#and if you are your worst enemy then you need to learn to love yourself

[rhyrhy]

Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ‘Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—”

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

Line dividers | 2 | 3

Ellie m.list

Taglist @0h-basic

[poettheythem]

Remember if you are your worst enemy then you can't die till you defeet yourself

[pathologicalreid]

heyyy!!! I just wanted to say I really love your work and this is my first time sending a request so sorry if it’s not very specific 😭💕

If you’re still doing requests, I was wondering if you could do a fem reader x Spencer Reid where it’s similar to your cryptic pregnancy one, except Spencer is at home with her when she’s in labour without realising, and she’s just in a lot of pain and it all of a sudden gets worse and she’s just in the bathroom shouting for Spencer, he comes in and eventually works out what’s going on, readers sort of in denial? Maybe the ambulance doesn’t get there in time so Spencer has to help her give birth? Lots of fluff and hurt/comfort :)

Also completely fine if your not comfortable doing it, but again really love your work and hope you have a great day 💕 :)

three's a family | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, precipitous labor, hospitals, medical inaccuracy (its just me and google against the world), takes place after 9x7 "gatekeeper", surgery, near death experiences, periods, home birth word count: 3.16k a/n: anon i'll be so honest with u i wasn't sure if i was gonna write this but then i learned what precipitous labor was and i was like "i would not wish this on my worst enemy... i'm going to force it on y/n" BUT please keep in mind that there is a .000012 probability of this happening to you (i did the math) this is the wildest thing ive written to date i think

“I’m going to try a bath,” you murmured over to Spencer, wincing as you dragged yourself out of bed, walking at a turtle’s pace to the bathroom, hoping the warm water would soothe the cramps away.

Your period came and went as it pleased; it was just your luck that it decided to give you debilitating cramps on your one day off. Padding on the tile floor behind you, Spencer leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom, “I could run to the store and get a new heating pad.”

Sticking your hand under the tap to check the temperature, you plugged the drain once you found it to be satisfactory. You shook your head, “No, it’s fine.” Your original heating pad must’ve gotten lost somewhere in the depths of your storage closet, but you didn’t have the patience to look for it. You could manage just fine without it.

“Will you let me know if you need anything?” He asked, leaning forward to press a comforting kiss to your forehead.

Nodding, you hooked your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama pants and pulled them down, watching as Spencer pointedly flicked the bathroom fan on – something you often forgot to do.

You lasted about thirty minutes in the bath, not only was the water beginning to grow lukewarm, but if anything, your cramps were getting worse while submerged in the water. Grunting, you reached over and tugged the plug from the drain, watching as the water drained, you managed to pull yourself to a squat before you felt stuck.

Aunt Flo really had it out for you this month.

Burying your face in your hands you accepted defeat and called out for Spencer, reaching up and trying to stand again, but only succeeding in knocking over several shampoo bottles. “Spence!” You tried again, white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub as you bowed your head. A creeping feeling that this wasn’t your period was beginning to rise.

You listened as your husband made his way up the stairs, turning the corner into your room, and opening the door to the ensuite. Moving quickly, Spencer dropped to a crouch in front of you, cupping your pained face in his hands, “I don’t think this is your period, angel.”

Clamping your lips together to prevent yourself from crying out, you simply nodded in response. How awful was it that you were going to die, naked, in your bathtub?

Spencer wiped tears away from under your eyes – you hadn’t even realized you started crying. “What does it feel like, darling? What else could it be?” He asked, voice urgent but gentle as he tried to stop you from panicking.

As you shook your head, you couldn’t focus on anything else besides your breathing as another pain rose up through you. “It’s like a cramp, but with more pressure,” you said, depending on the bathtub and Spencer to keep you upright as your legs shook beneath you. “Like something’s pushing on me, kind of like I have to shit.”

Reaching behind him, Spencer dug through one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity before retrieving the handheld mirror that you used when you cut his hair. Before you could ask what he was doing, he placed the mirror at the bottom of the tub, just beneath you. “I think you’re in labor,” he announced, breaking the news to you.

“There’s no– fuck,” your voice broke off as you dropped your head onto Spencer’s shoulder, breathing through what was apparently a contraction. “I’m not pregnant,” you insisted as your symptoms started to make sense. You had been in labor all morning.

Nodding to himself, Spencer quickly kissed your cheek before standing up and making sure you were stable before stepping to the side.

You frowned as you looked up at him, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t go far, opening the linen closet and piling towels into his arms, “I’m getting towels to put in the tub beneath you, and then I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“You want me to give birth in our bathtub?” You asked, furrowing your brows quizzically before letting out a low whine as another contraction hit.

Stopping what he was doing, Spencer dropped down to you, running the flat of his palm up and down your back as he gently reminded you to breathe. “Did you want to change positions?”

Immediately, you shook your head. You already had an insurmountable task ahead of you and you saw no reason to add to that task by trying to move. “This is fine. Squatting is good, right?”

Nodding assuredly, Spencer smoothed your hair away from your face, “Gravity can help the baby descend the birth canal, and some people even say that the position can increase the pelvic diameter.”

While you were currently less concerned with the diameter of your pelvis and more concerned with feeling like your body was being split open, you continued going through the motions as he called for an ambulance, trying to explain the situation to the dispatcher.

“Have you been timing your contractions?” Spencer asked, tilting his head at you curiously as the dispatcher spoke on the phone.

Releasing a groan, you gripped the ledge of the tub, “I didn’t know they were contractions!”

Relaying that information over the phone, Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll take care of it.” He continued to reassure you, taking one look at your desperate expression before ending the call with the dispatcher.

He understood that you were vulnerable right now, and you didn’t want that broadcasted to a stranger on the phone. If you weren’t so preoccupied with remembering to breathe, you’d be more grateful. After a contraction ebbed away, Spencer stood up.

“I have to go unlock the door for the paramedics,” he told you, keeping a wary eye on you. “I’ll be right back,” he comforted you as he took one last look at you before tearing out of the bathroom.

In record speed, he returned to the bathroom as promised, “It’s bad,” you cried, the pressure on your pelvis becoming insufferable.

Crouching in front of you, Spencer studied your face before he spoke carefully, “I have to check your cervix.”

Despite his carefully chosen words, your lips still parted in shock, “You have to what?”

“I’ll use my hand to measure how dilated you are, and then… we’ll go from there,” he told you, nodding almost imperceptibly. At this point, you weren’t sure who he was trying to reassure – you or him. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered instantly, “indefinitely.”

You bit down on your lip as you let Spencer check you, understanding entirely why people choose to get epidurals – this was horribly uncomfortable. “On the next contraction, you need to push, okay?”

For just a moment, your breathing faltered as your scared eyes met his, “Spence, wait,” you pleaded.

Smoothing your hair back, your husband did everything he could to comfort you, “What is it, love?” He asked, his voice soft.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, voice cracking ever so slightly as tears flooded your lash line.

He leaned forward to gently kiss your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours, "I've got you. You're going to be fine. You're both going to be fine."

You could see his carotid pounding, and somehow the fact that he was secretly as scared as you was more comforting than the words that came from his mouth. As you pushed, you focused on everything that Spencer was saying instead of the pain. Don’t push for more than eight seconds. Remember to breathe. Your body will know what to do. I love you. I love you. I love you.

By the time Spencer was saying something about the head, your hearing had gone muffled. “You’re doing so well, baby,” you made out his voice and nodded dazedly. “You’re wonderful. I’m so proud of you – just a little more,” he cajoled.

Taking a moment to breathe, your ears and eyes focused as shaky breaths filled your lungs.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on your bare shoulder as he comforted you, continuing to keep you upright.

You shook your head, sniffling as your eyes screwed shut, “You’re perfect. Don’t stop. Keep talking,” you begged, needing something to focus on other than the pain.

“There’s about a point zero four percent chance of you getting pregnant and not finding out until you’re in labor,” he told you, hoping that the information would help you wrap your head around what was happening to you. “One to three in one hundred people have a precipitous labor,” he continued to speak as you pushed, and you wondered what the odds of you squeezing his hand so hard that you did damage were.

Against your better judgment, you looked down to check your progress, “Holy fuck,” you said breathlessly. You weren’t entirely clueless, you knew that once you got past the shoulders the remaining pushes would be easier. You also found yourself grateful that Spencer knew what he was doing – this was, after all, the second baby he had delivered.

You bore down, determined to get the baby out while Spencer untangled your hands, bringing his own down to catch the baby. Out of breath, you panted heavily as you started to feel lightheaded. “Done,” Spencer said quickly, “it’s done. I have him.”

Carefully, Spencer held the baby along the length of his forearm, rubbing the tiny newborn’s back. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, and it dawned on you that the baby wasn’t crying.

At the realization, your legs finally gave out from beneath you, watching with wide eyes as Spencer tried to clear your son’s lungs. White hot tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You took a gasping breath as you silently pleaded for a cry, “I didn’t know,” you sobbed, guilt building a pit in your stomach.

With bleary eyes, you looked on as the baby finally spluttered and let out a wail. “There you go,” Spencer cooed softly, his own voice stiff with emotion as he cradled the baby and handed him off to you.

You were still sobbing as you held the baby to your chest, “I’m so sorry,” you continued to babble, watching as Spencer briefly disappeared into the bedroom before returning with a blanket and wrapping it around the both of you. While holding the baby, your vision started to blur around the edges.

Watching you intently, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, “I love you.”

Nodding, your face crumpled before you responded, “I love you too.”

When the paramedics announced themselves, Spencer called out for them, not wanting to leave your side. The two of you focused your attention on the wriggling baby in your arms.

He was premature – too little to stay with you in the recovery room. The NICU doctor had estimated that he was born at approximately 32 weeks, meaning he’d likely need to spend a few weeks in intensive care. “I want to see him,” you said insistently, looking over as Spencer as he fussed over you.

“You just had abdominal surgery,” Spencer responded simply, as if that was meant to clarify everything for you. He continued fluffing your pillow, which wasn’t entirely productive considering you were lying on the pillow.

As it turned out, you had experienced what was called a precipitous birth, or a rapid birth. It tended to be dangerous, and the fact that you did it in your bathtub only heightened that danger. You reached your arm out for Spencer, “c’mere,” you muttered, trying to get him to stop fretting. “Did you listen to anything that the doctor just said?”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Lots of rest, no physical exertion, IV medication for now-“

“Did you hear the part where he said I was going to be okay?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him curiously, you watched as he took your hand in his and sat on the edge of your bed. “I’m going to be fine,” your voice was determined, you had a few small incisions on your abdomen from the surgery to repair a tear in your uterus. “Thank you for looking after me,” you whispered.

Your husband gently smoothed your hair back from your face, “I should’ve noticed it sooner.”

Using all of your strength, you squeezed his hand comfortingly, “You were incredible,” you assured him. “If it weren’t for you, neither of us would’ve made it.”

He shook his head, “Don’t say that.”

Raising your eyebrows, you cocked your head to the side, “It’s true. I couldn’t have done it on my own, I’m so, so thankful for you, my love.” 

You had passed out in the ambulance as a direct result of blood loss, so you were brought to a trauma bay as soon as you made it to the hospital. Once they were in the ER, the baby was taken to the NICU, leaving Spencer with a lot of decisions to make.

When you woke up in the recovery room, the first thing you did was ask about the baby.

Spencer, of course, had been up to see him. The nurses claimed he seemed like a fighter, and Spencer knew the survival odds of a 32-weeker, so he turned his attention to you. Every other option had already failed, so the next option was a laparoscopy. Your husband admitted that while it seemed extreme, the very last choice was a hysterectomy, and he didn’t want to make that decision.

Furrowing your brows, “When can I see the baby?” You asked, not entirely sure how to refer to the infant just yet. It wasn’t until then that you realized you needed to name him at some point – your son.

“Once your blood pressure goes up,” Spencer told you with an authoritative tone. “You lost a lot of blood in the ambulance, but the blood transfusions will bring your blood pressure back up.”

Tilting your head to the side, you glared at your husband, “And is this rule from a doctor with a medical degree or a doctor whose name is on my marriage certificate?”

In response, Spencer shrugged, sitting in the beige armchair at the side of your bed, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively, “Will you go see him?”

He leaned over the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his. “I can, will you be alright on your own?”

Nodding almost imperceptibly, you squeezed his hand affectionately, “I just don’t want him to be alone.” You whispered as tears pricked your eyes, you took your free hand and waved at your face, “god, what’s wrong with me?”

“A sudden drop of estrogen and progesterone immediately following birth causes mood swings. Nothing is wrong with you, your body is acting naturally,” Spencer explained patiently, dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

You sighed before melting back into your pillows, “At least something about this feels natural,” you responded. Your brain felt like a spinning top, while your body felt like you were being weighed down by an elephant in a commercial for COPD medication.

The fact that the NICU nurse informed you that your son had a ninety-five percent chance of living a completely normal life did nothing to calm your nerves. He’d have to stay in the NICU for a few weeks and you tried to convince yourself that the extra time to prepare for him to come home would be good for you, but the idea of leaving him alone at the hospital – save for a small army of doctors and nurses – put a pit of dread in your chest.

Spencer had the forethought to warn you about the tubes and wires that he was hooked up to, ranging from oxygen to a feeding tube. “He’s been undergoing red light therapy to be treated for jaundice, but you can hold him for a while if you want to,” the nurse told you, leading the both of you through the NICU as Spencer steered your wheelchair through the hospital.

Your breathing hitched when you finally saw him, this tiny stowaway that had been growing inside of you for the last several months, and he was just so little. While you were still in your own room, you had convinced yourself that you’d hold him, but now you weren’t so convinced.

According to the sign in his room, he weighed three pounds and ten ounces and was sixteen inches long. He was sound asleep in an incubator, a small hat on top of his head, “Spence,” you breathed.

Behind you, your husband placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I know.”

“Did you want to hold him?” The nurse asked you gently, looking over at one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

Genuinely, you didn’t know. “Is… is that okay?” You asked, wiping your sweaty palms on the blanket draped across your legs.

The nurse gave you a knowing look, “Even better than okay, it’ll be good for him to have that kind of contact from both of his parents.”

Frowning, you watched as it took two nurses to break him out of his acrylic prison before they carefully placed him on your chest, making sure you were okay before they stepped back. Your movements were stiff at first, you had never held a baby this small before, but you eventually remembered to breathe and gently cooed at the baby in your arms.

Spencer crouched down next to you and started to ask the nurse a bunch of questions that he had likely been holding in for hours, but you just kept your eyes on the sleeping baby. He was too small to open his eyes, but everyone assured you that he’d get there.

The nurse stepped out to give you some privacy, leaving the door open just in case you needed something, “This doesn’t seem quite as difficult while I’m holding him.” You knew there was a steep learning curve ahead, but with a newborn on your chest, the pit in your heart dissipated.

