his legs, your back resting against his chest and his arms securely wrapped around you, he spoke softly against your ear.

“I know it’s been a week since your birthday,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “But I want to take you somewhere.”

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. His gaze was gentle, but there was something hopeful behind it—like he was trying to give you back a piece of something you’d lost.

"Where are you taking me?" you asked, your voice soft as your fingers absentmindedly played with his.

Yeosang chuckled lowly, his lips brushing against your neck. "That’s a surprise," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, sending a slight shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head slightly, giving him a playful side glance. "Is it a good surprise or a ‘you forgot my birthday and now you’re trying to make up for it’ surprise?"

He tightened his arms around you just a little. "Both," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "But mostly good. I promise."

You let out a quiet laugh, the kind that came from a place of healing, leaning further into him. "Okay… but if it’s skydiving, I’m turning around."

Yeosang laughed, the sound rumbling softly against your back. "Noted. No skydiving. Just trust me, yeah?"

You nodded, closing your eyes for a moment. “I do.”

The room fell into a peaceful silence, your body relaxed against Yeosang's as the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled you further into comfort. His fingers traced slow, absentminded shapes along your arm, and for a while, nothing else mattered. The world outside didn’t exist—just the warmth between you, the quiet thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his.

But the calm was shattered by a knock on your front door.

You both stilled.

Yeosang’s arms tightened protectively around you for a split second before he gently loosened his hold. “Are you expecting anyone?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

You shook your head slowly, pulling away with a frown. “No…”

Another knock—this time louder, more insistent.

Yeosang was already sitting up, his eyes narrowing as he moved to stand. “Stay here. I’ll check.”

Your hand reached for his as he walked past, a silent plea not to go far.

He gave you a reassuring squeeze. “It’s probably nothing.”

But your gut said otherwise.

When Yeosang opened the door, he was met with a wall of familiar faces—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Wooyoung, San, Mingi, and Jongho each holding something in their arms. Balloons, takeout bags, a homemade cake with slightly smudged frosting, a wrapped gift or two… They all looked caught off guard, their expressions morphing from determined to stunned the moment they saw who opened the door.

"Yeosang?" Hongjoong blinked, momentarily thrown. "You're... here?"

Yeosang leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

Wooyoung peeked around him, eyes widening. “Wait—Is Yn here? We—we wanted to surprise her.”

“She’s resting,” Yeosang replied coolly. “A week late, by the way.”

The words hit heavier than he intended, but none of them denied it. The air grew thick with guilt. Mingi looked down at the bag he was holding, his shoulders drooping.

“We messed up,” Seonghwa admitted quietly. “We know we did.”

Yeosang didn’t move, didn’t offer to let them in.

“She waited all night for you guys,” he said after a moment, voice low but sharp. “She cried herself to sleep. Twice. You don’t get to just show up now with cake and think that fixes everything.”

There was a long silence.

Yunho stepped forward, voice quiet. “We’re not here to fix everything. We just… want to apologize. Properly. If she’ll let us.”

Yeosang studied their faces—each one etched with regret. After a moment, he sighed and turned, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yn,” he called softly, “they’re here.”

Yeosang turned just in time to see the way your expression crumbled—your fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, your eyes wide and glassy with panic. You shook your head once, barely, but he saw it. He didn’t need words.

Without hesitation, Yeosang stepped back into the hallway and shifted his body to fully block the doorway, his frame shielding you from their view. His voice came out quieter this time, more protective.

“She’s not ready,” he said firmly, keeping his gaze locked with Hongjoong’s.

“But—” Wooyoung started, only for Yeosang to raise a hand, cutting him off.

“She’s not ready,” he repeated. “And I’m not going to push her just because you all finally remembered she exists.”

Mingi flinched, and Seonghwa looked down, visibly biting back emotion.

“Can you just tell her we’re sorry?” Jongho asked softly from the back. “Please?”

Yeosang stared at them for a moment, then gave a slow, curt nod. “I’ll tell her. But don’t expect anything right now.”

He didn’t wait for a response—he gently pushed the door closed, locking it with a soft click. When he turned around, you were still by the couch, hugging your arms to your chest.

He walked back over to you and pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You hugged him back, snuggling into his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a quiet, calming rhythm that drowned out the world.

“I just… I don’t get how they could forget,” you whispered, voice cracking as the weight of it all crept in again. “They promised, Yeosang.”

His arms tightened around you. “I know, angel. I know they did. And they messed up—badly. But that’s not on you.”

You nodded against him, lips trembling. “You didn’t forget.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped. “Never,” he said softly. “I don’t need a calendar to remind me how important you are to me.”

