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purifiedclitoris69 · 2 months ago

Text

Statements

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Shield agent!reader

Summary: Assumptions are made about the relationship you have with Natasha, so you took it upon yourself to make a statement :)

Your relationship with Natasha is built on years of trust, mutual respect, and an unspoken understanding that comes from living in the shadows of espionage. You met when she first joined SHIELD, and while she was still finding her footing within the organization, you were already established as a specialist sniper—someone who worked alone, took the impossible shots, and disappeared before anyone even knew you were there.

At first, your relationship was purely professional. You recognized each other as dangerous and highly capable, but there was always a quiet pull between you. Over time, through shared missions, late-night debriefs, and the rare moments of quiet in a world full of chaos, that pull became something more. It wasn’t dramatic or rushed—it was a slow burn, a natural evolution of two people who understood each other better than most and yearned to show one another a genuine love.

Now, after almost 3 years together, your bond is unshakable. While the Avengers see you around the compound, they don’t truly know the depth of what you and Natasha have. They assume your relationship is casual, just a convenience in a life full of uncertainty. But in reality, Natasha loves you fiercely, and you love her just as much. You’re her safe place, the person she trusts with the parts of herself she doesn’t show anyone else. When the world feels too heavy, she turns to you—not for protection, because she doesn’t need it, but for the rare comfort of knowing she’s not alone.

You don’t need grand gestures or constant declarations. Your love is in the quiet moments—the way she always finds her way to you after a mission, the way you instinctively reach for her hand under the table, the way she relaxes against you when no one is watching. To the outside world, you might just be another agent who occasionally lingers at the compound. But to Natasha, you’re home.

—————————-———

Wanda was the first to recognize the depth of your relationship.

It was early—early enough that most of the team was still asleep or barely functioning. The compound was quiet, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine in the kitchen. You stood by the counter, leaning against it, eyes still heavy with sleep as you waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

Natasha, still in her sleep shorts and one of your old SHIELD t-shirts, wandered in with a yawn, her hair slightly tousled from sleep. She didn’t say anything as she approached—you felt her presence before you saw her. Without hesitation, she walked straight into your space, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face into your chest.

"Mm. Too early," she mumbled against you.

You huffed a quiet laugh, your hand instinctively coming up to rub slow, soothing circles on her back. "You say that every morning, but you’re always up before me."

She hummed but didn’t respond, just tightening her grip around you as if she could steal some of your warmth. You didn’t mind. In fact, moments like this were your favorite—the ones where she let her guard down, where she wasn’t the Black Widow or an Avenger, just Natasha, just yours.

Neither of you noticed Wanda standing by the doorway, frozen mid-step. She had come in for coffee but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Natasha—fierce, guarded Natasha—melted completely against you.

Wanda had always assumed your relationship was casual. Everyone had. You weren’t around often, and Natasha never entertained deep conversations about her personal life. But standing there, watching the way she clung to you, the way your hand moved over her back with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of years of familiarity, Wanda realized they had all been wrong.

This wasn’t casual. This was love—deep, unwavering, and so achingly real.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but eventually, Natasha stirred, tilting her head up to look at you. "Coffee ready?"

"Almost," you murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. The gesture was so gentle, so natural, that Wanda almost felt like she was intruding.

Before Natasha could move away, you leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. "Go sit. I’ll bring you a cup."

Natasha didn’t argue, just gave you a sleepy, content smile before releasing you and making her way to the kitchen table.

Wanda finally decided to make her presence known, clearing her throat as she stepped fully into the kitchen. "Morning," she greeted, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips as she grabbed a mug and you unpromptedly filled it for her greeting her with a kind smile and filling Nat’s next, starting another pot for anyone else who might want it.

Natasha, already seated, just raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Wanda glanced between the two of you, then just shook her head, her smirk widening. "Nothing. Just... you two are cute," she blew on her coffee.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. Meanwhile, you simply handed Natasha her coffee before grabbing your own along with d the morning crossword, completely unfazed.

Wanda took a sip of her drink, still smiling to herself. Maybe the rest of the team had been blind to it, but now she knew the truth—Natasha Romanoff was hopelessly, completely in love.

—————————-———

The next person was Steve. You had gone on another lengthy mission; it had kept you away for weeks longer than either of you liked. You had kept in touch when you could, brief calls and cryptic messages, but it wasn’t the same. And now, finally, you were back.

Steve wasn’t looking for either of you when he entered the common room. He had just been passing through, planning to grab something from the kitchen before heading to the gym. But as soon as he stepped in, he stopped in his tracks.

The lights were dim, the soft crackle of the old record player filling the space. An oldie—something slow, something familiar. And in the center of the room, barely swaying to the rhythm, was you and Natasha.

She was pressed against you, arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders, her fingers idly playing with the hairs at the back of your neck. Your hands rested on her waist, holding her close as if you needed to feel her warmth to believe this moment had finally come after weeks of waiting.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need. The way Natasha clung to you, the way you held her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, it said everything.

Steve had never seen her like this. Sure, he had seen her care about people, had seen her protect and fight for those she loved. But this? This was different. This was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, completely at peace. Safe. Home.

He felt like he was intruding on something sacred, so he took a quiet step back, turning to leave—only to nearly bump into Bucky.

“what’s with the face?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at the look on Steve’s face.

Steve exhaled, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. “Nothing, just—” He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at Bucky. “You and Sam better stop checking Nat out so much.”

Bucky scoffed. “What? We don’t—”

Steve gave him a knowing look.

Bucky shifted. “Alright, maybe Sam does. I just—y’know, appreciate a good—”

Steve cut him off. “Don’t.”

Bucky smirked. “Okay, but why the sudden warning?”

Steve shook his head again, that small smile still lingering. “Because they’re in love. Like, really in love.”

Bucky frowned. “I mean, yeah, I figured they were serious, but—”

“No,” Steve interrupted. “Not just serious. Not just together. In love.”

Bucky studied him for a second, something unreadable passing over his expression before he nodded. “Alright,” he said simply.

Steve gave him a final glance before clapping him on the shoulder and walking off, leaving Bucky standing there, a little quieter than usual.

Because if what Steve was saying was true, then it wasn’t just Natasha they had underestimated. It was you.

—————————-———

The true statement was made in the compound gym.

The gym was alive with movement—punching bags swinging, the clatter of weights, and the rhythmic sound of fists meeting training dummies. You had just finished some shooting drills when you decided to swing by, knowing exactly where Natasha would be.

Sure enough, there she was, moving like a force of nature. Every strike was precise, every kick sharp. She was a sight to behold—dangerous, powerful, and effortlessly graceful.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought so.

You noticed Sam and Bucky standing off to the side, arms crossed, observing her with a little too much focus. Eyes tracked her every movement, and while you weren’t necessarily the jealous type, and were well aware how gorgeous Natasha is; people couldn't help but be enamoured by her, however weren’t about to let this slide.

You strolled up beside them, tilting your head. "Enjoying the view?"

Bucky, to his credit, immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, don’t look at me. I was admiring the technique, alright?" He nodded toward Natasha. "She’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen."

You eyed him for a second before nodding, accepting the explanation. Bucky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t dumb enough to cross that line.

Sam, however—

"Look, I’m just saying," Sam started, his eyes still trailing Natasha as she wiped sweat off her forehead. "It’s not my fault she moves like that. That’s a distraction."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Sam glanced at you, then seemed to realize way too late that he had just said that to the one person who could make him regret it. "Uh—"

"You know what?" You rolled your shoulders, tossing your towel aside. "I feel like I haven’t sparred in a while. What do you say, Wilson? A little one-on-one?"

Sam hesitated, looking between you and Bucky, who just took a step back, clearly enjoying the fact that he wasn’t involved.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Sam asked, crossing his arms. "I mean, no offense, but I’ve got wings, I’ve fought aliens—"

"You’re standing here watching my girlfriend train. I just want to see how you train too." you cut in, smirking.

The room went silent for half a beat before Bucky let out a low chuckle. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Clint grinned, nudging Wanda. "Five bucks says Sam regrets this immediately."

Natasha, who had been too focused on training to notice the exchange earlier, finally turned toward the group, eyebrow raised. "What’s going on?"