“That’s called oxytocin,” Spencer said, sitting in a chair, eyes fixated on the infant in your arms.

Humming, you skimmed the pad of your thumb across your son’s tiny back, “He looks like you,” you observed quietly, they had the same nose.

Your husband smiled softly, “You can’t possibly tell which parent he takes after yet,” he informed you.

“And yet, I know he looks like you,” you insisted softly, and Spencer didn’t push back. “You look like your daddy,” you whispered to the baby, “he was the first one to hold you, you know?” You looked over at Spencer, “he’s been my superhero for four years, and now he gets to be yours too.”

[prongsx]

Lazy Sundays

warning: fluff, f!reader, Jason being a cute guy. English its not my first language. established relationship.

Jason had always been an alert person. It was tiring, but he couldn't help it. Life forced him to never rest.

It started when he was still young, he had to be alert so he wouldn't die in the alley of crime, if he made a false move he could end up in a web of crimes and murders. He had to be alert to keep his own mother from self-destruction, had to be constantly checking her breathing, if she had eaten, if she hadn't used her subsistence money for drugs. He learned that being a heavy sleeper was dangerous when his house was shot at and he had to hide under the table, eyes full of tears.

Then Bruce adopted him, but he had already lost part of his ability to be a child, never carefree. And now he had the burden of showing Bruce that he was good enough, that he wasn't wasting his time training a boy with too many emotions. Always alert. He had too many emotions, he knew that. His love was wide and deep, but so was his anger. His sadness was like sharp claws scratching his skin from the inside out. He needed to stay alert to keep his emotions in check, because they could consume him.

Being Robin kept him alert, he needed to take care of himself and Batman's back. Even Dick, who had years of training, found Jason too vigilant, his eyes never seemed genuinely relaxed and Dick found out the hard way. He went to play a prank on Jason, waking him up in the middle of the night, but the boy reacted in the worst way and before Dick could react, there was a knife pressed against his neck.

When Jason died and came back with Red Hood, his sense of survival became stronger. There were too many people wanting to kill him, the anti-hero had twice as many enemies, sleeping in peace was not an option. He had so many knives and hidden weapons that he would get scared when he went to brush his teeth and found an AK 47 in the bathroom cabinet. He needed to be like that to survive.

Then he met you. And his knees got weak, his heart raced faster than when he had a gun pointed straight at the vigilante's heart. After much difficulty, you started dating, even though Jason warned you that dating him was a death sentence.

You didn't listen to his warnings, forcing him to stop self-deprecating and start acting like a functional adult (as much as possible) to be in a relationship. Jason was right, he was too busy with his double life. He almost never relaxed, worried about taking care of you and protecting you from his enemies.

After a few fights, you decided that for the relationship to work, you would have at least one day a week to be lazy. You started it: Sunday morning. You needed to know that at least one day a week you would have Jason completely. It was hard to live with the distance his night shift required. So he committed to keeping up this new tradition.

"I'm hungry," Jason just mumbled in response to your plea. It was 10 am on a Sunday morning and neither of you were willing to get up, just like you forced them to. Your legs were intertwined, a thin sheet covering you, Jason's hands holding you tightly against him, his soft lips against your shoulder. The sun was coming in through the curtains, Gotham seemed silent, the only noise that mattered to you was each other's breathing.

"The bakery should be delivering by now," Jason replied, sighing contentedly as you drew patterns on his arm. One of the rules of Sunday morning was to make no effort, even cooking. You knew Jason liked to cook and take care of you, but at least one day a week you allowed yourself the luxury of eating ready-made food.

"It should be at the door by now," you mumble, finally opening your eyes and finding your boyfriend's beautiful face. Jason imitated your action, his sapphire eyes seemed clouded with sleep, which pleased you. Yesterday you had gone out to dinner and stayed up late watching movies and kissing on the couch, which explained how tired they both were.

"Let's get it then," Jason's voice was still hoarse, his black hair cutely messy. He let out a groan of complaint when you pulled away from him to get up, causing you to laugh.

As soon as you established lazy Sunday, it was as if a switch had turned in Jason's head. It was impressive to admire how beautiful Jason looked relaxed, his shoulders without all that tension, his features less marked and even his scars relaxed.

Peace would suit Jason, you thought.

The two of you shuffled into the kitchen, talking in whispers, your hands never leaving each other. Jason walked close behind you, his large hands holding your hips close to his body.

Your boyfriend had a silly smile on his lips, the joy of being with you leaving him on cloud nine. He noticed how beautiful you looked in your sweat shorts and with his shirt, you smelled of comfort and love.

"So, our only commitment is to have coffee and kisses at the counter, right?" Jason hummed, a huge smile on his lips, the sun seemed brighter. Then clouds appeared in the glorious sky of the lazy Sunday.

The clouds came in the shapes of three known people invading your window, the largest of them smiling happily. You thought Jason was really sleepy and relaxed, because he didn't even raise a gun towards the intruders, which was customary.

"Good morning, couple." Dick Grayson greeted, closing the window when Damian entered last. You raised an eyebrow, while Jason gave a slight growl behind you. Your hands came up to lightly stroke his hair, urging him to stay calm, he relaxed into your touch, your lazy Sunday Jason returning.

"Okay, Todd, we got some information from that case we were working on." Damian said, being the rude little punk that he is, throwing work papers on their kitchen table. Tim Drake followed suit, leaning against their counter, where Jason planned to kiss you until you forgot your name.

"Boys," you called out to them, clearing your throat. Three pairs of eyes stared at you. "Today is Sunday."

You sighed when none of them reacted. Damn workaholic sons of Bruce Wayne. Your feet shuffled to the kitchen door to get breakfast, leaving Jason to take care of his brothers.

"Jason, we need those other documents you saved." Dick said, sitting down next to Damian. Jason let out a long sigh, he still felt numb from being in bed with you. He wouldn't let his brothers ruin his favorite day of the week.

"Can we fix this tomorrow?" The three brothers stared at Jason, their eyes equally wide. The fearsome red hood's posture was so relaxed, his pajama top slightly torn and loose. His hips leaned on the counter and his blue eyes seemed clearer, almost serene. His hair really looked like a mess, the white lock falling over his forehead in a cute sort of way.

"Jason, did you hear us? It's the case you've been working on for months." Tim said, still looking perplexed. Jason sighed, his features still marked by prolonged sleep.

"Yeah, yeah. So?" He grumbled, a smile appearing on his lips when you came back with the breakfast bag. Handing him a cup and pouring coffee. He whispered a quick, "Thank you, honey."

Damian was the first to recover from the shock, his hands holding a particularly suspicious photo that would solve half of Jason's case.

"Todd, big drug case! You spent months bugging everyone for clues."

Jason just shrugged, sipping his coffee and resting his face on your shoulder, humming with joy.

"One day more, one day less."You could have laughed at how Dick looked like he had been slapped in the face. Your heart was bursting with pride for your boyfriend, who had finally learned the meaning of being at peace and lazy.

"Who are you and what have you done with little wing?" Dick said, blinking those big blue eyes slowly.

You turned your back on the little argument again, not wanting to interfere in the family dynamics, busying yourself with taking your breakfast out of the bag from your favorite bakery.

"Take those papers off the table, let's have breakfast." Jason replied with just that, making Tim's eyes pop out. He looked like a different Jason, without his characteristic sarcastic smile or the tense shoulders.

"Todd, we need to figure this out!"

"Jason, it won't take long..."

Jason let out a louder sigh now, leaving the Wonder Woman mug in the corner and turning to his brothers, his tone of voice still soft compared to normal. "Today is Sunday." He repeated, pinching his nose slightly to keep his temper from rising. "I'm staying with my girlfriend. I'll figure this out with you guys tomorrow."

He turned to you, almost as if he expected to receive a proud smile, and he got one. Damian let out a snort.

"Todd, be a man for once in your life and stand up for yourself."

"He's too tangled up in the leash." Tim joined in the provocation, unable to contain himself.

"Wrong choice of words, boys," you whispered, knowing what was coming next.

The three of them were startled when Jason's hand slammed on the table they were at.

"I'm only going to say this once. It's Sunday morning. If you little shits are unhappy and girlfriendless, that's your problem. Either you're going to leave now with these papers or I'm going to use the gun I have hidden behind the fridge."

Jason's blue eyes were that darker shade that screamed: danger! It didn't take much more, the three guards took the papers and left muttering, you heard a few words that sounded like "this will come back, Todd" and "I'll tell him where he can stick that gun."

You turned to Jason, your hands going to his tense shoulders.

"Honey, it's okay, I'll accept if you want to help them."

He let out a snort, pulling you against his chest, smoothing the skin under your shirt.

"No. It's our lazy Sunday."You smiled, ridiculously content, pulling him into a lazy kiss.

"Speaking of which, gun behind the fridge?"

He distracted you with a kiss at the base of your neck, a small chuckle leaving his lips. Bastard.

It was a good lazy Sunday.

[jamminvroomvroom]

4k celebration

congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.

i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴

we made up.

LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration

in which you can never just bite your tongue

eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3

songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey

warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink

2.6k words

you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.

after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.

maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?

it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.

you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.

“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.

“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.

it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.

“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.

“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.

“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.

there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.

-

turns out, you have to apologise.

you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.

so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.

but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.

“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.

“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.

“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.

“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.

“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.

the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.

you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.

“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.

“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.

your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.

“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.

“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.

“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.

truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.

as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.

“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.

“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.

“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.

“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.

“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.

an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.

“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.

his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.

once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.

“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.

“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.

“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”

“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.

he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.

“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.

lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.

“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.

“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.

“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”

with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.

“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.

sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.

“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.

“learned your lesson?”

“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.

you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.

still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.

“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.

“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.

you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.

“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.

you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.

“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.

“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.

he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.

“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”

you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.

“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.

“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.

those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.

“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.

you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.

you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.

-

two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.

when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.

“we made up.”

-

oof

-

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[the-californicationist]

Solomon's Seal

John Price works hard to maintain his self-discipline, but sometimes he loses his grip on that fiery temper of his. When he needs help to feel in control again, he turns to you and your impeccable rope skills. You try to keep things professional, but that proves challenging for both of you. After all, John is just a friend, one of your best clients… so why do you keep imagining him as more?

TW: rope bondage, femdom, crying, emotional hurt/comfort, female genitals. Please check AO3 link below for full tag list.

Big huge thank you and kudos to the amazing and beautiful @gemmahale for her ideas and support on this one! Love you, bestie.

You had cleared your schedule the moment you hung up the phone with him. His voice had sounded so strained, like he was struggling to say the words. You knew that, sometimes, John Price’s work asked too much of him, but this time, he seemed so far beyond his usual level of need that you decided it was better to play it safe and cancel all of your other clients for the week. 

As you cleaned your studio, you made additional preparations. Something in your gut was telling you to prepare for the worst. You did your best to remember what he liked. No music, low lights, a soft fan for a bit of a breeze, and jute ropes — none of the synthetics in sight. You eyed your collection; eight hanks should have been enough, but you grabbed four more from the back room just to be sure. 

You never really pried into his life during his visits, knowing there was probably much he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell you. He had given you just enough information for you to understand the basics, and you had scoured the internet with those small clues to uncover the rest. At best, he was a soldier, handling the expected dangers and stressors of the job. At worst, he was a literal weapon, aimed and fired at His Majesty’s darkest enemies; a demon hunter meant only for darkness and secrets and pain. 

When he had come to you last November, bruised and battered, craving your particular set of skills, you had surmised that it was the latter. Sometimes, when you caught a glimpse of the news, you looked at the bombed buildings of Urzikstan for a sign of him, hoping you wouldn’t see one. When there was a battle lost or won, plastered across the front page of the news, you wondered if he had been there in the thick of it, protecting the world from the monsters that ravaged that land, keeping them from your privileged doorstep. 

You checked your clock. He’d be in from Heathrow within the hour. You got to work in the wet room, digging around for the soaps he liked best. His favorite bathing oil was a complex, spicy mix of coriander, basil, and bergamot scents. You’d never admit it to him, but you used it when you found yourself thinking about him, unable to get your equally complex, spicy warrior out of your mind.

John was so different from most of your clients. Many people who came to you were usually seeking something other than what you were prepared to give them. Half of your customers came for sex, for which you added them to your blacklist. The other half was a mixed bag seeking humiliation or reassurance, trying to use you and your art as an alternative to counseling or as a way to explore their kinks. They usually didn’t return after they experienced the level of your craft. You did have a handful of repeat clients who appreciated the practice itself, but they usually had their own partners to play with. You were just a novelty to them. An escape. 

Working as a traditional Bakushi was no fleeting hobby, not for you anyway. For you, it was a spiritual calling. John was one of the only clients who understood that and actively wanted to learn more. He had asked for stretching routines, breathing exercises, and advice on meditation. Your soldier was the real deal, even if he couldn’t remember any of the terminology to save his life. You were just happy he had managed to adopt the word shibari into his vocabulary. You could forgive the rest. He didn’t need to know the names of the knots or the positions of the body in order to benefit from his practice. 

Your doorbell rang. You took a breath to calm yourself. You needed to be centered for John. Yes, you were excited to see him, but he needed you to be his rock right now, and you needed to push your own desires out of your mind.

The door cracked open, and there he stood. He was just as you remembered him, but he looked like he’d been through hell. Those bright blue eyes were sporting a dark, purple shiner on his left orbital bone. He had cut his lip across the top and bottom, a red line still marring the sensitive flesh. John had cut down his beard to a more manageable level, but his hair was long and unkempt. What worried you most were the dark red welts he wore around his neck. It looked like ropeburn. 

“John,” you smiled softly, “So good to see you again. Please come in.”

The formalities of such a polite greeting seemed silly to you after what you had been through together. Sessions with John were always… intense. 

He stepped into your foyer, looking at you like he had missed you, but you didn’t allow yourself to give in to the fantasy. He needed you to be professional, and you had a job to do.

You took his hand and led him into your sitting room, offered him a glass of water, and sat beside him. He held your hand in his, refusing to let go, playing with the small bones in your middle finger absentmindedly. You smiled at him, enjoying the quiet of his presence, letting yourself take in these silent moments, unwilling to break the spell of peace until absolutely necessary. 

He seemed content to bask in the tranquility as well, happy to rub your delicate knuckle back and forth with his thumb, letting his eyes explore you, lingering on your long, silk robe, his gaze burning into your sternum at the join of your breasts. 

“How can I help you, John?”

He took a long breath through his nose, his eyes diverting back down to your connected hands; shame, regret. 

“I lost control, again.”

