#THE SAME ONES WHO WANT TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM YOU

[verstappenverse]

Just Another Valentine

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Every year you and Lando spend Valentine’s Day together as part of an unspoken tradition, but this year something feels different, something that is impossible for you to ignore.

1.8k words / Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always had a way of making you feel like a spectator in your own life.

The smell of chocolate and overpriced roses was thick in the air, reminding you of the one day of the year you could always count on to make you feel at least a little pathetic.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It was cute in theory, love, grand gestures, all of that. But when you were single, the whole thing felt a bit like a slap in the face. And unfortunately, this year was no different.

But at least you had one constant.

Lando had a habit of making sure neither of you ever spent this day alone. Every year, if you were both single (which, more often than not, you were), he’d take you out, making sure the day didn’t pass unnoticed. It started as a joke years ago and then, it happened again. And again. Until it was basically tradition.

So when your phone lit up that morning with a text from him saying, Pick you up at seven. Wear something nice 😉 you knew exactly what it meant.

And for some reason, you spent the whole day trying not to overthink it.

By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around you had already changed twice, first into something dressy, then into something a little more casual, only to second-guess yourself and switch again. Which was ridiculous because it was just Lando.

The same Lando who raided your fridge without asking, who stole your blankets during movie nights without a hint of remorse, who had seen you half-asleep and drooling on the couch more times than you cared to admit. The Lando who teased you endlessly, who could read your mood with a single glance. Lando who had seen you at your absolute worst, stressed over exams, hungover from nights you barely remembered, even the times when you’d just been a mess of emotions, and he never once flinched.

So why were your hands shaking a little when you opened the door?

Lando leaned against the frame, dressed in something a little nicer than his usual hoodie and joggers, a fitted black sweater and dark tailored trousers, smelling like something expensive. His signature grin was in place, dimples and all, as his gaze ran over you slowly, eyes darkening slightly, though he covered it with a smirk.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “You really listened to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You said ‘wear something nice.’ I figured you’d complain if I showed up in pyjamas.”

He put a hand over his heart in mock offense “I would never complain about anything you wore,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your coat. “Yeah, yeah. You want a gold star or something?”

“I’ll take a kiss on the cheek.”

You snorted. “In your dreams Norris.”

“You have no idea.”

You lightly smacked his arm as he led you out. The cool February air nipped at your skin as you got into his car, but it was warm inside, the radio playing quietly.

“So,” you said, glancing over. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see.”

Ten minutes later, you were standing in front of a little restaurant you’d never been to before. Intimate, dimly lit, tucked away in a quiet part of town. Fairy lights lined the outdoor seating area, and through the windows, you could see tables set with candles, couples leaning in close over their meals.

The hostess led you to a table by the window, and Lando pulled out your chair, waiting until you sat before taking his own seat across from you. You raised an eyebrow at his oddly formal behavior, but he just smiled, picking up the menu like this was all completely normal.

“You really planned this?” you asked.

Lando leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You eyed him, tapping the menu. “I don’t know. It’s suspicious.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me how you’re single again?”

You exhaled a laugh, running a finger along the edge of your glass. “Probably the same reason you are.”

HIs expression flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he leaned back, exhaling through his nose with a laugh.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you asked, “that we’ve spent more Valentine’s Days with each other than with people we’ve actually dated?”

Lando looked up. “Huh. Now that you mention it… yeah.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “Kinda sad, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Or maybe we just have shit taste in partners.”

You hummed, swirling the wine in your glass. “Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it just means we have good taste.”

“In each other?”

“Obviously.” He grinned. “C’mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you.”

You paused for a second, something warm settling in your stomach.

The two of you had always been like this, flirting without thinking, teasing each other like it was second nature. But tonight, something felt different. The way his eyes lingered longer on you when you spoke. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed you a drink. The way your knees touched under the table, neither of you moving away.

Then, as the waiter cleared the table, Lando reached under his seat and pulled out an elegantly wrapped box, sliding it across to you.

You blinked at it. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Inside was a Lego Bouquet set, a build-your-own floral arrangement, colorful and intricate.

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head. “You got me Lego flowers?”

“They won’t die,” he said, “and we could you know…build them together, it could be fun.”

You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your chest. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said, softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

You ran your fingers over the box, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve been.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “Is it weird?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s… really sweet.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t know why your voice was so quiet.

You let yourself relax as the evening passed, enjoying the food, the conversation, the way Lando somehow always knew how to make you laugh, and by the time dinner was over, the restaurant was starting to empty.

Lando leaned back in his chair, watching you. “So, did I do a good job?”

You smirked. “It was okay.”

He gasped dramatically. “Just okay?”

“Always fishing,” you laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “Fine. It was great. Thanks for making today a little less depressing.”

He scoffed with a laugh. “Wow. That’s the gratitude I get?”

You rolled your eyes but softened. “Alright, alright. You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

Lando tilted his head. “Yeah, I did.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your breath catch for a second. But before you could process it, he was standing up and paying the bill.

“C’mon,” he said, holding out a hand. “One more stop.”

You recognised where you were the second he parked up.

“The beach?”

He shrugged, killing the engine. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “In February? You hate the cold.”

He shot you a sideways glance, “I also hate traffic, but that would never stop me from picking you up.”

It was quiet this time of night, the sound of the waves filling the space between you as you walked along the sand. The air was cool, but Lando had given you his jacket somewhere along the way, and you pulled it tighter around yourself.

After a while, he stopped, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked out at the water.

You stood next to him, stealing a glance at his profile. The soft glow of the city lights reflecting from the water caught the edges of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow.

After a moment, he sighed. “You okay?”

You blinked, glancing over. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

You shrugged, toeing at the sand. “Just thinking.”

Lando hummed. “About?”

And then, without thinking, you said it. “I can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

Lando turned to you, eyes searching yours.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then—

“Guess I’m not as subtle as as I thought.”

You swallowed. “Lando��”

“I know,” he cut in, running a hand through his hair. “Bad timing, right? But I just… I don’t know how to keep pretending that I only do things like this because we’re friends.”

Your heart was hammering. “So, all of this—”

“Was me trying to tell you without actually telling you.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost shy.

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling over you.

And then, suddenly, it all made sense.

The way he always put you first. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he showed up, year after year, on this day of all days. The way you never questioned it, because, well, deep down, you had always wanted it.

You took a step closer. “Lando.”

His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “You really didn’t need all this effort.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

For a second, he froze. Then, his hands found your waist, pulling you in as he kissed you back.

You pulled back. “Say it.”

Lando swallowed, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“Say it,” you repeated, voice softer this time.

His fingers twitched around your waist.

Then, low and rough, “I want you.”

Your stomach flipped.

When you finally pulled back you were both breathing hard, the air between you charged. Lando's hands lingered on your waist, his thumb tracing absent circles against your hip, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He let out a shaky laugh, exhaling slowly. “Fuck.”

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.”

His eyes flickered between yours, searching, like he was making sure he hadn’t just imagined it. Then, his lips curved into a smirk, soft, almost disbelieving.

“So… that wasn’t just a ‘thanks for dinner’ kind of kiss, was it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, Lando. It wasn’t.”

His smirk deepened. “Good. Cause I was really gonna struggle pretending otherwise.”

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

He nudged your chin up with a knuckle. “You’re sure about this?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, the way his eyes held yours, the way his grip on you hadn’t loosened, the way this had always been inevitable.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m sure.”

Lando grinned, eyes bright with something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“Finally,” he muttered, pulling you in again.

[no-blastbeat-no-applause]

A little while ago I wrote a little something about that. I just finished translating it into english. Here are my thoughts:

Wimp

Thoughts on the patriarchy and why this crap sucks for men too

Queen Energy

I mindlessly let Instagram videos wash over my mind. A sketch wakes me from my pleasant torpor:

A woman dressed in a negligee talks to her husband. She orders him to have sex with her immediately. He says he is tired, he has just come home from work. He doesn't feel like it either. She is not interested. She becomes more direct and aggressive in her statements and demands. All of this culminates in her forcibly shoving a cookie into his mouth, repeating her order and expectantly marching off towards the bedroom.

The comment column is rolling with laughter, congratulates the woman and agrees with her demands. The comments reads something like:

"Her story, her rules, her empire." "Queen energy! This is the vibe we all need!" "Taking what's hers like it was always meant to be"

She should take what she needs; her husband should be a real guy and get it for his wife if and when she wants it.

So the point is: he's a wimp if he doesn't put himself and his needs first. He's not a real man because he doesn't jump when his wife is in the mood.

Let's imagine the gender roles reversed. A man comes home and tells his wife to wait for him naked in the bedroom because he wants to have sex. Regardless of her wishes and desires. Most people would find this behavior unacceptable. And rightly so.

Here though, sexual harassment is portrayed as a joke. Neither the producers nor the recipients seem to be fazed by this.

Such scenes suggest that men always have to be ready and willing. This stereotypical expectation completely ignores the fact that men are also people with boundaries who want to say "yes" or "no". However, in our society - as the comments column impressively shows - they are often denied this choice. Men are not even given the opportunity to prioritize their own wishes because their "yes" is taken for granted. If they do try to set boundaries, they are met with a lack of understanding, rejection, ridicule or even violence. This creates a burden that is subtle but always present.

The video and its comments make fun of a man whose freedom of choice over his own body has been taken away, making him yet another victim of patriarchy and toxic masculinity.

First naked and then alone in the corridor

I was 12 when my mother drove me and my ten-year-old sister to our pediatrician. Everything started as business as usual. The doctor asked us general questions, she took our blood pressure and did what doctors do.

Then something happened that I still remember vividly today. As a burgeoning teenager, I had to get naked from the wais down and lie down on a couch to be examined. My mother and sister both stayed in the room. I was embarrassed. I found it downright agonizing.

The doctor plucked at my penis for several minutes. I didn't know where to look. My face turned bright red and my hands got wet. I was suddenly terribly aware of how my kneecaps felt under my skin.

Then it was finally over.

But now it became particularly irritating: it was my sister's turn. She was facing something similar - with one important difference. I was asked to leave.

Don't get me wrong, I had no interest in participating in my sister's gynecological exam. I just wished that the same consideration had been given to me, a little boy.

My feelings were not ignored, no. No one here had even bothered to take an interest in whether I had any. I was treated with the same respect as the couch in the treatment room. The question of my dignity was about as important as that of the desk.

But that was nothing new for a 12-year-old. After all, I learned to swallow my feelings before I even started elementary school.

"Are you a man or a mouse"?

Of course I'm a man, I'm already four! I suppress every feeling that my environment deems too much or inappropriate.

I've learned that „Indians don't cry.“* Neither do boys. I'm not supposed to make such a fuss and pull myself together.

It eats into your brain. It stays. For almost 40 years and it's still there.

How my tongue got bitten

My aunt was celebrating her sixtieth birthday. The whole thing ended in her favorite pub. We danced, sang, drank and enjoyed ourselves. I chatted with old acquaintances on the edge of the dance floor.

Suddenly, a woman snuck up on me. She started to dance at me aggressively. I found it quite flattering at first. The stranger danced very closely with me, focusing only on me. She made me feel wanted.

But after a while I became uncomfortable. She took it for granted that I would return her advances. She waited for me in front of the toilet. She gave me no opportunity to move without her. She put her arms around me and kissed me on the dance floor.

I didn't want to be seen like this by my family. It was impossible to talk to my friends, my aunt was at the other end of the pub. I told the stranger that I wanted to talk to my family, but she wouldn't let go of me. I spoke to friends, but she pushed her way in.

I could have said "No!" at any time, walked away and enjoyed my evening, sure. But I have internalized the lessons of my youth: my feelings are not important and I have to make my body available, regardless of my own wishes.

I only plucked up the courage to tear myself away when the stranger bit my tongue painfully, because: I didn't kiss her the way she wanted me to.

But even then, at the end of the night, my "No, I don't want that anymore" was met with a complete lack of understanding. She was offended that I was not responding to her wishes. She had never cared about my consensus or my needs.

I was now in a similar role to the man in the sketch: my feelings were put on the back burner in order to offer a woman what she wanted at that moment.

Neither the lady in the sketch nor the stranger at the pub inquired about the wishes of the men in question. None of them asked for consensus. None of them took what they were explicitly told seriously, because they, like all of us, have internalized these toxic patterns of thought and behaviour.

As a farewell, I got a contemptuous "wimp" shouted after me.

And why all this?

I am well aware that the people who suffer most from patriarchy are, of course, those who do not appear traditionally male to society. Women, intersex and trans people, all non-cis-hetero men, should by no means be ignored here. My perspective, however, is that of a cis-het man.

We men are taught that our feelings are not important. We have to be tough and endure instead of being vulnerable and talking openly about our needs. Our bodies are common property. We learn to accept assault and laugh it off.

• The woman in the negligee wants sex? Then go ahead! No matter what the man wants.

• The boy is ashamed to be looked at naked by three women? He shouldn't behave like that!

• A stranger decides you're her plaything this night? Fuck your wishes and your family!

If we don't conform to the norms, we are wimps. We are considered unmanly. We're not real guys.

We need to recognize the harmful influence of sexism on men.

While patriarchy generally privileges men, it also subjects us to restrictive gender roles that harm us.

Even those who are considered the most powerful in the patriarchal hierarchy suffer from it.

The supposed masters turn themselves into the oppressed.

Toxic masculinity harms us and everyone around us.

Sometimes I do wonder if men actually get sexually assaulted and abused at a similar rate that women do but a lot of them just don’t know that’s what’s happening to them

[sonknuxadow]

its so frustrating how a lot of scu fans cant handle other sonic fans not having the exact same taste in sonic media that they do. like i feel like you can say something negative about literally any other sonic media on here and people generally wouldnt care that much but the second you say anything less than positive about the movies people start getting all weird about it and trying to argue with you ive had it happen to me and seen it happen to others as well .... like the sonic franchise is very big and has many different media types and writing styles not everyone is going to uncritically love everything. get over it ? im not trying to be mean but idk what else to tell you

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[bunny-jpeg]

pls can i req sugar pie, pithivier, fried dough, chocolate milk + champagne w/ team principal!oscar piastri 💝

bakery menu

thank you for the awesome order! the idea of team principal!oscar is super interesting and i love it to be honest! i put him with mclaren just because it would be easier and something about that (horrid) orange is just alluring to me.

sugar pie: “gonna let daddy hear ya?” + pithivier: "if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you." + fried dough: "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours." + chocolate milk: tenderness + champagne: sugar daddy situation served by oscar piastri (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, team principal!oscar, tenderness/loss of virginity, driver!reader, age gap (20s/30s), sugar daddy situation, (slight) daddy kink, (slight) jealousy, protected sex

"mister piastri! you shouldn't have!" you chirped as your eyes went wide at the sight of the gift your team principal gave you.

"well, only the best for my crow." he said cheekily as he got the necklace out of the box and then put it around your neck softly. once it was secured on your neck, he rubbed the back of your right shoulder and smiled, "my little bird."

crow was a nickname that oscar came up with that the rest of the team and the fans picked up on. crows were smart and had long memories, a skill that secured your victories on the track. but, oscar called you his crow because you liked your shiny objects.

and he was more than happy to provide them to you.

you placed your hand over the pendant on the necklace. you didn't even notice the engraving on the back, "belonging to oscar piastri". and when you turned to hold him tightly, he patted the side of your head while he locked eyes with his competition.

with your face in his chest and his hand moved to the back of your head. he gave a cheeky wink to ferrari's new driver. the other man who vied for your attention. but he wasn't even important enough to name, because oscar had you wrapped around his fingers. his delicate little crow. so eager, so sweet. perfect all for him.

when you pulled away to look up into his eyes. a smile spread across your face as you said softly, "tonight, i'll wear it for you in bed." and your lover smiled. that smile only grew when you leaned up closer to his ear and said, "i know you'd like that, daddy."

you had been planning this for weeks. you were a virgin, something that caught the attention of many, many men. a star racer who never had sex, that was quite the combination. but, you finally wanted to lose it. and to no other than the man who made you the driver you were okay. oscar. even his name brought a smile to your lips.

he looked at you with eyebrows raised as he asked, "seems i picked the right day to give it to you." he held your chin for a moment and gave you a slight peck when you were out of view from others.

the relationship was private, under lock and key. neither of you wanted the association that you fucked your way to the top. that wasn't the case, you were still a virgin. you just connected with oscar despite the close to decade in age difference. but you understood and he did the same with you. mutual attraction.

you nodded, "isn't that your superpower? to pick the right times? tire changes and what not." then winked at him. you looked pretty in the silver necklace.

he couldn't wait to yank on it in the bedroom tonight.

-

the bed of the hotel you were staying in was nice. soft in a way that most hotel beds weren't. everything was perfect, even your naked body in front of the bed in nothing but the necklace he gave you.

he licked his lips and started to unbutton his shirt, his gaze felt heavy on you. but not in an oppressive way. it was heavy with love, affection, admiration and most of all, lust. oscar wanted you.

he said as he got the first few buttons undone, "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours."

you clasped your hands behind your back and looked down at him. you felt the heat in your cheeks, "that's silly daddy." your voice a low mumble. he could barely hear you.

he leaned a little forward in his spot on the bed, “gonna let daddy hear ya? i want you to be loud, that's why your room is at the other end of the hallway. no one can hear you when i make you feel good."

you giggled, "dirty, dirty, daddy. going to dirty talk to you too."

he quickly got the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it to the farthest corner of the room. he beamed at you as he said, "oh? i know you'd like that. you eat it up when i make those little comments. which one was your favourite again? that time i played with your clit for over an hour."

you two never had penetrative sex, but you knew very clearly how nimble and talented oscar was with his fingers.

you swallowed before you said, if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you." and felt the heat burn your face.

oscar laughed as he got off his undershirt, exposing his toned body to you. he was all smiles and laughter while he worked on his belt. "that's it." he said, "like i'd let anyone else have you." he knew his words were tinged with possessiveness, but he also knew that you loved it.

you watched him get undressed and you kept your hands to yourself. you went to go get a condom and once every stitch was off of him, you held it out to him. you admitted softly, "i don't know how to put it on."

oscar replied, "i understand. don't worry, i'll take care of it. just like i do everything else, right? I take care of you?" he reached out for you and got you onto the bed. you laid amongst the pillows and oscar took a moment to admire you.

you nodded as you got comfortable, "thank you, daddy." and gave him a shy smile which only made his cock twitch with want. he honestly didn't know how he managed to restrain himself this long.

he guessed it was like wine, and oscar now wanted to drink you up. savour you as he got between your legs and stroked his cock a few times before he put the condom on.

"safe and sound." he said as he tossed the wrapper to the side and put a hand around his cock to inch it inside of you. he was careful, slowly sank into you. "tell me if it hurts."

"it's okay... it hurts a little, but nothing too bad. keep going." your voice was light as you kept your legs open for him. you could feel the excitement force your stomach to twist in knots. you were losing your virginity to your older boss.

it felt right, it felt good. and when he started to rock against you. you felt pleasure unlike anything else. your noises were sweet, as were your words. you held onto the covers under you and let him use you as he pleased.

you knew he would take good care of you. he was everything to you. he made you a champion (despite his protests otherwise), his heart was the car engine as were yours. you were both connected in such a way that it only felt right to give yourself over that way.

to be so painfully intimate. you loved him. he leaned in to give you a brief kiss before he moved your hips to have better access to you. the stutter in your heart felt you shivering and your toes curling. his movements made your core throb with sexual desire for him.

you remembered touching yourself in your f2 career to the pictures of him online. you had some saved to your phone and you'd spend late nights under the covers touching yourself. now it was happening, this dream was a reality. you were a star on the track and the apple of oscar's eyes.

his pace increased, but not by a painful amount. this was your first time, he was going to treat you like fine china. you were a delicate teacup that he needed to not shatter. his little crow didn't need to limp to tomorrow's race. racing with a pain in that area was never fun, oscar knew from experience.

"look at you." he said softly as he rutted against you, "look at the sight of you under me. you did so well today, you are going to win it all. and then when you walk away with the trophy. i'll show you what i do winners."

you giggled and felt the pick up in your pulse as you held onto his broad shoulders. he pressed into your further and the pace quickened. he rocked you against the bed and you felt the pleasure in your mouth. there was something so painfully erotic about the entire thing, this all felt hot.

it was everything you wanted from him. you moaned a little louder.

"you have no idea what you do to me. i'm envious of those logos because they can be printed and stretched across your pretty tits." his tone was tinged with humour. but deep down he was envious of the logos because they highlighted your best asset to him. your beautiful breasts.

the same one that he leaned down to suck on. he bit them lightly as he continued to move against you. you couldn't help yourself and let out a sweet moan that made his pleasure only grow inside of him.

"i bet you are, sir. but they look good on you too. and that orange, look like a traffic cone. a sexy traffic cone." and were quickly silenced by heated kisses.

he chuckled when he pulled away and continued his movements. he watched you rock against him as he said, "you look better in it. a real eye catcher on the track. with those soft lips and beautiful eyes. i can see why you are so popular in poster sales. everyone wants a little bit of the crow. but she always comes to nest in my arms."

and you giggled at his words. they rang true, but they still made you flustered. you held onto him by the shoulders and let him move against you. it was a heavenly feeling. your eyes fluttered shut as you said, "i'm close. please, daddy. let me cum. it feels so good."

oscar pressed his chest against you, hitting the deepest parts of you. he heard your angelic moans before he replied, "cum for me, babe. my little crow."

the necklace bounced against your breasts as he fucked you. it was almost as beautiful as you fully coming apart at climax. your core clenched around him, you tensed up for a moment before you relaxed and dropped your arms outspread on the bed.

you shakily exhaled and let oscar to move against you. the pleasure grew in him quickly. your cunt was perfect for him, it was a beautiful sight to see you all blissed out while he continued to thrust against you.

the sex was still gentle, so oscar's climax wasn't as intense. but he didn't need to feel like he got hit by a train to have a good time. he finished inside of you, protected by the condom. he went in for another heated kiss.

he slowed himself to a stop and then pulled out. quickly he threw out the condom as to not cause a mess before he got back into bed with you. as soon as his hands were on you, so was his mouth and he started to leave heavy kisses across your heated face. he melted into you and you into him. curled up in one another and deeply in love.

"my little crow."

"daddy."

legs tangled together and oscar's lips across across the apples of your cheeks. he held your hand, how tender. how loving. pressed more kisses against you. you were his superstar, his trained driver. and with time, he'd make you a trained lover too. only perfect for oscar himself. <3

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Writer's Note: Soooo after further trying & frustrations cuz T*umblr keeps playing with me, I've decided to make a new post for the rest of my masterlist. Until further notice, every new work that I publish will be added HERE. I'm sorry for the confusion, but I hope this helps y'all find my work! -Jazz

Oneshots (2024-Now)

A Winter Getaway (and Proposal) With You ❄️�� (Nanami x Black!F!Reader One Shot) (18+) - Nanami sweeps you away to his winter cabin for the cold season as he works up the nerve to propose to you. Based on “Wrap Me Up” by Jhene Aiko.