Wanda smirked. "Your sniper just challenged Sam to a sparring match because he got caught staring at you."

Natasha let out a small laugh, tossing a towel over her shoulder as she walked closer. "Oh, I have to see this."

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "Y’all are ridiculous. But fine. Let’s do this."

You stepped onto the mat, rolling your shoulders as Sam joined you. He gave a cocky smirk. "You sure you wanna do this? I am pretty fast, you know."

You just smirked back. "We’ll see."

Steve, ever the responsible one, clapped his hands. "Alright, keep it clean."

The second Steve gave the go-ahead, you moved—fast.

Sam barely had time to react before you were already in his space, effortlessly dodging his first strike. You didn’t just block—you controlled. Every punch he threw was sidestepped. Every kick, redirected. You weren’t just fighting Sam. You were toying with him.

The smirk on his face started fading as frustration crept in. "Damn," he muttered, throwing another punch. You caught his wrist, twisting him off-balance before sweeping his legs out from under him.

Sam hit the mat with a grunt.

From the sidelines, Bucky let out a whistle. "That looked like it hurt."

Clint was grinning beside Nat.

Wanda shook her head in amusement. "He walked right into that one."

Sam groaned but pushed himself back up. "Alright, alright—lucky shot."

You didn’t respond. You just motioned for him to try again.

This time, he put more effort into his attacks, but it didn’t make a difference. Every move he made, you were already three steps ahead. You parried, countered, redirected—all with ease.

After a few more humiliating takedowns, Sam finally dropped to the mat, breathing hard, lying flat on his back. "Damn. Alright. Message received."

You crouched down beside him, grinning. "Good. Maybe next time, you’ll keep your eyes to yourself playboy"

Sam exhaled, closing his eyes. "Noted."

You stood up, offering him a hand. He took it, groaning as he got to his feet. "You really don’t like people looking at her, huh?"

You shrugged, "I know she can handle herself, I just felt like making a statement today," you smiled stepping off the mat and walking to Nat

"Possessive looks good on you," Natasha said with her signature smirk

Without a second thought, you grabbed her by the waist and kissed her—really kissed her—right in front of everyone. It was slow, deep, and left no room for doubt. Natasha, normally composed, melted into you, gripping your bicep to steady herself.

When you pulled back, she was a little breathless, a rare blush dusting her cheeks.

You smirked. "See you at dinner, love."

And with that, you walked off, leaving Natasha still catching her breath.

Clint let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Wanda smirked. "That was a statement,” Natasha throwing a towel at her, mumbling out a whatever and heading to the lockers

Bucky clapped Sam on the shoulder. "So, you still gonna stare?"

Sam rolled his eyes taking a tired seat on the bench "I hate you all."

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lefteagleblizzard · 1 month ago

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𝔅𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔰

Mike Munroe x male reader x Grant Ward

Summary: The lodge burned, sealing away the horrors inside until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived, determined to uncover the truth. You swore your feelings for Mike Munroe would never be returned. But after a charged encounter with a certain agent, you find yourself caught between two men. One wants to tame you. The other wants to break you.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Friends to lovers. Strangers to ???. Angst. Lots of sensual tension. Jealousy. Love corner. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Top Grant Ward (Pre-Hydra). (No selfcest). Bottom male reader. Blowjob (reading giving). Anal sex. Double penetration.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 8000 words

You adjusted the weight of the gun in your belt, a gift from Mike that he stubbornly insisted you take. You still weren't sure why he'd been so adamant, but at this moment, you were almost grateful for it.

You jumped down from the rocky ledge, the freezing water swallowing your lower body again and forcing a sharp hiss of pain through your clenched teeth that clattered against each other. The water ripple beside you as Mike jumped in as well.

He cursed under his breath, a sharp ‘fuck’ cutting through the still air, but he adjusted quickly, stepping closer to rub your arm with his hand, the friction a weak attempt at warmth. You managed a small, tight smile, your lips trembling from the cold.

"I'm fine," you forced a smile, ignoring how your teeth clacked together. "You should worry more about Josh."

Mike's hand didn't leave your arm.

Even as you lied through your teeth about being fine, his fingers stayed curled around your sleeve, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles over the damp fabric. His brows were drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line like he was searching for something in you.

But whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it. He gave a single, stiff nod.

"Alright," he muttered, voice rough, like he didn't even believe himself.

Another splash echoed behind you. Josh had followed, his mumbling barely intelligible over the sloshing water, his head tilting this way and that, movements erratic. He wasn't here with you, not mentally.

Mike's grip on your arm lingered, just a second too long before he moved forward and you took the chance to move towards the rocks on the side, feeling the merciful relief of shallower water as you reached a cluster of jagged rocks.

It happened in an instant. A sudden splash and Mike disappeared beneath the dark water.

Panic surged in your chest as your eyes darted wildly across the water's surface, trying to catch a glimpse of him until something rose from the depths.

The thing that emerged was not human. It had once been, maybe, but what stood before you was something twisted beyond recognition, something starved, stretched, monstrous. Its skin clung too tightly over its skinny frame, stretched thin over bones that jutted at jagged, unnatural angles. And the eyes. Sunken pits of milky white, rolling wildly in their sockets as the head snapped towards Josh, neck cracking with the motion. The jaw hung open far wider than it should have, an unhinged, gaping maw lined with jagged teeth.

The sheer wrongness of it paralyzed you. Your body refused to move, breath lodged somewhere between your ribs, mind caught in the primal terror of staring into something that simply should not be.

An arm locked around your waist, yanking you backward with such force that your frozen muscles finally snapped into motion. You gasped, twisting in the grip and found Mike, soaked and terrified. His grip was iron, pulling you toward cover, away from that thing.

Its claws snapped around Josh and he screamed, dragging him from the water like he weighed nothing.

Mike hauled you behind a large rock, his body pressing into yours,pinning you between his heat and the cold, wet stone and holding you against him, arms tight and firm. His heartbeat pounded beneath your cheek, rapid, erratic, just as shaken as you.

He moved to reach for something at your waist.

The gun.

His fingers brushed your belt, pulling the cold weight of it free.

Your fingers twitched as if trying to recall a missed opportunity, the crushing realization slamming into you like a freight train. You had a way to fight back, and instead you stood there, useless, frozen in fear while Josh was taken

Mike cursed under his breath as he raised the gun with his injured hand and aimed where Josh was.

Nothing. Neither him or the wendigo were there.

He swore under his breath, dragging a rough hand down his face, frustration evident in the lines of his body. Then he turned, locking onto you again, softer this time.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was quiet, but insistent, hands gripping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed slow, grounding circles into your soaked jacket.

You shook your head. Your throat was tight, something thick and painful building there. "It's my fault." The words barely came out. "I could've—should've—"

"Stop." His voice was firm, not allowing space for doubt. "I unloaded hundreds of rounds into those things at the sanatorium. They don't fucking die." His fingers tightened, forcing you to meet his gaze. "If you shot it, all it would've done is kill you next. There was no point in both of you dying."

Your chest was too tight, breathing uneven, and rapid. His arms locked around you with force, pressing you flush against him protectively, body radiating heat despite the cold seeping into your clothes. Your face met his chest, his soaked, dirt-covered shirt and his sturdy chest against your skin, he held you like he needed it just as much as you did

The hum of the aircraft was a dull, constant vibration beneath you. The lodge was gone, reduced to embers and the wendigos—what was left of Hannah and those poor miners experimented on at the sanatorium—were nothing but charred skeletons buried in the wreckage.

SHIELD had arrived before the police even had a chance.

You hadn't even processed how they got there so fast before you were ushered onto The Bus, this massive military transport plane. Instead of immediate safety, you were met with cold professionalism agents in black tactical gear, armed with sidearms that wanted to know everything.

One by one, you and the others were being interrogated. The idea of recounting the night in painful, graphic detail made your stomach twist, but exhaustion sat heavy on you, making it difficult to do much more than sit back and wait.

Mike was beside you and that was enough to keep you grounded. Your body ached, bruises forming where you'd been slammed against walls, dragged through frozen water, thrown to the ground.

You glanced across the cabin. Sam sat a few seats away, elbows on her knees, hands over her face. She was probably thinking about Josh, about Hannah, about everything. The truth had hit her harder than anyone else.