You had heard those words from him before. When he first found you, he told you about his temper. He hadn’t given you any details, but apparently he had hurt an enemy beyond what was necessary. Something he had done had changed him. He wanted to be different, to be more even-keeled, so he’d come to you for help. 

“The same as last time?” You asked, hoping it would be better than you suspected.

“Worse,” he looked up at you and flashed a tight-lipped, bitter smile. 

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. 

“Tell me what you need,” you ran your other hand across his wounded cheek, watching as the shine of his eyes gleamed in the low light. 

His emotions were at war all over his face. His wet lashes, the twitch of his lip, his darting, avoidant eyes; you could almost hear him fighting in his mind. You put a stop to it, scooting closer to him on the deep sofa, holding his stubbled chin in your hand, 

“Hey, you know you can tell me. If it’s within my power to give it to you, you know that I will.”

“I know, love,” he nodded his head, “I think you might try to talk me out of it, is all.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to work it out. Rebuilding your trust together after some time apart wasn’t something to be rushed. Finally, after a few moments of thought, he studied your face and admitted his desires,

“I want it all. Just like last spring, but more. I need more.”

Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. You remembered last spring. Vividly. In fact, you had thought about that appointment more times than you would ever admit. He had pushed himself so far, he’d trusted you so deeply, and you’d watched him heal from his wounds. He’d found a new kind of peace. You remember holding him, still bound, both of you sprawled across the floor, sweaty and grinning, your foreheads pressed together, sharing in his joy. 

But, you also knew that him wanting more meant that you would be restraining him from head to toe. He’d done arm and chest bindings with you, and in the spring, you’d put him in a single-leg frog tie. But, you’d never done full body work with him. For all of his progress, John still had issues letting his power be taken from him. He wanted to be in control, almost to the point of obsession, and it was only when he was in your ropes that he was able to practice internal control over himself without threat of judgment or danger. He could examine his temper in your safe setting, testing it like a scientist, finding new strengths within himself, mental hurdles to overcome.

However, you worried about what his mental state would be like when he was fully at your mercy. Had he ever been at anyone’s mercy? You doubted it. 

He could see you rolling over the problem in your mind, watching as you thought it through, imagining the possibilities. 

“What d’ya say, love? Think we can try?” His eyes met yours, and you nodded. 

“Yes, let’s try.”

“I might… uh,” he hesitated, clearly unsure of how his next request might be received, “I’m not sure how to say this, but I might need you… after. I know that’s not what you do, but after last spring, I thought you might make an exception.”

You were fully aware of what he meant. Last spring, laying there sweaty and swimming in euphoria together, you had broken your own rule. You’d let your body slide over John’s naked, tied form, and you’d rubbed his cock across your belly and on top of your pussy, sharing an orgasm together. It was reckless of you, and fully outside of the scope of your role, but it was what was right for you both at the time. He hadn’t asked for a repeat performance, always the perfect gentleman, until now.

You nodded, 

“Thank you for asking. We’ll see how it goes, and I’ll check in again at the end. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You moved to leave the comfort of the sofa, but he caught your hand,

“Can we start now? Just a bit. If that’s alright.”

“Alright,” you agreed, “Any new injuries I should know about?”

His face stretched into a boyish smile,

“Too many to count.”

You shook your head, ducking into your studio to grab one hank of rope,

“You’re the only one who gets a pass on that, you know.”

You watched his eyes dart to your hands as you untied the bundle, looping the rope end over end, making your first bight. His energy was electric, but you could see something dark slithering underneath. 

“I’ll start now, but you need to talk to me. What makes it worse now, John?”

You stood in the middle of the room, watching as he moved into position in front of you. You waited patiently, not needing to give him instructions. John knew what you wanted from him. 

He avoided your question, going through the motions of preparing his body for your work. He tugged off his coat and tee shirt, raking it over his broad back, and you tried to ignore the aching red marks that littered his scarred skin. Then, he unbuckled his belt, letting the metal tip clatter and clang in the quiet room, dropping his jeans and peeling off his shoes and socks. Naked, he folded his clothes and lay them to the side. Then, he found his neutral position, kneeling at your feet, palms flat on his thighs, head bowed as if in prayer. 

“Hands behind your head, palm to palm,” you spoke your first command, listening to the timbre of your voice and knowing it was different. You were changing into the person that he needed; someone strong, unyielding. 

He complied, but he looked a little surprised. You’d never asked him for this position before, but you knew it would get his attention. He would feel the vulnerability of it immediately, his sensitive ribs and armpits exposed. 

You started your work, tying his wrists carefully, making sure to leave the proper amount of room, running the rope, rubbing between the soft jute and his hairy skin to check and double check it for safety. As soon as you had one wrist bound, you moved to the other and heard him begin to talk. 

“I nearly lost one of my men last week. Good bloke. Took a bullet for me, so I broke the rules.”

“Which rules?”

“All of them,” he looked up at you, rueful and yet unrepentant.

“Would you do it differently,” you admired the smoothness of his wrist, watching as his pulse beat just under the thin skin, rushing through blue veins, “If you could go back in time?”

“No,” Price’s voice was like that of a beast. A dragon. It was a short, simple word, but within it, you understood exactly the feeling of vengeance he was carrying within it. No, he would not go back and change his actions. He would repeat them. That much was clear. 

“It doesn’t sound to me like you were out of control, then,” you looped the knots of his wrists around a temporary harness, simple and quick. This was just for now. You had bigger plans for him after you bathed. 

John’s mouth turned up into a wry smile, thinking about your assessment, then he said,

“You might be right, love. But, I’m here. I needed this. Needed you. There must be a reason I feel so bloody lost.”

“Let’s find your way back, then. Stand up.”

You led him by the end of the rope to the wet room. The off-white tiles glowed yellow in the candlelight you had prepared, and as you turned on the tap, the room filled with steam. You watched John’s face become indecipherable as you untied the ribbon of your robe, letting the silk pool at your feet, stepping into the shower before him. 

You pointed to the small stool in the middle of the wide shower, 

“Sit.”

It was a huge installation. During the build process in your renovated space, you’d asked for two large rainshower heads and a massage wand with a flat drain in the center. John knelt in between the two heads, but well within reach of the wand. You switched it on, watching the water jerk and flow through the metal hose, holding it towards your chest and out of his eyes. 

You started with his feet, washing them with only warm water first before moving the wand up his legs, wetting his body in stages. You didn’t use your hands yet, but you were eager to. John was quite the specimen, and you felt yourself flush as your eyes explored his body, lingering on places they really shouldn’t. 

You were adamant that you were a sex worker who didn’t have sex. You tried to make it abundantly clear that your clients were paying for shibari practices only, and that you did not do… happy endings. Other than your encounter with John, your clients orgasmed alone, and you went to great lengths to ensure it remained that way. But, here was your weakness, asking you to wash him while he was in your knots, warning you that he might crave a sensual aftercare scene, that he’d been thinking about you. It made your skin flush, and even though you were comfortable in your own skin, his obvious desire for you in such a carnal way made you hyper-aware of your bare flesh. 

The wand sat back in its hook, water paused, and the only sounds were the quiet drippings against the tile, a slight sucking from the drain, your breathing. You scraped the soap into your palm, making sure to lather it into a rich, thick foam. You stood, walking around him to his back, and began with his bound hands and arms, rubbing his warm, swollen muscles with your palms, spreading the suds over him liberally. 

A long, animalistic groan shuddered through John’s lungs, echoing in the bath. It set your nerves on fire to know that you were giving him such pleasure. You wanted more. 

You moved to his back, massaging the scented soap into his body, working his skin firmly to promote his bloodflow. As you made pass after pass, his moans became steady and breathy, his mouth hanging open, unable to fight the relaxation he was experiencing. 

You washed his legs and feet, needing to bend over him in order to reach the length of his huge thighs. In doing so, your bare breasts came in contact with his back, only light tapping at first, swaying forward as you washed him. You could tell that he could feel you, and he froze, his noises of pleasure turning into hitched breaths, shocked and inaudible. 

Your clients usually washed themselves, but John had asked for special treatment, and this was a new experience for you, too. You tamped down on your excitement, but you couldn’t hide your nature. As you leaned forward to wash his knees and shins, ankles and feet, you had to press your soft tits and contrastingly taut nipples against him, over and over, like two inkless stamps, leaving impressions on his wet skin. 

Standing again, you waited to give yourself a minute to compose your emotions. The tips of your hair were damp, and your chest was shining from his soapy torso. You tried to wipe the shine away, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. He needed to be looking inwardly, finding his deeper meaning. Staring at your gleaming, sensitive tits was not what he was paying for, no matter what your biology might have wanted. 

You stepped around to his front, and you marveled at how big his frame truly was. While sitting, even though the stool was low, his eyes were directly in line with your furry mons. If he only tilted his chin up a little, he could lick…

Your mind clamped down on that thought like a vice. You breathed steady, kneeling before him and reapplying the soap to your hands, trying to refocus yourself on your work. 

That was proving more difficult by the moment. Washing his broad chest was like something out of a dream. His nipples were so responsive, and now you could see the way his face twisted with pleasure as your hands massaged your serums into his skin. Every swipe over his pink nubs make him gasp in a new pitch, his brow furrowed with desperation, but his eyes stayed pinned to the tile, just like he was meant to. You expected all of your subs to avert their gaze, to concentrate on their mind, and you made it clear that the practice would stop if they lacked the discipline to do so. 

You had never been more grateful for that standard, because if John’s sharp, pale blue eyes found yours right now, you might not be able to keep yourself from losing your own control. 

You stepped out of the shower for a moment, grabbing the tie from your robe, slipping it out of its loops. Then, as a way to anchor yourself, you wrapped it tightly around your wrist, twisting the knots you made so that they would face inwardly, the discomfort reminding you of your duties as his dominant. It would work for now, you hoped. 

Already, you could feel yourself coming back online, as if someone had splashed cold water in your face. That was, until you turned back to John and saw the last part of your process.

You peered down into his lap, hands full of creamy suds, ready to wash his belly and his nethers, only to discover that he was as hard as steel. His cock flagged tall and curved, tapping on his abdomen, far beyond his bellybutton, giving you a reminder of what was plaguing your dreams. It was beautiful. The uncut skin of his shaft folded around the rim of his ruddy head, eager to be slicked down so that you could tease the tip of him. His balls were round and full, hanging as he sat on the edge of the bench, and all you could think about was what delight was stored within them, ready to burst.

You focused on your knots, letting your one ribbon keep you grounded, and you finished the job. Your hands rubbed soap along his belly, fingers dancing through the thick happy trail of his lower abs. He was built like a workhorse, and although he was fit, his body was well-fed and wide, his core wide and protruding with his strength, thicker as he sat on the stool. There was no bodybuilder’s trim waist. He was all power, heavy and built for unimaginable destruction. You’d never seen his equal, nor a man even close to his immense form. If someone had told you John was one of Zeus’ many bastards, roaming the earth immortal and inhumanly large, you might have believed them.

“I’m going to wash the rest of your body. Remind me of your safeword so that I know you can use it,” you commanded softly, hearing your own voice bounce around the hollow room. 

John did not meet your eyes, fully committed to his submission, but you could see his cock pulse with anticipation. He spoke quietly but clearly, 

“Red.”

“Louder,” you instructed. 

“Red,” he obeyed. 

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Again.”

“Red.”

“Good. Stand up.”

You needed to make sure he was ready to proceed. John, experienced as he was, could get stuck in his sub-space just like anyone. So, you made him practice, let his mouth feel the word again and again, primed and ready to be used. 

Finally, you reached for his genitals, washing his cock and being mindful of where you spread the soap, scrubbing ever so gently down his ballsack, and then swiping across his cleft, washing through his legs to clean every last bit of him. 

Then, trying to be almost clinical about it, you washed him off, cleansing his lower extremities to ensure his comfort before hosing down the rest of him. 

Finally, you shut off the water and began to towel him dry, wiping at his dripping skin, trying to ignore how his body’s heat seemed to radiate onto your bare body, inviting you to lean just a little closer, to press into that lovely burn. 

But, you didn’t. You discarded the towel and untied your wrist cuff, leaving it with your robe. You reached behind John’s head and unbound the center knot of his ties, allowing him to bring his wrists to the front of his body like handcuffs. You used the end to lead him like a prisoner through your space, parading him to the studio quickly and quietly, eager to begin the main event. 

Once inside the studio space, you finished untying his wrists, setting him free once again. He looked down at them, running his fingertip across the raised ridges left by the ropes before dropping his arms to his sides, waiting for your instruction and guidance. 

You knelt next to your basket of rope, retrieving a hank from the stack and unwinding it. His eyes darted to your hands, watching you prepare it just for him, like a dog expecting a bone. 

“Lay in the center, arms at your sides,” you told him and watched as he followed your instruction. He was less hard now, more relaxed than before, but before long, as he lay there letting his excitement build, he strengthened again, his prick bowing up onto his stomach, flushed and full. 

You got to work. Your first goal was to put each of his legs in an advanced frog tie, turning his body on its side so that you could bind his ankle to his thigh, first one leg and then the other. Once his initial ropes were in place, you checked their tension, moving two fingers around and around, trying not to notice his mounting enthusiasm every time you brushed along his inner thigh. Then, once you were satisfied, you helped him into a kneeling position, pushing a thin buckwheat pillow under his knees for comfort. 

He shook his head, 

“Don’t need it, love. I wanna feel the floor. The pain… helps.”

You eyed him, turning your lips into a soft grin, 

“If this were a normal session, I would give that to you,” your tone got his attention, and he did look at your face now, needing to see your intent, “But, what I’m about to put you through is something different. Trust me, John.”

“I trust you.”

He settled into the pillow, returning to his meditative position. You took his hands in yours and held them between your two palms, squeezing them tight, binding them without rope for a moment. Then, you began to breathe in deep, cyclical patterns, over and over. He breathed with you, and you saw the tension leave his face. Whatever had happened to John on this last tour was plaguing him, and you slowed things down to give him a chance to control himself again. 

He breathed in with you, and his air rushed out with yours, washing over your skin like a summer wind, keeping your body responsive to him. Every now and then, as you meditated together, you caught his eyes fixed on something other than the floor. He was staring into the darkness between your legs, shadowed by your body and covered with curly hair, hidden from him in plain sight. It was hard for you to focus, knowing he had his mind on your body, but eventually, he averted his gaze, focusing inwardly again. 

Finally, when you felt his heart rate slow, you used another hank of rope to create a short waist belt, applying more tension than usual as you fed it along his hips, knowing his thick ass and thighs could take the pressure. Still, you were adamant about safety, watching him every moment for discoloration or discomfort. 