The Lap Mishap 🎄 (Toji x F!Reader x Gojo One Shot) (18+) - In which an innocent situation turns into something a lot more complicated (and sloppier) when you accidentally give the two coworkers that you despise raging boners while working as a mall elf for the holiday season. Fortunately for you, they have a way you can make it up to them and save all of their jobs.

NAUGHTY OR NICE? 🖤❤️🎁 (Gojo x Geto x Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL] - On Christmas Eve, you expect to spend a quiet night in with your wine and your new rose toy after a long month of constant work and holiday busyness. But when you receive a surprise visit from Santa Claus and Krampus themselves, who both have some business with you when you end up on their “Naughty or Nice” lists for the year, you realize that this Christmas Eve won’t be spent alone this time around.

MOST WANTED III (Sukuna x Self-Insert!Reader x Toji One Shot) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - You are spiraling six months after your "encounter" and failed mission with Sukuna. You've quit your job as a spy/hit-woman for your agency and you are trying to live a normal life despite the hauntings and hot dreams of two certain criminals. But when a chance reunion happens at a bar with Toji Fushiguro, you realize that you have a chance to make things right for yourself and finally get the fucking your body desperately needs.

Smile For The Camera, Baby 📸 (Geto x Plus-Sized!F!Reader One Shot) (18+) - In which you decide to volunteer to model for your friend’s lingerie line photoshoot when the original model gets sick and meet the very sexy photographer who isn’t letting you leave until you realize how gorgeous you are. 

Drunk N Nasty PT. II 🥂🩷✨ (poly!Pro!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader NYE One Shot) (18+) - In which you and Mina didn’t learn your lesson the first time about pushing your boyfriends’ buttons, so you decide to once again do something you’re not supposed to at a boring NYE party when their attention is adverted somewhere else instead of on their pretty girlfriends. But they’re on the exact same type of time you and Mina are, so why not celebrate the new year in a way only they know how AND teach you a lesson about being good girls too?

Lock Me Down & Throw Away The Key 🔐 (Gojo x F!Reader One Shot) (18+) - In which you come home from a bachelorette night with your girls with a particular hyper fixation on being filled up good and bred by your sexy fiancé who is soon to be your husband in just a few short hours...but surely, you can consummate the marriage now, right?

Are You Still Watching? 💜😈 (Choso x F!Reader One Shot) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - When your best friend comes over for a movie date when your boyfriend starts acting up, you both expect just a simple night of fun, Netflix, and simple, platonic bonding until a sex scene in a Rated R film has you both feeling a certain type of way. Lucky for you, Choso is a good friend and he knows exactly how to take care of his dear Y/N.

Friends You Can Keep (SatoSugu x Black!F!Reader V-Day One Shot) (18+) - When your romantic Valentine’s Day night comes crashing down after a heated argument and breakup, your new friendly neighbors and hot married DILFs whom you babysit for take it upon themselves to comfort you and show you that there is no better remedy for heartbreak than wine, company, and some good dick.

Love Always, Your Best 🥀 (Eren x Black!F!Reader V-Day One Shot) (18+) - In which the person you loath most in this world and the best lover you’ve ever had, your very toxic ex-boyfriend Eren, suddenly shows up out of the blue one random night at the same restaurant you happen to be at with your new man on Valentine’s Day. He is newly single and on his bullshit. Unfortunately for you, that means he’ll stop at nothing to remind you of how his bedroom skills make up for his lack of relationship skills….hopefully.

Short Stories/Fics (2024-Now)

What The Heart Desires ❤️💚 (BakuKiriMina x Black!F!Reader Short Fic) (18+) - In which two lonely-hearted girls make a wish on a star one Christmas Eve for their hearts’ desires: a Daddy Dom. What they don’t expect that night after their annual Christmas party is to receive that wish in two. When their very special party guests and secret crushes show up unannounced at their door proclaiming their romantic feelings and that these two cuties are theirs, what will our two lonely hearts do? Will they have to choose?

Headcanons N Drabbles (2024-Now)

DRABBLE: Nerdy BF!Choso x Popular GF!Reader 💜🤓

DRABBLE: Gooner!BF!Gojo x F!Reader 🩷🩷

DRABBLE: Dancer!Geto x F!Celeb!Reader (18+)

Writer's Note: Hey, y'all! I finally remembered to do a masterlist for my fic shit so everyone can find my work more easily. Enjoy & thank you so much for the love! -Jazz 💕

Oneshots

A New Kind of Distraction (poly!KiriMina x bi!Fem!Reader) (18+) - After your boyfriend of a year breaks up with you on what would have been your two-year anniversary, your very good, very attractive friend Mina (whom you’ve secretly been crushing on since high school) and her even more attractive boyfriend Kirishima decide that the only way to get you over your shit ex is through a threesome with her and him when you get an invite to Dynamight’s birthday party. 

All Up in Your Mind (Dom!Hitoshi x sub!Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you decide to use Hitoshi’s quirk to your advantage when things get tough in your life and you just need a bit of release. Lucky for you, Hitoshi is an understanding and generous guy, but what happens when he starts to get sick of trying to understand why you put up that wall between them even though you’re visiting him every weekend? 

Trigger Me (Aizawa-centric/No Reader) [Request Fill] (18+) - In which Aizawa decides to take matters into his own hands to try and ease his stress a little more, but what starts as something fun and interesting when he stumbles across a hypnosis video catered to stronger orgasms turns into a BIG problem when he finds himself unable to break away from the hold his new addiction has on him. 

When I Get Home (Hawks x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which Keigo realizes how truly lucky he is to have you by his side despite his refusal to open up to you and show you how deep his scars run, so he decides when he finally gets home from his stupid fucking mission, he’ll show you his scars, his heart, and everything more. 

A Birthday Threesome for 'Suki (Bakugou x Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you and your best friend decide to help your man see the joy in birthdays by giving him a threesome. Also, Bakugou likes butt plugs. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUBBY 🎈

Like A Big Girl (Quirkless!Dabi x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you get the surprise of your life when your apartment neighbor and crush (who happens to be extremely anti-social) shows up at your housewarming party to celebrate your moving into your first-ever apartment after a breakup. 

Peace and Quiet (poly!Geto x Gojo x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you realize peace and quiet aren’t ideal with your two noisy ass (yet extremely attractive) coworkers renting out the same Airbnb as you while visiting the hot springs on a business trip. But lucky for you, they know another way to help you relax.

Drunk N Nasty (poly!Pro!Bakusquad x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot) - In which you and Mina get tired of your boring ass boyfriends not making time for their girlfriends, so you two decide to hit the club for a night out with every intention of getting under your boyfriends’ skin. Fortunately for you, it works and your men decide to teach you and Mina a lesson about being some disobedient brats. 

Ao3 link here!

Several Shots Later (Pro!Sero x Black!Chubby!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you go on a vacation in an effort to relax and feel more confident, but find yourself falling for the sexy stranger who sends you a drink across the room and also happens to give you some firsthand dance lessons and a night you’ll never forget. 

In the Fruit Orchard (Bull!KiriBaku x Heifer!Reader) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - In which you, a heifer girl, get a night with the hottest bull boys on Aizawa's farm after a trip through the fruit orchard.

What Spoiled Girls Get (Pro!Bakugou x Dabi x Plus-Size!Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - You get whatever you want as Bakugou and Dabi’s shared GF. You’re their pretty princess. Their baby. Their spoiled little girl. You wouldn’t have it any other way and don’t know any different, so when they take you shopping to get some clothes for your birthday and you see a dress in the window that costs a bit out of their bracket, they get it for you…but not without you showing how thankful you are.

As Beautiful as Moonlight (Hawks x Black!Chubby!Fem!Reader) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - In which Hawks tries to show you that you are more than just a conquest and that his stares aren't because he's judging you. They're because he is dying to make you his.

Dance For Me (Fatgum x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you give Fatgum the experience of a lifetime when his friends drag him to a strip club for his birthday.

First Day Jitters (Pornstar!Bakugou x Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you spend your first day on the job as a pornstar with your favorite adult film persona in front of the cameras and are shown what it’s really like fucking with a pro. 

Breakin' A Sweat (Kiri x Tetsu x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which your weekly session with your very hot personal trainers ends in a different kind of workout when they reciprocate your burning attraction to them.

Ao3 link here!

Yours To Keep (Daddy Dom!Law x sub!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which your boyfriend the best gift you can give him: yourself, totally and completely. 

Lost in the Woods (Werewolf!BakuKiri x Black!Plus-Sized!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you get lost on your way home one night while coming back from a party and end up straight in the jaws of two strange yet sexy men who you get the feeling aren't quite human.

The Swordsman’s Secret (msub!Zoro x Black!Femdom!Reader) (18+) - In which your favorite swordsman has an interesting secret and kink that you are more than happy to explore with him in the bedroom. Or in which Zoro gets pegged for the first time. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ZORO! 💚

Going Half (on a Baby) (Toxic!Toji x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which Toji, your fuck buddy for five years and the man you're secretly in love with, "persuades" you to let him fuck without a condom after he exposes himself for his breeding kink.

Prove Your Worth to Me (Brat-tamer!CEO!Nanami x Bratty!Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you apply for a sectorial job, but the interview process is a lot more intense than you bargained for. 

Daddy's Home (Dom!Gojo x Sub!Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - It’s been 3 years. You believe your fiancé is dead. You’ve been attempting to move forward in your life without him there beside you. You try to grieve properly in order to move on….until he comes home. And he’s more than ready to make up lost time.

The Greatest Gift of All (JJK Men x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which your friends take it upon themselves to help you release your inner slut by taking you to a glory hole for the first time to get you some dick for Christmas. Many of them.

WRAPPED UP TIGHT (Dom!Levi x Sub!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you surprise Levi with a special present under the tree for his birthday and Christmas: you, naked, wrapped up in Christmas lights.

I Love a Challenge (Brat-tamer!Toji x Bratty!Self-Insert!Reader) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - In which you feel like you are boss enough to make Toji break when you meet him one night at a club and he gives you a lesson on what happens when you go toe to toe with him in the bedroom. Your fierceness and brattiness may be sexy, but Toji knows a thing or two about making anyone submit…and he loves a challenge. That challenge being you, little V! 

SELF LOVE 101 (Gojo x Black!Self-Insert!Reader) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - When you get invited to your coworker's Valentine's Day party, you have no intention of going. Especially since this particular coworker isn't exactly your cup of tea: Gojo Satoru is just too proud, too cocky, and too damn full of himself for a girl like you. But when you're persuaded to go and find yourself alone with him, Gojo will stop at nothing until you see that loving yourself is nothing to hate on. After all, a beautiful woman like you deserves to be loved on...especially on camera.

Comfortable With You (Inexperienced!Painter!Choso x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - Choso has never been anyone like you before: so confident and sure of yourself yet so sweet and compassionate. He can’t stop thinking about you. So to make this Valentine’s Day one you’ll never forget, he’ll show you just how comfortable he is with you and how desperately he wants to make you feel the same…even though you’re his first everything. [Based on the song “Comfortable” by H.E.R.]

How To Be Good 🐈‍⬛ (Dom!Nanami x sub!Self-Insert!Reader Pet Play One Shot) (18+) -In which Nanami has to give you some lessons on being an obedient little kitty and behaving yourself when you’re alone when you keep sending him videos to his phone while he is at work. 

Sweet Like Sugar (Tattoo Artist!Geto x Black!Bimbo!Reader) (18+) - In which Geto gets paid a pleasant surprise at his tattoo shop when his favorite, cute little bimbo client comes to visit one night on his birthday to cover her ex's tattoo.

Served On A Platter (Sanji Vinsmoke x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you give a very special surprise breakfast to your favorite love chef for his birthday...and you make pancakes too.

To Be A Good Slut Girl (Mean MDoms!Sukuna & Choso x Black fsub!Reader x msub!Itadori) (18+) - In which your boyfriend’s older brothers decide that they don’t like how you’re treating their kid brother (who is too oblivious and in love to realize that you’re using him for his money and his d*ck) and decide to teach you some lessons.

After Hours (Boss!Geto x Assistant!Self-Insert!Reader One Shot) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - In which Geto Suguru, your boss, and owner of his own public relations firm, celebrates a job well done on a five-month-long project with you, his trusty secretary, but what was once a friendly, professional relationship between you turns into something else when the staff goes home for the night and champagne gets involved.

In A Rut (Monster!Hawks x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - You haven't seen your boss around the office in a while ever since he started feeling "under the weather", but when you decide to visit him one day to cheer him up with some soup, you realize that this isn't a normal spring cold. Your boss is in heat and you, his good little assistant, are the only one who can help him cure it.

Playin’ Games (Choso x Self-Insert!Reader) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - In which your brother's best friend calls from his business trip to play a game of truth or dare over a Skype call, but it quickly turns into something else once your brother heads to bed and naughty pics and strip teasing get involved.

Most Wanted (Mafia Boss!Toji x Spy!Self-Insert!Reader) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - You’re a highly skilled hitwoman. You’ve been doing this for years–getting paid to take hits on the wealthy and corrupt at your agency’s order. You figure taking a hit on the renowned Tokyo mafia boss Toji Fushigiro won’t be any different. However, things take a terrifying turn for you, and your skills are put to the test when you go undercover as a dancer at his favorite club and give him a private dance. But instead of killing you, Toji takes it upon himself to punish you and show you what happens when you fuck with him.

The Florist & the Baker (Florist!Nanami x Fem!Black!Baker!Reader) (18+) - In which you get a storyline straight out of a meet-cute romcom when Nanami, the quiet and stoic yet handsome florist who only comes into your bakery for coffee, asks you out on a date. 

Siren Song 🧜🏽‍♀️🧜🏾‍♀️🧜🏿‍♀️ (Zoro x Sanji x Black!Mermaid!Reader) (18+) - In which the siren song that you sing in hopes of finding someone to free you from your curse attracts more than one mate when two of the most notorious and wanted pirates come to search your cave after a shipwreck.

Hot As A Summer’s Eve 🥵 [Rengoku x Black!Fem!Chubby!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL] - In which our favorite sexy, fire-haired himbo Rengoku decides to confess his feelings to you, his favorite Demon Slayer Corp, and show you that he adores your body just for how it was made: by fucking you stupid in the woods at a summer festival.

Sneaky Link 💙 (Toxic!Student!Gojo x Professor!MILF!Reader FWB) (18+) - You’re a stressed-out mom and college professor who has been swamped with your job and mommy life lately. You’re so knee-deep in your work and kids that you need some kind of release. Unfortunately, you’re not finding any of that in your husband, but luckily, that’s what Gojo Satoru is here for…even though he’s way too young for you and is your student.

In the Heat of Things 🐰 (Dom!Nanami x sub!Bunnygirl!Reader One Shot) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] - In which you're Nanami's bunny girl girlfriend who is going through a rough time during your "cycle", so your gentlemanly boyfriend takes it upon himself to help you out and ease your heat when your body tells him what your mouth can't.

You Should Come Thru (Hawks x Self-Insert!Reader One Shot) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - After a month of hard work, no play, and a bad date, Hawks invites you over to his apartment for some tea to relax and finally get some time with his bestie, but as the night grows long, you suddenly lose your filter and begin telling him things that he shouldn’t know. All because of his very special tea. 

Bikini Body 👙 (Poly!KiriBakuMina x Fem!Chubby!Reader 18+ One Shot) - In which your boyfriends and girlfriend decide to show you just how good you look in your new bathing suit one hot summer day on the beach.

Rock The Boat 🛳️ (Bartender!Toji x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot) - You go on a cruise vacation after your boyfriend cheats on you and meets Toji, the fine-ass bartender & divorcee. You're invited to a white party that he’s working at and while there, you find yourself flirting with him thanks to the liquid courage. After slipping him a note with room number, you wait for him that night. At first, you believe that he isn’t coming and feel rejected, but when he does, you realize that this vacation is just what you need to get over your heartbreak. 

Ride ‘Em, Cowgirl! (Cowboy!Ace x Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) - As the author of some famous smutty romance novels, you decide to take a vacation in the countryside for a while to get over your breakup and work on your new book but you suffer from writer’s block. However, a meet-cute situation with a sexy farmhand who lives next door might be able to help you kill two birds with one stone.

Your Kind of Men (Poly!Pro!Bi!TodoDeku x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader SFW One Shot) (18+) - In which you go on a blind date set up by your friend and her pro hero partners, not realizing that you're about to get your chance to meet some pros yourself who are highly interested in having a third...and they hope that it's you.

Wife Girlfriend Training (Tengen x Black!Self-Insert!reader One Shot) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - When Tengen puts in a big order to your bakery and you're short-staffed, you deliver it yourself only to find Uzui home alone. To repay you for the trip, he invites you in for dinner where things take a major turn when he finally admits his and his wives’ attraction to you. You’ve never been in a poly relationship before, so Tengen gives you an introduction to what it would be like to be his 4th girl...including some “training” of his own.

Turn Off Your Phone (Dom!Pro!Hitoshi x sub!Plus-Sized!Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) [REQUEST FILL] -In which Hitoshi gets tired of not being the center of your attention and forces you to put your damn phone down.

Desperado (Dom!Mizu x sub!Self-Insert!Reader One Shot) (18+) [COMMISSION FILL] - When you randomly ask Mizu to help train you to become a stronger fighter, she discovers the reason is that you plan on accompanying her on her journey for revenge. She initially refuses, but after a moment of passion turns into a night of confessed feelings and a goodbye, Mizu begins to change her mind about working alone.

CREEP (Dabi x Hawks x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) - In which a night home with your man turns into one of pure terror and a walk on the dark side when you get the feeling that you’re being followed. After coming home to an empty house when your man gets caught up at work, you realize, terrifyingly, that you are right. There are strangers in your house. *GOOD ENDING VER* / *BAD ENDING VER*

Just A Little Bite (Vampire!Nanami x Black!Bimbo!Reader One Shot) (18+) - Something strange is going on with Nanami. He doesn’t know what it is and neither do you. All you know is that he’s been extremely…possessive lately. And tonight at a friend’s costume party, when he sees you dressed in your sexy little outfit that garners unwanted attention from other men, Nanami’s “instincts” kick in and he drags you off to show you and everybody else that you’re his and his only. But does this strange yet sexy behavior come from you or is it just a full moon?

HE COMES AT NIGHT (Vampire!Zoro x Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) - You suddenly find out why the people in the village you recently moved to become so strange at night when you discover that the legend Zoro Roronoa, the bloodthirsty Swordsman, is real. And he’s got his sights set on those who wander the streets after sundown and don’t believe in him…that being you.

Babysitting Has Its Perks 🖤🐰 (Big Bro!Choso x Big Bro!Dabi x Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) -You’ve been babysitting kids as a side hustle for a while now to get extra money. You have your regulars, one of them being a doctor’s cute little son Yuji. Though the pay is good, you admit that the main reason you come back to babysit the kid is because of his sexy older brother Choso. On Halloween, when Choso gets caught up in a pinch, he hits you up last minute to babysit Yuji and his bandmate’s little brother. You think this will be an easy night…until you meet Choso’s bandmate Dabi…and you decide to wear a bunny costume…and you realize just how much your secret crush and his hot friend love bunny girls.

Must Be A Full Moon 🌕 (Werewolf!Nico x Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) - You’ve been dating Nico for about five months now and you couldn’t be happier with him. He’s big, he’s sexy, he’s protective, and he listens! He’s the perfect boyfriend…except for one thing: you haven’t had sex yet. Every time you come close to it, he always makes an excuse and leaves your apartment before anything more than kissing can happen. What is it, you wonder? Is he not sexually attracted to you? Is he nervous? What could it be? One dark night, while the moon is high in the sky after a costume party, you get your answer…and everything you’ve been craving from your big, strong, sexy boyfriend.

Smile, Sl*t! (Bully!KiriBaku x Chubby!Black!Fem!Reader One Shot) (18+) REQUEST FILL] - When your friend drags you out to a costume party in a slutty angel costume that you reluctantly agree to wear, she doesn’t tell you that it’s a party thrown by the same two frat boys that you can’t stand…who also happen to be your longtime bullies. When they take notice that you’ve decided to attend their party, they’ll definitely make themselves known and give you a Halloween that you’ll never forget…because it’s all on camera.

Short Stories/Fics

I'll Show You "Uptight" (Bakugou x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which a very pissed and very emotionally frustrated Bakugou decides he’s not going to let you get away with your lip that easily and pays you a visit one girls’ night to prove to you that he is, indeed, able to be “looser” after you make a drunk comment about his introverted and uptight personality to your mutual friends and Kirishima “accidentally” spills the beans.

Ao3 link here!

With Good Weather Brings Good Breedings (BakuKiri x Black!Bunny Girl!Reader) (18+) - In which your spring cycle comes a little earlier than usual and you’re too afraid of your boyfriends–whom you’ve been dating for five months–thinking you’re weird instead of telling them about your cycle during mating season. However, during a picnic thrown especially for you, your two favorite pros are more aware than you realize and are more than happy to help you with your little problem.

Ao3 link here!

A First Time for Everything (BakuKiriMina x Fem!Reader) (18+) - You and your girlfriend Mina have been dating for three amazing years. You couldn’t ask for a better partner–someone who is supportive, loving, and willing to explore new things with you…including in the bedroom. So, after a UA High 5-year reunion when you run into THE Katsuki Bakugou and Eijrou Kirishima, two of the top pros in the game and your old crushes, you don’t expect those past butterflies to come rushing back. And when you find out Mina, Kiri, and Bakugou feel the same, you decide to embark on the journey of experiencing your first-ever foursome and possible polyamorous romance.

Ao3 link here!

Longer-Lengthed Stories/Fics

Here, Kitty, Kitty (Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader) (18+) - In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead. [COMPLETED]

Ao3 link here!

Lovers & Friends (Hawks x Black!Fem!Reader) (18+) - In which you and Keigo have begun to realize the strange new feelings you both have for each other after one drunken night at a close friend’s wedding that ends with you in his bed, but because of your longtime friendship and committed relationships with other people, you’re more than happy to forget that night even happened and keep your mutual feelings in the dark…for now, at least. [COMPLETED]

Ao3 link here!