Ashley was already being interrogated, locked away in some windowless room on the aircraft, probably struggling to explain to an agent how cannibalism had turned people into monsters with supernatural strength and speed.

Emily sat across from you and Mike, staring down at the metal floor, her hands gripping the fabric of her torn pants. She muttered curses under her breath over and over, her rage and grief bubbling under the surface, directed at Matt. Whether for leaving her, abandoning her, or not making it out alive, you weren't sure.

You still didn't know if Jessica and Matt made it.

Beside you, Mike shifted. The seat creaked under his weight as his shoulder brushed yours.

It felt stupid how good it felt just the contact alone and you didn’t think twice before leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder, instinct overriding hesitation.

For a moment, you thought he was going to pull away but then, hesitantly, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Mike's jaw clenched. He hadn't thought past the constant static in his chest every time he looked at you.

There was a weight between you, something unspoken but heavy pressing at the edges of whatever this had always been. You swallowed hard, a quiet, bitter chuckle slipping past your lips in a desperate attempt to ease the tension. "At least we both made it out in one piece," you murmured, your voice hoarse.

Mike scoffed, shifting slightly to wave his injured left hand in front of you. The crude bandage was still wrapped tight around the stump where his fingers used to be, the fabric stained with dried blood.

"I wouldn't say one piece, exactly."

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly "You know what I mean, dumbass."

The teasing was easy. It almost felt normal, like the two of you were back at some party, throwing banter across the room. But Mike's fingers brushed over your wrist, his thumb tracing small, absentminded patterns against your skin.

His mind was racing.

If this night had taught him anything, it was that life was too fucking short. If he was willing to fight monsters for you, if he was willing to nearly die for you, what the hell was stopping him from saying what's been on his mind for months now?

His grip on you tightened slightly. His throat felt dry.

"I won't tell anyone about what happened in the mines."

The words weren't what he meant to say. Not even close.

He cursed at himself immediately when he felt you tense. There was a moment of silence that stretched painfully, then you whispered, "You shouldn't do that."

Mike turned to look at you fully. Your face was so close to his, barely millimeters apart. He took it all in at once, the dirt and dried blood on your skin, exhaustion clung to your expression and the sharp line of your jaw. It made his chest feel too full.

Your voice was strained. "You shouldn't possibly ruin your life for something I did."

Mike clenched his jaw. He hated the way you blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. If you had tried to save Josh, you'd be fucking dead. He was doing this because he wanted to, because the idea of you getting dragged into something worse than what you'd already suffered made him sick.

Mike swallowed hard. "It's not up for debate."

"It's not your responsibility."

Mike shook his head, jaw set. "I don't care."

Another stretch of silence that felt longer than it really was. Then, slowly, you turned your head to look at him. Your faces were too close and Mike's breath caught in his throat.

You were exhausted, bruised. Blood streaked across your temple, a smudge of dirt on your cheek. But you still looked perfect in his eyes.

You swallowed, breath shaky. "Why are you doing this?"

Mike clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his pulse spiked.

You could see the dirt and blood streaking his face, the cuts and bruises from his fights. His lips were split, his cheekbones shadowed with fatigue and grime, and his sharp but tired eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Mike exhaled sharply, his breath unsteady, pulse hammering like a war drum in his chest. The words clawed at his throat, desperate to be freed, but his tongue felt heavy, his mind a battlefield of hesitation and raw emotion.

This was it. No more second-guessing. No more biting his tongue. He had to say it now before the moment slipped through his fingers.

He loved you. He fucking loved you.

If it meant keeping you safe, he would have faced a hundred more of those wendigos with nothing but his bare hands if that’s what it took.

His breath hitched as the weight of it settled between you both, hanging thick in the air, electric and undeniable.

He opened his mouth—

"Jesus," Chris groaned suddenly, dropping into the seat in front of you both. "That was terrifying. I think I aged ten years in the last ten minutes. That woman is scary."

Mike clenched his jaw so fucking hard it hurt.

You blinked, lifting your head from his shoulder and he immediately hated the loss of warmth. His arm was still around your waist and his grip twitched, fingers digging in slightly as if he could silently tell you to stay where you were.

But you were already looking at Chris, frowning. "Who?"

Chris rubbed his temple. "The one who interrogated me. Dark hair, totally deadpan face. I thought she was gonna flip the table over when I took too long to answer."

You recalled all the agents that swarmed you when they arrived and circled all of you, your mind settling on a stern-looking Asian woman with sharp, no-nonsense eyes, her posture rigid with the kind of discipline that made it clear she didn’t tolerate any bullshit. Beside her there was a man with neatly combed brown hair, a slight receding hairline that did nothing to diminish the quiet authority he carried. His composed expression barely shifted, save for the occasional flicker of dry amusement in his gaze, as if he was already ten steps ahead of everyone in the room.

You stifled a laugh. "What, you got interrogated by an adult Emily?"

Emily scoffed, shooting you a glare but didn't argue, too preoccupied muttering about Matt under her breath.

Then someone called your name.

Your stomach dropped as you realized that it was your turn.

You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet and squeezing Mike's shoulder in reassurance.

Mike looked up at you and it was easy to pick that your smile wasn't real. Your eyes were too tight, anxiety flickering behind them.

You turned and walked away and all Mike could do was watch until you stepped inside the room.

It was cold not just in temperature, but in presence as well.

A man was seated with calculated ease, fingers interlaced on the metal table between you. He was handsome in a way that was almost unfair, like someone had sculpted the sharp lines of his jaw with the intention of making people stare.

His suit was crisp, tailored to broad shoulders and a lean, solid frame, emphasizing the lean muscle beneath. The sleeves were rolled up enough to expose his forearms, the fabric pressed neatly against defined muscle that flexes subtly as he tapped a pen once against the metal table. The name ‘Grant Ward’ placed on the right side of his suit.

He didn't greet you. Didn't offer a single word of pretense.

Instead, he studied you. No unnecessary movement. Just an unwavering gaze as you took your seat.

Goddamn. Was it too late to request the terrifying woman Chris had mentioned?

Ward exhaled through his nose, gaze flickering over your face like he was assessing something. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Start from the beginning." His voice was sharp, commanding. "Tell me exactly what happened on this mountain."

The sheer weight of the question hit you like a sledgehammer.

Your body screamed with exhaustion, every muscle sore from the night's horrors with your mind in an even worse state.

And now, you have to relive it all again. But Ward's expression made it clear that there was no room for evasion.

So you started talking.

About a year ago Hannah ran into the woods, Beth chasing after her. About how neither of them came back. Then came the present. The stranger with a flamethrower that helped all of you. The sanatorium and the notes you and Mike found about the experiments. The Wendigos.

Every fucking detail, laid bare before him.

You could see Ward's hand moving occasionally, jotting things down, but his face barely moved. His expression remained unreadable, eyes locked onto yours like he was watching for the moment you slipped up.

But when you got to Josh you hesitated.

Just for a second. A single, sharp second.

And he noticed. His pen stilled.

You forced yourself to keep going, but you carefully didn't mention what had happened in the mines. You spoke about how Josh had planned revenge, the fake deaths and the psychological torture.

"You're leaving something out about your friend," he said smoothly.

Your jaw tightened, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "It's a hard thing to talk about."

Ward leaned back slightly, tapping his pen against the table with a thoughtful rhythm. "That's understandable."

You exhaled slowly.

"But," he continued, "what I don't understand is why, out of all the things you just told me, this is the part you struggled with."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Because he was my friend.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, the exhaustion making your patience wear too thin, and that was when you realized that you just walked straight into his trap.

Ward didn't blink. "That didn't stop you from telling me about Hannah."

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like you were an interesting puzzle he was beginning to enjoy putting together. Ward knew he had you.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "Josh wasn't the bad guy."

Ward made a soft, considering sound. "So you're saying he's innocent?" His tone was too neutral, too practiced. "Then why did you tie him up in the barn and left him for the Wendigo?"

You inhaled sharply through your nose, forcing control. "You're twisting my words," you shot back.

"Am I?" A flicker of something subtle, dark amusement.

"Yeah," you said, leaning forward now, refusing to back down. "You weren't there. You don't get to act like you know what we all went through."