Your breath caught, your heart aching in that bittersweet way. “You’re the only one who showed up.”

“I’ll always show up for you,” Yeosang whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Even if it’s just me.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you believed him.

" we're so fucking sorry yn - we swear we didn't mean for you get hurt," Hongjoong stated.

You nodded your head, " i accept it, but it doesn't mean i'll forget it.

The weight of their apologies hung in the air, heavy but sincere, and your heart ached in a way that was hard to explain. You could see the regret in their eyes—each of them battling with their own guilt—but that didn’t change the hurt you felt. You had been left alone on your birthday, a day that was supposed to be special, and no matter how much you wanted to move on, it wasn’t something that could be forgotten just like that.

Hongjoong’s shoulders slumped, and he stepped forward slightly. "We understand, Yn. We didn’t mean for any of this to happen. We should’ve been there. We should’ve communicated better.”

“Yeah," Mingi added, his voice strained, "It was careless, and we all fucked up. I hate that we made you feel like you weren’t important.”

“I’m really sorry, Yn," Seonghwa said, his usual calm demeanor shaken by the regret in his voice. "You mean so much to all of us.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, but the emotions were still raw. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you began, your voice quiet but firm. "But it’s not just about what happened. It’s about showing up for me, for being there when you said you would."

"I need time," you said softly, your eyes flicking from one face to the next. “It’s going to take some time to trust you all again fully.”

You smiled, opening your arms wide for them, " come here you guys."

They hesitated for only a second before they rushed forward, all of them enveloping you in a group hug. It was tight and warm, the kind of hug that you hadn't realized you'd missed until now. Their embrace was a mix of guilt, hope, and a promise to do better.

Yeosang stood back for a moment, watching the scene with a small, content smile on his face. He could see the bond you had with the boys, and though it was broken, he knew it wasn’t beyond repair. He was happy to see you surrounded by them, even if the road to rebuilding trust would take time.

"Thank you for giving us a chance," Wooyoung murmured into your hair, his voice hushed with sincerity. "We won’t mess this up again, Yn."

"You mean everything to us," San added softly, squeezing you a little tighter. "We’ll prove it to you, no matter how long it takes."

You closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the warmth of their presence. The pain wasn’t gone, but this—this moment—was a reminder that people could make mistakes and still find their way back to each other.

"You better," you whispered with a small, playful smile. "I’m holding you to that."

They all laughed softly, relieved by the lighter atmosphere that had returned. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. And for the first time in a long while, you felt a spark of hope that things could be okay again.

Your giggle echoed through the quiet field, soft and sweet as you clung to Yeosang’s hand. He walked backward with careful steps, his other hand steady on your waist to guide you along. The blindfold over your eyes made everything feel heightened—the warmth of the sun, the scent of blooming flowers, and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Yeosang, if I trip and eat dirt, I’m haunting you,” you teased, laughter bubbling from your chest.

He chuckled, gently squeezing your hand. “You won’t. I’ve got you.”

You could hear the fond smile in his voice, and it only made your heart flutter harder. After a few more steps, he slowed to a stop. You could feel the breeze shift, brushing petals against your skin.

“Okay,” he whispered near your ear, fingers moving to untie the blindfold. “Ready?”

You nodded eagerly, and as the cloth slipped away from your eyes, you gasped.

A breathtaking field stretched out before you, painted with colors—pinks, purples, whites, and yellows—all blooming wildly under the soft glow of golden hour. Flowers danced in the wind, and in the middle of it all, a blanket with a picnic setup sat waiting for the two of you.

“Yeosang…” you breathed out, eyes wide with wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

He looked at you, not the flowers, and smiled softly. “So are you.”

His hands rested gently on your shoulders, grounding you as your eyes remained fixed on the sea of flowers swaying in the breeze. You could feel his warmth behind you, his presence always steady and safe.

“I know it’s late,” he murmured, voice low and filled with sincerity, “but… happy birthday, princess.”

He turned you slightly, and your breath hitched again at the sight before you—beneath the soft pastel sky was a cozy little picnic laid out just for you. Your favorite drinks glimmered in the sun, snacks you’d mentioned in passing lovingly arranged, and in the center, a small cake topped with delicate frosting and a single candle waiting to be lit.

Your hand instinctively reached for his, your chest tightening as emotion welled up inside.

“You remembered all of this?” you whispered, voice cracking with disbelief and gratitude.

Yeosang nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “Of course I did. You deserve to be celebrated… even if it’s a little late.” He gave a sheepish smile. “Better late than never, right?”