Hit 'Em Up! (Cowboy!SatoSugu x Black!Cowgirl!Reader) (18+) - You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? [COMPLETED]

Headcanons N Drabbles

When You Wear Glasses (BNHA) (18+) (for Black!Fem!Readers)

Sundress Season (BNHA) (18+) (for Black!Fem!Readers)

You're the Cutest Bimbo He's Ever Seen (MHA) (18+) (for Fem!Readers)

You’re Not Wearing Any Panties (One Piece) (18+) (for Black!Fem!Readers)

He Gets H*rny From Your Halloween Costume (One Piece) (18+) (for Fem!Readers)

He Gets H*rny From Your Halloween Costume (JJK) (18+) (for Black!Fem!Readers)

You Speak His Native Language to Him (18+) (One Piece) (for Fem!Readers)

They're Your Blind V-Day Date (18+) (Crossover Anime) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

Where He Takes You For Your V-Day Date (18+) (JJK) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

YOU GOT ERRANDS TO RUN? NOT WITH THEM, YOU DON’T! (18+) (JJK) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

HE’S SO F**KING BIG THAT HE COULD CRUSH YOU & YOU LOVE IT (18+) (for Fem!Readers)

DRABBLE: HE & YOU ON WASH DAY 🫧 (18+) (JJK) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

[luvoooenha]

Lucky charm!

Pairing- Boyfriend! Jake x Girlfriend! Y/N

Summary- Jake, the top soccer player at UNI, always relied on Y/N’s support—until a huge argument left him distracted before a big game. Without her in the stands, he struggled to play, missing shots and worrying his team. Realizing how much he needed her, a teammate called Y/N, who debated but ultimately showed up, looking her best. The moment Jake saw her, his focus returned, and he played like himself again. After the game, they made up, proving that Y/N was truly his lucky charm.

Warnings- FLUFF, FLUFF, FLUFF, anger, angst, arguments, happy couple… (jokes! Not really)

Word count- 1.8k

plsplsplsplsplspls dont copyyy my work!

“You don’t get it, Y/N!” Jake’s voice was sharp, frustration thick in every word.

“Then explain it to me, Jake! Because right now, it feels like I’m the only one trying.” Y/N’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her voice shaking between anger and hurt.

Jake let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t care? That I don’t appreciate you?”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Jake, I’ve been to every single game, every late-night practice, every stupid press conference where they ask you the same questions. And not once have I ever complained.” Her voice broke slightly, but she pushed on. “But the second I bring up how I feel, I’m the bad guy?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. The look in her eyes—raw and filled with unshed tears—made his chest tighten.

“I can’t keep doing this if you don’t want me here, Jake.”

His stomach twisted. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. But his stupid pride got in the way, and instead of telling her the truth—that he needed her more than anything—he muttered, “Maybe it’s better that way.”

The second the words left his lips, he wanted to take them back.

Y/N’s face fell, her jaw tightening as she nodded slowly. “Okay.”

And just like that, she turned and walked away.

Jake stood frozen, watching her disappear into the night.

He had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

-

The silence between them was louder than anything Jake had ever experienced.

Y/N hadn’t texted. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t shown up to practice.

Jake told himself he was fine. That he could focus better without distractions. But when game day rolled around, it hit him like a freight train.

He jogged onto the field, scanning the stands on instinct. But the seat where she always sat—third row, left side, just behind the team bench—was empty.

His stomach clenched.

He tried to shake it off as the game started, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His passes were off. His speed felt sluggish. Every shot he took either hit the post, went wide, or was blocked by the keeper.

The frustration built with every mistake, weighing him down like lead.

The final whistle blew, and UNI had lost. Jake barely heard the post-game speech from his coach, too busy replaying every missed opportunity in his head.

When he got back to the locker room, he didn’t even bother taking off his cleats right away. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.

Jay, his closest teammate, nudged him. “Dude. What’s going on?”

Jake exhaled slowly. “Nothing. Just an off day.”

Jay scoffed. “Nah, man. This is more than that. I’ve never seen you play like this.” He paused. “It’s Y/N, isn’t it?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Jay sighed. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but it’s obvious you’re a wreck without her.”

Jake clenched his jaw. “She’s probably better off.”

Jay rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Then why do you keep looking for her in the stands?”

Jake said nothing.

Jay grabbed his phone. “I’m texting her.”

Jake should’ve stopped him. Should’ve told him to leave it alone.

But he didn’t.

Y/N sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, as she mindlessly scrolled through her camera roll. Each swipe brought a new memory, a new reminder of everything she and Jake had been before it all fell apart.

There was a photo of him grinning at her during one of their late-night study sessions, his notes forgotten as he balanced a pencil between his nose and upper lip, trying to make her laugh. She had rolled her eyes at the time, but she could still remember the way her stomach had fluttered when he looked at her like she was the best part of his world.

Another picture—Jake, covered in sweat but grinning like a fool after a big win, his arm slung lazily around her shoulders. She had been laughing, caught mid-cheer, his jersey draped over her like a second skin. She had been so proud of him. She always was.

And then, one of her favorites—a candid shot of them from a lazy Sunday morning. Jake, shirtless and half-asleep, stealing bites of her breakfast as she swatted at his hand, laughing at his shamelessness. His hair had been a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he had looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s chest ached.

She missed him. More than she wanted to admit.

Her fingers hovered over his contact, the familiar urge to text him creeping in. But then, like a cruel reminder, his words echoed in her head.

"Maybe it’s better that way."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, locking her phone. If that was what he wanted, then fine. She wouldn’t be the one to break first.

But then, as if the universe was laughing at her stubbornness, her phone buzzed.

Jay: Jake’s a mess. He needs you. Badly.

Her heart clenched.

She should ignore it. He was the one who pushed her away. He was the one who made her feel like she didn’t matter.

But… if that were true, why was he struggling so much?

Y/N exhaled slowly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes betrayed her, filled with something she wasn’t ready to name yet.

She could walk away. Let Jake figure this out on his own. Prove to herself that she didn’t need him as much as he needed her.

But that was a lie.

Because no matter how angry or hurt she was… she still loved him.

And she wasn’t sure she ever wouldn’t.

With a resigned sigh, she grabbed her jacket and touched up her makeup.

If she was going, she was going to make an entrance.

She headed out the door, her heart pounding.

Jake needed her.

And whether she liked it or not… she needed him too.

-

Jake jogged onto the field, his mind clouded with doubt.

His body felt heavy, his nerves shot. The last few games had been a disaster, and the weight of failure clung to him like a storm he couldn’t outrun. He tried to shake it off, stretching his arms and bouncing on his feet, but nothing felt right.

Then, instinctively, he looked toward the stands.

And everything stopped.

His breath hitched. His heart stuttered.

Y/N was there.

Sitting in her usual spot—third row, left side, just behind the team bench.

Jake blinked, half-convinced he was imagining it. But no, it was real. She was real.

And damn, she looked good.

Her hair was styled just the way he liked, her makeup subtle but stunning. She wore his favorite shade, the one he always said made her eyes stand out, and even from across the field, he could see the way her lips curved in something between challenge and amusement.

She came.

A rush of energy shot through his veins, the kind he hadn’t felt since before she left. His pulse pounded, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves—it was from something deeper, something electric.

His lucky charm had returned.

And just like that, everything clicked back into place.

The whistle blew, and Jake was unstoppable.

Every pass was precise, every shot powerful. He weaved through defenders with the confidence he’d been missing, his movements sharp and deliberate. The frustration that had been drowning him for days melted away, replaced by pure instinct.

And every time he scored, he didn’t look at the scoreboard. He didn’t look at his teammates.

He looked at her.

Y/N sat there, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed. But he saw the way her lips twitched, the way her fingers tapped against her thigh. She was proud of him—he knew it.

By the final whistle, UNI had secured the win. The crowd erupted in cheers, his teammates swarming him with congratulations, but Jake barely acknowledged any of it.

His eyes were locked on her.

Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the stands, pushing past the crowd. Y/N had already started making her way down toward the field, and when she stopped in front of him, they just stood there, staring at each other.

For the first time in days, Jake could breathe again.

“I was an idiot.” His voice was breathless, raw. “I didn’t mean any of it, Y/N. I was just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “I was scared. Of how much I need you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed. “Yeah? I figured, considering how hard you flopped without me.”

Jake huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I deserved that.”

“Damn right, you did.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, but Jake didn’t miss the way her tough exterior wavered, the way her eyes softened just slightly.

He took a step closer. “Y/N, I mean it. I never should’ve pushed you away.” His voice dropped to something quieter, more vulnerable. “You’re everything to me.”

She sighed, finally uncrossing her arms. “Jake… you can’t shut me out when things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” he admitted, his gaze never leaving hers. “And I won’t. Ever again.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment, and then, finally, she sighed in defeat. “You’re lucky I like you, Sim.”

Relief crashed over him, and before she could say anything else, he closed the distance, wrapping his arms arowund her and pulling her in tight.

She hesitated for half a second before melting into him, her arms circling his waist.

Jake buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume, and everything felt right again. “I missed you,” he murmured.

“I know,” she teased, voice muffled against his jersey. “I could tell from your embarrassing game stats.”

He chuckled, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Guess I need you to keep me in check.”

“Clearly.”

Jake reached up, brushing his thumb over her cheek, his voice softer now. “So… does this mean you’ll be at the next game?”

Y/N smirked. “As long as you keep winning.”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Then I guess I have no choice.”

Because she wasn’t just his biggest supporter.

She was his lucky charm.

isa note! - lallalala first story!!! lalalall so excited! lalalalalla

taglist~ @firstclassjaylee

if wanted to be tag plspslplspsls let me know! 💗

© luvoooenha on tumblr 2024-2025. please don’t copy, repost, or translate my works! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :)

[angstywaifu]

Apology Accepted - Garrick Tavis

Summary: Garrick and you got off on the wrong foot from day one. But maybe things could have been different if you'd just given him a chance. And somehow all it takes is for you to be stood up on Valentines Day. A/N: Just a small Valentine's Day fic for you all to enjoy ❤️ Masterlist | Links

“You excited for tonight?” Bodhi asks as he takes his across from me in the dining hall for lunch.

“What’s tonight?” Imogen asks, joining our conversation as Quinn gets up to join her girlfriend who just walked in.

“Y/N here has scored herself a valentines date for tonight.” Bodhi announces before I can get a word in.

A loud scoff has us all turning out heads towards the noise, Garrick having turned his attention to us. “You have a date? How much did you pay them?” He mocks with that stupid smirk of his, and that damn dimple in his cheek fully noticeable.

I roll my eyes at him and turn my head away. “I didn’t pay them anything, doubt I can say the same for you though.” I snap back, Bodhi and Imogen snickering at my comment as Garrick scowls at me.

“So do you have a valentine's date or plans then Garrick?” Imogen asks him, a knowing smirk on her face.

“I don’t need a day to tell me to do something romantic.” He grumbles.

“So that's a fat no.” I add, knowing if I turn my head he will be glaring at me.

“I doubt you two have any plans.” He shoots at Imogen and Bodhi, ignoring my comment.

“I’m doing a girls night with Quinn and her girlfriend.” Imogen says happily.

“So you’re third wheeling?” Bodhi teases, earning a bread roll being thrown at his head. 

“Says the one whose plans were to hang out with Y/N here till she got a date.” 

“Hey, those are perfectly valid plans for two very single friends.” Bodhi exclaims.

“And how did those plans turn out for you?” Garrick teases, causing Bodhi to sulk and ignore Garrick.

The tavern in town is packed with people tonight. Probably because it’s the only place nearby to go out for a drink or a meal. Meaning a lot of cadets and other people have chosen to come here tonight. I scan the room again, looking out for the infantry cadet who has asked me out. But yet again I come up short, only finding other happy couples enjoying their evening. Maybe Garrick was right and I should have paid for them to come on the date. maybe then I wouldn’t have been stood up. I throw back my drink, skulling the last of it. I put the mug down, shoving it away from me as I turn to get up from my table as a familiar large figure sits on the edge of the seat next to me, blocking my exit from the booth.

“So you teased me all of today about not having plans and being single, just for you to get stood up?” He teases as he cocks an eyebrow at me.

I roll my eyes at him. “If you’re here to gloat then save it and move out of my way.”

He ignores my command to move, looking down at me with those damned hazel eyes. Fuck, I hated what those eyes did to me. Hated what he did to me.

“Move over.” He tells me as he forces himself closer to me, making me move further into the booth to accommodate him. “You’re lucky I’m hungry.”

“How does that make me lucky?” I ask him as he waves down one of the servers.

He ignores me as he orders food for both of us, not even stopping to ask what I want, but annoyingly he somehow nails exactly what I want. The same thing I always get when I come here.

“You’re lucky, because now it doesn’t look like you’ve been stood up.” He tells me as he shoves a drink towards me, one he must have ordered before sitting down. “And you get to enjoy my company.”

“There’s nothing about your company to enjoy.” I snarl, taking the drink he offers me as I take a deep drink from it.

“I beg to differ.” He says smugly as he smiles at me, that damn dimple poping again.

“We’ve known each other for two years now Tavis, I think I’d know by now if there was anything to enjoy about your company. Which there isn’t.” 

His eyes travel over me, making me squirm under his gaze. I hated when he did that. It’s like he knew how I really felt. That my feelings towards him had changed over the time we’d known each other. But I was too stubborn to admit it to him, knowing he’d just tease me relentlessly. 

“You’ve never really given me a chance love.” He tells me as if he’s stating the obvious.

Our conversation is briefly halted by our food arriving, Garrick pushing the plate of roast chicken, mash potatoes and gravy towards me as he turns his attention to his steak.

“Why would I? You made it painfully clear you didn’t like me from day one.” I tell him pointedly.

He shakes his head as he chews his food. “No, you just took something I said the wrong way. I never disliked you.”

What? No, there’s no way. I remember that day. The comment he had made. 

“If that's true, why have you let it carry on for the last two years?” I ask, turning to face him in the booth.

He turns his head, giving me his full attention. “Because you were hell bent on the idea I didn’t like you. Trust me, I tried to make it clear I didn’t hate you. You didn’t want a bar of it. Now eat the food I ordered you before it goes cold.” Gesturing to my plate dismissively as he turns back to his own food.

I turn back to the food, but suddenly I’m not hungry. Garrick’s words playing over in my head. Had I really been the reason this had carried out the way it had for the last two years? No, I knew Garrick. If he had wanted to be friends or change the outcome of that day he would have. Right?

“Maybe he did and you were too stubborn to see things differently.” My dragon drawls in my head.

“I don’t need your input right now.” I snap back at them.

I feel the huff of annoyance through the bond. “Clearly you do. So either remain stubborn and continue as you are, or listen to the damn boy. Might do you some good too. With how wound up you’ve been over him, you need a release.”

I slam up my shields, not wanting to deal with them right now. But I don’t miss the laughter from them before I do. But they were right. I had just thought Garrick was trying to be annoying. Lure me into a false sense of friendship after the comment he’d made. But looking back, I definitely could have taken it the wrong way. I’d just jumped at it. And now after two years, and knowing Garrick a lot better than I did… It would have been clear he didn’t mean it seriously. Fuck. 

“I’m sorry.” I mumble, not expecting Garrick to hear it as I push a stray bit of chicken around my plate.

I know Garrick hears it clear as day as he turns his head towards me, feeling his eyes on me as he watches me. “What was that?” He asks, hearing the smirk in his voice already.

“I’m sorry.” I say a little louder this time.

Garrick turns in his seat, resting his arm along the back of the booth while the other pushes his plate away as he leans it on the edge of the table. “Sorry, I don’t think I understood what you sa-“

“I said I’m sorry!” I nearly yell at him as I drop my fork to my plate as he chuckles at me. 

Instead of the smirk I expect to see, it’s a genuine smile. It’s something rare to see on Garrick. I’d only seen it a handful of times, mainly kept for moments to do with Bodhi or Xaden when he thinks no one is watching.

“Apology accepted. Now let’s get you another drink and make this a proper valentine’s date.” He says as he stands from the booth, taking both our mugs with him to the bar.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

Girl, so confusing

They watched as you walked out the door.

It was like they all were frozen in time.

They didn't think you'd actually walk out the door like nothing.

They tried to tell themselves you'd be back in 2 hours, that you'll be back in time when their patrol ended.

..But just in case, they'll go look around them to see if you're all right.

Fuck.

You weren't anywhere.

They looked everywhere and they couldn't find you.

They looked harder.

They tried thinking of places where to find you, but they didn't know.

They didn't know you.

And they were worried.

Worried that you were hurt.

Worried that they'd never get to know you.

As they went to look again, they thought about how they treated you.

The way Bruce would feel ashamed of how people he knew told him you and he looked alike, how they'd say you have the same hair.

He wasn't ashamed, not anymore at least.

He doesn't think he was ashamed of you, he was ashamed of how he couldn't raise you.

He was ashamed of how he raised others who weren't you.

He was ashamed of how awkward he was around you.

He was ashamed of how he didn't even know your mother until the DNA test.

He was ashamed of how similar you looked to your mother.

He was ashamed of how he just left your mother after their one-night stand like it was nothing.

He was ashamed of how your mother left a note along with you back when you were left at the manor pleading Bruce not to let you become a robin and put you into trouble.

He isn't even sure how she found out about their identities.

He won't be ashamed of you, not anymore at least.

Dick remembers how many times you had begged him to go out to hang out together, just for him to promise and either not follow through, or just cancel last minute.

He remembers how you kept asking him to train you to be Robin. You wanted to be like them. You wanted to see what it felt like to run around fighting bad people like they did.

You wanted to help others like they did.

You wanted to be with them.

He regrets that back when he was Robin he kept being mean to you. He regrets how many of your toys he broke and never apologized for back when you were younger.

He regrets not taking you into the manor with open arms like he did with the others.

He regrets how many times he brushed you off to be with the others.

He regrets not going to your events.

He regrets forgetting to reply to you when you needed it the most.

Most of all he regrets not being there for you back when Jason died. Sure, he was grieving, but you were too.

He checked his phone to try and text you.

He saw he had so many messages dating back years ago that he hadn't replied to, the newest one being from around a year ago.

He started spam-texting you, hopefully you wouldn't be too mad at him.

He put his phone in his pocket for around 30 seconds.

...Only to take it back out immediately.

He went to text you again and saw his messages couldn't reach you.

He was blocked.

Jason misses you.

He misses how you would run up to him and talk to him.

He misses reading your books and playing with you.

He misses writing poems and reading them to you.

He misses you making him silly little crafts and talking about your favorite shows and music.

He misses how you would follow him around the manor like a duckling.

He misses how you would talk to him about the things on your bucket list.

He wishes he never got distant.

He wishes he didn't push you away.

He wishes you would try again.

He hates how you had no one to be with you when he died.

He hates how now he barely sees you around the manor, and when he does you're either on the phone with your friends or getting food and bringing it up to your room.

He hates how much you flinch when you're around him. He accidentally hit you in the face once because he had come back from a mission and was still in fight-or-flight mode.

He hates how he can't forgive himself for that.

He hates how lately when you needed to ask him questions or talk to him you kept quiet, made it quick, and kept your head down.

Nothing like how you talked to him years ago.

You used to be louder, you used to look up at him and wouldn't mind asking dumb questions.It's like you were scared of him.

He hated that.

When he first came to the manor, Tim didn't like you.

He assumed you were living like a princess, rich and pampered and full of love.

He assumed that you had everyone in the manor's attention. Maybe he wanted to be you.

He was trapped in his hatred, and your life seemed so awesome.

So he hated you.He hated how you would check up on him and the others.

He hated how you would have a lot of friends.

He hated how you had friends that would check up on you.

He hated how cheery you were.

He hated how you were always available.

He hated the way you spoke like you didn't have a care in the world.

He hated how despite noticing everything, he pretended he never noticed you.

He pretended he never noticed how heartbroken you looked when you would talk for a while until you noticed no one listened.

He pretended he never noticed how on family game nights you would stand in a corner by yourself trying not to cry.

He pretended he never noticed how your presence died out slowly.

He pretended he never noticed how you stopped leaving your little treats around the house.

He pretended he never noticed how you started looking happier when you weren't around them.

He pretended he never noticed how you started to leave the manor early and come back late.

To him, your life was perfect.

To him, you were coming home late from being with friends.

To him, you had the perfect friends and family.

He didn't understand why you had begged a robin once, your life was perfect.

To him, you were living like a princess.

He didn't understand, and now he wanted to.

Damian and you were opposites.

He was raised in pain, always training with a tight schedule. Always doing something.

You were the opposite.

You were raised in comfort, you went on with your days with no schedule. Sure, you were constantly busy with your activities and friends, but it was nothing compared to what Damian and the others had to do.So when he met you, he didn't think you were worthy.

He thought you were weak, just someone freeloading off his father's money.

He saw how others treated you and followed suit.

He saw how Bruce only interacted with you when you needed money, so he assumed you only wanted him for his money.

He saw how you would ask Dick to hang out only for him to never follow through, so he assumed you were just bored and he was your last option.

He saw the way Jason would avoid you and get mad at you over the slightest things and assumed you did something wrong in the past to get him mad.

He saw the way Tim would put in his earbuds as soon as you started to walk up to him, so he assumed you were annoying everyone and didn't care.

He always assumed.

He noticed how you and he were totally different, you wouldn't last a day in a life of his.

He noticed how you were somehow always coming home with bruises and slight injuries but never paid any mind to it.

You guys were completely different.You were gentle.

You were nice.

You weren't afraid to ask for help.

You didn't mind having a spotlight on you.

You were patient.

You were welcoming.

Sure, you guys were totally different, but opposites do attract. Maybe you're so meant to be, just you and him.

Alfred was confusing to you.

Sure, he took care of you, but you could tell it was more out of pity than anything.

He would never defend you or tell the others to just look at you, for once!

He would always defend your family when you complained about them, even though you had complete reasons to ignore them!

You learned to stop telling Alfred about your day.

You learned that even though he would show up to your events sometimes, you knew it was more out of obligation than anything.

oof this was bad

taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!):@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213 @sirenetheblogger @awawage @holybatflapexpert @vanessa-boo @ryuushou

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝?

a/n: parts of this (especially when it comes to the red room) are inaccurate/not canon compliant; either because of plot reasons or simply because i don't know better lol

summary: you and nat meet in the red room — years later, you reunite. named after the taylor swift song, but not really based on it. just thought it's fitting as the title

warnings: implied sexual contents, abuse, trauma, forced hysterectomy, descriptions of blood (brief); as always — if you notice anything else, tell me!

word count: 15.7k (yes, this is a long one, but i didn’t want to start another series)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

You're 12 when you meet her again.

Blood under fingernails and girls huddled together in a dark room. Dirt on cheeks, thin clothes, the air way too chilly for a November night.

Natasha's back. Again.

A mission in Ohio had made her believe in something entirely too good to be true. A fantasy, a pipe dream.

Family, warmth, safety. None of it real, all of it temporary. She allowed herself to sink into the feeling anyway and, foolishly, got used to it.

She should've known it'd end eventually. Part of her didn't want to believe it, though. And now she's back here, being delivered to the Red Room. They drag the girls out separately before moving them inside. When the doors open once more, she clings to Yelena. Her sister's body shakes violently.

This is the moment where they part again.

When the girls walk into the dormitory, it's dead silent. Merely the quiet footsteps and the groaning of the door's hinges cut through the quiet of the night. Rows and rows of bunk beds accommodate two dozen girls, covered by threadbare blankets. They barely stir — at this point, they're too used to this routine to care.