Something about that seemed to interest him. "You seem defensive."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You seem like a pain in the ass."

Ward's smirk fully formed, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent something sharp through your chest.

Your body had already betrayed you, but your mind? Your mind was a fucking traitor.

Suddenly you ended up thinking about his hands. Big and strong fingers that could wrap around your throat with the same practiced ease he used to hold a gun.

Or pin you down, bent over this fucking table, pressing you down against the cold metal with his body flush against yours.

Your jaw clenched, nails dug into your thighs beneath the table.

If he really wanted answers, how far would he go?

Would he whisper in your ear, that same mocking lilt in his voice as he asked his questions while his fingers traced down your spine? Would he take his time, make you beg to speak, make you squirm under him until you gave him every secret, every confession, every fucking moan?

Or would he be impatient? Would he press you down harder, his breath hot against your neck, hips pinning you in place as he made it clear that this was about breaking you completely?

"Something on your mind?" He was watching you unravel and he liked it.

Your breath hitched, and of course he caught it. You saw the flicker of amusement in his expression, the way his gaze dropped so briefly to your throat, watching the way you swallowed, like he was considering something and your skin burned with the realization.

Your nails dug harder into your thighs. "Fuck you."

Ward chuckled, low and deep and you hated how fucking good it sounded

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, "I might think that's an offer."

He stood abruptly, the movement was fluid, precise, the scrape of the chair's legs against the floor sharp in the too-quiet room. He didn't hesitate, didn't break eye contact.

And in seconds, he was at your side.

A strong hand clamped down on your shoulder, the calloused pads of his fingers pressed against the fabric of your shirt, squeezing not in aggression, but in something worse.

"You're free to go," he said.

Except he didn't move. He stood directly in front of you, his frame blocking the path.

You could have stepped to the side and walked past him, left without a second glance.

So why the hell couldn't you move?

He leaned forward. Hands braced on either side of the cold, metal table behind you.

Caging you in.

Your back hit the table as you involuntarily backed away, but there was nowhere left to go.

Ward was too close now. The heat radiating from his body was at odds with the sterile chill of the interrogation room, his presence swallowing the space between you. The scent he had was something like faint gunpowder and expensive cologne that wrapped around you and fuck, your heart was pounding.

"It wouldn't take much for me to find out what you're hiding." A whisper that came low and rough as he spoke.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening as his presence loomed closer.

His eyes, dark and piercing, never wavered from yours. They held a promise of retribution that made your skin prickle with unease. A slow, deliberate step brought him nearer, the barest smirk curling the corner of his mouth as he studied your reaction.

"And when I do," he continued, his voice dropping further, almost a growl now, "I'll give you exactly what you deserve."

A sharp wave of heat rolled through you, unwanted, undeniable.

Your breath hitched and you knew he fucking felt it.

His gaze flickered down to your lips.

Voluntary? Involuntary? You had no fucking clue.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your body moved before your mind could catch up.

You tilted your head slightly. Let your gaze flicker to his lips just for a brief, fleeting second enough to let him notice.

You moved so goddamn slowly, closing the space between you inch by inch, breath by breath.

His was warm. It ghosted over your lips, mingling with your own and he didn't pull away.

Your chest was tight, skin burning, and just when you felt him shift slightly—

"Leave."

You flinched. The word hit like a slap, rough and sharp, dragging you out of the haze of whatever the fuck this was.

Ward was already pulling away, his face was yet again cold, controlled and detached.

He turned toward the files on the table, attention already elsewhere like you were nothing.

Your legs felt weak, heart hammering so hard you could barely breathe as you forced yourself to get the hell out of there before you lost all composure.

You didn't let yourself look back.

Mike was already waiting for you when you stepped out, leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed over his chest, his head tilted downward in deep thought. His fingers tapped idly against his bicep, brows furrowed.

The second his gaze landed on your face, something in his expression shifted.

His brows pulled together, eyes narrowing and scanning your face in quick, sharp flicks like he was trying to read you. He pushed off the wall instantly, straightening up, body already moving toward you before he even realized it.

Your shoulders were too tight, body wound up like a coil ready to snap. You wouldn't meet his eyes, and made his stomach twist.

"You good?" His voice was lower than usual, careful.

You shrugged. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe you. Not for a fucking second.

His gaze flickered over your shoulder, toward the interrogation room door.

The agent was leaning against the doorframe, posture too relaxed, as if he had no real interest in you at all. But Mike wasn't an idiot. He saw the way Ward was watching you, gaze lingering for just a second too long before finally flicking toward Mike.

The ghost of a smirk was barely there, but it sent something sharp through Mike's chest.

His fingers curled into fists as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from Ward before he did something fucking stupid.

Instead, he turned his attention back to you.

"You don't look fine." His voice was firmer now, pressing.

You exhaled sharply "Mike, I said I'm fine."

He definitely didn't believe you now. His hands clenched inside his pockets, nails biting into his palms as something ugly curled in his chest.

"What the fuck happened in there?" His voice was low, sharp, his patience running thin.

You ran a hand down your face, frustration creeping into your tone. "Mike."

He stepped too close to you now and you stiffened, instinctively leaning back, as his broad frame looming.

"I'm serious," he said, voice quieter now, but somehow more intense. "What did he do?”

"I said nothing happened," you snapped, the exhaustion making your voice too sharp, the words coming out too fast. "Jesus Christ, what is this, round two? I've had enough of being interrogated, okay?”

The second the words left your mouth, regret hit you immediately.

You hadn't meant to say it like that, hadn't meant to make it sound like you were pushing him away.

Mike exhaled harshly through his nose, his fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to lash out—not at you, never at you, but at something, someone, at the situation, at himself.

He had let his emotions get the better of him and he backed off immediately, the heat of his presence suddenly gone, the absence of it making your skin prickle. He scrubbed a hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe, to calm the fuck down.

"Shit." His voice was quieter now, rough. "That was—fuck, I didn't mean to—" He cut himself off, shaking his head like he was pissed at himself.

Mike swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took a step back. He turned on his heel, rolling his shoulders back.

"I should go. Get this shit over with."

The words were calm, but the tension still hung thick in the air, something unfinished between you.

Leaving you alone with nothing but the sharp regret in his expression and the lingering heat of his body that still clung to your skin.

A whole night awake was definitely something that would make anyone fall asleep the second they would spot anything to lay on.

Your body was beyond exhausted, beaten, bruised, still aching from the hell you had barely survived, but your mind refused to let you rest. Every time you close your eyes, you see those wendigos ready to tear you apart. Their screech mingled with Josh’s scream of pure terror.

It was too much so you had given up. Restless, drained and unable to fight the battle in your own mind, you quietly slipped out of the makeshift 'room' SHIELD had provided you on The Bus, wandering into the dimly lit corridor.

The hallway was dimly lit, lined with reinforced steel doors and you weren't surprised when you spotted Mike already there.

He was standing just a few feet away, like he had been about to come find you. Arms that were crossed over his chest, head tilted downward, lost in thought.

Your chest tightened at the sight. Still, you mustered a small, careful smile as you stepped closer. "Can't sleep either?"

His lips quirked into a nervous, almost shy smile, something you rarely saw from him. "Not a chance," he murmured, shifting on his feet.

He had cleaned up since earlier, finally able to wash away the grime and blood that had clung to his skin since the sanatorium. His injuries had been properly patched up, bandages wrapped neatly around the places that had once been a mess of hastily-tied cloth and dried blood.

The slightly too tight black shirt SHIELD gave him hugs his torso in a way that's... distracting.

Mike has always been fit, but this is just unfair. His broad shoulders, the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the way his arms look even stronger now without the oversized jacket hiding them.

You slid down the wall, settling onto the cool metal floor. Mike followed suit, sinking down beside you, his body warm where it pressed just slightly against yours.

The silence that followed was comfortable, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to everything you had been through.

"I was scared," he admitted suddenly, voice quieter now. "Back at the lodge. When everything started going to shit. I was losing my mind, man. Thinking about where you were, if you were okay. Fuck, I could barely focus on anything else.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him. His fingers flexed against his knee, his good hand idly fidgeting with the hem of his too tight SHIELD issued shirt.