He gently squeezed your hand as he helped you settle onto the soft blanket, the scent of flowers mingling with the faint sweetness of the cake. Once you were comfortable, Yeosang sat beside you, never letting go of your hand.

You looked around, still overwhelmed, your eyes glancing between the carefully chosen snacks and the little flicker of the candle waiting for a wish. “You did all this… just for me?”

Yeosang smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d do it a hundred times over if it means I get to see you smile like this.”

You gave a watery laugh, wiping at your eyes. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“If they’re happy tears, I won’t stop you,” he teased, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek.

A comfortable silence fell between you both as you took it all in—the field, the food, the way the sunlight hit just right—and the boy beside you who made sure you didn’t feel forgotten.

“Make a wish,” he whispered, nodding toward the candle.

You glanced at him, then at the candle, and with a small, hopeful smile, you closed your eyes and blew it out.

When you opened your eyes, you blushed to see Yeosang staring at you. " so, what did you wish for?"

You smirked, " wouldn't you like to know?"

Yeosang chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he leaned in just a bit closer, his voice dropping playfully. "I would, actually. Especially if it has something to do with me."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm..."

Grabbing his cheek, you pulled him into a quick kiss shocking both you and him. Once Yeosang felt you pull away, he was quick to pull you back, his lips chasing after yours.

His hand cupped your jaw gently as he kissed you again—slower this time, but deeper, as if he was pouring every unspoken word and emotion into it. The world around you blurred, the gentle breeze and the scent of flowers fading into the background as all that existed in that moment was him.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, Yeosang rested his forehead against yours, his smile soft and boyish. " i love you yn"

Your eyes widened slightly, lips parted in surprise as your heart thudded in your chest. For a second, all you could do was stare at him—at the raw honesty in his gaze, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly against your skin.

“I…” you started, your voice catching in your throat. You hadn’t expected to hear it—at least not now, not like this. But the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, made everything inside you melt.

A teary smile curved on your lips. You placed your hand gently over his, your thumb tracing slow circles. “I love you too, Yeosang,” you whispered, your voice soft but sure.

His eyes shimmered with emotion, and without another word, he pulled you back into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go. The flower field swayed gently around you, the sky beginning to fade into hues of lavender and gold—but all you saw, all you felt, was him.

[strwberri-milk]

Hyelloh! I was wondering how you’d think the LADS boys (esp Sylus the meticulous man he is) would react to MC proposing before they had the chance to. (Also how funny would it be if mc proposed at the same time they were going to omg)

It doesn't matter who it is - he's very pleasantly surprised. Sure he already had his own idea for how he wanted to propose to you and the two of you had already made it very clear that getting married is on the itinerary at some point. He doesn't suspect it at all though - considering that you've always found him a source of comfort in the way that the relationship dynamic works all of them - except Rafayel - had expected that he'd be the one to propose. You and Rafayel have a 50/50 chance between who the proposing party would be so Rafayel's the only one who's "racing" a clock.

Excluding Rafayel, the others aren't going to suspect much even when you get down on one knee. It's not until they see the box emerge from your pocket that they start putting the pieces together. He'll give the moment to you, let you say your speech and be very happy to let you put the ring on his finger.

Zayne and Xavier take the engagement "better" - they don't feel upset at all about the fact that you proposed. Sure, he wanted to propose to you but he also doesn't really care too much. Just the fact that the two of you are taking this next step together makes him happy enough.

Caleb and Sylus do the same, but they'll give you a teasing smile and ask why you had to steal his thunder. He doesn't actually mind in the least but he was hoping to be able to propose to you. Don't worry - even if you've already proposed he'll find another way to do an equally grand gesture that's perfect for the two of you.

Rafayel knew you were going to propose when you went down on one knee and was more than happy to take it in stride. He didn't care who proposed but he was also wanting to propose just as much as you did. That's why he's the only one who's "racing" the clock - he doesn't know when or if you'll propose whereas with the others he assumed he was the only one proposing. You've beat him to it which is totally fine, but he'll find a way to make sure the day is just as memorable for you.

[jeonscatalyst]

I normally don’t involve myself in the politics of this fandom, but everything that has unfolded over the past few days has left me utterly dumbfounded.

Anyone who refuses to acknowledge that this fandom has always treated Jimin differently is either extremely obtuse or simply unwilling to accept what is right before their eyes.

Before these AMA nominations, Namjoon had been nominated for numerous fan-voted awards, yet this same fandom never bothered to lift a finger for him, forget about awards, they don’t even care to stream Namjoon’s music. Now, they claim they want to rally behind Namjoon because they already “gave” Jimin a Daesang….but let’s be honest here.