You, however, are awake. The door opening causes the dim glow of the hallway light to seep into the otherwise dark room, and you peek at the door. A handful of the girls, most of them ignoring you and heading straight for the few empty beds.

Only a pair of green eyes meets yours.

The first thing you notice is her blue hair. Then, you dare glancing at her face.

I know her, you think before looking away.

Bedsheets rustle. Natasha climbs into the spot above yours.

. . .

You should've known better than to step out of line.

The Red Room doesn't want you to show mercy, or take it easy on your opponents. It wants you cold and ruthless, not soft and sweet. If there's a gun in your hand, you shoot. If you have someone pinned to the ground, you deliver the final strike.

But you never, ever hesitate.

The instructors were furious. Not only did they haul you off the ground and shove you into the sensory deprivation room, but they also took away your food rations for the day.

The result?

Sitting in a cafeteria full of girls, who all have a tray of food in front of them. Bland chicken, overcooked vegetables, some bread. Dry, soggy, stale. Far from fine dining, but at least it'll fill their stomachs up about halfway.

You keep your eyes glued to the table in front of you, fingers drumming against your thighs.

Suddenly, a slice of bread is slid across the metal surface of the table. You look up, if only briefly, and meet the same pair of eyes you saw last night.

Natasha.

Your mouth opens, then you close it abruptly. No talking — you almost forgot about that rule. But she looks like she doesn't want you to thank her, either. Her face is stoic, apart from the ever so slightly furrowed eyebrows. She looks at her tray again, at the white piece of chicken, and cuts it in half.

You don't even think about what kind of risk she just took, as you're too hungry to focus on the do's and don't's of the Red Room. You just grab the bread and quickly eat it by tearing it into small pieces.

Somehow, no one notices.

"Thank you", you whisper that same night. No response comes from the bunk above yours.

. . .

Rustling of bedsheets and a bunk mate that won't stop tossing and turning.

Natasha glares at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest. The blanket is thin and worn, the room cold. Almost everyone else is asleep, at least judging by the quiet breathing and the silence of unmoving bodies.

Of course, everyone but the girl sleeping in the bed beneath hers.

It's been an hour since you started, and there's no sign of you stopping anytime soon. You're caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your body restless and your mind exhausted. The images in front of you keep switching between dream and reality.

Natasha shifts again, pressing her palms against her eyes. You have training in the early morning, and if she isn't well-rested, it could lead to mistakes. She really doesn't want to get punished.

Why won't you sleep?

A soft whimper makes her glance down at you. Your body jerks, your face buried in the pillow. Natasha pauses and watches your expressions. Is it a nightmare? It wouldn't be your first. God knows she's suffered from those before as well.

Another toss. Another turn.

She can't stand it any longer. It's the middle of the night and she needs to sleep.

The bed creaks underneath her when she sits up. She stays still for a moment to make sure she didn't wake anyone, then she slides off the top bunk and silently lands on her feet. Crouching down next to you, she places her hand on your shoulder.

"Hey...", she whispers, quietly but sharply, and then struggles. Your name. What was your name? "Wake up", she continues, not bothering with the formalities. "Wake up."

Her voice cuts through the mess in your mind, but you don't wake up. Your face scrunches up and you shake your head, hand fisting the sheets underneath you.

It's frustrating, how nothing seems to work. Whatever you're dreaming about seems to have a tight grip on you. Maybe she should leave you alone — but you're being loud, and she doesn't want anyone else to wake up. Not like this. Not over something so...human.

"Wake up", she repeats, shaking you. You suddenly jerk away, and for a moment, her breath catches. Eyes wide with alarm, the fear on your face raw and instinctual. Your body has tensed up, muscles coiled tight like a snake's. You want to recoil, but you manage to make out the features of the person in front of you.

Blue hair, green eyes.

First, confusion. Then, realization. You slump into the bedsheets again, exhaling shakily. Natasha watches. At this point, she's barely breathing. The look in your eyes reminded her of something — of her, of Yelena, of every girl who's woken up in this place.

"Goodness", you finally mumble, and her stoic facade cracks for the first time in days.

"You were loud", she states.

You blink at her, then close your eyes in exhaustion. "I woke you up?"

"No. Couldn't fall asleep to begin with."

"Because of me?"

Natasha shrugs, the loose fabric of the tank top hanging off her slender frame. "You kept tossing."

You shake your head and cover your face with your hands. This should be embarrassing, at least for most people, but you feel like you have bigger problems than accidentally keeping your bunk mate awake at night. Like the fact you have combat training early in the morning.

"Did any of the Madames notice?", you ask, voice muffled and tired.

Natasha hesitates and looks at the door. Locked, of course. A faint strip of light is visible through the narrow window at the top.

"No", she says. "Not that I saw."

You nod, body relaxing slightly with relief. If any of them had noticed, you'd be paying for it by now. Nightmares are seen as a weakness — which you, 12 years old and more reasonable than the adults in this place, realize doesn't make any sense. Not many people can control their dreams.

Natasha doesn't move right away. She stays crouched next to your bed, studying you. You peek at her through your fingers and her expression doesn't waver. After a moment, she exhales sharply through her nose and shakes her head.

"Go back to sleep", she whispers and gets up. She grabs the metal frame of the top bunk and steps on the ladder.

"Natasha?", you say.

Her shoulders stiffen. It's the first time you've said her name.

She doesn't respond or look at you, but she hesitates. For you, that's enough.

"...Thanks."

Again, no response. She swings herself up onto the top bunk and curls back into the sheets.

Your breaths slow down gradually. You fall asleep at the same time.

. . .

'Don't form bonds.' 'Don't get attached.' 'Don't let someone else make you soft.'

Those are rules you aren't sure you'll be able to follow.

Music pulses through the air, but your heartbeat is louder. It echoes in your ears like a drum as you struggle to keep your movements precise.

Ballet lessons in the Red Room aren't any less harsh than the other types of training you go through. It's intense, physically demanding, just as draining as everything else. There's no space for missteps — only perfection is tolerated.

Natasha is more tired than usual. She's skilled, more so than most of the girls who've ever stepped into this place, but above all, she's human.

Sweat over her eyebrows, movements stiff but practiced. Pirouettes that get shakier with each repetition. When she stumbles, it doesn't take much thinking for you to reach out and steady her. She freezes under your touch. Her eyes flicker to yours, in them a mixture of confusion and something else. It's only there for a split second, but you notice anyway.

You quickly pull your hand away from her back. The warmth of her lingers on your fingertips.

"Sorry", you mumble. "I just- I didn't mean to-"

You don't get much further, as one of the instructors grabs you and yanks you away from her. She barks something in Russian — no touching, no helping, do you want to get punished? This will have consequences.

You don't resist as she drags you away from the others.

Natasha doesn't move, doesn't react. She just stands there as you're pulled away, her expression carefully blank.

You know better than to look back at her, but you feel her eyes on you. Watching, calculating, trying to figure out something she isn't sure exists.

The punishments of the Red Room never happen immediately. They stretch across the next hours (and sometimes days), they linger, they let this feeling of imminent doom hover in the air like a silent threat.

Again, a dark room. Something spiky they make you kneel on. Later, a corner in the cafeteria. Your back faces the other girls, who are eating silently. Nobody dares to look at you. Nobody but Natasha.

When you return to the dormitory that night, exhaustion has settled in your bones like a weight. You don't expect anything from anyone. Certainly not from her, who still looked at you with that cold detachment in her eyes.

But when you lift your blanket, you find something wrapped into a napkin. Half an apple, turning brown around the edges already. Still, it's something.

Your fingers brush over the fruit, then you slip it under your pillow. You look up and see Natasha's back. She doesn't turn, doesn't speak, and you don't, either.

Eventually, you lie down and eat the apple in silence.

Nothing seems to change, but somehow, everything does.

. . .

A room that smells like sweat and metal. Your feet hit the ground, the sharp sound echoing through the room. The Madames and the other girls stand in a circle around you, watching you like hawks. If you falter, you get punished.

You've sparred against Natasha before, but it was never like this. There's a tension between you now, a silent understanding that's lead to a delicate truce.

You don't want to hurt anyone in this room, but you especially don't want to hurt the blue-haired girl in front of you. The bunk bed would feel utterly lonely without her, even if your interactions have been limited.

However, this is the Red Room. Any fight here is brutal.

Fists, kicks, blocks, dodges. She delivers a strike to your face, and you retaliate quickly. Movements become quicker and blur together. You block a punch, and the impact sends a jolt up your arm.

Another kick, which you dodge. But your feet slide across the floor and you lose a fraction of balance. Natasha's eyes flash — she's fast. The fight turns into blocking and countering, both of you trying to get the upper hand.

She steps forward again and you push back harder. Your movements are almost mindless at this point — that is, until a soft gasp makes you pause.

Natasha touches her bottom lip, which is now split in half. Blood drips down her chin.

You freeze for a moment. There it is. The line you crossed.

"Sorry", you immediately say, lifting your shaky hand. Panic starts to pulse through your veins. "Natasha, I didn't-"

But Natasha doesn't say anything. She doesn't look angry, either. She looks...resigned. She wipes her swollen lip with the back of her hand and glances at the smudge of blood.

She looks back up at you, eyes narrowed slightly as if she's expecting something else. You want to take a step closer, comfort her, apologize until your mouth goes numb, but one of the Madames' voices cuts through the air.

"Enough!"

Startled, you take a step back. It's just in time for the woman to grab both your arms and start dragging you out of the room. You stumble after her, not entirely sure where you'll end up.

"You will both learn", she hisses, pushing open a door, "that hesitation is a weakness."

Snow, freezing cold. The air immediately seeps through your clothes and into your skin. The woman pushes you both onto your knees and ties your hands together behind your back, then she leaves again.

After what feels like an eternity of silence, you dare glancing at Natasha.

Nothing. She stares at the brick wall in front of her, jaw set stubbornly, nose red from the icy air. Her lip keeps bleeding, the blood drying on her chin.

You turn away again and close your eyes. Your fingers turn numb within minutes. Your shins, buried in the snow, first burn before losing sensation as well. Your body goes stiff.

The Red Room teaches endurance, but that doesn't change the fact that your body — young, small — is not built to withstand this kind of extreme weather. The Russian winter has a way of humbling you.

You try to shift, but the rope cutting into your wrists makes it difficult. What's almost worse than all of this is the silence between you and Natasha.

You look at her again. She's always been a hardheaded thing. Tough shell, hard to break. You've seen cracks in it, but barely.

"You're bleeding", you murmur, eyes fixed on the clump of blood on her chin.

"Stop talking", she replies. She says it like it doesn't matter, like it isn't worth the effort. But you notice the way her fingers curl. She's cold, too. It's gnawing at her just like the pain and the never ending hunger.

You shift again and almost lose your balance. Natasha quickly moves her upper body to try and steady you with her shoulder.

"Careful. You don't want to lie in the snow, I can tell you that much."

You nod and exhale, the air making your lungs freeze. She's right. If you topple over, there will be no way for you to get back up. It'd be the quickest way to a lung infection or hypothermia, if that isn't happening already.

"About earlier", you say, struggling. Your breath comes out in puffs. "I'm sorry."

Natasha shakes her head. She knows the rules. She knows you need to follow them.

"Stop apologizing.”

"I didn't mean to-"

"I told you to stop", she says flatly. Her green eyes meet yours. The wind tousles her blue hair, the individual strands fluttering. "It's not like you have a choice, do you?"

No. You certainly don't.

By the time you make it back into the dormitory, you feel like a human snowman. Your skin is raw from the cold and your entire body is sore from the punishment.

No dinner for you tonight, which would usually mean an aching stomach. Tonight, however, you have different issues.

The room is dark and silent, save for the almost inaudible breaths of the other girls. They're curled up beneath the blankets already, getting what little rest this place provides.

You fumble with the ties around your wrists, your fingers stiff and useless. Your grasp keeps slipping, your mind is spinning. You're still freezing.

Next to you, Natasha pulls hers loose first. You glance at her and frown, determined to get the knots free. It's a difficult task, considering your hands are behind your back, but she managed to do it — why shouldn't you be able to, as well?

Another beat passes. You're still struggling when you feel her move closer. Then, a sharp tug and your wrists are free.

You turn around, but Natasha is climbing the ladder to the top bunk already. You don't thank her this time. You just lay down and close your eyes to try and fall asleep.

The blanket on your bed offers little comfort. The cold has settled in your bones, deep and unyielding, and you keep shivering. You shift, shiver, shift again. Your bedsheets rustle. Toss and turn. Shift again.

A long exhale from the bunk above yours. A pause.

"Stop moving."

You huff quietly and glare at the mattress above you, even if Natasha can't see it. You lift your foot and lightly kick the spot where you assume her back should be.

"Quit that!"

"I'm cold", you whisper.

"News flash: so am I."

You hesitate, then slide off the bed. Your joints protest as you make your way up the ladder. You reach the top and see Natasha, turned away from you so she's facing the wall. You hesitate again. Then, you move under the blanket with her.

Bodies curled inwards to preserve warmth, neither of you speak. You're still cold, but it's not as harsh and lonely now. What you're feeling is a sort of comfort you've been missing for years.

You bury your face against her bony shoulder. She sighs, barely audible, but shifts to be closer to you.

"Don't make this a habit."

You'll make it a habit.

. . .

Natasha glances at you during lunch. She listens to you breathe at night. She keeps an eye on you during training.

You go on missions together. You exchange looks and faint smiles. You let each other believe you aren't alone.

Maybe you actually aren't alone anymore, either. For the first time in years, it feels like you aren't.

Something like affection builds between the two of you, as childlike and innocent as the Red Room allows it to be. It's fragile, as everything that grows in this environment is, but it's there.

You don't talk much, but words aren't necessary. A glance across the table of the cafeteria. A nod before training. Watching each other's backs. She covers for your mistakes, and you cover for hers. If one of you gets punished, usually so does the other.

You learn the rhythm of each other's footsteps and the way you move when you fight. You learn how to make it look like you're not holding back, while simultaneously making sure never to hurt the other. You'd only end up splitting her lip one more time.

At night, she doesn't ask questions when you wake up from a nightmare. Instead she just scoots and makes space, anticipating your arrival. You climb the ladder without fail each time.

It's the same blanket as yours, the same pillow. Somehow, it feels warmer. You curl into her like a cat and tuck your face against her shoulder. It's beyond you how you never get caught, but you don't dare question this wonderful, reoccurring fluke.

Again, the Red Room is still a harsh environment. Beautiful things don't thrive here. Innocence doesn't thrive here. There's no room for softness, either — but somehow, you carve out a space for it anyway.

. . .

You're 15 when you realize that she means more to you than any person in this place should.

Two years have passed. Maybe three.

You're not really sure. The Red Room makes time seem like something fluid, something inconsistent.

When you look in the mirror in the shared bathroom, you can't pinpoint the exact differences. But something is different — you're taller, your hair longer (that is, before they cut it off again), your face still young but sharper.

What really shows you that time has passed is Natasha.

Before her, you never bothered to pay enough attention to someone to notice the changes that occur over the months and years. But with her? You can basically see her grow. It's a slow process, obviously, but it's there. It's graspable, real, how her hair is growing out and how she's suddenly grown — she's still smaller than you, but at least she's almost on eye level with you now.

Despite all that, time doesn't feel real in the Red Room. It slips through your fingers like sand, but it also stretches out endlessly. Days blur together, hours feel like they last an eternity. In the middle of it all, something shifts between you and Natasha.

The distance between you shrinks. It's barely perceptible at this point. There's no specific label for it, not yet at least. You're too young, too busy with other things to really think about it, but what you once had has turned into something sweeter.

At night, you climb into her bunk. It's routine by now, not something dictated by whether you have a nightmare or not. She scoots to make space, and when you're under the covers with her, she presses into you to seek out warmth just like you do.

And then, there are moments that catch you off-guard.

A glance that lingers. A knee that rests against yours, neither of you moving away. A hand brushing against your back during ballet.

The way her voice suddenly sounds softer when murmuring "goodnight". The way the detached look on her face disappears when looking at you. The way your heart rabbits in your chest.

Maybe you should've expected it.

You don't.

It happens at night, when everyone is asleep. You're wrapped into her blanket, the one that barely shields you from the cold. You both shift, though it's not clear why — maybe to adjust the blanket, or to get into a more comfortable position. Either way, it doesn't matter.

Natasha's head turns up the same moment you look at her. Her lips brush against yours.

It's everything and nothing at the same time.

A brief, clumsy contact, but an undeniable one. It awakens a swarm of butterflies in her stomach and makes your fingers tremble. You're both frozen for a moment. Face warm and red with something like shame and realization, you glance up at her.

"Shit", she mumbles.

"Yeah." You swallow, trying to catch her gaze. She keeps staring at whatever's right next to your shoulder. "I think that was my first kiss", you add dumbly.

"You're counting this as a kiss?"

You shrug, slightly confused. "What else could it be?"

No answer. Natasha chews on her bottom lip, trying to make the fluttery feeling in her stomach go away. It's annoying, how intense it is. She's never felt it before, and now that it's here, she can't get rid of it.

Her eyes meet yours again. Neither of you know what you're doing, but that's fine.

Her breath fans against your cheek when she exhales. It's almost a sigh. Then, she leans in again.

This time, it definitely is a kiss.

. . .

Cocooned in the warmth of her bed, the world around you suddenly doesn't seem to exist anymore.

You forget about the scars and bruises that litter both of your bodies (though that doesn't stop you from tracing each new bandage with your fingers, your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip between your teeth, even if Natasha keeps insisting she's fine). You forget about what waits for you in the mornings and what upset you in the evenings. You forget about the dried blood on your pillow, about the upcoming missions, about everything but her.

In the middle of pain and torture, you've found purpose.

At night, you climb into Natasha's bed. Sometimes, she climbs into yours.

You start to talk more. You find out things you can tell she kept secret until now.

Losing your family is something every girl in the Red Room has gone through. Natasha, however, lost two families.

She doesn't remember the first time, but the second time is burned into her mind. It haunts her when she's alone, when it's silent. When the lights turn off and she suddenly remembers being in that container again, when a girl crying sounds a little too much like her sister.

Yelena. She mumbles the name against your shoulder, her eyes closed. Unsure what to say, you lift your hand and brush her hair away from her face. Once blue, now red with blue ends.

"Younger than you?", you ask, your voice a whisper. You heard someone stir earlier, and you don't want to risk anyone waking up to you cuddled up like this. They probably wouldn't tell on you, but you're still cautious. You're young, but you know to protect what's close to your heart.

"She was six", she says, struggling. "I couldn't help her."

You close your eyes. You smell her scent, all soap and cotton, and nudge her forehead with your nose.

"Not your fault."

"She was a kid. A baby, basically."

"We're not much older."

Natasha stays quiet for a moment. She sounds helpless when she speaks again.

"I lost her."

There's not much you can say in that moment. Maybe you don't need to say anything, either. Maybe Natasha just needs you to be there — which you are.

You let your lips brush against her forehead. Your fingers ghost over her wrist, feeling the pulse beneath. Fast, steady. Most importantly: alive.

Her fingers curl around your hand, then squeeze gently. Barely there, but it means more than she could ever know.

"You didn't lose everything", you mumble, intertwining your fingers with hers. You're each other's anchor, even in a place like this. Especially in a place like this, maybe. "We'll find her."

We.

Natasha looks at you. Her chin tilts upward and she kisses you, lips warm and minty like toothpaste.

. . .

You feel the illness long before it really hits you.

It's nothing dramatic. A simple flu, complete with a fever, a cough, a runny nose. But your skull is pounding and your muscles aching, and when you open your eyes in the morning, you feel like you were hit by a truck.

It's still dark in the dormitory. Outside, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon, but you can't see it thanks to the lack of windows. You groan when a shiver racks through you, your throat sore and burning.

Natasha leans over the edge of her bunk bed. She left the feverish warmth of your bed as soon as she noticed your discomfort. It's the first time in two years that she didn't sleep by your side.

"Y/N?"

You look at her, then close your eyes again. This can't be happening. Being sick in the Red Room is one of the worst possible misfortunes that can happen. Rest is not an option here — not really, anyway. They grant you two days to get better, and if you still feel ill afterwards?

Tough luck. You have to push through.

Natasha doesn't say anything at first, but she watches. Her eyebrows furrow with worry when you sit up, clearly dizzy. With one, swift movement, she's jumped off the bed and landed on her feet silently.

Her hands grab your shoulders and steer you back to bed.

"Nat", you mumble dismissively, voice muffled.

"Sit down", she says, pushing you onto your butt. You sit and sneeze. "Bless you. Now stay in bed."

"We have training-"

"You get two days off", she reminds you. "You need to rest."

You scoff and cross your arms. Natasha leans in and presses the back of her hand against your forehead. You don't need her to tell you to know you're burning up, but the way her expression shifts tells you anyway.

"Lay down", she murmurs.

You look at her, sighing. "Come on."

Her face, for the first time ever, turns pleading. "Lay down. Rest. You can't push yourself too hard."

After another moment of hesitation, you lay down. Natasha tucks you in, her hands lingering.

At night, you drift in and out of sleep. Natasha is sitting next to you, legs crossed. You're too dazed to pay attention to your surroundings, but you hear the faint clicking of metal and her soft, muttered curses when her hand slips.

The hex nut is slippery and small between her sweaty fingers. She slides off the mattress and sits on the cold floor, where she uses the concrete floor to smooth the edges. She's completely focused, shutting everything else out. Tongue poking out between her teeth, eyes slightly narrowed to be able to see in the darkness. Behind her, you roll over and sniffle.

Natasha turns. You barely manage to make out her features in the pitch black of the room.

You want to say something, but sleep catches up again. Cheeks rosy and slick with sweat, baby hairs sticking to your forehead, you close your eyes. Almost lost in the haze of fever and half-sleep, you can feel her fingertips brush over your temple. When she pulls away, the absence of her touch nearly manages to wake you.

You let out a sleepy huff and relax into the sheets again. Natasha picks up the hex nut and keeps filing the sharp edges.

Every night, she sits with you like this. Working quietly, diligently, until you're feeling better again.

. . .

You're 17 when you realize you're in love.

Black Widows don't have a future.

At least not the kind of future other people expect for themselves. Normal people. The ones with nine to five jobs and two kids, dogs and cats, cars in suburbs and nights out in the city. The ones who have a choice. The ones who aren't completely, utterly messed up.

It's nice to fantasize, anyway. Whether it's empty beaches or bustling cities, small cottages or mansions so big they make the Red Room seem tiny — you like escaping from reality now and then. You like allowing yourself to be delusional, to pretend you actually have an influence on how your life will go.

How will it end? You can't know that yet. But you hope it'll be at least a little more like the outcomes your mind produces late at night, when you have Natasha tucked against your chest.

She fantasizes with you. You like her fantasies, her dreams and desires, more than your own.