"Hell, I was this close to torturing Josh if he didn't tell me what the fuck he did to you." He clarified.

The warmth that sparked in your chest was almost overwhelming. You barely even noticed that you had leaned closer, your shoulder pressing against his, most likely driven by the fact that you had always felt something for him that never really went away.

He seemed to lean in too, his breath mixing with yours, gaze flickering downward for half a second before snapping back up.

All at once, the words tumbled out

"I fucking like you, okay?" Mike blurted, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to physically wipe away his nerves. "Like, really like you. And I know this is probably— No. it’s definitely the worst time for this, but I've been sitting on this for so long and after almost dying I can't not say it anymore."

You kiss him.

It's instinct. A desperate reaction, wordless way of shutting him up before he drives himself insane.

Your lips press against his hesitation at first, but the second it happens, the second Mike registers what's happening, he melts into it.

His hand moves to your face, fingers threading through your hair as he kisses you back, harder, deeper.

It's hungry. Messy. Like he's been waiting forever for this and can't hold back anymore.

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his too-tight shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the solid muscle beneath your fingers.

The moment his tongue slips past your lips, you shudder, a low sound escaping the back of your throat. Mike groans at that, shifting, pressing even closer, his body half on top of yours now as he deepens the kiss.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his other hand gripping your waist, breath heavy as his tongue brushes against yours, slow, deliberate, teasing.

As you back away to recover your breath, the heat of Mike's mouth is still on yours. The warmth of his body still lingers where it had pressed against you.

You swallow, dragging in a breath that does nothing to calm your nerves, because the second you pull away, you realize you need to tell him.

"I'm sorry. For earlier."

Mike's brows furrow slightly. "What?"

You swallowed hard. "When I snapped at you. That was—"

"Don't," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You don't need to apologize, I—"

"No." Your voice was firm, and this time he shut up. "Something happened during my interrogation and it left me speechless."

The shift in Mike's demeanor was immediate. One second, he was soft, open, vulnerable. The next his entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

"What did he do?" His voice was sharp, low, ready to fight.

You quickly cut in before he actually tried to throw hands with a SHIELD agent. "Nothing," you reassured, a half-hearted chuckle escaping. "Come on, man. You really think you could take down a trained—"

"I don't fucking care who he is. What the fuck did he do?" His voice dropped into something low, dangerous, controlled but barely. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms tightening visibly beneath the too tight fabric of his SHIELD-issued shirt.

"Nothing like that," you said quickly, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

But that didn't calm him. If anything, it made him more on edge.

"Then what?"

You hesitated for a second too long before breaking it down to him, explaining everything that occurred in that cold room.

"Hey." His voice is quieter now, rougher. His fingers twitch before moving, hesitantly, to your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and the second he does, you lean into it.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world and fuck, that makes something warm ache in his chest.

"You know not to let that guy get into your head, right?" he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, but still edged with something firm. "Whatever mind games he was playing? That's all they were."

Mike's voice was rough, raw, pleading beneath the sharp edge of his frustration. His hand was still on your face, fingers warm against your skin, thumb barely brushing your jawline.

You knew what he was asking and you should have said yes. Should have reassured him and pushed every thought of Ward out of your mind.

But you hesitated and Mike saw it.

His entire body tensed, fingers twitching against your skin before he abruptly pulled away, ripping his hand back from.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered under his breath, his good hand dragging through his already-messy hair, his movements sharp, frustrated. He let out a harsh exhale, shaking his head like he couldn't fucking believe this.

You swallowed hard. "Mike, I—"

"No." He cut you off fast, voice low, sharp. "Don't. Just—don't.”

He pushed himself up off the floor, standing so fast it made you flinch. His body radiated tension, shoulders tight and stance stiff. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.

"Mike," you said quickly, scrambling up after him. "Please, don't—don't be mad, I—"

He spun to face you and for a second you froze.

His expression is intense and menacing, brows slightly furrowed and eyes locked in a piercing, almost predatory stare. His lips are pressed together and the shadows on his face emphasize the sharpness of his features, making him look intimidating and unreadable. The dim, moody lighting of the hallway adds to the overall eerie and threatening atmosphere. But more than anything he looked hurt.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, but lethal in its intensity.

"I protected you. For hours. Through all that fucking shit. I never left you. Not once." His voice was shaking, just slightly, but his anger held steady.

“Tonight I finally got the balls to tell you about how i felt and you—" he let out a harsh exhale, shaking his head. "And you're sitting here, thinking about fucking some other man?"

His voice cracked slightly at the end and that broke something in you.

You didn't know what to say because he was right.

Your stomach sank. You had ruined this like everything else.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven pulls as you took a step forward, fully aware of how dangerous his expression had become. Something you never thought you'd see directed at you.

You wet your lips, forcing yourself to speak, to carefully form the words you needed.

"Mike." Your voice was softer now, controlled, but not fake. "Everything I feel for you is real." You stepped closer, slow, cautious, searching his face, watching every flicker of emotion behind his eyes. "Nothing has changed that. "

Mike inhaled through his nose, his jaw twitching, arms crossing tightly over his chest like he was physically holding himself back from reacting.

A long silence.

"It's hard to believe that," he murmured, "when you're fantasizing about getting fucked by another man while saying those things to me."

Your breath caught, his words sinking deep, hitting your chest, your stomach, making something coil inside you.

Softer, but somehow worse, his voice dripping with something bitter and almost mocking. "Even after all the things that I did for you."

Your fingers twitched at your sides, irritation flaring up like a spark against dry kindling.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharp, cutting, your emotions pushing too hard to keep your voice controlled.

"I never asked you to protect me from what happened to Josh!"

The second it left your mouth, you saw the way his entire body locked up. His face twisted, something raw and pained flickering across his features for just a second before it was buried beneath something darker.

His teeth clenched and for the first time in your life, Mike Munroe was looking at you like he didn't recognize you.

Silence.

Horrible silence.

A flicker of movement behind Mike.

Even before your eyes locked onto him, you felt him.

Grant Ward was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, exuding that same calculated stillness as before. Not surprised. Not irritated. Just watching.

"Trouble in paradise?" His voice was smooth. Controlled and mocking in that way that made your skin prickle, your breath hitch.

Fuck. He had heard everything.

Mike stilled in front of you. You barely had time to process it before your mouth moved on instinct, your voice sharper than intended. "What do you want?"

Ward's gaze never left you.

Mike stepped forward immediately, his entire body moving like instinct, slotting between you and Ward, his stance tight, protective, like he was physically blocking you.

"Fuck off."

Mike's voice was low, dangerous, practically dripping with barely-contained rage.

And Ward just chuckled. A slow, quiet thing, his lips twitching just slightly, his eyes flickering between you and Mike like he was enjoying the show.

"I didn't know you were so eager to sleep with a criminal."

The words landed like a fucking grenade.

Mike’s entire body tensed, his breath shuddering out uneven, his bandaged hand clenching into a fist too tightly.

The bandages around the healing wound where his pinky and ring finger used to be started to tear, the fabric pulling apart under the sheer pressure of how fucking hard he was gripping.

"Mike, what is he talking about?"

His shoulders tightened.

He turned, his eyes flickering to your face, mouth parting like he was going to say something but no words came out.

Silence that Ward filled eagerly.

"He told me," he said smoothly, gaze locked onto yours, "that it was his fault Josh was taken."

Your stomach dropped.

"He heard screaming," Ward continued, voice even, clinical, like he was repeating evidence, "and urged you to follow him. Since there was no point in both of you dying."

The words hit and your chest ached. Mike had twisted the truth to protect you and keep your name out of it.

"What the fuck do you want?" Mike’s voice was hostile as he barked back at Grant. "You already have everything you need."

Ward tilted his head slightly. Then, simply. "I want the truth."

You stepped forward before you could think, moving until you were right in front of Grant, your chest nearly brushing against his.

"You want the truth?"

Mike's voice called your name sharply behind you, irritation and something dangerously close to desperation in his tone.

But you ignored him.

Grant’s expression remained calm, still, unreadable, but his eyes were locked onto you like he was analyzing every shift, every breath, every flicker of emotion that passed through you.

"It wasn't Mike's fault." Your voice came out stronger than you expected, but your throat felt tight. "It was mine."