Back then, Jimin was never the chosen one. The so-called agreement was that the fandom would rally behind whoever had the highest chance of winning and it just so happened to be Jimin. Even then, the majority of the fandom was against voting for him. During the TMA Popularity Award, when both Jimin and Yoongi were nominated and had the highest chances of winning, this same fandom chose to vote for Yoongi and were angry when Jimin emerged as the winner. So, my question is: when has Jimin ever truly been the fandom’s chosen one?

Let me be clear-I have no issue with people wanting Namjoon to win. He absolutely deserves it. He has deserved so many wins in the past that the fandom failed to show up for.

Where I take issue is with the sudden urgency this fandom has now found and, unfortunately, it is not driven by pure intentions. Eighty percent of the people rallying are not doing so because they believe Namjoon deserves this win; they are doing it because they do not want Jimin to win. I can bet my last dollar that if Namjoon were up against any other member even Jungkook or Taehyung who are part of the maknae line, we would not be seeing this frenzy.

There’s another fan-voted award happening right now where Namjoon is losing. If this push were genuinely about supporting him, they would be rallying there too. But they’re not because Jimin isn’t competing in that category.

Namjoon winning this award would be a beautiful and deserved moment. For years, he carried BTS on his back, shielding the group and members even when he himself was just a kid. His music style may not be the most crowd-pleasing, but he is undeniably talented and gifted. He deserves this win and many more to come.

Jimin deserves a win too. And if only people knew how to recognize that both are deserving without throwing shade at either, we would be in a much better place.

The reality is: winning for Namjoon would be wonderful, but the intentions behind pushing for his win are tainted. If you are only trying to get someone to win because you want the other person to lose, are you really doing it for them….. or for yourself? And the danger of acting out of spite is that you lack true commitment and passion.

I had to chuckle when I saw certain solo fandoms suddenly rallying for Namjoon. It’s honestly laughable because everyone including Namjoon-biased ARMYs and solos…..knows those other solos couldn’t care less about Namjoon.

The only reason they are participating is because they share a common hatred for Jimin. They don’t truly care whether Namjoon wins or loses…they only care that Jimin doesn’t win.

Any other winner would make them just as happy. Don’t even be surprised if some of them pretend to support Namjoon publicly but then cast their votes for any of the other groups or artist in the same category. It’s truly pathetic behavior.

Some might ask: what did Jimin ever do to this fandom to deserve this treatment, as if he were the fifth member of Blackpink?

The short answer is: NOTHING. He never did anything wrong.

Their real issue with him is that he exceeded the expectations they set for him. Had you told most ARMYs years ago that Jimin would perform the way he does today, they would never have believed it.

The problem with this fandom is that it moves like a cult….and not in a good way. They are rigid and resistant to change. Once they accept a narrative, they refuse to let it evolve.

For instance, it’s widely accepted that Hobi is the best dancer in BTS, and even the members acknowledge this. That’s perfectly fine. But it should never be a reason to harass those who think Jungkook or Jimin or others are better dancers.

People have different tastes.

I personally think Hobi is an incredible dancer, but I prefer Jungkook’s dance style the most, with Jimin as a close second. Does that make me any less of an ARMY or a Hobi hater? No. And for the record, Hobi is one of my top three favorite members….he’s my bias wrecker.

This fandom spent years labeling Jimin as only the third most popular member because they cling to their narratives, refusing to allow space for growth. When Jimin surpassed their expectations, they resented him for it, because they had already assigned him a place, and they didn’t want him to step beyond it. To them, he already has more awards than they ever thought he should have….so now they believe it’s their job to ensure he doesn’t win any more.

It’s truly sad.

I see some people saying that Jimin-biased fans are being weird or acting like antis because they’re upset at how things are unfolding.

I’m not speaking for solos here, but I think the real issue for Jimin-biased fans is not that people want to celebrate Namjoon but that they are only pushing for his win because they don’t want Jimin to have it.

That’s what frustrates me and many others.

And let’s not even start on how shady people have been toward Jimin especially those proudly yelling “we gave him a Daesang” when they didn’t even vote for him in the first place.

It’s perfectly fine to rally behind Namjoon and give him the win he deserves but let it be because you believe in his talent and contributions, not because you want to stop someone else from winning. Otherwise, your motivation is hollow and ironically, it only pushes Jimin-biased voters to work even harder, if only to ensure that Namjoon doesn’t win either.

I know change doesn’t happen overnight, but this fandom needs to stop behaving like a cult and start allowing people to think and act for themselves.

We can be united and support all the members while recognizing that not everyone has to see or do things the same way. Disagreeing with the majority doesn’t make someone an anti of the group or of any particular member.