Though, there isn't a particular thing she wishes for. She only wants to get out of this hellhole with you.

"We will", you assure her. You're on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling you can barely see. Natasha is a warm, grounding weight on your chest you don't ever want to miss. "Even if the outside world scares me."

"More than this place?"

An unnecessary question, and you both know it.

"No." You feel her lips brush against your collarbone. "I suppose it scares me in a good way."

"Idiot", she mumbles. The affection in her voice is louder than what she said. "I suppose. Who talks like that?"

"You're mean, you know", you mutter and pinch her side. She bites your collarbone to stop herself from letting out a noise. "Ow!"

"You pinched me!", she says, her words a whisper. You scoff and lean in to kiss the grin off her face. "That doesn't work on me."

"It works on me."

"You're just looking for an excuse to kiss me."

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't."

Natasha's lips quirk into a smile. You know that because you feel it against your mouth — the subtle curve of her lips, the way her breath puffs out in amusement, her nose brushing against yours. You taste her happiness and crave more.

"I'm glad you're you", she whispers, "but I don't need your crab claws all over my skin."

You don't say anything. You huff softly, your hand reaching up to brush some hair out of her face. Natasha stills, her eyes studying you in the dead of night. You can feel the thoughts form in her brain and radiate from her, and you swallow. Her full lips part. Her voice is the only sound in the room, the only sound that ever mattered.

"I love you, you know."

Simple, quiet, to the point. For a moment, you don't respond. Not because you don't feel anything, but because you feel too much.

"I love you too", you then whisper back. Words you haven't said that many times, but the second you utter them, you know you mean it. You've meant it for a while.

She smiles and leans in, forehead pressed against yours cheek. Her breath is hot on your skin. Then she shifts to adjust herself, and you feel her face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms around her and roll over so she's tucked between you and the wall.

"Now go to sleep before you start crying or something", she mumbles. You scoff and kiss her temple. "I mean it."

"I'm not going to cry." You run your hand under her top and feel her warm skin. You feel the scars, the little bumps and ridges, the imperfections marring her skin, and quietly decide that with Natasha, imperfections don't exist. "You know, we'll get there one day."

"Where?"

"There. We'll get out, and- and we'll do everything we're told we can't."

Her eyelashes brush against your skin. Her hand fists the back of your tank top. "You're talking nonsense."

"I mean it."

A pause. The room is silent and dark, save for the quiet breathing of the other girls. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and hesitant.

"What would we do?”

You're not really sure. All you know is that, somewhere in this picture of possibilities and risks and fears, Natasha is there as well.

"Anything. Everything."

. . .

You're 18 when Natasha starts to slip away.

There is a day that all girls in the Red Room fear. Nobody really knows what happens. There is no announcement, no explanation.

The girls who leave seldomly return. If they do, they're different — sharper, but also sadder. Like even that little bit of light they had got drained out of them.

It's lunchtime. You're all gathered at the long tables, with trays in front of you.

You've had a bad feeling all morning long. From the moment you untangled yourself from Natasha, to the second you stepped into the cafeteria. It's heavy, nauseating, resting in your stomach like a weight you can't get rid of.

She seems different, too. Withdrawn, defeated. You watch her fingers trace the edge of her tray, her mind elsewhere.

You aren't sure what's going on until her name is suddenly called.

"Romanoff."

The entire room goes silent. She hesitates for what can only be a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Her chair screeches as she pushes it back. Your hand reaches out automatically, then you retract it as if you got burned. Part of you wants to jump in and stop her, tell her to stay, but you can't. No one can.

She doesn't look at you as she turns around and leaves.

You don't see her for days.

It's late in the evening when she returns. Nothing is the same anymore.

She doesn't speak, doesn't look at you. She curls into your side and puts her head on your chest. Her eyes stay open.

Concern washes over you. You dare looking down at her, at her top that has ridden up, and you feel something sour rise in your throat.

There's a bandage around her lower stomach, stained with dried blood.

You've seen many injuries in your life before — cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds — but this is different. This is deliberate, meant to keep her under control. You don't have to ask what it is.

The Red Room doesn't take kindness into account. It doesn't care about pain, grief, trauma. It doesn't care about futures stolen before they could even begin. Futures that may have never happened in the first place.

You wrap your arms around her and carefully pull her closer. You feel something warm and wet against your neck, slowly soaking into the fabric of your tank top. You don't say anything, because what are you supposed to say, anyway? That you're sorry? That you wish you could take her pain away? That this doesn't change who she is?

It doesn't change who she is. She's Natasha. But it still changes so much.

The damp area of your shirt grows warmer and larger. Her nose presses against your collarbone. You want to reassure her, comfort her, but you're not sure how. Nothing is going to give her back what was taken.

You bury your face in her hair and breathe in her scent. Soap, metal, something unmistakably her.

Her breath hitches. You can feel her suppress her sobs, making herself smaller. Her fingers twitch against your ribs, restless, not sure what to do. You're not sure, either.

Then, a sound. Small, pained, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

"I don't feel real."

Some experiences haunt you for a lifetime.

. . .

You aren't aware of your lasts when they happen — your last kiss, your last 'I love you'. It isn't something you get to cherish, because you foolishly assume it'd happen again.

It won't. You just don't know yet.

The night before, she's in your bed. The scar on her lower stomach has healed by now. The next morning, she'll leave for a mission. Budapest, Hungary.

She doesn't want to go. It's always the same — violent, bloody, scary. At least she'll get out of the Red Room's confinements for a few days, which is the only upside she can think of.

You don't sleep much that night. Neither does she.

Her hands slide under your shirt, up to your ribcage. Fingertips trace your skin repeatedly, mapping out scars and ribs and birthmarks. She memorized the feel of you years ago. At this point, doing this is mere comfort. It's a quiet assurance that, no matter what, some things don't change.

Oh, how wrong she is.

"It's just a few days", you murmur. You can sense the anxiety radiating from her. It's not funny — obviously not —, but there's something ironic about someone as strong and resilient as Natasha being nervous about a mission. You both know that being in the Red Room is worse in many ways.

Maybe it's returning to the Red Room that worries her. Or not returning. Or always having to return. A never-ending cycle, perhaps.

"It's not about how long I'll be gone."

"I know."

Natasha looks up. Her eyes are exhausted, full of that same resignation you've been carrying for years.

"Then why'd you say it?", she asks.

You don't have an answer to that. Instead, you cup her face and kiss her. Not urgently, not desperately. Soft, slow, familiar like the feeling of your heartbeat under her fingertips.

By the time you wake up, she's gone. You won't see her again for years.

. . .

You're 31 when you get out.

Morocco's air is hot and full of dust. Yelena and you jump out of the window and land next to a woman. She turns and spots you, immediately going for an attack. You dodge her and wrap your arm around her neck. As she starts gasping, you see the vial, filled with red gas, in her hand.

"No!", she wheezes as you tighten your grip. Somehow, she manages to break the glass open right when Yelena stabs her. The powder spreads in the air and enters your airways and eyes, so you start coughing and let go of her — and the control that Dreykov had over you starts to fade.

For the first time in an eternity, you're yourself again. Or a version of yourself. You're not too sure. All you know is that the grip on your mind, your body, has disappeared. The thick haze through which you've been seeing life gets thinner and weaker.

Next to you, Yelena sneezes. You're too overwhelmed to react to that.

"What- what happened?", you stammer, letting go of the woman. Her limp body drops to the floor. "Fuck, did we kill her?"

"That...was that an antidote?" Yelena scrubs her hand down her dust-caked face. "Shit."

Confused, you start turning around to look at your surroundings. Right, Morocco. The mission. You remember getting here, but you also don't remember anything. Your memories don't seem to be your own. But they have to be, right?

Probably. You're not sure, though. Being freed from the Red Room's mind control is an odd sensation, and there are way too many things you're supposed to focus on.

You feel freedom. But it doesn't feel like you thought it would. You're...you. Just you. Suddenly, other parts of you have disappeared — parts that weren't yours in the first place, parts that they implemented in you.

Implement. They also implemented a gps-tracker. You grab a small blade and slice open your thighs to remove the small chips. You wipe your hands on your suit and get up, eyes scanning the area. For now, you're alone.

"We need to leave", Yelena says, throwing the trackers on the ground and crushing them with the sole of her boot.

"But Oksana..." You swallow as you glance at the woman lying on the dirty ground. "She helped us."

"She won't make it, Y/N", she says. "Seriously. If we don't leave now, they'll find us."

You give her a hesitant look, but Yelena looks resolute. She's about as stubborn as her older sister.

"Come on", she urges you, grabbing your arm. Her touch burns — you don't know how long it's been since you consciously felt another person's touch. You want to protest, to stay and see if Oksana's case really is as hopeless as Yelena is saying, but she keeps tugging you through the streets and into a dark alley.

A motorbike, flying down Morocco's roads. No idea where Yelena got that thing from — she suddenly made you sit on it without offering much of an explanation —, but you assume she stole it.

Wind that stings your face, whipping against your skin like punishment. You take a breath and taste dust. You cough and tighten your arms around her waist, quietly praying you won't fall and break your neck. Dying right after escaping from the Red Room would have to be the most embarrassing thing to happen in your life so far.

About an hour passes. The city flies past you, blurring like the thoughts in your head.

Yelena grips the handlebars harder and takes a sharp turn. You let out an undignified noise and bury your face against her shoulder.

"сука!", she curses when a guy, also on a motorbike, almost crashes into you. "Ah, fuck. They drive like lunatics around here."

"Are you kidding?!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She cackles and stops in front of a gas station. You both hop off the motorbike, your legs shaking like jelly. You lean against the gas pump and groan. "Come on, that was nothing!"

"Screw you." You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand and sigh, glancing at your surroundings.

A gas station, tucked between two buildings with flickering neon signs. You smell gasoline, sweat (probably stemming from you and Yelena — you really need a shower), grilled meat coming from the stall across the street. A stray cat slinks past you, briefly looking up before losing interest. The only noise comes from a few cars passing by and a group of men loitering by their cars, laughing and talking rapidly.

Beyond the station, the road stretches into darkness. No Red Room agents, no looming threats—just empty space. It's peaceful out here, at least judging by what you can see and hear. But the paranoia lingers. You glance over your shoulder, waiting for something — someone — to come after you.

Yelena nudges your side. "Zoning out?"

"What?...no, I'm fine."

"Well, good. We still need to get some supplies." She jerks her chin toward the station and starts walking. "Chop chop!"

You sigh again, but ultimately follow her inside. Your days in the Red Room seem to be over, but peace isn't something you'll get acquainted with soon.

. . .

You awaken with a pained groan. Sunlight blinds you, so you turn your head only to be met with the sight of Yelena. She's not the most graceful sleeper — mouth agape, one leg hanging off the bed, her hand twitching in her sleep. But you're happy she's here, that you're not alone in this unfamiliar place.

You get up and stretch. The wound on your thigh stings as you step toward the window and look outside.

Early morning in Budapest is quiet but not silent. It's calm in a way you aren't used to. You still haven't gotten used to the fact you can sleep in (other than the woman snoring like a freight train), or that you can just go outside and buy bread. Or walk around the block. Maybe step into the park.

Because you're not used to it, you also don't do it. You're inside most of the time, only leaving the safe house when it's necessary. And even then you carry a gun with you, loaded and hidden under your jacket. It's a steady weight, providing you with a sense of safety. You're telling yourself it's a precaution, but deep down, you know better. The Red Room still has a grip on you.

Behind you, Yelena shifts and mumbles something in her sleep. Then, a sigh. A grunt.

You turn around and look at her. She peeks at you and rolls over so the sun isn't shining on her face anymore.

"Blinds", she mutters.

"Sorry", you say, closing the blinds. "Not going to get up?"

"I'm not crazy like you. But if you're up, you might as well make coffee."

You roll your eyes, but nod and put on your sweatshirt before padding into the kitchen. Right as you're grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge, you hear someone fiddle with the lock of the apartment's front door.

You freeze.

Yelena may be lazy in the mornings, but she's not careless. Only you and her have access to this apartment.

The lock clicks. The door creaks open. Your hand instinctively touches your side, but you left your gun in the bedroom.

Steps, almost silent. Whoever it is, they're moving with the stealth of a cat. Only one person springs to mind, but your brain quickly pushes the thought away. Instead, you press yourself against the fridge.

You didn't expect them to find you yet. You found a spot that's well hidden, secure, thinking it'd grant you at least a few weeks to figure out what comes next. In the end, it's someone you never expected to see again.

A shadow appears in the doorway. When you look up, your eyes meet the ones you used to know like your own reflection.

They're the same. Time has had an impact on both of you, but her eyes? They never changed.

The bottle drops from your hand. Glass shatters, milk spills everywhere. But Natasha doesn't flinch. In fact, neither of you move.

You stare at her, trying to convince yourself this isn't real. That this is a dream, or she's a ghost, or maybe both. When you realize that's not the case, you silently start begging for her to leave again. Leave like she did last time, and never return.

She abandoned you in the Red Room. There's no room for sympathy here — but she stays anyway. It feels like no time has passed, even if that's definitely not the case. Time has passed. Years, decades.

Finally, her eyes flick down to the milk seeping across the floor, curling around the shards of glass.

"What a waste", she says, almost quietly. Her voice is soft enough to infuriate you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?", you snap, stepping away from the fridge. She doesn't react, doesn't budge. Truthfully, you didn't expect anything else from a woman that's able to stay calm even while defusing bombs and hunting literal aliens.

"I could ask you the same thing", she says, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. You back away and bump against the fridge again, but it's just a few pictures. On them? Two little girls, one blonde and the other blue-haired. "You sent me this."

You let out a humorless laugh, but it's tinged with pain. Your eyes stay glued to the simple images that managed to revive decades old feelings. Feelings that should be long buried.

"I didn't send you shit. You thought I'd contact you?"

"Someone", she says sharply, "sent me this. It led me here. So it was either you, or-"

"Morning", Yelena says, yawning and stretching as she enters the kitchen. She steps over the puddle. "Who the fuck is yelling this early in the morning? Also, someone dropped milk." She looks at Natasha and raises her eyebrows. "Oh, finally. Took you long enough. You're slacking."

"You sent those?", she asks, crossing her arms.

"Huh?" Yelena leans over to peek at the pictures. "Oh, yes. Right."

"Why?", you snap. Yelena gives you a surprised look.

"What, 'why'?"

"Why'd you send those", Natasha says, sliding the pictures toward her. Then, she grabs a bundle of vials and puts them on the table. "This, too."

"Oh, right", she says, sitting on the counter. She stirs the cup of coffee in her hand and takes a careful sip. "Because of the Red Room, you know. So we'll go take it down."

"You...what?"

"What are you talking about?", Natasha says, frowning. "The Red Room is gone."

Two heads whip around at the same time to stare at her. Her words, simple as they may be, make your heart pound. But she truly seems to believe what she just said.

"Are you kidding?", you say, your voice rising. "Gone? Don't tell me you really believe that."

"Dreykov's dead", she says, frowning. "I killed him years ago."

"Ha! She really believes that." Yelena jumps up and avoids the shards to reach for the vials. "This is an antidote, you know. For mind control."

Natasha shakes her head. She didn't expect to find you here; she thought it'd be just Yelena. It'd be easier if it was just her sister. She knows how to deal with her. But you? God, it's hard when it comes to you.

When she ran from her past, she ran from you. Now she has to confront the one person who, at some point in time, wasn't only her past — but her entire future.

"Dreykov is alive", you say quietly, looking away from her. You saw the expression on her face, and it's too much to handle in that moment. "You really think he'd let anyone kill him?"

"Killing him was part of my defection to SHIELD", Natasha says stubbornly. She still sounds convinced. "It took destroying almost the entire city to get to him."

Yelena pours some vodka into her coffee. When you glance at her, she shrugs. "We don't have any milk left." She turns to Natasha. "Did you confirm the kill? Check the body?"

Natasha takes a shot of vodka, her eyes tearing up slightly. You see the faint redness in them, the moisture that matches the one in your own eyes. You're both tearing up, but for different reasons. She bites the insides of her cheeks and lifts her chin in a defensive manner. "There was no body left to check.”

"He's not dead", she repeats. "Ask me, ask Y/N. We'd know."

They look at you. You shake your head, the heels of your hands pressed against your eyes, and blindly take a step forward. Glass cuts into your sole, but you ignore the sudden pain, the blood mixing with the spilled milk.

You need to get out of this room. You need to get away from Natasha, just like she got away from you.

. . .

In the morning, you leave. All three of you.

You're in the back of the car, refusing to do anything other than sit there and stare out the window. The tension in the small space is thick enough to be cut with a knife, but Yelena doesn't seem to notice that. She's never been particularly good at reading social cues, which is something she has in common with her sister.

"You two are so dramatic", she says after an eternity of silence. "I should've brought popcorn, you know."

At her words, Natasha makes a sharp turn. You brace yourself against the door and bite back a retort. Instead, neither of you reply.

Yelena yawns and stretches. She rolls her shoulders until her joints pop, then reaches over to turn on the radio. Natasha bats her hand away.

"Don't."

"It's boring."

"Yelena."

"I'll start singing." She clears her throat and then begins belting out an off-key rendition of some song. Natasha white-knuckles the steering wheel when Yelena's voice fills the car. She's doing this on purpose.

"Get her to shut up", you mutter, kicking the back of Natasha's seat.

She grits her teeth, not replying to you. Then, suddenly, she presses the small button on the radio. Static fills the car before settling on some station playing a song from the 90's you vaguely remember.

A mission in rural Russia. You and Natasha, 16 years old and curled together behind the dumpster of a bar. Soaking up the minutes left before returning to the place you're now about to go take down.

Natasha's gaze meets yours in the rear view mirror. It's just for a split second, but you both seem to soften.

. . .

You leave the city behind. Winding roads and open stretches of land replace it, the world eerily quiet in the dead of night. The car is silent, but only because Yelena has fallen asleep — head resting against the glass and mouth open, you're surprised she hasn't started drooling yet.

"How much longer?"

"A few more hours", Natasha mumbles, glancing at the fuel gauge. "We need gas."

She pulls up in front of a gas station and gets out. You stay in the back for a moment, watching her refuel the car, then unbuckle. It's cold outside, so much so that goosebumps form on your arms. You lean against the car and wait.

Natasha keeps a close eye on the fuel display, watching the numbers climb. She lets go of the handle as soon as it hits the right amount, shaking the nozzle to remove any excess fuel. She steps around the car and looks at you.

You hesitate before following her inside.

It's a typical gas station, with a bored looking clerk leaning against the counter and shelves half-stocked with dusty snack bags. Refrigerators full of soda and water bottles, some porn magazines, newspapers, souvenirs. You glance at a stuffed teddy bear that's wearing a shirt with the word 'Hungary' printed on the front.

Natasha grabs a bottle of water. When she notices you eyeing the shelves, she pauses before grabbing a second bottle and a protein bar. She holds them out to you and you hesitate once more, but then you take them.

Yelena is still asleep in the car. You sit on the curb and unscrew the bottle to take a few sips. You feel her presence as she sits next to you, see how she plucks a cigarette from her pocket, how she lights it but doesn't take a drag.

Silence used to be comfortable between the two of you. Now, it feels like an eternity of discomfort.

Plumes of smoke curl into the air as she finally takes a hit. You glance at her, briefly, but manage to catch her gaze. Wordlessly, she holds out the cigarette.

You inhale a lungful and stifle a choked cough. Natasha's lips twitch.

"Careful", she says.

"I'm not used to it."

"Might be for the better."

Natasha flicks ash off the tip before taking another puff. You glance at her and see everything that wasn't there the last time you saw her.

"You're an Avenger now", you state. She looks at you, but doesn't say anything. "Was it worth it? Leaving, I mean?"

She averts her eyes again. The cigarette falls to the ground and she presses it out with her boot.

"We're adults now", she says carefully. "There's no point in pretending. Y/N, I didn't have a choice. It was either leaving or dying in there."

You nod, fingers fiddling with the loose cap in your hands. "You left us to die instead."

No reply, no arguing back. Just silence and the hum of the cars as they pass by.

Finally, she turns around. Her fingers brush against yours, cold yet familiar, as she takes the cap from you. You look up only for the ache in your chest to increase.

"I would've come back", she says. "I didn't think you'd made it."

"Only 19 in 20."

"Yeah."

You study her in the dim light that's cast by the neon signs above you. Green, lighter than her eyes but not nearly as mesmerizing.

"I wanted to come back", she starts, glancing at the cap between her fingers. "I couldn't. Clint, he- he told me it'd be too risky. I couldn't afford going back there. Not after making it out."

"Clint?" It sounds like a question, but really, you know that name. Another Avenger.

She shakes her head in dismissal. "You'll meet him."

You tilt your head. I will?

"Point is", she says, glancing away again, "I didn't have a choice. Not really. By the time I did, it seemed like it was too late. I tried to find you, but I couldn't. It seemed impossible without directly confronting Dreykov, or someone close to him."

You nod, exhaling slowly. Trusting her still seems impossible, no matter how plausible her story may be. Being left behind like that leaves scars. Most of them haven't healed.

"The others were impressed", you mumble, tugging at your loose shoelaces until they come undone. "Jealous, but also impressed."

Natasha manages a bitter smile. "And you?"

You hesitate and let go of the shoelaces.

"I hated you for it", you admit. "At first. Now I get it, I guess. Which doesn't make it right. But you were trying to survive. We all were."

"It never stopped being about survival", she mumbles. "Not without you."

You swallow, eyes squeezing shut. You try to find an answer beneath all the layers of pain and anger, but you find nothing. Her words cut deeper than anything else she's said tonight.

You're pulled back to reality by Yelena stirring in the car. You turn around right as she lowers the window. Her tired voice cuts through the silent night, through the tension.

"You two better not be making out back there."

"We're not", Natasha calls. Despite the irritation in her voice, her lips curl into a tentative half-smile as she looks at you.

"Good. Let me know if you need a room or something."

"I'll kick you out of the car", Natasha says, unimpressed, and gets up. She holds out her hand and you take it, letting her pull you to your feet. The simple contact of skin on skin sends a familiar flurry of electricity through you. You ignore it as best as you can.

. . .

You're 32 when you take down the Red Room.

Somewhere between those moments in Hungary and the day you finally watch the place that stole your life go up in flames, you celebrate your birthday.

Truthfully, you have no idea what your actual birthday is — which is the case for most girls in the Red Room. It's a piece of information that's deliberately withheld from you, for whatever reason that may be. It's not that it'd be of importance, either. They don't celebrate your birthday. All you know is that you were born somewhere in the late days of summer.

Natasha used to celebrate with you. Handing you a piece of fruit or bread wrapped in a tissue, kissing your cheek, scooting closer. It only happened a handful of times, but every second of those nights is ingrained in your brain.