Grant raised an eyebrow.

"Josh—" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to say it. "Josh is gone because of me. I could've saved him. I froze. I did nothing."

The words felt like broken glass on your tongue, sharp and bitter. He studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze was suffocating, inescapable, pressing down on you like a physical force.

And then he spoke. "We found your friend. Deep in the mines," Ward continued, voice perfectly level. "Alive. Fully intact."

Your breath hitched. Josh was alive. Even after you had left him to whatever nightmare awaited him in those tunnels.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your feet shifting, breath stumbling, turning sharply toward Mike.

His eyes were already on you, his shock mirroring your own.

The sound of a boot clicking softly against metal. A shift in the air, something subtle, something felt before it was heard.

A firm grip wrapping around your shoulder, pressing down enough to remind you who was in control.

"Told you I keep my promises."

Ward's voice was low, smooth, too close, edged with mockery as he leaned in just slightly. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against your ear.

"You lied to me." His voice was sharper now.

Ward's gaze flicked up past you to Mike.

You felt the way Mike stiffened, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles going white.

"It’s almost endearing how willing he was to throw himself under the bus for you." He mused to you. His fingers curled slightly, dragging along the fabric of your shirt before his grip tightened again.

"Despite everything he's done for you—" his voice was smooth, casual, but dripping with purpose as he angled his head toward Mike, twisting the knife deeper. "You still have room in that pretty little head of yours for me."

Heat flooded your body, something sharp, something foul, something filthy curling deep in your stomach.

Your entire body felt hot, your pulse pounding in your fucking dick, because fuck, fuck, you shouldn't—

"Maybe he needs to be taught a lesson."

The words slammed into you like a physical force, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your fingers tighten against your sides.

You knew exactly what he was implying.

Exactly where this was going.

And fuck—you wanted it.

Heat. Everywhere. It clung to your skin, thick and stifling, rolling off you in waves as strong hands kept you pressed between two bodies that left no room to breathe. Your head was spinning, vision hazy, barely able to register whose lips were on you at any given moment.

The air was filled with the sounds of ragged breathing and the low, guttural groans of satisfaction. Hands roamed greedily, possessively, sliding under your shirt and tugging at your waistband. Grant’s fingers dug into your hips, pinning you back against his sturdy chest while his free hand snaked down inside your underwear, squeezing your ass painfully.

Mike was in front of you, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, forcing your half-lidded gaze to meet his. His lips crashed against yours and the kiss was anything but gentle. It was demanding, a collision of hunger and dominance as his mouth slanted over yours. His teeth caught your bottom lip between them, sharp but not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp and he used that moment to push his tongue past your lips, sweeping inside and dragging along the roof of your mouth, tangling with yours in a messy, desperate exchange.

He sucked at your tongue, drawing a groan from deep in your throat that only made him press closer, body flush against yours, chest heaving. One of his hands cupped your jaw roughly, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, while the other had already made its way between your legs, gripping your cock through your pants, fingers pressing just enough to make you squirm.

Grant's touch was almost cruel in contrast to Mike's reckless desperation. His mouth was on your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin before his teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder and the jolt of pain only made the pleasure sharper. You moaned into Mike's mouth, the sound swallowed eagerly as he deepened the kiss.

"Look at you," Grant murmured against your skin, his voice smooth, low, full of dark amusement as he squeezed your ass hard enough to make you hiss. The heat in your stomach twisted tighter at the rough touch, at the way his fingers slid possessively over your flesh, teasing, testing, like he was savoring the way you twitched at every squeeze. "Didn't take much to get you pliant, did it?"

Mike broke away from your lips just long enough to glare over your shoulder, breath hot and heavy against your skin. "Shut the fuck up," he growled, his grip on your cock tightening, his strokes more deliberate now, fingers teasing the outline of your length through your pants.

Grant chuckled, dark and knowing, but the way his fingers dragged lower, circling where you needed them most, made your breath hitch. Your body betrayed you, arching instinctively into his touch, and the satisfaction that rumbled from his chest made it clear he'd noticed.

Mike let his lips trail teasingly downward, nipping at the sensitive skin there, his tongue darting out to soothe the bites he left behind while his hand gave your cock a slow, deliberate stroke that made your knees go weak, each stroke perfectly teasing, dragging his fingers just right over the sensitive tip, making you whimper into his mouth as he kissed you hungrily again.

One of Grant’ hands slid up your spine, pressing you further into his chest. The other was still firmly cupping your ass, fingers pressing into your flesh and when it dipped lower, his fingers pressing inside you, that the air left your lungs entirely.

The stretch was sudden, practiced, his fingers scissoring, curling with high experience, hitting exactly the right spot to send a wave of pleasure rolling through you. Your moan was swallowed by Mike's mouth again, his tongue eager as he licked inside, owning every sound you made.

"We'll see if you're this eager when it's my cock stretching you open." Grant murmured against your ear, voice dripping with approval and something dark.

Your body was on fire, stretched between them, caught in their hands as they kept pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Every inch of your skin was burning and the way their bodies were pressed against you only made it worse. You could feel both of them hard and thick, their cocks pressing into you from both sides, undeniable reminders of what was coming next.

They moved you through the room without a pause in their assault, hands stripping away every last piece of clothing until you were completely bare, caught between them, exposed and theirs. Grant's fingers never stopped working you open with ruthless precision, while Mike's hand kept you throbbing and aching, keeping you right on the precipice of release but never quite letting you tip over.

By the time Grant bent you over the bed, your body was trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure and desperation. His big hands kept you steady, one firm on your hip, the other still working inside you, dragging more obscene noises from your lips with every twist and curl of his fingers.

His breath was hot against your neck, lips brushing the fresh bruises he had left before his teeth sank in again, making you jerk and groan as he lapped at the red spot like a hungry animal savoring its claim as he ground his cock against your ass.

Behind you, the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone cut through the haze of pleasure, sharp and clear despite the heavy drumming of your heartbeat in your ears.

Grant leaned in, his solid chest pressing against your back, heavy and unyielding. His body was heat and strength, trapping you beneath him, his breath fanning against your ear as he shifted just enough to settle into place. You felt him big and hot, pressing right against your entrance, the blunt head teasing you just enough to make you whimper. The pressure alone was a sharp reminder of just how thick he was, how much he was about to give you.

He didn't waste time. His hand came up, fingers gripping the back of your neck with firm possession as he spat into his other hand, stroking himself once, twice, enough to spread the slick heat along his length before lining himself up again and pushing in.

A guttural grunt ripped from Grant's throat as he sank into you, his cock stretching you wide, forcing your body to take every inch of him in one slow, unforgiving thrust. He bottomed out completely, his hips pressing flush against your ass, his chest rising and falling heavy against your back as he exhaled a rough, almost shaky breath. His fingers tightened against your neck, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as he pulled your head back, his lips dragging over your jaw before kissing you.

A bruising clash of lips and teeth that stole the breath from your lungs. His tongue pushed past your lips immediately, licking into your mouth with the same dominance he was using to claim your body. His teeth scraped over your bottom lip, biting down to sting painfully before swallowing your gasp, thrusting his tongue deep into your mouth to chase the sound.

His hips moved in tandem with his kiss, pulling back only to slam forward again, setting a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure rippling through you. His hands were everywhere, both of them gripping your ass now, spreading you wider, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising force as he fucked into you harder. Every drag of his cock inside you made your brain blank, moans spilling into his mouth only to be swallowed whole.

"Fuck," Grant growled against your lips, his thrusts turning rougher, faster, as he held you firm in his grasp. His fingers dug into your skin, marking and claiming you.

Then he moved you, shifting your body like you were nothing in his grasp and pulling you up so that you were no longer on your stomach but leaning against his chest, fully exposed, fully on display. Your back pressed against the solid heat of him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you in place as he thrust into you harder, making your cock bounce with every snap of his hips.

Mike was right in front of you now, kneeling on the bed, his eyes dark and heavy lidded as he watched.

Grant's lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot, full of amusement as he spoke to Mike all while still fucking into you, his thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging every inch of his cock against your walls. "You see that?" he murmured, voice deep, controlled, laced with smug satisfaction. "How easy he falls apart for me?"