He was fidgeting now that the tighter straps were on him, and you saw him closing off his stance, bringing his knees closer together. You caught him, and used one of the loops on his thigh to pull his legs apart again,

“Spread them. Let the pressure flow through your belly and out of your center.”

“Aye,” he sighed, settling into the pain and doing his best to spread his knees wider, concentrating on the feeling. His cock was leaking now, leaving little dark marks on the canvas of his knee bolster, bobbing between his legs as he spread them wider, shining and wet. 

You grabbed another rope, trying to hone in on your work,

“I’m going to bind you in almost the same style we practiced last spring, but it will be modified to provide more of that challenge you’ve been looking for. Place your hands behind your back, palms on your elbows, if you can.”

Not every sub had the flexibility to obey, but John did. He’d been doing his stretches. As he assumed his position, his arms’ placement made his chest broad and high, stretching his pecs open while his back was pinned, the skin folding in on itself as his shoulder blades folded back like featherless wings. You threaded your rope over his shoulders, centering the bight at the back of his neck for an anchor point. It was essential that no pressure was applied to the front of his throat, and you were ever-mindful of the fresh injuries that marred his neck. 

“What happened here?” You asked, letting your finger pass under a rope that lay on his injured skin, making sure it was loose and gentle. You would give him tightness elsewhere. 

He was hesitant to answer you, but he shrugged,

“Bastard came up behind me. Before I could react, he had the wire around my throat.”

“Did you escape on your own?” You pried, trying to keep him talking as you started the long process of his arm binding. 

“Aye. He was so busy trying to choke me, he forgot I still had free hands and plenty of bloody knives in my belt.”

You praised him for his openness,

“Good.”

“Is it?” Now, you heard the doubt in his tone. It made you pause, but you simply continued with your ties, not allowing him to know that you were challenged by his cynicism or regret or whatever darkness was making him lean on his fear and anger instead of his peace.

You left his question unanswered, allowing it to hang in the air between you, forcing his mind to dwell on it. You needed him to answer it within himself before you went opening more portals to other emotions and struggles. 

You added more and more rope to his binding, and when you finished, you pulled the cord forward across his chest, resting it below his nipples, making sure to graze them as you checked your tension, enjoying the trembling shudder that came from him as your reward. It was the most advanced harness you had performed in a long time. This one was unforgiving. He couldn’t twist left or right. His shoulders were forced down and back, shrugged tight against his body, and his arms were completely powerless. He could pull and heave to try and move his hands away from his back, but there was no escape.

You sat across from John once more, holding his chin up so that he would know you expected him to look at you, and you asked him,

“Do you have any pain or tingling?”

“No.”

“Say your safeword to me one time.”

“Red.” 

“The next step will be the final rope, and then we can sit together for as long as you need. Do you want to continue?”

His eyes stared into yours with a bright clarity, and he answered softly, 

“Yes.”

You could tell that he was slipping deeper into his sub-space. His eyes softened, but his body shivered. If you brushed your fingers along his ribs, his muscles would kick and jerk. Anything harder, like a deep tissue massage against those huge thighs and he whined for you, smokey and gravelly, full of feral need. 

You moved behind him, taking a rope and placing it across his forehead, using your hand to tilt his head back until his eyes were staring at the ceiling. Then, you carefully crafted a face harness, making sure there was not too much pressure on his more delicate bones while still limiting his range of motion so that he was forced to keep his chin pointed up. 

You connected the rig to an anchor point on his wrists, and then you took your position in front of him again, staring at his bearded jaw and injured neck, watching his body struggle to relax into a very uncomfortable pose. 

“Breathe for me, John,” you knew it was a lot. 

Controlling someone’s body was one thing. Even Price had experienced tight knots before, but when you took control over the head, that animal instinct all humans keep deep within themselves tended to come alive. It was a primal fear. You watched John’s chest rise and fall, his stress tumbling around in his breaths as he tried to stay calm. 

You reached out both of your hands and rested them on his chest, feeling the way he jerked at your touch, overstimulated and sensitive. You pet his fur, the thick brown hair that dusted his body, soft from the oils you had used. As he breathed, you felt it moving in his lungs, and you let your fingertips ghost over his nipples, rubbing them with the backs of your knuckles, admiring the way they perked up at your attention, puffy and swollen from the unforgiving rope that made them bulge outwardly.

“Mmf–fuck,” he coughed, his eyes knitted into a worried sort of agony.

You smiled, bringing your own nipples towards his chest, letting your soft peaks brush against his hard ones, moving your breasts up and down, drawing little circles and crosses over his chest. 

You knew he couldn’t see what you were doing, but he could feel it. He knew, instinctively, and it was sending him into a drunken daze. The pleasure of your touch combined with the pain of your ropes pushed him beyond where he had been before, and perhaps it was past where you had dared to go as well. 

“Control your breaths, John. There is nothing else you are responsible for. I’ve taken it all from you. You need to breathe and to spread your peace through your mind. Focus.”

He didn’t respond, but his breathing stilled, and his eyes closed. You removed your touch from him and let him bask in the sensations he was experiencing. 

Minutes passed, then more. It had been almost an hour, and you were admiring the way he stayed strong, at first. You reached out to him to anchor him when he seemed like he needed help, caressing his arms and back, massaging the muscles that must be burning white hot by now. He was much more determined than any other sub you controlled. If anyone could handle this difficult position, it was him. But, he was not invincible. You saw the way his breathing became labored, and his cock, which was losing and regaining its hardness as time went on, throbbed from its struggle. 

“Do you want to continue?” You asked again, touching him as you had before, moving your hands from his chest to his belly, petting him rhythmically, avoiding his phallus but touching everything else around it. You knew it must have been teasing him, forcing him to imagine how your hands might feel if they reached just a little further. 

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained due to the position of his jaw, and you watched the bulge in his neck bob up and down.

More time slipped by. Your hands had wandered down his legs and across the soft pads of his feet. His body was buzzing with the energy he was spending in order to stay the course. He must have been far beyond simple pain at this point. You remembered a similar scene you’d experienced, and this was much longer than you ever expected to be in it. If John was anything, he was stubborn. 

But eventually, you heard him speak, 

“We knew it was a trap before we went in. I was reckless, and angry, and I wanted my fuckin’ revenge.”

He paused but you just kept up with your massage, rubbing him down, letting him know you were still there. He continued,

“That bastard was gonna shoot me,” John’s voice cracked from his despair, and you saw shining tears stream down his temples and into his hair, “It was me that he wanted. Then, my… one of my men, he jumped right in front of the gun and took the bullet for me. I thought he was dead. I thought I was, too. But, after… I left my team. Charged in alone. I did things to those men that I'll have to think about for the rest of my bloody days. I became… something else. Something… “

You wiped the tears from his face, petting his cheeks, letting your thumbs brush over his lips gently. He sighed, and you could feel his breath on your fingers,

“It wasn’t right. I knew better, I just wanted them to bloody pay. Wasn’t sure if I was going home with a fuckin’ medal or my papers. Didn’t care.”

There was a long pause, and then, his voice became small. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but they were wide, full of fear and uncertainty,

“Am I a monster? Is that… Is that the real me? Who am I? What am I?”

You leaned forward and planted delicate kisses across John’s stretched neck, licking and sucking at his skin in very light, careful touches, tasting his wounds and trying to heal them.

You sat back, removing yourself from his body, letting him sit alone for a moment before you said,

“You are a human being. You are capable of love and hate, pleasure and pain. You might feel like you need to answer for some of your violence, but your own humanity is not defined by your actions. You believed that was the path you needed to take. You destroyed dangerous men before they destroyed you. That is not a monster. A monster destroys the innocent. Were those men innocent?”

“No,” he snarled, full of spit and ire.

“They made their own choices. They controlled their own lives. Your perception of your own control is too broad, John. You couldn’t save them. They didn’t need saving. You did. It was you who needed to be saved.”

“I should’ve been able to stop… to stop… stop killing. I couldn’t. I needed them to burn for what they did to my fuckin’ soldier. To my friends! Fuck!” 

John was gasping now, too full of emotion to control his breath, releasing his stress in deep, bellowing grunts. You unfastened his head harness immediately, freeing him. The instant he could move, he let his head fall forward and placed his cheek on your breast, stretching himself as far as he could, hoping you would be there to catch him. 

And you were. You held him in your arms, wrapping your own across his many knots, feeling the fibers of his ties and the smooth warmth of his body, separate but unified. You could feel his wet cheek upon your skin, his anger rolling off of him in waves. He was letting out each breath as an exhaled hiss, the fire in his eyes at full peak, a blazing rage that seemed like it would suffocate him. 

You picked up his head in your hands, resting your forehead on his and told him, 

“Let it go. Just like that. Scream. Let it out of you, John. Forgive yourself.”

He let himself go for a moment, howling like a wild boar, full of unnatural rage and pain. You heard his shouts and tucked them away from your heart, keeping them for later, choosing to just let him express it and have his crashing waves of feeling wash over you, but you refused to drown in it. He still needed you. 

“Do you forgive me?” His plea was that of a boy, innocent and achingly pure. 

“I forgive you,” you replied without hesitation, “Forgive yourself, now.”

He shook his head back and forth, rubbing his face on yours, bitter and despondent, 

“I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m telling you to,” you barked, grabbing him at the base of his skull by his hair, forcing his head back into that same bent position, holding him by force, “Trust me, John. Say it out loud. I forgive myself. Say it. C’mon.”

“I… forgive...” 

“C’mon. I know you can do this,” you used both hands to hold his head under your control, your chests pressed together, your breathing equal and ragged, both of you pulled to the end of your abilities.

“I forgive myself.”

“Again!” You gasped. You tugged at his nape, forcing him to arch his back with what little movement he still had access to.

He grunted in response, breathing heavy, each exhale a guttural shout,

“I forgive myself.”

“Good. So good. Let it out. Use the pain; let it wash you clean.”

You let his head come forward, and you saw a new man staring back at you. Before you knew what was happening, you felt your lips crash together with John’s, sliding along his mouth, tasting him and being tasted by him. His tongue slipped into the hollow of your palate, folding and twisting for more and more control, taking you into him as much as he could manage. Then, he pulled away abruptly, resting his forehead against yours again,

“I’m sorry. I just… I feel…” You watched him search for the words, “I feel like I’m back. It’s been so long, but I can feel myself again.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you,” he tilted his head, exhausted, sitting back on his heels, his face a serene picture of peace, “I need you to touch me, like this. Please.”

You looked at him for a moment and then moved your hands between his legs, finding his warm rod waiting to be held. As soon as your fingers touched him, his whole body convulsed, and he cried out at the sensation. 

You began to rub his shaft with long, slow strokes, avoiding his head for now, finding a nice, easy rhythm, encouraging John to match your breathing. He did, stealing kisses when your faces were near one another, and eventually, you were nose to nose, sharing your breaths again, listening to the rush of air and the wet slick sound of his tacky precome being spread all over his length. 

You reached behind him and grabbed another bolster, putting the soft pad behind his back. Slowly, you helped him lay down onto it, knowing his arms would be crushed by his weight, but making sure the stress was something he could stand. His legs were spread wide, fully pliant and open to you, and you sat between them, bringing your hands back to his center, working his curved shaft up and down, watching as his belly filled with air, expanding from his breaths, only to collapse again, the muscles within him clenching and releasing in an undulating pattern of lust and need.

“Oh, fuck,” he bit his lip, wrenching his eyes shut, “Please… I need… Bloody hell, I need you, love. Please.”

“Are you sure, John?” You tried to check in with him, ignoring your own desire to immediately fulfill his wish, your pussy swollen and dripping in anticipation. 

“Yes. I want you to take me. Please.”

His eyes looked up at you, his body bent and bowed, sweet and desperate for you, looking to you for his pleasure.

Carefully, you straddled him, feeding his head between your legs, sighing with joy as his tip slotted into the soft divot of your hole. He couldn’t thrust up into you. In fact, he couldn’t participate at all. You were the only one who could bring him pleasure or bring him pain, and that thought made your head rush, making you dizzy with desire, knowing that this man, a ruthless killer, mysterious and brutal, steady and kind, all of what he was — he was helpless beneath you. 

As you sank down onto his girthy tip, your body ached from the stretch. It was an effort to fit him inside of you, and you breathed through it, wanting to push yourself flush to his hips. When you met his warm root, you shared a loud moan together, the relief overwhelming you both. 

Then, you used your hips to make grinding, wide circles, churning his cock within your core, making yourself even more soaked, feeling your movements sending repeated signals to your cunt to make more and more slick come. It seemed endless, and it pooled out of you, matting his hair and drowning his dick in hot, sticky fluid. 

He was grunting softly at the apex of each circle of your hips, his voice hoarse and full of want. You heard him wanting more, wanting you to hump him up and down, to slide yourself along his cock from root to tip. But, you were in charge, and you set the pace. So, you continued, around and around and around in an impossible spiral, using your hands to play with his nipples, pinching them cruelly, positioning them under the tight rope to make them ache to be free. 

“Ungh, fuck! You’re fuckin’ soaked, love. Feels so bloody good.”

You smiled down at him, refusing to take his bait, knowing he was beyond ready for more. 

Sure enough, he began to beg you, his skin flushed and his heart beating hard from being edged by your grinding,

“Will you fuck me… please? Just… I need… fuck, I need more. Fuck me, please! Oh, fuck…”

“Shh. Be good for me, John. Trust me.” 

You stayed the course, rocking your hips around his base, never letting him thrust in and out, just winding yourself around him like a tight spool, pushing him to his breaking point. He felt so good inside of you, and his cock was so deep, you could feel the turgid body of his shaft if you pressed down on your lower belly, your fingers finding his outline through your skin and muscles and fat, your hands making indentions in your flesh, teasing him from the outside. 

“Cut me out,” he snarled, straining against his bindings hard enough to hurt himself.

You peered down at him, slowing your hips to a glacial pace,

“You know your safeword, John.”

“Cut. Me. Out.”

His eyes were vicious when he looked up at you now. He was like a hungry wolf; his gaze held within it a dark promise that — if you cut his leash — he would destroy you. 

On one hand, your body celebrated that realization. It was eager to be devoured by this monster of a man, but you had worked hard to control your primal urges, and you decided to put your hound back in his cage. You let your hand snake around his throat, squeezing where it was safest, digging in your nails for him to feel your threat more vividly, knowing it would hurt him against his healing wounds,

“If you want to stop, say the word.”

You waited, watching his tortured face, panting and wet from tears and sweat, but he remained silent. You licked your lips, 

“You came here for a lesson in self-control, and I am your teacher.”

For the next half hour, you made sure John Price understood who was in control of his pleasure. You sat on his cock, rocking back and forth until you felt his body tense up, and then you pulled yourself off of him, leaving his throbbing prick out in the cold, tapping at your ass cheeks, begging to be let back in. 