The motel you're at is rundown and small. It's unlike the ones you've seen so far, but it's not the worst, either. Considering your circumstances, you're happy with mold-free bathrooms and a somewhat clean bed.

You plop down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging, and untie your boots. Yelena is in the shower, leaving you alone with Natasha. She hasn't said a word since you got here.

When you're about to toe off your second boot, a rounded something wrapped in a paper napkin lands in your lap. You look up and are met with the sight of Natasha watching you.

"You know what day it is?", she asks.

You stare at her, caught off guard. "No?"

"Your birthday."

You hesitate and unwrap whatever she handed you. It's a small cupcake, crushed from being carried around. Vanilla, judging by the color of the frosting. "I don't have a birthday."

"Not true", she says, sitting on the bed next to you. The mattress dips, reminding you of nights in the Red Room. How the thin mattress would sink under her weight, announcing her arrival. How the first thing she'd do is press closer and seek the warmth you both craved. "Everyone has a birthday."

Touché. You brush your finger against the bottom of the cupcake, unsure what to say.

Natasha shifts, arms crossed and expression guarded.

"I didn't bake it", she states the obvious. "I found it at a gas station."

You let out a sound that's dangerously close to a laugh, inspecting the cupcake. "How did I not notice?"

"I made Yelena distract you."

This time, you let out an actual laugh. You peel back the wrapper and take a small bite. Dry, but yummy. A bit too sweet. Nice vanilla flavor, though. "Thank you."

You look at each other. Natasha hums, tentatively reaching out to brush a crumb from the corner of your mouth. It's a brief, light touch, but it makes you freeze. Silence suddenly fills the room.

"Happy birthday", she mumbles. She pulls back, arms crossed over her middle. You swallow and look at the cupcake again.

"Doesn't feel like much of a celebration."

"They didn't have balloons."

"Candles?"

"No."

You crack a smile and poke at the cupcake. "A song, maybe?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Not even for you. Sorry."

Something flickers in her expression, mirroring your own. Before you can address it, the bathroom door swings open. Yelena walks into the room, towel-drying her hair and humming to herself. When she sees you sitting so close on the bed, she stops and squints.

"What's going on?" Her gaze falls to the cupcake in your hand. "Hey, nobody told me we had cake!"

"It's not cake", you say. "It's-"

"A birthday cake?", she cuts in. "Oh my god. Whose birthday is it?"

"Cupcake", Natasha says, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"My birthday", you add, glancing at the woman next to you. "According to her."

"Oh. Well then..." Yelena saunters over and inspects the sweet treat. "That's pathetic. I could've stolen something way better for your birthday."

"You did steal something", Natasha reminds her. "Lollipops. A handful of them."

"Yes, but those were for me." Yelena lets out a long-suffering sigh and plops onto the second bed. She stretches her arms and legs and yawns. "Worst birthday ever."

You smile to yourself and lick some frosting off your finger. Everything else seems to fade, at least for a moment — your past, your history with Natasha, the Red Room. It's just you, a small motel room and people that maybe do care.

You take another bite.

"It's not so bad."

. . .

With the Red Room gone, you're free.

Yelena leaves with Melina and Alexei (who she, embarrassingly, introduced you as Natasha's Любовница to — it took you ten minutes to assure them you definitely aren't lovers); they're about to be useful and help the girls you freed from the Red Room.

Natasha lingers by your side as the three drive away. You glance at her, allowing yourself to study the facial features that have changed so much yet are still the same.

"So", she finally says, suddenly twirling a set of keys around her finger, "Любовница?"

You roll your eyes. "God, I hate you."

"Come on." She nudges you with her shoulder, then starts to walk without waiting to see if you'll follow.

You do. Maybe you always will.

You have no clue what to expect, following Natasha blindly like this.

It's been 14 years. A lot can change in over a decade of time.

Examples?

The cost of homes has doubled.

Gas prices have gone from $1.36 per gallon to $2.10 per gallon.

Instagram has replaced MySpace.

Somehow, Natasha stayed the same. Even the way she walks — long strides that you can barely keep up with — is familiar. Her little smile as she glances at you, the glint in her eyes that remained from her so-called childhood.

"You're always the same", you say as she sits in the driver's seat. "Everything's different, except you."

The engine roars to life, and the black SUV pulls out of the parking lot. Natasha focuses on the road, so much so that you start to believe she didn't hear you.

"Yeah?", she finally says, absently, and glances at you. "Is that a good thing?"

"I haven't decided yet", you mumble, tilting your head. She smiles faintly.

"I think it's good", she says. "If you're as perfect as me, why bother changing?"

You know she isn't being serious, but a part of you knows very well that, once upon a time, you'd have agreed with the sentiment. Natasha was the closest thing to perfection you knew. She exceeded whatever it is you two had back then. A foolish, naive thought only a teenager in love can have.

She didn't change. She's still brash, self-assured, always pretending she's got everything under control. But there's a weight to her now, something that's been there ever since her graduation ceremony in the Red Room.

"You're not invincible", you say quietly. "Even you've got your cracks."

Natasha hums, her gaze briefly flitting over to meet yours. "Cracks aren't always bad", she says. "Sometimes, they let light in."

"Sometimes, they make glass shatter."

For a long few seconds, she goes quiet. Then she sighs, and you hear the exasperation in her voice.

"Alright, Shakespeare", she mumbles.

You laugh, but it's an unconvincing sound. You're tired, exhausted actually. You want to sleep. You want to rest. You want answers, but you also want to drown the whole world out. You want to cling to the one familiar feeling you know, but you're also scared that the same feeling — the same person — will suddenly leave again.

You don't voice your thoughts, your fears. You stay quiet and let the darkness of the night swallow you.

. . .

It takes an actual jet for you to get wherever the hell Natasha is bringing you.

In the end, it's all the way in New York City. Here, everything is alive — the bustling crowds, the neon signs, the cars. Music and chaos and hopes and dreams, all crushed into one place.

You can tell Natasha likes it here. You can tell it's become a home to her. It's so different from the Red Room, which is probably why she likes it so much.

This place is huge. From the city to the building, everything is ten times bigger. Nothing encloses you, nothing keeps you back. Freedom seems like an achievable goal out here.

She parks in front of the building. It's late at night, so there are barely any lights greeting you from the windows of the compound. Just silence and the lighting coming from the logo beaming above you — a big A, as in Avengers.

"Not too shabby", you mumble, closing the car door behind you. Natasha follows, her eyes holding something you can't quite place. "Must've costed a fortune."

"Probably", she says. She keeps pace with you, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. "I'm not the one who paid for it, though."

"Tony Stark", you say. She opens the front door using a keycard, her fingerprint, and a password. Something beeps and the door opens automatically. Inside, it smells like citrus.

"Yes, exactly."

You can barely hear her footsteps as she walks upstairs. You follow behind her, briefly studying her back. Her legs, the braided red hair, the leather jacket. You smell her perfume and avert your eyes.

Natasha walks you all the way to the end of a hallway and unlocks a door there, then she pushes it open. The room you enter is spartan, minimally furnished — a bed, a closet, a desk. Clean towels, folded and stacked, lay on a chair.

"I assume you don't have any clothes in your nonexistent suitcase", she mutters, disappearing into the hallway again. She returns moments later. "Here."

Pajamas, underwear, a bottle of water. Her fingers brush against yours. You curse your heart for doing that fluttery thing again.

You swallow, cradling the clothes to your chest. Natasha, leaning against the doorframe, watches you.

"You okay?", she eventually asks.

"Are you?"

Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She nods at the bed.

"Get some sleep", is all she says. You listen to her leave down the hall, retreating to her own room. The door closes with the gentlest of clicks.

Being alone again, you allow yourself to relax. Or, in your case, try to relax. You sit down on the bed and take a whiff of the clothes in your arms. Laundry detergent and something distinctly not Natasha. Probably for the better.

The bedsheets are softer than anything you've ever felt before. You curl into them, letting them warm you up, but sleep doesn't come. Everything else seems to be more interesting in that moment — the moon outside, the crystal clear windows, the fact that, somewhere in this big building, Natasha is going to bed as well.

You find yourself wishing for the bunk beds again. She was much closer then. Now, she seems so far away.

You roll onto your side, fingers curling into the sheets. You miss the sound of her breathing. You miss how her cold feet would press against your legs, how she'd tuck her hand under your back.

Maybe she misses it too. She probably does.

You use that as an excuse to pad down the hallway and look for her room.

She didn't tell you which one it is. She didn't have to — the pair of black boots in front of the door tell you where to go. Your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it.

You don't need to look at her to know she isn't asleep. Her breathing is a telltale sign that she's wide awake.

You walk on cold floor until your feet step on a rug made of wool. Your breathing hitches ever so slightly when your eyes meet in the near darkness of her room.

She stares at you for a moment. Then, without a word, she moves the comforter aside so you can lay down. You make sure to leave some space between you when you do.

You both roll onto your sides. You put your head on her pillow and smell the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. The fabric feels soft against your skin when you turn your head to bury your face in it.

"Reminds me of something", she murmurs. You can't stop the corners of your mouth from twitching into a faint smile.

"Bad habit."

Natasha's eyes trace your features. Beneath the sheets, her fingers brush against yours. Barely, just enough for your heart to start hammering. A test, maybe. Or a reminder.

Your first instinct is to scoot closer, so you do.

Your second instinct is to stay away, but this one, you ignore.

"I missed you", she says. "I really did."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"I was selfish", she says. You scoot closer again. "I didn't want to be reminded of that place. Not even by the person who was there with me."

You give a small, bitter smile. Your fingers touch hers, and after a split second, you take her hand.

"Sometimes, I thought you were dead", you say. "Sometimes, I preferred that idea."

"Can't blame you for that, can I?"

Not letting go of her hand, you shake your head. You can hear the rain outside, but it's a sound you barely focus on. Her breathing is much more interesting than the pitter patter of the water droplets against the window.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. You look up and feel the impending kiss like a bad omen.

Before anything can happen, you turn your head. Ever so slightly, just enough for the tension to turn into confusion and hurt.

"Get some sleep", she says, after a long moment of silence. "I'll be here in the morning."

Natasha is a woman of her word.

. . .

You wake up at the same time. Her eyes linger on your face, then you catch them flit down.

You realize two things:

1) Your shirt has ridden up while you were asleep.

2) The faint scar, stretching along your lower belly, is on full display.

You pull down your shirt and sit up abruptly. Natasha frowns and follows in suit, scrambling out of bed.

"Hey, wait-"

"Coffee", you say, hurrying down the stairs. You hear her footsteps right behind you. "I just- I need coffee."

"Y/N, wait-"

You shake your head, round the corner — and suddenly see a group of people sitting around a table. The strong coffee smell tells you you're right here, but the amount of eyes that are watching you unsettle you.

Natasha comes to a halt next to you. She gently grabs your wrist and leads you away before anyone can say anything. As soon as you've left their field of view, their conversation continues. You don't hear it, though. You're shaking too hard to notice.

"It's okay", she starts, furrowing her eyebrows. She doesn't know what to say, either. "They're friends."

"It's not about them", you say, running your hands through your hair frantically.

"What's it about, then?"

You try taking a deep breath, but it fails. Shaking your head, you start pacing. Natasha stays still.

"Y/N", she says slowly. "Tell me."

Tell me. The way she said it makes it sound so easy — like you wouldn't be ripping open old wounds, wounds that haven't even properly healed yet. You almost laugh at the absurdity, but you're too focused on not losing that last bit of sanity you have left to do so.

"No", you snap, whirling around. Her eyes widen, but your brain doesn't register it. You're too focused on trying to breathe, which seems impossible in that moment. "No, I- fuck."

"Y/N..."

"No!" You step backwards, eyes darting across the room. Paintings, plants, polished marble floors.

A door.

Without reconsidering what you're even doing, you turn and bolt. Natasha freezes before following, but you're outside before she does.

The rain is louder than your thoughts, louder than her voice. It soaks into your clothes and hair, biting and unrelenting, weighing down your clothes and chilling you to the bone. Not nearly as bad as the Russian winter, but cold enough to make your teeth clatter.

You almost slip on the wet grass while trying to get away from Natasha. She runs after you, breathing heavily despite the fact her stamina is as good as ever.

"Y/N!", she yells. "You'll get hypothermia, you idiot!"

You don't hear her. All you hear is the pounding of your heart, the sobs ripping through your chest, the ringing in your ears. Your hand grazes against your shirt, right where the scar is.

Then, someone grabs your wrist. Pulls you closer. Another sob, your hands pressing against her chest to keep her away. But, as unrelenting and stubborn as you may be — this is a fight you can't win.

Natasha shushes you, her arms wrapping around your body. She's as drenched as you are. Your head drops against her shoulder, body still shaking and shivering.

She doesn't tell you that it's okay, because she knows it isn't. So she leads you inside, up the stairs, into the bathroom. You lean against the wall as she starts the shower, eyes slipping closed. Steam fills the room and warms it up.

You feel her fingers brush against your wrist. When you open your eyes again, she's rolled up her soaked shirt to reveal the scar that matches yours.

You've seen it before, of course. Back in the Red Room, after she disappeared for days. When she slipped into your bed and cried. The bloodied bandage, her sobs, the way something between you shifted.

You blink, looking at her for a moment, then you reach out and trace the line with your fingers. Natasha tenses, then relaxes. You slowly pull your hand away again.

"You should shower", she says, adjusting her shirt. "You need to warm up."

"You're wet, too."

"I'm fine."

"Join me."

She looks at the shower, hesitating. Then, her eyes meet yours again. She pulls her shirt over her head, the sound of wet clothes against skin louder than ever. Your hands tug your clothes off blindly.

It's warm in the shower. Not nearly as warm as her body, though. You feel it against yours.

“I’m sorry”, she says.

Your hands touch her face.

“I know.”

She kisses the side of your thumb. You push her against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

You press your lips to hers. Water fills the space around you, between you, replacing the emptiness that’s been growing for more than a decade now.

“This isn’t me forgiving you”, you say, then kiss her again. Her hands run down your back, her head tilts so she can deepen the kiss.

In the Red Room, you were never granted the freedom to go this far. Displays of affection were kept to a minimum — kisses, cuddles, fingers trailing underneath clothes but never quite reaching their destination.

Somehow, you know your way around each other's bodies anyway. It's a language in itself, one you didn't have to learn to be able to speak it fluently.

. . .

There is a reason why you always stayed in Natasha's bed. Even in a place like the Red Room, where doing so was risky, dangerous — a death sentence if anyone found out, basically —, you did it anyway.

Back then, you were both kids. You were nameless soldiers, no future or family in sight, but you were kids. Teenagers at most. Raised in a world of lies and betrayal, finding something real seemed impossible. Then, you found Natasha. Natasha, who was so human despite claiming not to be, who was more real than the hunger you felt or the prickling pain of snow on bare skin. Natasha, who was a constant, a fragile thread that connected you to life itself.

You were in a place that saw emotions as a weakness, a place in which connection was reason enough to get killed. In each other, you found something that wasn't just a weapon, or a tool, or something to be broken.

Things have changed since then, but the feelings remain. The safety, the comfort, the simplicity of it are still very real.

You used to slip into her bed every night. Suddenly, you find yourself doing the same thing all over again — but this time, there's no fear of being caught looming over you. No one's going to kill you for sharing a bed.

The other Avengers don't notice, or don't care. Either way — they don't bring it up, for whatever reason that may be. They're polite enough, possibly because Natasha threatened them to be. You find yourself getting along with them quite well. Despite that, you spend most of your time latching onto the one person whose every breath seems familiar.

You don't talk when you get under the covers at night. You feel her roll over, her cold feet against your legs and her hand under your back. You see glimpses of what could've been if you had met in a place other than the Red Room.

Sometimes, you wonder what would be different. Whether you'd be married, maybe with kids. Or maybe you would've broken up after a few years. Maybe you never would've fallen in love in the first place.

So many possibilities, and you can't decide which is the least painful.

You feel that she's still awake without her having to say anything. You aren't able to fall asleep, either. Something in your body is protesting the idea of sleep.

Instead, you roll over. You curl into her and feel the kisses she places on your face.

"Sleepy girl", she mumbles.

"Can't fall asleep, so not really."

"You can be sleepy without being asleep." Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her bare chest. You nuzzle her warm skin with your nose, her scent surrounding you. "Something on your mind?"

"Please", you mutter. Ever since you were a little kid, there's always been something on your mind. Not a day goes by where your brain isn't flooded with (sometimes irrational) fears and worries. She should know that because she can relate. She does know that.

Natasha realizes her mistake and runs her hand down your back. Her fingernails gently scrape along your spine. "Fair enough."

You hum and close your eyes, lips brushing against the side of her breast. Your lips part slightly, tongue flicking against her skin. She exhales, a nearly silent sound you should've missed.

"I just..." You sigh, turning your head again. Your voice is muffled. "None of this is easy."

"Y/N, it was never easy in the first place."

That's true. It's only gotten easier over the years, but somehow, it feels like the opposite occurred.

"It's not fair."

"It was never fair, either."

You look up, eyes squinting and lips forming a thin line. "You really do have an answer for everything."

"Years of dealing with the bullshit of five different men help", she replies. Her fingertips brush against your ribs, tickling you, coaxing a small laugh from your mouth. The sound makes her feel a fluttery something in the pit of her stomach. "It's not about fairness. If it was, you'd leave."

You go silent for a moment. Slowly, you lay down on her chest again. Her heart thumps against your ear.

Natasha knows she should shut up. Not enough time has passed for her to say things like this. Wounds haven't healed, scars haven't faded. But the words lie on the tip of her tongue like you do on her chest, so she lets them tumble out.

"I love you."

You close your eyes. Her fingertips draw shapes on your back.

"I think we missed our shot there."

. . .

You're 33 when you do something you'd regret for the rest of your life.

Your relationship is a push and pull. You find that, even in the Red Room, knowing what you want was easier. Now, the decision seems unnecessarily difficult.

You may stay in her bed, but you don't join her before the hallways are dark. You kiss her, but not where anyone can see. You feel that you love her, but a part of you protests the mere idea.

Natasha notices the pattern, but she chooses not to comment on it. At least not at first — too big is the relief of having you back, of feeling something that comes close to what she last felt more than a decade ago. Things are hard, but they’re harder for you.

Still, there is a breaking point for everything.

You know she's back home without having to see her. You hear the Quinjet landing, the footsteps, the muffled voices. The Avengers are returning from a mission you didn't go on.

You glance at the live feed display of the security cameras and see a bunch of now-familiar people — among them, Natasha. Her suit is a bit torn, there's dirt on her cheeks, her hair is a mess, but she looks like she's fine. You get up anyway and open the door for them. They spot you from about 40 feet away, but your eyes are on her. When you realize they're all looking at you, you turn your head and step aside to let them in.

Natasha lingers by the door. Tentatively, she puts her hand on your side. You don't pull away from the contact, but don't lean in, either.

"Hurt?", you ask, searching her face.

"I'm good", she says, squeezing your waist. "Nothing a few painkillers can't fix."

You hum, still staring at her. She smiles faintly and kisses your cheek, but you unconsciously slip out of her embrace. You realize what you've done as soon her smile, small to begin with, fades.

"Am I doing something wrong?", she mumbles.

"No, I just..." You hesitate, unsure how honest you're allowed to be. "No. You're not doing anything wrong. This is about me, not you."

"No", she says. "It's about both of us."

You frown at her. Steve, who has been crouching in the hallway and cleaning his shoes, glances up before slowly leaving the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"In case you haven't noticed", she says, starting to unzip her suit and walk up the stairs, "there's two of us here."

You follow her, hand sliding along the railing and eyebrows furrowed. "Wow, newsflash."

She doesn't say anything. She walks into the bathroom, door almost closed, and doesn't react when you enter after her. She peels her suit off and reveals skin covered in scars, most of them healed, and dirt mixed with blood. You lean against the wall, trying not to stare.

"I want to shower", she suddenly says.

"I've seen you naked."

"Y/N."

You ignore her, and she ignores you. Her back is turned to you as she begins doing mundane things — test the water temperature, prepare a rug to put in front of the shower, pick which body lotion to use. The muscles on her back flex, on full display thanks to the sports bra she's wearing, but even that doesn't snap you out of your thoughts.

You don't know what to tell her because you don't know what you're feeling, either.

It's not that you don't feel anything — it's the opposite. After so many years, you still feel too much.

Her bra comes off, then her underwear. She takes her hair out of the braid. Stepping forward, you run your fingers through the tangled strands. She freezes before her shoulders slump.

"Are you going to keep punishing me for the rest of- of whatever this is?"

You stop, fingers still buried in the red locks. Is it a punishment?

Maybe. Not a conscious one, though.

Water flows, steam rises, hearts pound. Neither of you dare to move for a moment that lasts way too long.

"I'm not punishing you", you say, slowly moving your hand away. She exhales.

"Then what the hell are you doing?", she asks, stepping into the shower. You almost follow before realizing you're still fully clothed. Letting out a noise of frustration, you take off your shirt. "No, don't."

"No, we're talking." You let your sweatpants pool around your ankles and step out of them. Natasha swallows when she sees you half naked. "This is bullshit."

"What?"

"It's bullshit that we were better at figuring stuff out at 17 than we are now."

You join her under the water. She bites back a quiet whine.

"It's bullshit that we can't just pick up where we left off", you add. "It's bullshit that everything feels the same when it clearly isn't."

"It feels the same to me", she says defensively.

"It's not. It hasn't been since you left."

"Y/N", she says, voice low. "I know it isn't. I know what I did. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

(She would.)

"You can't make up for some things", you reply. Her sides, her breasts, her arms are warm and slick to the touch from the water. You feel the slight roughness of her scars, the contrast of smooth and scarred. You feel the muscles beneath, the gentle thump of her heartbeat. You wish you could take it all in and not have the weight of your past press down on you.

Natasha leans in, forehead resting against yours. The water falls in a steady cascade, enveloping your entwined bodies, blurring the space between you. Scents of sea salt and orange, the tiles slippery beneath your feet. You've never been closer, but you've never felt further away. Her lips brush against yours, promise and plea at once.

"Let me try", she mumbles before kissing you again. You feel the tears form in your eyes. Her lips travel to the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, down your neck. "We got out of the Red Room. We can do everything else, too."

You want nothing more than to believe her. But her words can’t undo the years of separation and silence.

"Natasha." A soft sob rips from your throat.

She kisses your collarbone, your chest. You run your fingers into her red strands of hair and grab them for purchase. Her head tilts up so she can look at you. "Please, Y/N."

Breathing ragged, you can do nothing but stare at her. Natasha gets on her knees, her lips finding the scar stretching along your lower stomach. The faded line feels hot when she litters it with slow kisses.

"No", you whisper, voice thick and shaky. "No, Nat. It doesn't work like that."

Her kisses stop. She buries her face against yours stomach. You feel her unsteady breaths against your skin, her fingers curling into the soft skin on the back of your thighs. Your thumbs brush against her temples.