Mike's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against the sheets, his own arousal painfully obvious, pressing against his pants as he took in the sight of you your body trembling, your cock leaking, your lips already swollen from Grant's bruising kisses.

Grant chuckled lowly, biting at your neck again, his tongue flicking over the bruises he was leaving behind as he picked up his pace, fucking into you harder and making sure Mike saw every single thrust.

Mike exhaled roughly, then made his move. He surged forward, one hand tangling into your hair as he crashed his lips against yours, stealing you from Grant's kiss with a hunger that bordered on feral. His mouth was hot, tongue forcing its way in to claim you, fighting for dominance, taking what he wanted as his free hand found your cock and wrapped around it without hesitation.

His strokes deliberate, teasing the sensitive tip before sliding down with an unrelenting pace that sent pleasure shooting through your core. His fingers were slick with the pre-cum already dripping from you, making every movement easier as he pumped you in time with Grant's cock driving into you hard, deep, the thick stretch rearranging your insides with every powerful roll of his hips, engulfing your entire being in this overwhelming sensation consuming you.

His thumb circled the head, pressing enough to make your whole body jolt, his grin widening as he felt the way you twitched in his grasp.

Behind you, Grant let out a low, approving hum, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back hard against every thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him splitting you open.

Your nails scratched against the sheets, body trembling between them, the pleasure winding so tight inside you that you felt like you might break apart at any second. Mike pulled back slightly as you weakly reached for his waistband, your fingers fumbling to undo his zipper.

His breath hitched and his eyes flickered to your face, watching as you struggled to form words between the brutal rhythm of Grant fucking into you. The desperate pleading look in your eyes was enough.

Mike's smirk was instant, sharp with amusement and desire. "You want it that bad?" He teased, lifting his hips slightly, allowing you better access.

He made quick work of the rest himself, shoving down the last of his clothes, his cock springing free, thick and flushed with arousal. His hand wrapped around the base, stroking himself lazily as he watched you, his other hand reaching out to squeeze your cheek playfully, tilting your head up toward him.

"C'mon," he murmured, voice thick with anticipation. He guided his cock to your lips, tapping it against them, smearing pre-cum across the softness before pressing in, slow but insistent. "Show me how much you want me," he murmured.

You didn't hesitate. Your lips wrapped around the tip, tongue swirling over the head before sliding lower, taking as much of him as you could in one eager motion. The thick weight of him settled against your tongue, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him groan above you, his hand tightening in your hair as your mouth stretched around his length.

Behind you, Grant's thrusts didn't slow-not even for a second. If anything, he fucked you harder, clearly enjoying the way you struggled to keep up with both sensations at once. His fingers dug into your hips, each thrust sending another spark of pleasure tearing through you.

Mike let out a breathless hiss, his grip tightening as he started rolling his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, shallow thrusts, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every movement.

Your whole body was trembling, caught in their grip, every nerve set on fire as you were being filled from both ends, ragged groans and curses spilling from both of them.

Mike’s free hand slid into your hair, guiding your pace, his hips starting to move faster, his cock pushing deeper.

Behind you, Grant grunted, his thrusts turning rougher, harder. He was close, you could feel it in the way his fingers gripped you tighter, his breathing turned ragged with thrusts that started to lose some of their precision.

"Gonna make sure you feel me for days,” Grant growled, his voice dark and wrecked as he slammed into you, the force making you choke slightly on Mike's cock.

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through your gut and Mike groaned at the that feeling, his fingers tightening in your hair as his own rhythm stuttered. You hollowed your cheeks around him, sucking harder and that was all it took.

Mike panted, his head tilting back slightly as he let himself savor the wet heat of your mouth, his grip tightening as he groaned low and deep, cock twitching in your mouth before he came, thick and hot, spilling down your throat. His body trembled, a string of curses falling from his lips as he watched you swallow, his fingers brushing over your jaw as he panted, his pupils blown wide.

Grant’s pace turned brutal, his hips slamming forward as he bottomed out inside you one last time, his cock buried deep as he let out a rough, guttural groan as his cum flooded you, filling you up, making you feel impossibly full. You could feel it dripping from where he was still buried inside you. His grip on your hips was iron as he held you still, making sure you took every last drop.

The pleasure had built to a breaking point, your entire body trembling and right on the cusp of unraveling. Your cock throbbed, aching, so damn close until Grant's hand clamped around you, squeezing at the exact moment you were about to let go.

White-hot frustration shot through you like a bolt of lightning, your breath catching in your throat as your orgasm was ripped away with cruel precision. You whined, the sound breaking free before you could even think about suppressing it, hips twitching in a desperate attempt to seek friction, to chase the release he had just stolen from you.

But Grant laughed. Low, condescending, his breath fanning against your ear as he mocked you. "You really thought I'd let you come that easily?" he murmured, a patronizing sound that only made the humiliation sharper. He let go completely, leaving your cock aching, denied, your entire body shuddering from the ruined pleasure.

His hands gripped your shoulders, fingers digging in deep and he pulled, hauling you up in a seated position. You were too wrecked to fight him as he maneuvered you. His arms wrapped tight around your frame, one hand sliding lower to cup your ass possessively, fingers squeezing the abused flesh.

Then he kissed you. It was ravenous, all tongue and teeth. His lips were hot, rough from how hard he kissed, leaving no space for you to breathe. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking deep into your mouth, controlling the kiss just like he controlled everything else.

A sharp, brutal slap against your ass. The force of it making you jerk against him, a muffled, involuntary noise escaping against his lips. A brief and satisfied grin against your mouth, a silent acknowledgment of just how much he enjoyed making you react like this.

He bit your bottom lip, tugging roughly before diving back in, swallowing every sound you made. His hands held you in place, one still gripping your ass possessively while the other found your hip, fingers pressing deep enough to bruise.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted you again, pulling you forward until his back met the mattress and you were sprawled on top of him, your own back resting against the solid, defined heat of his chest. The sensation of his abs beneath you, all tight muscle and strength, was dizzying, every movement making you feel the hard ridges of him against your skin.

Mike crawled on top of you, his hands finding your waist while his body pressed you down further against Grant's chest. His thick, leaking and already achingly hard cock dragged against your entrance, circling and sending sharp sparks of anticipation burning through you.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps, matching yours. His lips descended, claiming yours in a greedy and scorching kiss, tongue sweeping into your mouth just like how, with one slow, deliberate thrust, Mike pushed inside.

Your whole body shook, pleasure crashing over you in an overwhelming wave as he sank in fully, the stretch perfect, the mess Grant had left inside making it effortless. No resistance or pain, just the overwhelming heat of being completely filled again, your walls stretching yet again to accommodate his size.

Mike groaned against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours, his body shuddering as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. "Fuck," he breathed, voice thick with pleasure, with awe.

He started moving in and out, dragging himself out almost completely before sinking back in. A slow pace at first like he wanted to savor every single second of being inside you. Firm hands held you in place, his breath coming in soft ragged gasps as he kissed you between every thrust, drowning in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

Soon enough the rhythm changed, he adjusted his hips, angled himself before slamming into you.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, only to be swallowed instantly by his lips, his tongue tangling with yours as he drowned in the sound. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking tight, holding him in place and keeping him against you.

His cock drove into you with relentless force, hitting deep with movements turning desperate, hungry. His hips snapped forward again and again, your whole body shaking, muscles burning, everything wound so tight you could barely breathe. Mike was pounding into you, his cock hitting deep, every thrust sending white-hot sparks of bliss ripping through your body.

You were right there, teetering on the brink, the pleasure building, rising, twisting into something uncontrollable-

Just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, body tightening, breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps—Grant's hand clamped down, fingers digging into your hip, stopping Mike's relentless thrusts in an instant.

A strangled, frustrated groan ripped from your throat, echoed by Mike, who cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on you as if willing himself to move despite Grant's interference. "Not yet," his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction as he shifted beneath you, his hands locking tight around your hips, forcing you still.

The blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance again, your entire body going rigid as he started to push in.

Mike groaned, his forehead dropping against yours, hands gripping your waist so tightly to leave bruises when he felt Grant forcing his way in, stretching you even further, pushing in alongside him, splitting you apart in a way that should've been impossible.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your and Mike’s voice broke into a snarl, his fingers digging into your skin as his cock twitched inside you, overwhelmed by the sensation of Grant joining him.