You ignored him, touching yourself with your fingers, using the chubby flesh of his lower belly to rub against your cunt, smearing your wetness all over him as you played in your hole. 

Then, you would put him back inside and start the process all over again, grinding and stopping, grinding and stopping, until your mighty sub was whimpering for release, his balls tight against his core, ready to flood you with his come at any moment. 

Finally, when you saw how fuck-drunk he was, coming in and out of consciousness like he’d been drugged, you decided to relieve him of his burden. You caught his eye and made sure he knew what was coming. Immediately, you had his full attention. He began to chant, hoarse and rasping under his breath,

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck…”

You let the anticipation build, slipping your pussy over his head in feather-light swipes, letting your folds tickle his cockhead mercilessly. Then, you began to bounce your hips on his cock. 

“Ungh– love, I’m —” he growled, his words breathless and broken, unbridled. 

“I want your come,” you confessed, getting lost in your own pleasure, “I want it in me… Deep. In. Me,” you changed your tone, tightening your grip on the nape of his neck as much as you dared, “And I’m going to take it from you.”

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, shining with fresh tears, overstimulated and raw. 

Then, you saw the relief smooth across his brow, and you waited for a breath before you felt it, spearing yourself on him to his hilt, plugging your cunt so that his come would be plugged up inside of you, filling your emptiest parts, making them warm and swollen with his spend. 

You felt him bursting inside of you, his girth stretching you every time he throbbed, spraying inside of you over and over, dumping his load into your soft hole. When you felt him finish, you began your grinding circles again, causing him to roll and twist, aching from the pleasure and pain. 

“Nngh… love, please… can’t… I can’t…” 

You yanked the slip tie out from under his shoulder, and suddenly, he had control of his arms again. You did the same to his legs, freeing him from your ties, ending his captivity. 

Like a flash, he erupted upwards toward you. His hands went to your hips, sitting up to hug himself around your body, crushing you to his chest and forcing you down into his lap, spearing you on his sensitive rod as if you had planned to pull him out. His mouth savaged your breasts, biting them cruelly, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave you bruised. 

You grabbed his face, holding his bristled cheeks in your hands again, bringing him up to kiss you. You pressed your lips to his as delicately as you could manage, trembling from your bliss. He kissed you back, and that’s all you did for what felt like an eon. Your mind swam through a blank, glittering cosmos, and the only thing that was real was the feeling of John’s mouth on your mouth and his sex on your sex, his hands on your body and your hands on his body, his pain and your pain, his love and your love. You and he were muddled together like pigments on a palette, jonquil and fuschia, no longer existing as one or the other and yet both smearing together, mixed and inseparable, ready to paint a bright, endless sun. 

You had melted, it seemed, under John’s sweating, heaving body. His ribs bullied into your belly every time he took a breath, and his cock had softened so that it slipped away from you. Your body ached for its comfort again, every nature-made part of you punishing you for losing it, coaxing you to do anything to get it back, to fill the space left vacant. You were tucked into his chest, folded and hiding beneath his chin, rubbing at the flat of his sternum with the back of your hand. 

His finger brushed a stray curl from your brow, touching your hair with respect, staring down at you in awe,

“My hero,” he purred. 

You smiled, kissing the stubble on his chin,

“Am I, now?”

“My head…” He stared up at the ceiling again, going to it for comfort like a long lost friend, “It’s so quiet. So clear. You’ve done that for me, and I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my days.”

“I’ll always be here for you, John. You are my muse in more ways than I’ll ever admit,” you laughed breathlessly, a little sad. It was bittersweet, falling in love with a man you couldn’t have. But, you found yourself in him and now you would need to work out how to live without that mirrored reflection. You felt linked to him, two unbroken cords looped together like Solomon’s seal, inseparable and yet laid on two disparate paths. 

“Don’t…” He said, his tone sounding even more sorrowful than yours.

You sat up on your elbow, bringing your face up to his to look at him, to see his emotions, 

“What?”

“Don’t make me hope.”

“What do you hope for?” Your voice fell into a whisper, your heart not having the strength to ask your question aloud.

He matched your tone, purring out his confession with a tired but cheeky grin,

“For a woman who can bring me to my knees,” then, his expression turned serious, and his eyes traced his finger as he played with the stray curl he had found, studying its winding path, “For a healer. Someone who can remind me of who I am. Everytime I stop to catch my breath, I’ve been hoping for you.”

Your heart stuttered, knowing that he was not a man to settle down in one place. You looked down at his chest rising and falling with his breath, matching your rhythm, unable to meet his eyes,

“How long can you stay?”

He put a thick finger under your chin, just as you had for him during his session, making you meet his gaze, 

“Let’s start with tonight…”

He planted a soft kiss on your left cheek.

“...then tomorrow…”

His lips kissed your right cheek, dragging hungrily across your skin, 

“...and all the tomorrows that you’ll give me. I’ll take them all, if you let me.”

John placed his final kiss on your open mouth, lips parted, concentrating on what he was saying. You smiled, kissing him back in earnest, 

“Tonight, then. And tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow,” he nodded, smiling brightly, rolling himself over you to shield you from the chill of the room, folding you into his darkness, safe, bound to him without a cord, knotted together without a bight, tangled for however long the strands would hold.

AO3 Link --- Thank you for the kudos!

[llamabois]

TO LOVE AND HATE, ENDLESSLY

Synopsis: You and your twin sister (MC) have been spending time with your parents. They decide it would be fun for you guys to play dress up and guess who is who. Caleb ends up joining in to your dismay.

No warnings are needed other than a bit of swearing, lol.

Side note: tried to use some pilot terms, but I might've failed lmao.

Taglist: @justpassingdontworry @macaronnya @itsmekalou @caramelizedpopcirn @xiaorixx

You are your own worst enemy. Not that you'd ever have expected that. It's been two weeks since your mirror reflection has come back into your family's life, and while you're happy for your parents, a part of you wishes you ate her in the womb.

Her eyes crinkle in the same way yours does, a smile a little lopsided. When she gets nervous, she plays with her fingers as if doing so will make a spell to banish away her fear. Just like you.

The first fear you've ever faced was your own reflection, so now you've learned to put two fists up to face your inner demons. You try bonding with her. Asking her about her childhood.

She tells you about how she grew up with her amazing childhood friend Caleb. Told you how he was almost like a brother to her. Almost, but not quite. Her eyes stir with a muted desire that matches your own when you look into his beautiful purple irises. She doesn't acknowledge this. Neither do you.

Shadowboxing is not an art you are unfamiliar with. For you were your first enemy. And you will be your last. Until you break bread with the parts of you that your heart has never understood; You will break bones and wreak havoc on your own psyched up psyche till nothing but the two of you are left breathless yet still attached.

Yet you still choose not to face him. Not until you're forced to.

Your parents have decided to take some time to do all the things they've always wanted to do with both of you but never could. And this time, you two were playing dress up.

Due to the fact that your hair was long (even though you've been thinking of cutting it recently,) you both sported the same bun with a pretty extravagant dress. How your parents got them, you'll never know.

"My goodness, you two are identical!"

Your sister laughs at this comment and turns towards you. "I've always felt like there was a part of me missing. At least I know it wasn't because my heart went dumb."

You want to feel warmth in your chest. You want to feel sorry for your dear twin who suffers from a heart condition after you lost her. You want to love her. Yet your fists are still up, and your heart is hidden on your sleeve.

And to think you're feeling this way all because of a damn man.

There's a ring at the doorbell, the two of you had changed again to match into some more casual clothes. Your mom excitedly goes to open the door. You pay no mind as you look at your sister and smooth out her hair that looked a little frazzled.

She looks at you intently, shocked by the sheer awe of looking at yourself outside of your body yet still within yourself.

She knows you're not all too happy to see her. And she has a feeling she knows why.

"Girls," your mom calls excitedly. "Guess who's here!"

You both look to the entrance of the living room, and your stomach does flip when you see who is standing there. His frame large against the small door. His eyes, some what in awe.

Not for you, of course, never for you.

"Caleb, dear, would you like to play a little game with us?" Your mom asks with a clap of excitement.

"Guess who is who between the two of them."

"We've got 3 out of the 6 times, right? Not bad, huh?" Your dad chimes in, proud.

As if not being able to tell which daughter you've held in your arms and taken care of the past 23 years of your life is something to be proud of. You digress.

You were identical.

"Sure," Caleb says as he takes a seat on the couch. Casually, he leans into the crook of the chair away from your parents. Manspreading like he owned half of the chair with just his presence. Purple eyes watched you both intently as you both switched positions a few times.

You tried to keep your expression neutral. But you knew that Caleb would probably be able to tell right away who his beloved Pipsqueak was and who was just a Bandit.

You both continue to circle each other. As you look at her, you look at yourself. A yin yang behavior. To circle each other endlessly till parts of you bled into who you've hated to be. To both be exactly alike, yet nothing at all the same.

To be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

"And stop." Your dad says, clapping once.

You both look toward Caleb, who gazes intently at you. His eyes are heavy on your body. You want to look away, but everything within you wants to fight for a stupid victory. So you don't.

"This is pipsqueak, and this is my angel." He says, pointing at your sister and then you.

"Angel?" You question. "How did you come to this conclusion, Colonel."

"Well first," he smiles. "Pipsqueak doesn't call me Colonel. So you just proved my point, my dear mechanic."

Dammit.

"Okay, what else."

Caleb gets up from his spot on the couch and makes his way towards you, as if she wasn't there. As if no one else was around.

"Well...my dear angel often as a really defiant gaze when she looks at people. Especially me. Sometimes it borders on hatred I think." He smiles. "Unless it was something else." He whispers.

You look away.

You choose to run from his words rather than listen to them. How could he know that you wanted to jump into his skin, and carve a piece of yourself into him permanently? That you wanted the weight of his body on top of yours. The warmth of his chest, the desire in his eyes, the whirling of the mechanical arm that was never going to be a part of him yet still held a part of you every time that you tinkered with it in your workshop.

How you wanted the sound of that robotic arm to lullaby you to sleep as he wrapped himself around you brought his real arm to your stomach and caressed it gently.

He truly knew nothing.

Son of a bitch.

"True," you chuckle with a dark gaze. "But it doesn't border on hatred. It is."

"Oh, you know that isn't true."

"What i know is that there are somethings you don't come back from, and if you don't step out of my fucking face, I'll make sure that you face a death you don't came back from." You fake a gasp, "Oh damn, I should say, again. Shouldn't I."

Your sister watches your back and forth. At first, with amusement, but then also a sense of wrongness.

Like she wasn't supposed to be here.

She could tell there was something between you two. Something that was more than hate. It was desire. A language is so often hidden between the lines but felt so easily.

She had no place between that. After all, she was just Caleb's childhood friend, right?

Maybe she did feel something for him, a sense of belonging like no other. To have someone take care of you and treat you as a precious jewel when the world was determined to crush you. Caleb did that. He treated her as if she were a jewel. A diamond.

She shakes her head. She would be fine without him. Afterall, when this bastard blew the fuck up, she had to do everything on her own. And she'll continue to do so.

Or at least... she has her family still there with her.

"Oh angel, you wound me deeply." Caleb jokes sarcastically. But you're not having any of it.

"Would you like another fatal wound? I think we can make that happen."

At this point, your mom and dad left, and your sister also took her leave. Something about going to go change.

Caleb chuckles as he deepens the space between you two. His warm hand caressing your face. You want to throw something at him. Whether it's a chair or yourself, you can't decide.

"How did you know it was me." You asked again.

He comes closer, enough to feel his breath hot on your face. Enough for your eyes to linger at his lips a bit too long to be just friendly.

"Because," he whispered. "I'd know your little eyebrow quirk anywhere."

His hand traced your leg.

"The way you favor your right leg over your left when you stand, because of a classroom mishap you had when you were still studying at the DAA."

"The way you quirk your head to the left when you've been waiting for too long." His hand traced the nape of your neck. Then, he cupped your face and tilted your head towards him.

"The way your lips quiver with unspoken words. Your eyes, hungry."

How could he not know. It was the same look he gave you.

Not because you looked like her.

But because you were just you. Beautiful, utterly brilliant, bright-eyed, and amazing you.

He presses his lips to yours. The dryness of them, ticklish against your moist ones. His hands in your hair, as he breathes you in like you're the last bit oxygen he has left in deepspace.

You throw your arms around him. Your body flush against his, this moment, a dream. An endless yearning fulfilled like you've finally caught the sun after riding into the sunset.

Was this desire? Was it love? You don't know.

But you wanted to explore what it felt like to be loved.

Like a word lost in translation.

"Ay! I know yall are lovey dovey but no pda in my living room!" Your dad calls from the other room.

"Sorry, dad!"

He didn't want you to be her. He wanted you to be yourself.

And to be yourself is to love and hate endlessly.

[shelbgrey]

hi!! could u do mark sloan smut? like drunken sex after a long day at the hospital? thank u !

So, we meet again(Mark Sloan)

Paring: Mark Sloan x ex-wife!reader, cheater!Preston Burke x reader.

Summary: The story of two people that always seemed to find their way back to each other. Mark and y/n devorced after he cheated on her with Addison. Y/n moved to Seattle with Derek to start a new life. She starts dating Preston Burke. When Mark comes back, him and his ex-wife don't go down the same road Derek and Addison did, but instead decide to be petty and attack each other in the most childish ways. Mark still loves her though and knows she can do better than someone like Burke and would do anything to get her back. But what happens when she gets cheated on again and a bottle of grown up juice leads her back to the arms of her ex-husband.

Warrings: SMUT, alcohol, enemies back to lovers, unprotected sex, drunk sex, ex husband and wife, Burke cheating, riding.

MasterList ML2

“And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair

Two strangers learn to fall in love again

I get the joy of rediscovering you”

She hated how everything reminded her of him, even though she was far away from New York and her name was no longer Sloan, There were still small and big triggers that made his face pop in her mind. Y/n and Derek had this case. A 15 year old named Jake Burton, he had advanced craniodiaphyseal dysplasia. Now, naturally y/n was on this case because she specialized in pediatric surgery, but a case like this you'd need a plastic surgeon as well. 

The hospital didn't have a plastic surgeon who took advanced cases like this, so naturally Webber called Mark. Weber had a thing about bringing ex wives and husbands to Seattle lately. 

“Invasive non-cell. With a history of COPD” Mark said, reading over my shoulder. “That guy's pretty much a goner, huh?”

Y/n sighed, she hated having him here. What she hated most of all was how her heart rate picked up just because of how close he was to her. It was so sickeningly nostalgic, his body being only a hair away from hers and his breath on her neck. She ignored it, she had too. She wasn't gonna fall for it again. 