"Get up", you plead. Natasha hesitates. For a second, you think she might fight for this moment with you.

But then gets to her feet. Once she's on eye level with you, you cup her face and kiss her. Firmly, deeply, apologetically. You step away, out of the shower, wrapping yourself into a towel and leaving without looking back.

There is both a first and a last time for everything.

. . .

It's been months since everything was somewhat normal.

Conversations are short, clipped, impersonal. Eyes don't linger. Her bed is a place you don't visit anymore, not even at night, when the silence is suffocating.

She doesn't initiate anything. She doesn't try to change your mind, doesn't try to fix things. She thinks it's better this way, that maybe the space will allow you to heal.

She's still making up for what happened years ago, but it's small, quiet, and you find it hard to notice it when the walls between you are this thick.

One morning, as you pad into the shared space downstairs, you see Natasha in the living room. She's wearing her suit, her hair pulled back into a braid again, and there's a backpack on the coffee table. Next to it lie guns and her Widow's Bite.

You frown. Nobody said anything about a mission.

"What?", she asks, not having to look up to know you're watching her.

"Nothing." You glance at the weapons that are neatly arranged in front of her. "You didn't...“

"No."

"Right.“

Natasha looks at you. She puts the taser aside. "Won't take long. A few days."

"Okay." You hum, briefly sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Not that it concerns me."

"It doesn't", she just says. Her eyes don't look away from yours. You shift under her gaze, the history between you like a weight in the air you can't escape.

"Be careful", you say.

"I always am."

"Liar."

There it is — the subtlest twitching of her lips, the almost-smile you've been dying to see. Amusement glints in her eyes, and she blinks it away.

"Go eat something", she says, focusing on her weapons again. "I made waffles. ...They're a bit burnt, though."

You want to tell her it's fine, that you'll eat them anyway. But nothing is fine. It hasn't been for a while.

"I'll pass", you say, briefly shaking your head. Natasha hums and glances at you, then she puts the weapons aside before walking into the kitchen. You follow her without needing to be told to.

A plate of — indeed burnt — waffles is handed to you. You inspect them, smelling the slight char, and look up at Natasha. The helplessness in her eyes is unfamiliar, and your chest tightens.

She's trying. She's always trying, even when you make it hard for her.

"Thank you", you manage to say, looking at the plate of food again. "I'm sure some syrup will help."

"It won't", she says, leaning against the counter. "I tried it, too."

"Sugar?"

"Nope."

"I could scrape off what's burnt."

She laughs, but the sound isn't as genuine as you hoped it'd be.

"Don't bother", she says, walking to the freezer. She pulls out a box of Eggo waffles. "Just heat these up. They'll taste better."

You glance at the yellow box. Not a bad brand — you've eaten them for breakfast a few times since getting here.

"No", you say, sitting at the kitchen table and ripping one of Natasha's waffles into two pieces. "I prefer these."

She watches you for a moment, a bunch of unsaid words lying on the tip of her tongue. Then she turns around and puts the Eggo waffles into the freezer again.

You watch her grab her stuff. She returns to the kitchen, her backpack slung over her shoulder, and studies you.

"I'll be back."

"I know."

"You can call me. If you need anything."

You smile faintly and reach for her hand. You squeeze, feeling the fabric of her fingerless gloves. "I'll be fine."

"Good." Her lips brush against your hair. "I love you. Be back soon."

One truth, one lie.

. . .

Hours after Natasha's death, Clint knocks on the door to your room. You wipe your eyes and look up, glancing at the little velvet sachet he's carrying. You two look at each other for a long moment. You see the redness in his eyes, how swollen they are. You know his pain because you feel it too.

He walks up to your bed and puts the sachet in your open palm. It's light, which doesn't make it any less confusing. Your fingers wrap around it.

"For you", he eventually says. "From her."

You frown and look at the sachet again, brushing your finger over the soft fabric. "I'm supposed to open it?"

"It'd defeat its whole purpose if you didn't."

You nod, opening the sachet and taking a look inside. What you see doesn't give you the explanation you desperately crave. What could be important enough for Natasha to give it to you from the afterlife? Not a hex nut, certainly.

"Try it on", he says. "If you want."

You put the hex nut into your palm and inspect it, then glance at Clint. "What are you talking about?"

"Y/N, just...give me your hand. Left one."

He grabs the hex nut and slides it onto your ring finger. When you realize what it is, you nearly break down. The edges, almost smooth. The shape. His explanation almost falls on deaf ears, that's how distraught you are, but you manage to catch the most important details.

How she made it in the Red Room, the nights you were sick. How she polished it using the floor. How a screwdriver she stole allowed her to hollow out the center. How she kept it in her nightstand, for years, and how a tiny part of her believed she might be able to put it to use someday.

It's not perfect. Even after all her hard work, it still resembles a hex nut more than it does an engagement ring. Natasha didn't care — it was the result that mattered, the future it may have lead to. The day you maybe do say yes, despite everything that happened.

That day wouldn't come. Nobody would ever say it out loud, but you know it's because of you.

She was your first kiss, and you're her last.

You're 34 when you lose her entirely.

[elllisaaa]

OOPS - C. YEONJUN

KINKTOBER DAY 23 - SEXTING

SUMMARY : when your best friend receives a nude from you on a random tuesday, he feels the need to seek some clarification, and maybe that it is his chance to finally fuck you like he's been wanting to for years.

-> pairing : bff!yeonjun x fem!reader

-> words count : 1.6k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : sexting (obviously), sending nudes and videos, masturbation (f. and m.), dirty talk, teasing, begging, praising, phone sex

+ the way i'm depicting yeonjun does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | txt masterlist | kinktober 2024

You had always been a clumsy person, and sending a text to the wrong person had already happened to you countless times, leading sometimes to awkward situations, but never as embarrassing as the one you were in right now. You groaned as you looked down at your phone screen, the chat with your best friend still opened. And there, a picture of you wearing pretty much nothing took centre stage. 

you :  [1 attachement] i could use some company tonight… junnie :  ??? wtf y/n ???

Your cheeks were burning, and all you wanted to do was to bury yourself six feet under but sadly you couldn’t. And you didn’t even know what to say because obviously, you hadn’t sent that to the right person. Truthfully, these nudes were just meant to some guy you met through a common friend. You had gone on a few dates together, and even though he wasn’t exactly your type, nor was he really interesting, you were a woman with needs, and a lonely woman at that. Hence why you were about to send him this mirror photo, with you posing in nothing but black lacy panties and your oversized shirt lifted up to show part of your boobs. 

you :  fuck don’t look at that delete delete delete it wasn’t mean for you junnie :  yeah could’ve guessed who were you going to send that to anyway ? you’re bitchless you :  first of all fuck you i’ve got plenty of bitches second and even though that’s none of your business, i’m seeing someone lately

The way Yeonjun seemed to care that much helped you relax a bit. His first reaction only seemed to be out of surprise, and you would have reacted the same way if you had received a sudden half-naked pic from your best friend too. Though, you would’ve probably not deleted it right away. 

junnie :  you mean that lame guy who couldn’t even pay for his own meal the three times you went out ? he’s an ass you :  well maybe but he’s my only option and i’m in need junnie :  doesn’t matter you can do way better than this jerk you’re too smoking hot to be sending that to him

Your cheeks took an even darker shade of red as you read his compliments, but it was not out of shame this time. It wasn’t unusual for Yeonjun to praise your looks actually, but never in such a bold way. And the fact that he was not referring to your pretty face but most likely to your body made some feelings swirl inside of your stomach - some feelings that shouldn’t even be there in the first place but that you couldn’t stop. 

junnie :  cat got your tongue darling ? you :  no gotta go  junnie :  to send him your nudes ? you :  and so what ? you jealous ? junnie :  maybe bet that loser couldn’t even make you cum anyway you :  and you could ?

This conversation was taking a turn you hadn’t expected, but a turn you liked very much, a turn you maybe liked a bit too much. You bit down on your lips as you waited for Yeonjun’s answer, though nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were about to read. 

junnie :  oh darling i would ruin you if you asked make you cum on my fingers first, until you’re dripping everywhere make you come on my tongue next, until you’re crying out my name and then i’ll give you my cock and i’ll fuck you better than any other guy you had before so, still need that jerk ?

You stayed speechless for a good minute that felt like an hour. There had always been some kind of tension between you and Yeonjun, always had been something underlying feelings that you didn’t want to misinterpret. He always looked at you and talked to you and flirted with you in a way that was way more than friendly, and you had always wanted him too - because let’s be real, who wouldn’t ?

you :  i’d let you do all that [1 attachment]

On the receiving end of your texts, Yeonjun couldn’t believe what was happening, couldn’t believe that this wasn’t just another one of his wet dreams, with you taking the first role and making him crave you and your body even more. He had wanted you for such a long time that it was hard for him to acknowledge that you had sent him another nude, another shot of your now naked tits, and that this time, you had done it while being absolutely conscious of who you were sending it to.

junnie :  fuck, you’re so beautiful darling tell me this isn’t a joke tell me you’re going to let me put my hands on you you :  i’m not one to joke about something like that, you know that are you touching yourself too ? [1 attachment]

His heart was racing in his chest as he opened the next photo - this time, a closer pic of your drenched panties, your fingers pressing against your clit through the material. He had been palming his cock over his sweatpants ever since he had received the first photo from you, and even if you had told him to delete it, he would’ve probably kept it for a while, because he couldn’t just forget about it just like that, because he needed you. And now, he needed you to see how bad he wanted you. He took a quick pic of the obvious bulge deforming his sweats before sending it to you without any shame. 

junnie :  [1 attachment] what do you think ? you :  show me more junnie :  [1 attachment] enough ? you :  shit i knew you were big you would fill me up so good [1 attachment]  wish it was your cock instead of my fingers

Yeonjun’s head was spinning with want, with all the fantasies he ever had about you and the new ones you were stirring inside of him with your little game. Every photo you sent became more and more revealing, and with each new one, his hand only sped up his rhythm. He didn’t care about how late at night it was, he didn’t care if one of the other guys could hear him, he just couldn’t stop when you kept sending him shots of your glistening folds and videos of your fingers covered in slick, spreading it across your hardened nipples.

junnie :  you’re driving me crazy look what you’re doing to me [1 attachment] wish you were here to sit down on my cock i know you would take it so well make the prettiest sounds for me too

The video of Yeonjun quickly getting himself off, paired with his airy moans and low grunts you could hear in the background made you even wetter if that was possible, your own fingers speeding up and rubbing against your g-spot making you feel close to the edge already. Your texts were starting to have more and more typos but you didn’t care, it felt too good to stop now. 

you :  i wpuld  frck junnie i nzed you so bad i’m so clode  [1 attachment]

This last video of you moaning his name was all Yeonjun needed to finally call you. The game had been fun, but he wanted to hear you as you came for him, wanted to hear through the phone how wet you were. Within a second, you answered the call and your needy whimpers immediately ringing through his ears felt like the greatest music he had ever heard. 

“- Fuck darling, you sound so good. 

- Junnie… Need you so bad…

- Me too, shit, you’re making me go crazy.”

Another one of your moans was the only answer he got, but it was more than enough for him to feel the knot in his stomach tightening as well. Your high-pitched voice was heavenly, and with his eyes closed and his imagination working overtime with all the photos you had sent to him, it was easy for Yeonjun to picture you touching yourself, all wet and ready for him.

“- I’m so close Junnie…

- Me too, darling… Cum with me, let me hear you.”

Your sounds of pleasure only elevated as you felt your orgasm wash over you like a hurricane, and Yeonjun let go too, covering his own hand in loads of cum as he moaned your name. For a while, the only sound that either of you could hear was the one of your heavy breathing, trying to regain some sense of consciousness after what had just happened. 

“- Are you still there darling ?”

You hummed absentmindedly, your mind still clouded with the intensity of your release. You rolled over your stomach to take some tissue and wipe your fingers from your slick, and then you took a hold of your phone again. You didn’t really know what to say now, but you didn’t want things to become awkward between the two of you, so you tried to crack a joke to break the ice. 

“- I thought you were a gentleman, but you’re here giving orgasms to girls when you’re not even with them.”

Yeonjun chuckled on the other end of the line, cleaning himself up a little too. 

“- I can be a gentleman. All you have to do is ask Y/N. Say the words and I’ll take you out on a date tomorrow. 

- And if I want you to come over and fuck me ?

- I’ll be there in ten.”

A smirk spread out on your lips as Yeonjun immediately hung up, but you had heard him rushing in the background before he ended the call. Sometimes, sending the wrong text to the wrong person wasn’t such a bad thing.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

txt taglist (fill in this to added) :

@lala-----------lala @bbgnyx @hann1bee @rikiives @lichyuu @foxinnie8 @seomisaho @dylanobr1ens @straytiny127

kinktober taglist (dm or comment to be added) :

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @leeknowinggg @anxiousskylar @mikaelless

[laambfuzz]

—- cat and mouse. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: after schlatt's audio, you had to make it known you had discovered it. all goes well and you think you finally have the upper hand, until you log back onto soundgasm to see a surprise waiting for you.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, mutual masturbation.. technically?, schlatt does porn (duh), dirty talk, degradation and light praise, open ending.. again

authors note: happy valentines my loves!! wanted to treat you with a longer post and hoped to get this out for the 14th for you all (it's still the 14th for me, so!) whether you celebrated it with someone or not, you've got some pornstar!schlatt to help you with the day. once again, credit to @fanficfox who started this lovely idea.♡

schlatt had finally came back to streaming, after a few days off

and you were going to take tonight as your chance to get him back in this game of cat and mouse you had been playing

you lurked in chat for a while, letting the stream run by as normal. you wanted to wait a little, before inevitably pouncing your prey

and so when he had mentioned a bathroom break, you decided it was your time to strike

you got your donation amount and message ready for him returning, your index finger hovering over your mouse. you wanted to get the donation in as soon as possible, before others started to do the same

you heard the clambering of schlatt almost falling into his room, drawing your attention back to the screen as he sat back on his chair, announcing his return

your finger hit the donation button instantly, and now you just had to wait for the payment to confirm, and for tts to pick up your message

it took a minute, but finally the tts bot spoke up and announced your message

"i can't believe i was soaked a few nights ago, and it was all your fault. tsk tsk, big guy."

schlatts face contorts into one of shock, face turning to his other monitor as he tried to catch who sent the donation

as soon as he saw your name he felt a shiver go through his spine

but he changed his facial expression to one of disgust, shaking his head and murmuring a "what the fuck?" to act like it was just a random thirst comment

but he knew it was more than that, and so did you

chat was on schlatt's side of course, calling out the weirdness of the donation and noticing how uncomfy schlatt had gotten

then another donation pinged through, schlatt's eyes darting to the screen to see if it was from you

and it was

"you made a bet that it was going to rain last stream, and it did."

chat is suddenly spamming OMEGALUL's and KEKW's, laughing at the misconception but still shocked at how the last donation was worded

schlatt swallowed thickly, letting out a heavy sigh as he felt relief. relief from what? he didn't know, but somehow chat not caring made him feel hidden, still

"what, were you thinking of something else? fucking pervs."

the last donation comes through, and chat just continues to laugh. they assume it's at them, and that's what you wanted

but once again, you and schlatt knew it was more than that

schlatt sent somewhat of a glare to the camera, and you felt his dark eyes peering right through you

but you felt a thrill of excitement at the same time, happy to have one-upped him after a few nights ago

however, you really weren't expecting him to get you back so soon

you got into bed later that night and had your phone already loaded onto schlatt's soundgasm page, and that's when you seen it

a new video had been uploaded tonight— desperate little thing

a heat suddenly started to pool in your belly as you read the title, and you clicked on it instantly

your free hand trailed under the covers, nudging your underwear to the side as your middle and index fingers grazed your clit

you press the start button and you're instantly greeted with a dark, low chuckle

"bet you thought you were real clever, huh sweetheart? thought you could try tease me like that and get away with it?"

a whine leaves your throat at his voice, the fact it's condescending and so much lower than you usually hear on stream

you hear a scoff, a creak of the chair before his breath is suddenly hitting the mic

he breathes deeply into the mic for a few moments, his breath hitching occasionally so you can only imagine he's once again stroking himself on the other end

"pathetic fuckin' donation messages, is what they were," he starts, inhaling through his nose before heavily exhaling. "could tell how needy you were. wanted me to see so bad you had to give me your fuckin' cash?"

your fingers toyed with your clit before you rubbed slow circles, moaning softly at his low voice, and how he was insulting you

"bet you're already touching yourself, huh? like a filthy fuckin' slut, all because im talkin' down on you," he chuckles dryly, before groaning lowly. "just pathetic. can't keep your hands off yourself when you see me. so- fuck.. so desperate."

and he was right. you were touching yourself, getting even wetter as he spoke down on you, as if you were nothing

if his words were so wrong and mean, why was it making you feel so good?

a sweet moan drops from his lips, and you can hear the wet sounds as he jerks himself off. "but don't you worry, sweetheart. i like my sluts desperate."

and something about that line drove you wild. you felt your face grow hot at the embarrassing whine you let out as he said it, but it's not as if he was here to hear it anyways

your fingers sped up, stroking the circles faster against your clit as you bucked your hips up into your fingers

anything for the extra friction

the audio continued with schlatt talking you through touching yourself, talking about how he's stroking himself and all the lovely groans, pants and grunts that comes with it

suddenly he stops all movement though, and nothing can be heard

"should i finish, hmm? should i let you hear me cum? beg for me slut, c'mon."

and it's so fucking stupid, and you shouldn't beg for an audio file

and yet..

your fingers are slipping downwards, allowing your thumb to take over the role for rubbing your clit, as the other two fingers now slide inside you

"fuck! please— please schlatt, let me— let me hear it. need to hear you— please."

the words fall from your lips without command, pouring right from your heart as you ache to hear him in return, needing to hear as he hits his climax

you hear a long, slow grunt from the audio causing you to gasp and perk up, fingers continuing their work

"i know you're a good slut f'me, letting everyone know how much you need me. and you love it, don't you? love me putting you in your place, over a fuckin' audio file? pathetic."

schlatt lets out a whine as he pants, a shuddering moan escaping him and you can tell he's cumming, judging by the higher moans and faster movements

"come on, fuckin' listen to me. you better cum now sweetheart, i'm telling you."

and as if his words had some control over you, suddenly your whole body was shaking as the orgasm overtook it, and your slick began to soak your fingers

you worked yourself through the orgasm, slowly but surely working down the pace of your fingers and thumb before you slumped into the bed, chest heaving as you closed your eyes, revelling in schlatt's own heavy breathing

"next time— next time you come to play, remember who owns you sweetheart. i'll see you next time, because i'm hoping you'll come back for more," he starts, before he cuts himself off with a chuckle

"who am i kiddin'? of course you'll come crawling back to me, you always do."

[meazalykov]

goodbye means forever

ingrid engen x f!reader

summary: you cannot stop the inevitable

warnings: angst, reader kinda abandoned ingrid due to a mistake in communication.

things haven’t been the same at barcelona for a while now.  

it started with the coaching change. new tactics, new ideas, new rotations that never seemed to favor you or ingrid with it came to romeu.

no matter how hard you trained, how much you gave on the pitch, there was always something missing in the eyes of the staff. it was as if your star quality just dimmed, as if you were pushed into the background.

you were still starting most matches, but it was totally different than from the first season you came. you weren’t playing the full ninety like before, weren’t the first name on the teamsheet anymore.  

for ingrid, it was even worse.  

as a center back, she relied on consistency, on knowing who was beside her, what the system required from her. the constant shifting of defensive pairings, the coach’s indecision, the sudden preference for younger players…it was exhausting.

she never complained, not in front of the team, but you saw it at home.

the way she sank onto the couch after training, the way she lingered in the shower longer than usual, the frustration simmering just beneath her calm exterior.  

at the same time, the drama started coming inside of the dressing room.  

it started small. little things between teammates that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow became everything. disagreements in training, tension in the locker room. whispers about who should be playing more, who should be benched. 

it was nothing new. competition at a club like barcelona was always fierce, but this time it felt toxic. it wasn’t pushing anyone to be better; it was just wearing everyone down.

the loss against levante proved that, the first league loss since 2023. 

you and ingrid were supposed to be some of the best in the world. a left winger who could glide past defenders like they weren’t even there, a center back who could read the game better than anyone. 

now, it felt like you were both taking steps backward. as if you were back in lyon and her in wolfsburg.

so you talked.  

at home, away from the ears of your teammates, you and ingrid talked about transfers.  

"lyon is interested," ingrid told you one night, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. 

"they want me in the winter window."  

"lyon?" you repeated, raising a brow. 

"ingrid, that’s back home."  

she shrugged, not looking up. 

"for you.. not me... so?"  

"so... are you really thinking about leaving?"  

ingrid sighed, setting her phone down. 

"i don’t know. i love barcelona, but this... this isn’t the same club we were promised.. if that is the right way to say it."  

she wasn’t wrong.  

"it’s just... lyon just has a different– a different level of competition i guess?," you murmured, unsure how to phrase it without sounding dismissive of your ex-club.  

she nodded. 

"y/n, it’s stability. it’s a chance for me to enjoy football again. isn’t that what we want?"  

you hesitated. 

"what do you think i should do?"  

ingrid looked at you then, really looked at you. 

"i don’t know, baby. i don’t think you’re happy here either."  

you weren’t. you knew that.  

going back to lyon? that wasn’t an option for you. ingrid has never played at lyon before, but you have. you don’t think that lyon is in your path again.

you already did that part of your career, and it never felt like home.  

chelsea had been on your mind for a while. keira had an offer from them too, and lucy was already there. it made sense. it felt like the right step for you.  

you didn’t say that. not yet.  

the winter window dragged on, full of rumors, speculation, constant questions. neither of you spoke about transfers at the club. 

you couldn’t. it was an unspoken rule…no distractions.  

at home, it became everything. it's the only thing that you and your girlfriend could talk about. 

"i think i’m taking it," ingrid told you one night, curling into your side on the couch.  

you tensed, fingers pausing where they were tracing lazy circles on her back. 

"taking what?"  

"the lyon deal. but... not yet. i want to finish the season here."  

you swallowed hard, not sure how to respond because it was already done for you. chelsea had sent the final paperwork. you had accepted.  

"ingrid..."  

she lifted her head slightly, sensing something in your tone. 

"what?"  

you took a deep breath. 

"i’m leaving."  

the scandi’s entire body stiffened.  

"what?"  

"i…i thought you were leaving in the winter, and i—"  

you protest. 

"when did you decide this?" she asked, sitting up fully now, looking at you with wide, betrayed eyes.  

"last week."  

she let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. 

"last week? you’ve known for a week, and you didn’t tell me?"  

"i didn’t know how," you admitted. 

"i thought you were leaving too. i didn’t think we’d.."  

"i never said i was leaving in the winter, y/n."  

silence.  

she exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. 