Grant bites into your shoulder, muffling his own deep, ragged groan as he buried himself inside you.

The stretch was blinding.

Your walls clamped down tight, forced to accommodate both of them, the impossibly full sensation setting every nerve ending on fire.

"You're taking us so fucking well," Grant murmured against your skin, though his voice was anything but gentle, more of an order than anything else.

Mike grunted, a wrecked sound that he barely managed to contain, his forehead still flush against your away, body shaking on top of yours. "Holy shit—He's so fucking tight like this—" His hands slid up your sides, palms skimming your overheated skin.

Grant growled low in agreement, his grip tightening. "He can take it. That’s all he’s good at."

Your whole body was trembling, overwhelmed, completely at their mercy. Every inch felt too stretched, too full. And the feeling didn’t went any better when they started to move.

A slow, teasing rock of Grant's hips, pushing even deeper, a grind from Mike, rubbing up against everything inside you and your vision went white.

A broken, wrecked moan tore from your throat, all muscles clamping down around them while they dragged against each other inside you, stretching you to your absolute limit. The way they alternated with one pushing in as the other pulled out, fucking you in tandem, making sure you never got a moment to breathe or a second of reprieve.

Mike was getting rougher, more desperate, his movements turning erratic, his forehead pressed against yours as he panted, his breath shaky, uneven, grip tightening more, his hips pounding against yours.

Grant’s fingers wrapped around your throat, tilting your head back just enough to claim your mouth in another devouring kiss. His thrusts turned brutal, matching Mike's, filling and owning you.

The pleasure twisted, sharpened, built, your entire body rocked between them, completely at their mercy until you finally came hard.

Your vision blacked out, pleasure so intense it was almost painful, your entire body convulsing between them as your release spilled, untouched, onto Mike's stomach.

He lets out a strangled, wrecked groan as he buried himself deep, his cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled, thick, hot cum flooding your insides as he pressed in deep as he filled you completely, painting your walls with everything he had left.

The moment Mike came undone, Grant followed, his grip crushing, his breath ragged as his hips snapped forward in a few final, deep, brutal thrusts. His cock throbbed, pulsed until he came as well.

The heat of it was scalding, overwhelming, pouring into you in thick, endless spurts, so much that it leaked out around their cocks, slick and messy, dripping down your thighs, making you feel just how full they had made you.

They didn't pull out. Their bodies pressed against you, cocks still buried deep and twitching, filling you with more and more, stretching you to your absolute limit.

Your whole body was shaking, overwhelmed, overstimulated, your breath coming in rapid, sharp gasps. You felt them inside you, the weight of their releases thick, dripping, claiming you completely.

The dim glow of the night watch flickered softly on the bedside table, time had become meaningless here with no windows, no frame of reference for morning or night, only the distant, ambient hum of The Bus and the steady rise and fall of Mike's breathing beside you.

His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his other tucked beneath your head like a makeshift pillow. Warmth radiated off him in steady waves, seeping into your skin where it pressed against his bare chest. Every inhale and exhale brushed softly against your hair, each slow rise of his ribs against your back grounding you in the present, in him.

The soreness in your body was a dull and pulsing reminder of what had happened before you'd both collapsed into this tangled heap. The ache ran deep, bruises left from hands that had gripped too hard, mouths that had bitten too eagerly. The dull burn in your lower back sent a shiver through you as you shifted slightly, the movement dragging a quiet groan from your throat.

Mike stirred immediately, his grip tightened first, followed by a sleepy mumble against the back of your neck. Then his eyes cracked open, bleary but alert, scanning your face in the dim light. Naked just as you were, he murmured a sleepy, raspy, "Hey," his voice rough from disuse, cracking slightly at the end.

You swallowed down the warmth that curled in your chest at the sound. "Hey"

A deep chuckle rumbled through him as you groaned, twisting to ease the soreness in your muscles. Mike grinned at your wince, his amusement entirely too smug. "That bad, huh?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as a small smirk played at your lips. "What do you think?"

His laughter was quiet but genuine, his arm beneath you shifting, curling further around you. "I think you sound like an old man," he teased.

You shot him a look. "Oh, fuck off."

You turned your head enough to catch the sleepy, half-lidded gaze of Mike Munroe. Messy haired, bare chested, eyes heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. He was unfairly handsome like this, stripped of his usual cocky bravado, blinking at you with something softer.

His fingers flexed lazily against your waist, tracing over where bruises had likely already begun to bloom.

You rolled your body so that you were on top of him now, hands playfully on both of his to keep them grounded with your weak and absent strength as he stared up at you with a grin. You shifted your head enough to scan the bed.

No Grant

The realization settled in quickly and you tried to keep it subtle, tried to avoid letting Mike notice, but you weren't fast enough. Your movements slow and clunky from tiredness.

His grin faltered barely, the cocky expression slipping into something tighter and slightly forced. You caught the tension in his jaw before he muttered, "He's gone. Got called for a mission or whatever. Some really important work shit." His voice dropped, dripping with sarcasm. "Hopefully won't make it back."

You snorted at that, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and whatever sharp response he had died instantly in his throat.

Mike melted into it immediately, hand coming up to rest behind your neck, lips moving slowly and deliberately.

His hand drifted lower, fingers ghosting over your waist before gripping it fully. He got into a seated position, his upper body resting on his arms with you still on top of him and was about to kiss you again, lips just barely brushing yours when—

"You were really gonna let yourself get incriminated because of me?"

The words hit him like a bullet and he froze. "Jesus," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, "you really had to kill the mood, huh?"

You gave him a look. "Mike."

He groaned, flopping down on the pillow dramatically, one arm still curled around your body. Mike inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the weight of his breath, then exhaled slowly.

“I’d do anything for you,” he confessed, a vow edged with devotion and an intensity that burned in his every syllable. His fingers trailed up, cradling your face like you were something precious and irreplaceable. The rough pad of his thumb traced slow, reverent circles over your cheek. “And I’d do it again,” he murmured, his tone unwavering, absolute. “A hundred times over.”

His nose brushed against yours, the space between you nonexistent. His lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away, teasing, tormenting. “Because I fucking love you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring down at him, your pulse roaring in your ears. His body pressed into yours, heat radiating off him and you felt the way he trembled slightly, how his breath hitched when your hands threaded into his hair.

“Now tell me,” he murmured, voice rough, a command, but you could hear the uncertainty beneath it.

Your breath stalled. “Tell you what?”

Mike’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your waist. “Tell me it didn’t mean anything. Tell me you’re mine.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Your stomach twisted painfully. It would have been easy to lie, to tell him what he wanted to hear. But he deserved the truth.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for the briefest second before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “He got under my skin,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Mike inhaled sharply through his nose, but you pushed forward before he could react.

“And yeah, I let him.” you continued, your voice unsteady but firm.

Mike’s entire body went rigid against yours.

“I wanted him because he reminded me of you.” You admitted, your throat bobbing as you forced the words out.

Mike’s breath hitched. His grip on you was firm, like he was grounding himself, barely holding himself together.

You swallowed, pressing on. “I thought I’d never have this,” you whispered, voice raw, cracking slightly. “I thought we were never gonna be this. So when he got in my head and looked at me like that, I wanted to feel something back. Because it was familiar. It reminded me of you and it was the closest I thought I’d ever get.”

Grant didn’t just challenge you. He saw you, tested you and in some twisted way, made you feel wanted in a way you never thought Mike would.

Mike made a sound, something between a sharp breath and a curse, his hands sliding up, framing your face, tilting your head up to force you to look at him. His pupils were blown wide. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he rasped, voice thick. “If you think for a second that there was ever a chance I didn’t want you.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could process it, Mike dragged you closer, his lips hovering just over yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

“You want me?” His voice was low, rough, testing, searching.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “Yes,” you breathed.

Then he flipped you. In an instant, you were on your back and Mike was above you, his body caging you in, knee pressing between your legs. His fingers curled tighter, voice taking a huskier tone. “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

His lips crashed into yours. Deep, slow, deliberate. Like a promise of something real that believed wholeheartedly.

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