“nice to see you still haven't lost your sensitivity” y/n said sarcastically, not looking up from the computer. 

“hard to be sensitive, all this rain gets a guy down” 

“Well too bad you won't be here long enough to get used to it” she said, grabbing the chart and walking away. 

Mark followed after y/n as she walked down the hall. He knew he shouldn’t be following her, hell she probably didn’t even want him talking to her but he couldn’t help himself. Y/n looked so good, even though she was still pissed at him. The way her hips swayed while she walked, her hair in a tight bun, he always preferred her with her hair down. “I think I could get used to the rain before getting used to your name not being Sloan. I actually asked for y/n Sloan”

“You knew I changed my name after the divorce”

Mark watched as she walked, his eyes traveling up and down her body. He always thought she was beautiful, her curves, her eyes, those soft lips…he had to force his mind to stop going there, especially after all that he put her through. “You look good” 

“Can't help yourself, can you?” she rolled her eyes.

Mark smirked as she spoke, his eyes drifting down her body again before he finally looked away. “Old habits die hard”

“Too bad it's your worst ones”

Mark chuckled again, that little smile still on his lips. “Don’t you remember the good habits?”

Y/n did, of course she remembered his good habits. The way he never failed to make her laugh, the way he'd hold her if she was scared or hurting. Y/n remembered he'd cook an amazing meal if she was sad or not feeling up to cooking. In the years they were together he would put her before him, at least that's what it felt like. 

She still felt betrayed and all the good memories didn't seem so good now, because now she knew what was happening in between all those good moments. “What good habits?” she finally said. 

Mark looked down at the ground for a moment, his mind also wondering to the good parts of their past. He smiled as he remembered when they first started dating. The dates, the way everything seemed so perfect…the way she laughed at his terrible jokes, how she'd fall asleep tucked under his arm in bed, how soft she always felt against him. 

After a beat of silence, y/n sighed. “Let's just get this case done”

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

The day was dragging on, we had just convened Jake Burton's parents to let us do the surgery. Mark and Derek were going at it in Webber's office about it for ten minutes. Y/n just wanted to be done for the day, but she still had the rest of the day and Jake's surgery. While Mark was getting a consult, y/n went to take her break in a on-call room. She had half a mind to maybe find her boyfriend if he wasn't busy. Y/n made it an on-call room and she stopped in her tracks. all she saw was her new boyfriend making out with Christina yang.

She stood there shocked and found herself feeling more frustrated than heart broken. Y/n's been through this before, but it wasn't like a painful act of Déjà vu. Seeing him pinning a bitch like Christina yang to the wall made her blood boil, why did it have to be her? Why did she have to be with him shirtless, sticking her tongue down his throat? 

Preston saw you. He quickly pushed Christina off of him and approached her. “I can explain-”

“Really?!” y/n said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She slammed the on-call room closed, loud enough to make Christina jump and a couple of nurses to look up from the nurses station. The door slammed shut with Preston and Christina still in the room and y/n walked away. 

“God dammit” Preston pushed Christina to the side and ran after y/n. After the scene she caused, the last thing he wanted was her making a spectacle of herself. He caught up to her in the hall.“y/n, don't walk away, let me explain!”

Y/n immediately stopped in her tracks and turned to him. “alright, genius,” she snapped. “Let's hear it, let's hear the explanation”

He let out a sigh before speaking, his voice quiet. “I...I care for you. I truly do. I can't deny that, but” He looked away for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right thing to say. “I've been seeing her on the side.  For a little while now”

“Yeah, no shit!” y/n snapped. She recognized the sighs, this wasn't her first rodeo. She suspected something, but didn't want to believe it. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and not let her insecurities and paranoia get in the way of her being happy. Today only confirmed her suspension. She was hurt, but she found herself not feeling as hurt as she was when Mark cheated. She blamed herself this time, she knew she couldn't trust him. 

Preston sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. He wasn't ready to lose her, not like this. He hated the fact that he was cheating, he promised her he wouldn't. But he could explain why he did what he did. “Can we talk about this somewhere else? Please. I don't want the whole damn hospital to hear us”

“Why bother, they all find out anyway” y/n held her arms out sarcastically, looking around the hospital. 

Preston took her hand and pulled her into an empty room, away from the prying eyes of the others.  He was desperate to explain. “Because you are everything I need. Smart. Confident. Talented. Beautiful,” He caressed her cheek gently, trying to soothe her. “But, she's fun. She's like me. We understand each other”

Y/n pushed his hand away from her cheek. “good. You can have her” she snapped. 

His eyes widened at her response. “No, I don't want her. I want you. Christ, I don't know why I keep going to her. She understands me in ways you don't” He let out a frustrated sigh, the realization of how horrible this must feel to her fully setting in now.

“I'm sure she does” y/n rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Christina doesn't understand him, the only thing they have income is their ego and they both think they are God's gifts to medicine. Not to mention he wanted a family and kids, Christian yang was disgusted by all of that. She sighed, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. 

Preston could see the hurt in her eyes and it made him feel like crap. He just had to come clean about why he continued seeing Christina. He looked at her with a saddened expression as he exhaled through his nose. “She's...more like me. Her and I can talk about surgery all night and never get bored.  She gets it. She's intense”

“I think our relationship just ended,” y/n said softly. 

Hearing those words made his heart sink. His head fell forward in defeat, not wanting to accept the truth behind what she said. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remain calm and collected. It's not like he didn't deserve this; he cheated on her, after all. After a few seconds, he looked up at her. “You're...breaking up with me?”

“I am” she mumbled. 

Preston nodded slowly, taking in what she said. He understood why she was breaking up with him; it was warranted. It didn't make the hurt he was feeling any better though. “I...I understand,” he reached for her hand again, gently holding it. “I'll always care for you, you know that, right?”

“Y-yeah” 

Y/n let go of his hand and walked away, she didn't know rather to laugh or cry. She also didn't know why it… she wasn't hurting? Walking in on Mark and Addison having sex hurt way worse than this. Y/n was more shocked I supposed, Preston seemed to be the last person that would cheat. He was level head, and romantic, way too mature. Cheating didn't seem to be his style. 

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

Today just sucked. Jake Burton was a sweet kid and just wanted to look normal, y/n knew Derek and Mark did everything they could, but it still hurt to see the kid go. After her shift ended she got ready to go home, it was the first time in months she was walking alone. Y/n would usually stay at Preston's place or he'd stay at hers. Thank God they haven't moved in together yet. 

The elevator that went down to the front entrance opened. Y/n looked up and saw both Mark and Preston in the elevator. She rolled her eyes, too tired for this shit. “I'll take the stairs” she mumbled and turned the opposite direction before either one of them could stop her. 

Instead of home, y/n found herself across the street in Joe's bar. She had been there before with her friends but never brought herself to drink. It just wasn't her style, but tonight all she wanted was a strong drink. 

“How many of those have you had?” Mark said, coming up to her an hour later. 

Y/n turned to him, she was tipsy, but not drunk yet. She pointed at him. “Shut it. You have no room to judge” 

Mark's lips curled into a smirk. “Maybe, but I have room to drink with you” he sat down next to her and brought the glass she had to his lips and sipped her drink. It was scotch, it was the only thing she probably knew to order since that was the only thing Mark drank around her. 

“Be my guest” she rolled her eyes. “don't get a say in anything around here anyway”

“Scotch, please and another for her too” Mark nodded to Joe. Joe brought two glasses and y/n took a drink immediately. “I drove you to drink, Jesus Christ” 

Y/n tilted her head back and downed the alcohol. She slammed the glass down, The alcohol making her head spin. “Hey, don't take full credit… That fucking heart surgeon helped” 

“Yeah, I heard. I'm sorry” Mark said genuinely, downing the rest of his scotch too. Mark hated she heart was broken. He wanted to kill Preston Burke, he didn't deserve her. 

“I don't care. That cunt Christina yang can have him. He had stick up his ass anyway” y/n rolled her eyes. She turned to Joe. “Joe, can we have shots please!” 

“So you're a no filter drunk” Mark chuckled, he had always seen y/n as strong. But seeing her tipsy and almost drunk was new territory. It was a little amusing. He sipped his drink and chuckled. And she was still so damn beautiful to him. “never saw the day we'd be drinking together”

“Don't get used to it,” she threw back the shot and started coughing. “That's so nasty” she cringed. 

Mark sat his glass down and chuckled again. He loved seeing that cute crinkled nose whenever she drank. “you have no idea how hilarious it is for me to see you drink”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up” she mumbled, taking his glass of scotch and finished it for him. “fuckin' man whore” She mumbled into the glass. 

That was a new one for Mark. Sure, he got that insult a lot but never from y/n, even after the divorce. He smirked, taking his glass away from her. “What was that?”

Y/n looked over at him, you could tell she was drunk just by looking at her eyes. “Man. whore” she repeated. 

Mark raised an eyebrow at her. There was definitely a hint of anger in her eyes. He liked it much more than he thought he would. He put his glass down, pushing his chair closer so that his knee was in between hers. “You really have a way with words tonight” he teased. 

“Just shut up and drink with me,” She mumbled. “before I punch you in your pretty face” she trailed off. 

Mark chuckled again. “Did you just call me pretty?” He teased taking the drink from her and setting it down. He took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Don't let it go to your head” 

Mark smirked, his thumb tracing her parted lips. His body was so close she could feel the tension. Mark's cologne filling her nose. “you want me to stop?” 

Her heart skipped a beat. God, she didn't realize how much she missed the smell of that cologne, missed the feel of him this close. She shook her hand no. 

Mark smiled even wider. That little nod sent a bolt of electricity through his body. He knew she still wanted him. He was so close already, one more nudge and he could finally taste her again. his hand slid up her jaw to her cheek. His thumb brushed over her cheek bone. 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

Mark laughed lightly before closing the distance between them. She felt warm and familiar. Mark's lips met hers and his body melted into hers. After all these months he finally had it. A small moan escaped his lips. He hadn't realized how much he actually missed it. Her lips moved against his, her breath hitched as she carded her fingers through his hair, kissing him roughly. Mark let his tongue part her lips more. Taking full control over the kiss. He pressed his entire body against hers, trying to get as close as he could. His hands found her hips and pulled her body so she was practically in his lap. The smell of her hair filled his nose.

Y/n pulled away abruptly. “Take me home with you”

Mark looked into her eyes. They were dilated and filled with lust. He hadn’t seen those eyes in so long. It made him want her even more. Mark nodded as he reached for his wallet pulling out the money to pay the bill. He stood up, holding his hand out for her. “Come on” He murmured, grabbing her hand and almost dragging her out of the bar. 

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

As soon as they got to Mark's apartment, her lips were back on his, the kiss was messy and rushed. Y/n quickly pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders as he pushed her backwards towards the kitchen counter. she moaned against his lips, running her fingers through his hair. Getting them lost in his soft hair. 

He chuckled, his hand leaving his jacket to grab her hair, tugging gently as he pulls back from the kiss. “Fuck, I love when you do that” He leans in again, kissing her roughly as he walks her backwards until her back hits the counter.

Y/n moaned, pulling away from the kiss and left messy kisses and love bites down his neck. He groans in pleasure as he feels her teeth marks on his neck. He sets her down on the counter, stepping between her legs as he leans in to kiss her again, his hands gripping her face. “You're gonna leave marks all over me, aren't you?” He murmurs against her lips.

“maybe”

He grins, his eyes darkening with desire as he reaches up to grab the back of her head, holding her in place as he kisses her again, his tongue pushing past her lips. she moaned against his lips, their tongues tangling together roughly as her hands traveled to the buttons of his shirt and tugged them open. He breaks the kiss only long enough to pull his shirt over his head, revealing his toned chest. He goes back to kissing her, his hands roaming down her sides. “You're overdressed”

Y/n’s eyes traveled down his toned chest. She'll never get tired of staring at him, he was perfect in every way. Her fingers trailed down his chest, tracing every muscle. “do something about it”

His breath hitches at her touch, and he quickly moves his hands to the hem of her dress, slowly sliding it up her thighs. “I thought you'd never ask,” He kisses her neck, carefully pulling the dress higher as he moves his lips lower. “Missed this” 

“M-me too” she said softly, tugging at his hair he inhales deeply as he buries his face between her breasts, his hands squeezing her thighs possessively. He slowly drags his fingers up her thighs, hooking them around his arms as he tries to pull her legs around his waist. “Damn it”

“I forgot how good you feel” y/n moaned softly at the feeling of his facial hair brushing over the skin on her breasts. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped the muscles on his biceps. 

His eyes darken with lust as he grabs her waist, one hand trailing up her back to tangle in her hair. He kisses her roughly, biting her bottom lip before pulling back slightly to look at her. “Better than good, baby” He starts to carry her towards the bedroom. 

He kicks the door to his bedroom open, stumbling inside with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He falls backwards onto the bed, pulling her on top of him as he starts to unhook her dress. “Fuck this dress is cute” 

He quickly removes her dress, tossing it aside as he takes in her appearance. He groans appreciatively, running his hands up her sides and over her ribcage possessively. “Damn” He murmurs, his eyes roaming over her. 

she reaches for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tugging it out of the loops of his pants. His abs tense under her touch as she unbuckles his belt, his hands going to her waist to help pull her closer as he lifts his hips to help her remove his pants. He's only wearing a pair of black boxers now, his toned stomach on full display. 

her breath hitched as she took him in again for the first time in a long time. She sat in his lap, nothing covering her but her bra and painties as her fingers brushed over his hot skin. 

He lets out a low growl, his hands going to her hips as he pulls her closer, his boxers the only thing separating them. He leans in to kiss her, his lips hard against hers as he grinds his hips up against hers. “Fuck, I missed this” 

she moaned against his lips as his hardened cock pressed against her clothed core. “M-me too” 

His hands go to her back, unhooking her bra with expert precision. He breaks the kiss to look at her, his eyes darkening with lust as he takes in her nearly nude form. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties. He slowly drags them down her legs, tossing them aside as he spreads her thighs to rest over his. He runs his hands up her thighs possessively as he looks her over, his boxers the only thing left between them. 

“Please” she moaned softly.

He smiles, his eyes gleaming with lust as he reaches between them to rub his boxers-clad erection against her clothed core. “Please what, baby? You gonna ask me to fuck you? Because if you are, the answer is hell fucking yes”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “please fuck me” 

With one quick motion, he slides his boxers off and positions himself at her entrance. “You sure about that baby? No turning back once I start,” He teases her, pressing against her but not quite entering. “Last chance” His voice is husky and deep from desire. 

“Don't stop! Fuck me!” 