"so... that’s it? you’re going to london?"  

you nodded, stomach twisting.  

"and you didn’t think we should talk about this? actually talk about it?"  

"we did talk about it."  

"not like this!"  

your chest ached. 

"i didn’t want to make you choose between me and barcelona."  

"but you made the choice for me, didn’t you?"  

you had no response to that.  

the last night before you left was quiet. too quiet.  

ingrid lay beside you, but there was a distance between you that felt impossible to close. you wanted to reach for her, to tell her that everything would be okay.  

you didn’t because you didn’t know if that was true.  

the morning came too fast.  

you stood at the door, bags packed, heart heavy. ingrid was in front of you, arms crossed, looking like she was trying so hard not to fall apart.  

"we’ll figure this out," you told her.  

she swallowed. 

"yeah."  

"i love you."  

she nodded, blinking rapidly. 

"i love you too."  

you kissed her. soft, lingering. desperate.  

then you walked away.  

london was different.  

chelsea felt strange at first, like you didn’t belong. the rivalry you had with them back in barcelona still lingered in your mind.  

keira was here and came along with you, and lucy had been here a season already. they welcomed you with open arms, helped you adjust.  

surprisingly, the team? they made it easy.  

there was no drama. no tension. no toxic environment.  

you could just... play.  

it wasn’t perfect, not yet. you still missed ingrid. 

you still hated the way the spanish media twisted your transfer into some betrayal, still saw the comments, the hate.  

ingrid is receiving hate for the lyon rumors too.. how dare she try and transfer to another club but demand a starting spot once the window has closed? according to the media.

for you, you hoped that you’ll be loved in london. you hope that ingrid can continue to be the best with barcelona until she can transfer clubs. 

however, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.  

london is a breath of fresh air.

masterlist

[gold-onthe-inside]

adam's ribs

This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman,’ for she was taken out of man.

who? spencer reid (pre-s1) x codependent!reader summary: when spencer meets you right after admitting his mother to a sanitarium, all he wants is to be loved, no matter the cost. content warnings: codependent relationship, unhealthy dynamics, sub!spencer, r calls spencer 'lovely', implied that r is a caregiver like spencer, handjob, humping, penetrative sex (p in v) NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI word count: 2.5k a/n: i'm not great at writing smut at the best of times, least of all when i'm supposed to make it biblical but i gave it my best shot. song ref is adam's ribs by jensen mcrae

He wants to say it’s romantic, how you both met. Mostly because he’s not proud of the fact that you first saw him being rough-housed by his mother in the lounge room of the Bennington sanitarium. He’s not proud of the way he grovels for his mother to forgive him, nor is he proud of how he sits at the window alone when Diana leaves to go to her room. He’s well aware what he looks like when you approached him with a cup of coffee and an ear to listen - his back arched, a gangly set of limbs curling in on himself. But he’s been holding it in for so long, his ribs caging his secrets from the world, shaking from the effort. Bones and skin and unshed tears. That’s all he is. His mother’s son.

Your hand running over his back makes him think that he might become someone else. Coffee turns to lunch, turns to dinner, turns to fumbling kisses in the living room of your dingy apartment. It’s reckless and stupid and he barely knows you, but he bares his soul to you when your hands cupped his neck because who else is there that wants him? He kisses you with everything he has, holding your jaw like you might run away when your hands slide over his chest. Keys and bags and coats fall away in the back of your mind, thoughts consumed by this sad boy.

Two failed caregivers seeking mastery with each other, it’s a recipe for disaster and he knows it. But you taste so sweet, your hands so gentle and your eyes so caring, and you both mean well, and it’s not that he doesn’t like you. And he aches for this tenderness. So he lets you slide your hands under the hem of his polo shirt over his chest, lets you tug him closer by the loops of his trousers. Claim me as your own, he begs you in his head, and you pulled away to look up at him, taking his breath away in the process.

“Wanna take care of you,” you murmured, hands resting under his ribs, pressing your lips to his collarbone.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, his eyes fluttering shut as your hands rove up, fingertips tracing the outline of muscles in his chest. He wants to whimper underneath those hands, wants to tell you to never stop, never pull away from him. “Please.” That’s all he can think to respond. Oh, please.

“Sweet boy,” you whispered into his skin, leaving light marks as you tugged him to the bedroom. It’s unfair, unfair that the universe would hand him this heavy a burden to bear — he’s no Atlas to carry the skies on his shoulders. He’s almost in awe of you, the way you pull him down to the mattress, the way you slide a thigh on either side of his hips. He’s pliant underneath your touch, his long fingered hands cupping your jaw. He’s not used to being touched like this, not used to being wanted. His wide hazel eyes look up at you with a mix of awe and desire. He’s like putty in your hands, so open and inviting and innocent and tortured all at the same time.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed, his hands brushing along your side in clumsy impulse.

“No-one said you have to,” you replied, leaning over him as your hand cupped his jaw, and lowering your lips to his.

He melts under these touches, his tongue darting out to trace yours as he whimpers against you. He’s breathless when you part for air, his cheeks flushed pink. He feels safe in your arms, he realizes, like nothing can touch him now. “Please,” he begs you softly, his long fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “Don’t stop.”

“So polite,” you murmured, tracing his bottom lip with your thumb.

His breath hitches and he opens his mouth for you, chasing your touch. His eyes are locked on you, watching your every move. “I could beg, if you’d like me to,” he said, his voice a little raspy from being so out of breath. It’s meant to be teasing but comes out more desperate than he’d hoped.

"I don't doubt it," you whispered back, kissing the corner of his mouth to tease him.

The whine that he lets out borders on humiliating. He’s never been so desperate to be touched before, but you’re making him insane. He tries to follow your mouth, but your hand holds him at bay. He lets out a soft curse, his hands tightening around the fabric of your dress.

You let your hand run through his soft hair, silky strands that parted like they were meant for you. It felt right, like you were both the same person, like Zeus had split the two of you for fear of the power you would hold. Because this thing between you both is too intense, dangerous, like nothing you've experienced before.

He all but purred at the touch, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He was beautiful like this, vulnerable and needy, and all for you. He nuzzled his face against your hand like he was trying to burn the feeling into his memory, wanting to keep it and make it a part of himself. “More,” he pleaded, looking up at you through messy bangs.

“Anything for you, lovely,” you murmured, kissing him deeply in your dim bedroom, and he held your waist like you might disappear through his fingers, dissolving to mist when he wakes up from what will inevitably be a dream.

He moans into your mouth, your words like a sweet prayer to his ears. Lovely. His stomach is in knots, his chest tight, and your words of affection are making his head spin with want. He thinks if you asked him now, he'd promise you anything. He's drowning in you, in your touch, in the way you say lovely.

Heat warms you all over as his hands roam over your back, spindly fingers dragging over your spine, too nervous to slide under your dress. You pull back for breath, barely leaving an inch between your lips and his, about to tug at his shirt when you look at him, locked onto wide hazel eyes, dark and framed with pretty lashes. “Tell me this is okay,” you whispered, warm breath fanning over his cheek.

“It’s okay,” he assured you, his voice a mere whisper. He’s sure he looks a right mess, skin flushed, lips kiss swollen, eyes wide and hopeful. Your proximity is making it very difficult to think straight, his fingers gripping a little harder on your waist, wanting to pull you even closer but afraid to touch where he hasn’t been invited.

“Arms up, lovely,” you murmured, tugging on the hem of his polo shirt with the smallest smile. He obeyed, lifting his arms so you could pull his shirt up and off him with little hassle. He was thin, the expanse of his torso pale and smooth except for the scattering of moles. He shivered a little, both from you looking at him so keenly and the chill of the air against his skin.

You look at him with nothing but fondness and want, gentle hands trailing over his shoulders. "All mine?" you asked softly, nose brushing his as your hands ghost over his chest, like you were checking again. That's all you want, to take care of him. This sweet boy that you can't let go of.

“All yours,” he replied, his answer as soft as your touch. He shudders, almost whining when your hands brush over his ribs, making him squirm. He’s so responsive to you, every touch sends a shiver through him, until he’s squirming restlessly in your lap. When you reach for his belt buckle, he gasps softly, looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes.

"It's okay," you assure him, gently prying the belt apart. "M gonna take care of you, promise," you whispered.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his heart drumming a staccato beat, his cheeks flushed deep red. He nods slowly, his breath hitching a little when you slowly peel open his trousers. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, his slender fingers flexing and gripping the sheets. A whimper escapes him when your knuckles brush over the sensitive skin of his flat stomach, so close to where he wants you. “Please,” he whispers, his wide eyes begging for your touch, like his body is thrumming with a desperate ache that only you can soothe.

"Words, lovely," you murmured. "Tell me what you need." You’d give him anything he asked for, reach inside your ribs and pull out your heart for him, for this boy you barely know. You can’t name it, there’s just something there that pulls you to him.

“I need you,” he said almost immediately, his hands gripping your thighs, needing something to hold on to. “I need you to touch me, please.” He’s so flushed and wanting, his eyes wide and pleading. He wants, he needs, he aches. To be touched, to be wanted, to be loved.

Your hands are like fire against his skin, leaving goosebumps in your wake, making his heart sing. He squirms weakly, his body arching towards your touch. He moans so prettily when your fingertips trace over his hipbones, so close to where he needs you. “Please,” he says again, his voice raspy. “Please, please, please-”

His begging quickly devolves into panting, the air in his lungs escaping him all at once, your fingers tracing his cock. Your touch is like a drug, a delicious sort of torture, until he's a trembling mess underneath you. He needs more, he wants more, but he can't form the words. All he can do is arch into your hand, desperate and wanton. "Does that feel good?" you asked, your voice barely above a breath, sharp eyes watching his features move with your strokes.

He tried to respond, but a soft whine is the only thing that escapes his throat. Your touch is driving him wild, his hips canting up of their own will, so desperate for friction that he can hardly think straight. He's never felt like this before, desperate and needing, unable to speak because he's too busy moaning incoherently.

You grind your hips against his experimentally, propped over his lap, hands bracing you. He moans loudly when you grind against him, his head flying back into the sheets. His long slender fingers grip your thighs, his nails biting the flesh, trying to ground himself. His eyes are shut tight, his hips lifting up to meet yours, wanting more, needing more.

"Eyes open, lovely," you murmured, feeling his erection through your underwear, rocking your hips against it. His eyes snap open quickly, cheeks flushed red, mouth parted and panting. He’s trembling so hard he doesn’t trust himself to speak, his breath coming out in short, sharp huffs, punctuated with soft whines. He’s so impossibly hard, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s come undone by your touch, and then you’re grinding on him and he sees stars, his back arching and a gasp of profanity falling from his lips.

He’s whimpering, and whining, and begging you, but you couldn’t tell even if you tried. His words are lost in a jumble of unintelligible noises, each one a plea for you to bring him to the edge, each one a silent thank you when you rock against him. He’s almost beyond words, beyond coherent thought, his mind a litany of your name. You can feel your own control slipping, your movements becoming frenzied, your own release imminent.

His hands are grasping everywhere, desperately searching for purchase, grasping at your back, your hips, the sheets. He’s close, so close, he’s practically begging you now, your name the only thing he’s able to form. He’s trembling from head to toe, his skin slick with sweat. "I'm gonna... Fuck, you feel so good," you muttered into his shoulder, feeling your arms weaken as you get closer to the edge.

He’s babbling softly now, words about how close he is, how he needs more, please more please. His hands are gripping your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh. He’s delirious with desire, the only thing he can think about being how good you feel. He’s so close and it’s almost too much, the edge of pleasure painful from how good he feels.

Everything crumbles when you shift your underwear to the side to sheath him, slowly easing yourself onto his swollen cock, and he's sure if heaven exists, this is it. He’s crying your name like a prayer, his head thrown back, his long body curving towards you, trying to get closer despite the fact that he’s buried deep inside you. He’s trembling, shaking, his hands gripping your waist.

“Please,” he whispered, and it’s the first word that you’ve been able to make out in the last several moments, and then he’s gripping your hips harder, pulling you down onto his lap, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. He’s panting, his chest heaving, his mouth parted and begging. “Please, please, please—” He’s so desperate that it borders on pathetic, his eyes wide and wild, looking up at you to try and convey just how badly he needs you. He’s practically whining with need, his hips arching up as if he’s begging, and when he moans your name it sounds obscene, almost too much. “Please, I need - I need-”

You quicken your thrusts, still with the same care, but pushing him over the edge all the same, his head lolling back in pleasure, his hips meeting your movements eagerly. He’s gasping for air, his breathing coming in short, sharp huffs, as he teeters right on the edge. He’s so close, so desperate to find his release, and it seems like he’s on the brink of pleading, his eyes wide and pleading, until—

"That's it, lovely, let go for me," you murmured, your body still moving against his in a rhythm that gives him no other choice. It’s like that’s all he needed, his breath catching in his throat, his body tensing up, his hands holding onto to your waist so tight you think he might bruise you.

And then he’s tumbling over the edge, a long moan ripping its way through his chest, his eyes rolling back into his head, and you whisper his name and he’s gone, completely wrecked, his body trembling, his breathing coming in sharp gasps as he comes down from his high.

He’s clinging to you like he’s drowning, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. He’s spent, wrecked, utterly ruined, and when he speaks, his voice is wrecked, too, the one word that manages to escape his mouth sounding almost hoarse. Your name. Nothing else in the world exists. Not with you here.

[fancyfeathers]

The Fruits

Yandere!Villain/League of Assassins Damian Al Ghul x Robin!Darling

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

T//W- drugging/poisoning, forced feeding, paralyzation, nonsexual & nonconsensual food play, nonsexual & nonconsensual knife play, nonsexual & nonconsensual blood play, slight/implied cannibalism (but not really), Damian is early twenties in this and Robin!Darling is implied to be in her late teens

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who has never met his father, instead being fully raised by his mother and grandfather and being named the heir of the Demon’s Head. He is practically a Prince in the League of Assassins.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who hears about the little sidekick his father from his grandfather, the little bird had thrown a knife through Ra’s Al Ghul’s hand to protect the Batman. He is angry, no one should do such a thing without consequences for their actions.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who goes to Gotham to find the so called Robin who did such a thing and finds a young lady who is nothing like he imagined. He wants to hate her, but no matter how hard he tries he cannot seem to such a thing, let alone put an end to her miserable life. He wants to kiss her and make her bleed at the same time.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who gets a rush of euphoria hearing her scream when he finally pins her down on a rooftop one night on her patrol, her screams and cries ringing in his ears as she begs for mercy as he carves into the delicate skin in her back in a language that is old and she’ll never be able to understand it, it roughly translates to ‘Bird With Clipped Wings/Helpless Little Bird’

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who lets her live and get away with the carving on her back, after all his plans of killing her have suddenly changed and he needs to receive permission from his mother and grandfather for what he wishes to do.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who after a number of months of planning and preparation has his little bird kidnapped by assassins he trained personally for this specific job, assassins told to use a particular poison to knock her out that will temporarily paralyze her for however long Damian wishes for her to be immobile, assassins he has no problem killing after the job is done because he felt sick to his stomach with the knowledge that they were the ones hurting her.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who lays his darling’s head on his lap and lays her body on a stone bench in a courtyard garden in a hidden League of Assassins base. It is far away from Gotham, after all Gotham had no weather that one would only find in the desert.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who holds his darling’s head up when she begins to wake up, lost of her body completely numb, who can only blink and move her jaw, not even talk or move her head up and down.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who feels a jolt of excitement when he sees the fear in his darling’s eyes when he takes out the same knife he used to carve into her flesh, only for him to reach where she can’t see and grab a piece of fruit, an apple, and cuts into it. Carving it up into small bites he can easily slip into his darling’s mouth, prying open her jaw and pressing the piece of fruit and his fingers against her tongue, nearly making her gag around his fingers…

“Oh you are doing so well, my beloved…”

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who, despite all his cruelties towards his little Robin, is being surprisingly gentle with his darling, one hand feeding her, the other hand is running his fingers through her hair while he whispers soft praise to her.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who cannot believe that the same girl who is practically lapping at his fingers, albeit against her will, is the same girl who his father, who has never known that Damian is his son, has chosen to be his partner, his sidekick…

“You are such a pathetic little thing, are you not?”

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who’s cruelty returns in the blink of an eye, reaching for another pieces of fruit, or rather a handful of twelve pomegranate seeds, and pushes them to her tongue, but even when she swallows he doesn’t move his fingers from her tongue, instead they come around to pinch it and pull it past her lips…

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who hold his knife to her tongue, the blade threading to cut through as it leaves a soft red line in its wake…

“Let me make this clear my love, try anything, anything at all, test my patience or put a foot out of line then you will never speak or taste again, do I make myself clear?”

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who knows she cannot respond but the look of pure fear in her eyes is enough of an answer so he pulls back the blade which has collected the smallest bit of her blood.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who brings the blade up to his own lips and makes his darling watch as he lick of her blood from the blade, cutting his own tongue slightly in the process which he collect with his finger, getting a taste of the juice from the pomegranate he forced on her tongue.

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who forces his darling to swallow his own blood, because what is more romantic than having a piece of the one you love most inside of you?

Yandere!League of Assassins Heir Damian Al Ghul who will absolutely cut off his darling’s tongue if she does not behave herself and swallow it whole like the fruits he feeds her.

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise — the journey home

summary: Joel drives you home from the airport after your vacation. You miss him as soon as he's gone. warnings: daddy kink (mentioned once), big age gap (23 & 49), orgasm control (reader needs Joel's permission), slight angst, phone sex in your parents' home (the most mortifying thing I can think of actually)

note: sorry this took me so long, I lowkey forgot about it tbh. It's a little angsty, but I swear that angst will be resolved!! Idk when, because I'm writing a different oneshot atm, but at some point I plan on writing more smut & a confrontation with reader's Dad. Enjoy these head canons in the meantime, and thank you for your love on this series <3333

Your Dad calls while you’re still at the airport & Joel tells him he got you home safely (your panties are still ruined from how badly you wanted Joel on the plane, his hand on your thigh the entire time)

He puts the luggage in the trunk of his Bronco, and before you’ve made it halfway home, he pulls over to a deserted parking lot by the side of the road & makes you ride him in the car

So good, baby, let me have it one last time. He comes inside of you like he did every time he fucked you during your trip, and when you grab your tissues to clean yourself, he asks you to leave it, baby, want you to remember me when you get home

So you do, because you always do what he tells you, and because you don’t want to let him go completely just yet. The rest of the way both of you are very quiet

Joel pulls up to your Dad’s house (you’re staying with him to help him with his leg), and before you can get out, he pulls you into a hug, and kisses the side of your head

Hope ya had a good time. You want to cry but you also don’t want to seem clingy, so you nod. Joel doesn’t let you go for a few minutes

When you pull away to say goodbye, he looks like your Dad’s Joel again, wearing his boots instead of flip flops, a pair of jeans instead of your beloved trunks, and his linen shirt is nowhere to be seen

Take care, kid. Call me if you need anything, alright? And don’t study too hard.

Before you can answer, the front door opens and your Dad greets you, leg still in a cast, and considerably less tan than you and Joel

When you get out to greet him, you feel Joel’s cum drip out of you and into your cotton panties. You glance at Joel, who seems to understand and raises one playful eyebrow — he’s still your Joel, no matter his clothes

Your Dad hugs you and the entire time you think he'll be able to smell Joel on you, his clothes you kept wearing, his shampoo you used when you were too lazy to get yours from your own hotel room, his sweat and spit and cum on you, but your Dad just walks over to Joel's window and thanks him

"Had a good time with my girl?"

Joel doesn't really meet his eye, and you think to yourself that my girl is a term only applicable if Joel says it, but he just agrees, says the food was good and that you studied a lot

And that's it, Joel drives away with one last glance at you in the sun, and then he's gone and a strange emptiness settles over you

You tell your Dad you need some time for yourself after a week of socializing, which he doesn't question, so you say good night, plop down on your bed and put on a movie. You don't want to shower, not when you can still feel Joel inside of you

It takes you around twenty minutes to pull out your phone, and when you do, you've already got a message from Joel

Miss you already, baby. At the risk of sounding desperate, call me if you need a break from studying.

The proper punctuation makes you smile and want to cry at the same time, Joel's age so obvious. You take a couple of seconds to answer and fight the urge to call him and ask him to just take you away to live at his place, your Dad be damned

miss you too. can still feel you inside of me. trying hard not to call you right now

Almost immediately, your phone lights up with Joel's name, and then he's there, his beautiful face taking up the majority of the screen, and although you try hard not to cry, you feel tears burning your eyes

You tell Joel you miss your vacation already, that you wish you could go back, that you don't want to sleep alone tonight. You wonder if he just wanted to have phone sex with you and instead got this jumbled up mess of feelings and tears

But there's just kindness and warmth in his eyes, and when he tells you he wishes you were there with him, watching a movie together instead of alone, relief floods your body. He talks to you in his soothing voice until you stop crying, tells you you can always come over

You're scared to ask him what he means, if he's offering a shoulder to cry on, or if he actually wants to keep seeing you, but when he sees the expression on your face, he asks you to come to his place tomorrow and talk there, instead of over the phone

You agree, already longing for his arms around your body, and when you ask him to make you feel good in a hushed voice, he is quiet for a couple of seconds

Want me to help you get off in your Dad's house? You're not even home in your apartment and you already need it this bad?

It's humiliating in a way that switches off your brain, Joel's words exactly what you need to get lost in him – he isn't pretending what the two of you are doing isn't completely reckless and fucked, instead, he embraces it, makes you get off on it

He makes you use your fingers instead of a vibrator, and they feel strikingly small after being stretched out on Joel's cock for a week. By now, he knows your sounds well enough to tell you to stop when you're close, and only after bringing you right to the edge three times with little more than his dirty words, and you beg him with tears in your eyes, Daddy please, he lets you come

That's it, baby, you have my permission.

When you're done, you wonder why he hasn't touched himself, anxiety bubbling up inside of you, but Joel tells you he wants to focus on you, that he'll take care of it when you've gone to bed.

You tell him again how much you miss him, that you don't want to sleep alone, or get off alone, or eat alone, or with anyone else. Joel smiles sadly, and sighs. Don't gotta get off alone, kid, just text me whenever you need me.

But it's all he can offer – his permission to come, but no dinners together, no nights spent basking in his warmth and scent. You take it, though, and promise to ask his permission every time. You know it turns Joel on, but there is also something more intimate about it. The only exclusivity either of you can offer each other at the moment

You both fall asleep while still on FaceTime, but in the morning, your phone is dead

taglist: @allydiasx@b1bbles@monamedeiros12@brittmb115@dansdonunts @mattevioletgirl @pedrospurplerain @fsiryspit @strangerthingslover69 @thanyatargaryen @chochoooooooooo @guelyury @iloveumorethanlove @neayinia @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @clancysinferno @bbyanarchist @pedrofan @cr3aturef3ar @malfoycassimalfoy @akah565