With a final growl, he thrusts into her slowly but firmly, filling her completely. One hand grabs her hip while the other moves to cup the back of her neck, pulling her face to his for a passionate kiss. “Missed this.so fucking much”

“Mark!” she cried out as she dug her nails into his shoulders as he thrusted up inside her. 

He quickly lifts her up and pushes her into the mattress. He pounds into her hard and fast, not holding back as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her legs over his shoulders to get even deeper. He grins mischievously, his voice low and dominant. “Shut up and hold on, baby” 

she shuddered, wrapping her legs around his waist and gripped his biceps tighter. He continues to thrust into her aggressively, his body glistening with sweat as he uses his powerful arms to keep her in place. He nuzzles his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent deeply. “Damn it, you always make me lose control”

“Mark!” 

His pace quickens, hitting that spot deep inside her just right. One hand slips between them to apply pressure to her clit, knowing exactly how she likes it. “Cum for me, baby, show me how much you missed me” 

the knot in her stomach snapped, making her head fall back in pleasure. She cried out his name as her orgasm washed over her. She squeezed his biceps, desperately trying to ground herself. It felt so good, so intense, sex hadn't felt this good in a long time. Seeing stars behind his eyes from how hard he's squeezing her legs, he continues to thrust into her through her entire release. He's not done yet, not by a long shot. He wraps his arms around her waist and flips them over, so she's on top.

she wobbled a bit at the sudden change of position. She was out of breath and her mind was still fuzzy. She gripped his chest, trying to stay up right. “Look at me” He demands, his hands tightening on her hips. He wants to see her face as he brings her back down to earth, shaking and overwhelmed. He continues to guide her up and down his length, his legs hooking hers to keep her upright.

she moaned and gasped, looking into his eyes. His jaw clenches as he watches her above him, their bodies creating perfect friction. He reaches up to pull her down for a rough kiss, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. “Fuck, I'm not going to last” His movements become more erratic, showing he's losing control.

“I need to cum again!” 

At her words, he flips them back over, slamming into her harder than before. He leans down to bite and suck at her neck, marking her. “Cum with me, baby. Right fucking now!” 

With a fierce growl, he thrusts into her one last time, burying himself deep as they both reach their climax together. He collapses slightly onto her chest, keeping most of his weight off despite their sweat-slicked bodies. “Holy shit, missed you so fucking much”

“Missed you too” she said softly and breathlessly. 

He nuzzles his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent deeply. He can feel his heart racing, trying to catch his breath. He wraps his arms around her waist possessively, not wanting to move or break the moment. “Stay, please” he murmurs, his voice muffled.

“I'll stay” she said softly, hoping it wouldn't be a bad idea. 

[loveemagicpeace]

🎸Mars Energy🎸

⚡️Mars is a powerful figure in mythology. Mars on me represents the principle factor, the energy we need to make us encourages to action. It gets us out of bed every morning and helps us achieve our goals throughout the day. It is also our representation of masculinity, as Venus is our representation of femininity. Both men and women need a well-functioning Mars to feel that we are powerful and that we have life in our hands. Mars needs challenges, and not just in battle or dispute, but also in physical activities, such as competitive games and sports or any field, at with which we can flex our muscles and compete with others to win. Like Venus, Mars is also associated with the sexual attraction and sexual relations, and both planets they reveal us approach to sexuality and courtship. In this, Mars especially delights in pursuit and conquest.

⚡️Unlike Venus, it is not relationship-oriented and can lose interest as soon as it conquers an object/person. Unless he runs into competitors then he starts fighting. The energy of Mars indicates how we behave and react. How we compete, how we win someone over and what our charm is. Mars shows how we keep our vibrancy and energy alive. The position of Mars in the chart shows our way of pursuing (the object & person we want). Mars is an indicator of what kind of men, and Venus, what kind of women we get involved with. Although many times relationships are influenced by both.

Mars is known for its lust for dominance, but it can be overbearing and tempting to impose one's will on others. Mars represents our primal passions, inclusive with anger. But Mars can also get you in trouble sometimes. It is important to release our anger. This is very important for our health, because we can get seriously ill if we suppress these energies. Suppressing anger is a matter of course associated with health problems such as stress and depression. The ability to exercise our will and achieve what we want is a talent in itself that we have to learn. After a period of learning from mistakes we start in our thirties and forties after we tend to use Mars more skillfully to our advantage.

🎡Aries Mars is particularly monotonous, spontaneous and quick to act according to his will. It can also catch fire spontaneously,and explosive moments are followed by calm ones, because anger usually does not last long. You have a fiery and strong approach to your desires. Usually when you want something you want to get it by any means. When it comes to competition, you are very competitive and forget about others. You put more emphasis on physical pleasure.

🦋Scorpio Mars has a strong will, but he has more control over the planning and execution of his actions, so he is more precise and efficient. Mars in Scorpio is usually expressed with the words and emotions, and less with fighting. Sexual expression is important for both signs, but Mars in Scorpio loves more emotionally. When it comes to love, he becomes very self-sacrificing. He will do anything for the person he loves. But when he is deceived, he can become your worst enemy. He is intense, passionate, combative and persistent, but his energy only shows when he really feels someone.

🧁Mars in mutable watery Pisces will be rather gentle and passive and will find it difficult to express itself decisively. He may hold back his anger so as not to upset others, and he may act less directly, he may even act like a victim to make others feel guilty and let us get our way. But many times you can make emotional sacrifices for other people or give them too much and then you are disappointed. Mars in Pisces is at its best when alone. You can isolate yourself a lot from other people.

🥨Mars in an earth sign, such as fixed Taurus, can be very calm and slow to respond, but with slow and patient steps he advances towards what he wants. Like a bull, it can be charged with enormous energy and charge at an attacker when angered or threatened. Mars in Taurus can also be very passionate and lustful, which makes him an emperor an exquisite and extremely patient lover.

✨Capricorn mars tends to be very competitive when it comes to business, success, money, reputation. You will want to achieve the biggest and be the best. When it comes to love, they can be quite cold sometimes. Many times they can put the business before the person. Their anger is usually not expressed, many times they keep it inside. Their nature is not so much focused on several things but on only one. It's the same in love - you like to invest in someone who seems stable and worth your time. They are not people who like to go on dates.

☁️Cancer Mars they have a very emotional response to things around them. You can hurt them quickly. They like to invest their time in their family, people close to them. They don't like average relationships. Many times their energy is emotional. Their anger is responsive in many ways but can also change quickly. They are a sign that can quickly forgive (even if it doesn't seem like it at first). They love stalking people. And when they want something, they will go anywhere to get it. They can do some pretty crazy stuff.

🥤Virgo Mars show practicality, decision-making and thinking. They know how to work hard for what they want if their desire is very strong. They put a lot of emphasis on hygiene, health, routine and lifestyle. They tend to dislike people who smoke or have strange habits. Many times they notice little things in people. They devote a lot of energy to staying in good health, but that's precisely why they can get sick. Because they can deal with it too much.

🥊Sagittarius Mars their energy is manifested through the will to live. They are the people who will always make you smile and make you feel that there is only one life and you can make the most of it. Spontaneous people and many times make an impulsive decision, which many times turns out to be good. They laugh a lot and are optimistic. They give a lot of energy to travel, spirituality, playfulness, learning, new things. Their approach is often optimistic, although they can have a lot of anger behind it. However, since this is a fiery sign, they can be impulsive, react violently, directly, rudely. They are tough opponents and when they set a goal they will achieve it. They can be very competitive when it comes to something they are passionate about. Or when it comes to a person who means a lot to them. They are not afraid to confront people and will always want quick actions and reactions. They almost never get sick, but that's because they are optimists.

🪂Leo Mars their energy is manifested through a passion for playfulness, childhood, fun. They put a lot of effort into having fun and enjoying the things they love. They have many hobbies. They can be possessive and jealous, but they won't show it right away. A lot depends on the energy they want to feel with the person. When they notice that the person they want has fans, they will become even more competitive. They will be most competitive in sports or love. Many times they will want to conquer you with their dominance. They are not afraid of challenges and will step into them without fear if they are mature enough. They are fighting and persistent in themselves. Actions count for them.

🎢Gemini Mars their energy is very mutable. They are all over the place most of their time. And they need a lot of change but they are most good with words than actions. They will talk much more than actually do. They can be very unstable and change their mind many times. They will often compete when it comes to verbal duels. Even at school, they know how to compete. Their health fluctuates because they can become quite anxious at times or think too much about things they cannot change. They can seduce you with mind games.

🫧Libra Mars their energy usually shows through the relationships but can be different kind of relationship it doesn't meant to be like romantic relationship. It can be friendships. If they are not in a relationship, they can give a lot of their energy to their friends. Their anger is usually passive aggressive. They often avoid conflicts because they like peace. Their passive aggressive behavior can lead to them getting sick (because they keep too much anger inside). It is good for them to express their feelings and anger as much as possible.

⛸️Aquarius Mars their energy is focused on humanitarian matters (they like to help others), dreams, goals, social networks. They like to do the things they like. They also like to be alone. They have rebellious kind of anger so they will fight for the rights or people they love or things that are connected to them. But they are not people who fight about I don't know some random stuff. They have the unique way how to seduce people and it's always different. They can also seduce you with their uniqueness or something about that is so different and this is why people are attracted to them somehow. They can work a lot on staying in shape and following themselves. Because they can get sick unexpectedly. Many times the diseases are very strange.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🍸🎸🧁

[deesseshesca]

PAC: What’s the key energy I need to channel to make my dreams a reality? (18+)

My name is Bella ... Bella Hadid

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FIRE TO THE MOON

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PILE 1

Your spirit guides have a message for you  … are u ready ? Is something huge … ‘’KEEP THEM IN THE MOTHERFUCKING PAST’’. Damm babe, I know violence aint it but I think it is time for you to keep the door of your past closed. You must have repeatedly opened them for all your spiritual team to be this enraged. 

Mind of matter. Lol … Repeat after me: MIND OVER MATTER. MIND OVER MATTER. MIND OVER MATTER. You need to stop letting your emotions get the best of you and nah I am not only talking to the crash out girly. Yeah … you also cinnamon girls, yeah you are bolting up everything acting like you are mysterious but really you are this calm in public because you are planning the downfall of your 5th grade enemies the whole time Miss is about to graduate uni. Now crash out, I did not forget about (I mean how can I forget about y’all …). Out here complain about not being able to work with fake ass bitches … well news flash the world is fake and that's for sure not stopping me from getting paid. The reality is that professionalism needs to win no matter what. Yeah even when the person is bluntly racist, homophobic or rude. I could spit you the ‘’ yeah they don't like themselves that's why they hate so much’’ but in reality who gives a damm. Bitch you wanna be paid or nah. Yeah being disrespected is hard but being broke is HARDER. So pick one, QUICK ! Don't get me wrong I’m not telling y’all to let them walk all over u or becoming  people pleaser but it is time for you to learn how to clock someone tea with class. The cooperation world is not the baddies show, it is all about being able to check someone like a real housewives. You go ahead and learn because you have too much potential to let these hating ass hoes take the best of you. Now back to my no emotion/avoidant/claim to be numb but care more than anybody in the world, you need to let go. What you fail to understand is when you don't let go and old grudges you are bringing this disgusting energy everywhere. In the spiritual world there's door you will never enter because you are obsess about bring that fucking baggage with you. I know you, you know, they don't care. That does not mean you are going to forget but ain't you embarrassed to spend so much time plotting on someone you dislike that much. You be claiming you have opp and people praying on your downfall whole time you are the one obsessed with someone from your fucking childhood. Now who's the real loser. Hey babe, (I am holding your hand through the screen), believe me, I believe you. That person deserve the worst and nothing good for the fuck up shit they did to you. I am only worried about your purpose  being wasted holding grudges on someone that's definitely not worth it. 

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PILE 2 

Go ahead … nah that’s literally your message … GO AHEAD. You are on tumblr scrolling  for messages like your spiritual team ain't give a million signs. Like you did not do a vision board in January, like you ain't confident on what you can manifest and what you deserve but yet here you are waiting for someone to tell you ‘’go’’. Here I am, in all my glory and ultimate power given by the divine : GO AHEAD. Show the world everything that you have in you. You know the plan, you already went over it. It has been years that you were working in the betterment of yourself in private. You did a social media detox, cut all the toxic people, fix your alimentation and work on your mental health. Bravo Babe ! Now go ahead and pop your shit and anybody that tries you, you  better make them regret. You did not go through hell and back for a random Karen to take your spark away. You better defend this beautiful person that you became like the past version of you (or inner child) was supposed to be protected. You got this babe. GO SHINE SUPERSTAR ! 

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PILE 3 

FEEL. You are someone who used to be very talented in  maybe drawing or playing an instrument. You are sitting complaining about how unoriginal you are. Reminiscing about a time where everyone applauded your creative genius. Now you have more skills and knowledge yet you can't achieve the same amount of success. Some of y’all are architecture students, you always dream of doing it. You love it , yet it does not feel fulfilling. Now babe you are grown and you have been jaded by life or you killed your inner child trying to be an adult. Don't worry it all happens to the best of us. Good news I have the perfect medicine, let your heart speak in your art/work. You are on the right path, you are just not connected to it in a spiritual sense that's it. Which makes the whole journey a burden instead of an adventure which translates in your art/work showing that is good but never great enough. Because every touch you make as a creator seems like you accomplish a task instead of diving into your passion. 

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PILE 4 

You good pile 4. You found the key (the lessons) and went through the door ( you are in the process of receiving your manifestation). There's a reality you have to accept in life which is you can’t jump levels. This reality does not please you but good news is not going to last forever. One day this moment is going to be a memory of the past. Instead of hating, let's enjoy what you have ahead of you. While having 100% faith, that in a way or another,  your dream reality is happening is just a matter of when.

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[mistydeyes]

AAAAA I HAVE AN IDEA OKAY can u pls do ghost with a veterinarian reader? Bonus points if she’s also a dog trainer that trained task force 141’s K-9 unit for them so all of the dogs love her and she gets scary dog privileges

thank you for requesting anon! loved researching the role of a veterinarian in the forces :) hope you enjoy reading!

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summary: Simon is the definition of providing "scary dog privileges" and he's happy to be dating the Army's veterinarian who has a soft spot for him and dogs.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!vet/dog trainer!Reader

warnings: swearing, mention of wounds/violence

a/n: omg did you know in pharmacy school we actually learn how to prepare and counsel pet owners! in one of my classes, i learned how to compound a cough syrup for a cat and an analgesic fur cream for a dog :)

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Your pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted by the obnoxious blare of your alarm. Rubbing your tired eyes, you groggily turned over. Despite your boyfriend being on a regimented schedule, you could never relate. “God you need to teach me your ways, Simon,” you said into your pillow, almost as if he was in the room. But as you got out of bed, you faced the disappointment that he was still on deployment. As you dressed for the day and fastened your hair into a bun, you tried to go over your agenda. The morning was filled with vet clinic planning and clinical meetings. You cringed at the thought. It was honestly the worst part of your day. After lunch, you had two patients to follow up with after some shrapnel wounds gained on the field. Just two German Shepherds who were always well obedient for you. You knew they’d be getting some treats today. Finally, your day ended with a combat fitness test. You had perfected this over the years and knew the handlers and canines were up to the challenge.

The morning had gone by slowly. You sipped your coffee as you exchanged ideas with the supply department and pharmacy. They were preparing for a month-long deployment and along with human patients, the pharmacy took care of the working dogs. After three hours of revising, you finally had a full plan and med list. You could feel your phone buzz but as you saw the examination room with a returning patient file on the door, you decided to look at it later. You took your time to examine the dog's coat and checked on the progress of her stitches. “She’s healing perfectly, private,” you smiled at her handler as you gave the canine a treat. She nodded before leading the dog out of the room. Just as you were about to check your phone, you ran into your other patient for the day. Hopefully it isn't something important, you thought to yourself as you gave a similar examination. With the final few sentences, you finished your charting for the day. You sighed contently but soon groaned at the gentle sound of your watch beeping. You closed your office door before running off to your final assignment for the day.

“Alright we’re done with combat PT for the week,” you commanded as your regiment of soldiers and canines relaxed. After two hours of running through the course and showing the basics of taking down an enemy, you felt like they were satisfactory for the time. This was one of your better commands and the dogs had performed beautifully. They would be ready in a matter of weeks, right on schedule. “Be sure to give your companions a treat before you return them home,” you said and the group dispersed. You stretched your tired limbs as you saw them walk back to base. “Just another day in the Veterinary Corps,” you sighed. You loved your job but you realized after a few years that it was more of a balance between training the working animals and their handlers along with the clinical side. You were in the middle of a 15-week-long session to prepare the dogs for the field and the handlers were giving you a headache.

You shielded your eyes from the fluorescent light as you entered the base. “Long day, Captain?” one of your techs asked and you nodded. “Only eight more weeks until I get my evenings back,” you smiled as you walked over to the office space. “I got a question for you,” he continued, smiling at you. “A few of us are going off base and–“ Before he could finish, he stopped in the middle of his sentence. His gaze turned down the hallway as you heard heavy footsteps approach. “Lieutenant Riley,” he said officially and you turned to see Simon approaching. You smiled at him as you heard your tech quickly wish you a goodnight. “You’d think he saw a ghost,” you joked as he walked up to you. Despite his balaclava, his eyes crinkled with a smile. He shrugged and you avoided the urge to reach up and kiss his cheek. “You don’t answer your phone,” he observed and you remembered the text from earlier. “Sorry, long day,” you said sheepishly and he nodded as if you provided a satisfactory response.

“Didn’t realize you were back so soon,” you said and returned his smile. “Me either,” he replied, “found out this morning.” That must have been him this morning. You muttered an apology and he waved a hand passively. “Anyways, I got a surprise for you,” he said, a hint of cheer in his voice. You raised an eyebrow curiously. “You? You have a surprise for me?” you said in disbelief, “Must be a special day.” Simon shook his head at your antics, letting out a chuckle. He motioned for you to follow him and you walked in step. You made casual conversation about your current group in training and the good visits from some of your patients. “You still give them treats after?” he asked, shooting a glance at you. “Still do,” you said cheerfully “not much has changed in 3 months, Simon.” “You spoil them,” he joked back, rubbing a hand along his sore jaw. Must’ve been one hell of a mission, you thought. You continued chatting until you heard the familiar padding of footprints on the base floor.

“Is that who I think it is?” you said excitedly and soon your favorite partner came running towards you. The handler, also a close friend, tried to wrangle him but Riley slipped out of his grasp. In a flash of tan and black fur, Riley rubbed his head against your leg. “Riles! You’ve gotten so big,” you cooed as you brushed through his coat. Despite being named Riley out of his litter, you loved the almost human-like nickname. You petted him affectionately, bending down to greet your longtime friend. “Heel, Riley,” Ghost commanded and Riley sat down obediently. “Oh stop it, Lieutenant,” you responded, hitting Simon’s thigh and encouraging Riley to come back into your embrace. As you showered Riley in love and belly rubs, you heard Simon tell the handler that he would make sure you returned Riley at the end of the night. The private nodded and continued to his own quarters.

“You have enough puppy time?” Simon joked and you shot a look at him. “It’s never enough with Riles over here,” you said happily, continuing to pet him. “Riley did a great job on the field, Price was impressed,” he complimented and you couldn’t help but beam at his words. “Well Price should know I train the best of the best,” you remarked as you looked back down at the wagging dog, “and he is one of the best.” After another fifteen of you playing around and Simon getting in some pets of his own, it was time to bring Riley to the kennel. He looked tired but happy as you walked through the base. You held the unlatched leash in your hand as Riley obediently walked in between you and Simon. “Always such a good boy,” you hummed as both you and Simon brushed his fur.

When you reached the kennel, you quietly opened Riley’s cage to not wake the other animals. He turned around a few times, trying to find the most comfortable position. “If you come by tomorrow, Laswell is considering bringing Riley and Apollo on our next mission,” Simon offered, putting a hand on your shoulder as Riley laid down to rest. You waved to her before you checked all of the dogs were returned and happy. “I’d like that,” you smiled into his touch as you walked out, “Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?” “Probably 6 weeks max if we get the job done,” he said gruffly, averting his eyes from you. Even after years of familiarity, Simon always hesitated to talk about the job. You nodded and closed the kennel for the evening. It was quiet as you walked back to your quarters.

“I won’t be leaving for another week,” he spoke up, voice echoing in the empty hallway. You turned to him with a smirk on your face. “Oh really?” you questioned, putting a hand on his cheek. His eyes flashed around but you laughed as it was late and the coast was most certainly clear. “I would enjoy some company, would you?” you flirted. Simon grunted but you were prepared to draw this out of him. “Hmm, what was that Lieutenant Riley?” you teased before he coughed out a sheepish “yes.” You teasingly beckoned him to follow you. He let out a dry laugh before following at your heels, just like a loyal companion.

[lxclerc]

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary… charles tries to help his girlfriend study but that proves to be difficult when he doesn’t understand a single thing requested… yes! warning… none. pure fluff.

note… another old drabble request from the graves of my inbox. also as a med student, i adore this idea so much

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

charles has never been the brightest tool in the shed when it came to academics. he supposes it comes with the occupation. growing up, he cared far too much about racing that he had no space left in his mind to care about school too. he was always meant to be a formula one driver so he never cared about the cell or the mitochondria.

ironically, you were the exact opposite. like him, you’ve known what you were meant to be the moment you got ahold of your first book. you’re going to be a doctor, a healer and you’ve dedicated yourself to that dream.

the human body is a beautiful machine, much like the universe. every little cell and atom circulating its vessel holds a purpose, creating a balance between life and death. it’s majestic, truly and a little bit scary. if one thing failed then the entire system could collapse and so you studied and studied and studied for ways to keep that system going, to cure ailments and diseases.

you thrive off academic validation and a minor superiority complex and yet somehow you’re the most anxious person charles has ever met.

he’s madly in love with you. this is a fact. him and his dream that required him to constantly put his life at risk and you with your dream of helping and saving people. really it was a match made in heaven. and charles is madly madly in love with you.

that’s the only reasonable explanation as he pulled himself out of his sim practice, seamlessly moving around the kitchen of your shared apartment as he prepared an ice coffee for you.

you’re drained and you’re on the verge of breaking down and so when he wrapped his arms around you and offered to help you study for your finals, you’d all but cried in gratitude.

no, charles leclerc didn’t care about the cell and mitochondria and but he cares greatly for you and so he’d study it if it meant you’d finally allow yourself to rest.

unfortunately for him, you’re way past learning about the mitochondria. instead you’re studying your worst enemy aka pharmacology.

“angiotensin receptor blockers prevent vasoconstriction and aldosterone release, causing a decrease in blood pressure and peripheral resistance,” you recite from the top of your head, still looking like you’re on the verge of tears but slightly better.

charles shook his head as he held the book you’d given him to help you study, his glasses on. “non, non, amour. it says here it’s ‘angiotensin receptor blockers selectively bind to the angiotensin I receptors in the blood vessels to prevent vasoconstriction and in the adrenal cortex to prevent release of aldosterone then lead to decrease in BP caused by decrease in peripheral resistance and blood volume.’”

you sigh again but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you. the first time he did it, you’d gotten frustrated but at this point, your brain is far too fried to even get annoyed at him. especially when even he looks like he’s about to start crying.

you pushed away the book from his hand, clumsily crawling over to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him down so he’d be laying on the sofa and you on top of him.

“my love, i don’t need to memorize everything word for word from the book,” you explain as gently as you can for the third time. you know he’s just trying his best to help you.

“why?” he frowned. “wouldn’t it be better if you knew it exactly from the book?”

you giggled. “perhaps but no med student would ever survive memorizing twelve inch books word for word. we’d simply all break down and die.”

you hold yourself up, pushing his hair off his forehead before removing his glasses. he still looks confused but a lot of things honestly confused charles. thank god he has a smart girlfriend to explain everything to him.

“stop worrying about it,” you say. “i’ve studied enough and we both need a break.”

he sighed in relief, tightening his arms around you. “thank god i felt like my brain was put on a pressure dryer for a minute there.”

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @strelcka @writing-about-current-obsessions @amsofftrack @lostinketterdam @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis @multilovebot @lovelynikol16 @troybolton-14 @ohthemissery @dr3lover @myescapefromthislife @sunf1owerrq @the6ccnsp6cyy @t-nd-rfoot @navixfr @xjval @gridbunny

[redroomreflections]

Paint It Black Chapter 3

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary: Natasha learns who to trust in the Red Room

W/c: 5.2k

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the Red Room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

Someone I once loved gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift - Mary Oliver

You'd learned a lot of party tricks since you became Dreykov's best girl. You'd been trained by some of the world's deadliest martial artists and snipers. You knew how to make an arrow pierce through the toughest skin. You could crush your enemies' windpipe without your bow's help. You could use a man's tie against him and bring him to his knees in seconds.

You had learned early on that survival in the Red Room wasn’t just about strength or precision—it was about illusion. It was about shaping yourself into whatever they needed you to be, bending and twisting your identity until you could barely recognize your reflection.

When you were twelve, one of the older Widows taught you makeup—not just how to wear it, but how to weaponize it. Lipstick wasn’t just a shade; it was a story. A bold red screamed confidence and control. A soft pink whispered innocence. The faintest hint of gloss could disarm even the sharpest of men.

The etiquette classes were the worst. Hour after hour of balancing books on your head, learning the perfect angle for a smile, the exact tilt of your chin that would make you appear approachable but not too eager. You were drilled in dining etiquette, how to sip champagne without smudging your lipstick, laugh at jokes you didn’t find funny, and dance just close enough to your target to keep their guard down.

They taught you how to pretend to be smart—not too smart, but just enough to stroke a man’s ego without intimidating him. You mastered the art of asking questions you already knew the answers to, of feigning curiosity to keep the conversation flowing.

Every lesson was a reminder that you weren’t being prepared to live. You were being prepared to infiltrate, to seduce, to kill.

You still remembered the first time you saw yourself in the mirror after they finished with you—a little girl’s body dressed up like a woman. The makeup made your face look older, the heels forced your back straight, and the dress clung to you like a second skin. You didn’t recognize the person staring back.

"You’ll grow into it," the instructor had said, adjusting a curl in your hair. "By the time we’re done with you, you’ll be perfect."

Perfect. That’s what they wanted. A perfect soldier. A perfect spy. A perfect party trick.

And they had almost succeeded. Almost.

You had become everything they wanted you to be, yet somewhere deep inside, you had kept a piece of yourself hidden—a touch of defiance, a spark of who you were before they took you.

You didn’t need a party.

You didn’t need their approval.

You needed freedom.

And one day, you were going to take it.

****

After the meeting with Dreykov, you felt a wave of exhaustion wash over you. You tried not to scratch at the skin of your arms. You tried not to focus on the places he’d touched. You walked briskly through the cold, sterile hallways.

As you reached the nearest bathroom, you pushed the door open and slipped inside, grateful for the reprieve from everyone. The bathroom was small, with harsh lighting and chipped tiles, but it felt like a sanctuary compared to the outside world. You leaned against the cool metal sink, slowly closing your eyes to collect yourself. Opening them, you felt heavier than before. The mascara smudged as you rubbed at your eyes.

Your reflection in the mirror looked exhausted, pale, and drawn, as though someone had taken a paintbrush and erased all the color. With one hand, you gripped the sink, and with the other, you shoved it down your throat.

You gagged as bile rose into your mouth, hot and burning. Your stomach contracted and heaved.

This particular party trick only helped you.

********

She hadn’t seen you in a while. Four days, thirteen hours, and twelve minutes, to be exact. It wasn’t like she was counting. You weren’t friends or anything. Widows in training came and went all the time, whether for training, on missions, or worse.

Death.

Natasha had learned not to become attached. Your presence had annoyed her since the first time she spoke to you. You were like an unwelcome buzzing in her ear. You didn’t listen like the other girls. You talked back. You were defiant. You got into trouble. You had resilience and determination in ways the other girls didn’t. Something she wished she could be. Natasha had drive and determination. She was the best in her class. She moved up an age group since returning from Cuba. She was good with a gun, she was fast on her feet, and she could quickly pick up new skills. The one thing she hadn't mastered was her poker face.

Her eyes scanned the room as she ate alone. It was time for a day meal. An hour where the girls were able to let loose just a little. Everyone sat near their favorite colleagues. The word friend should never be in a Widow’s vocabulary. Natasha didn’t have many. None that she wanted any. It made things more painful when she had to pull the trigger.

As she ate, she looked for two people in the room and didn’t see either of them as expected. The first one is you. Your absence had caused quite a stir in the commons. The widow's gossip about you and what’s become of you. Some girls in your age group had mentioned dishonorable things that Natasha didn’t care to replay in her mind. Though she thought nothing of you, she refused to believe bad things. The other person was Yelena. It had been a few months, and her former mission mate would be seven now.

In the years before, Yelena’s birthday was spent in the comfort of their own home. Alexei would grill burgers. Melina would decorate the den with balloons, streamers, unicorns, and pony things that the little girl liked. Natasha was always in charge of keeping her sister occupied. They would run around the backyard until the parents, Melina and Alexei, would come out with a cake and candles for her to blow out.

It was a good memory that Natasha allowed herself to hold onto. It was stupid. None of it was real. Yet everything about it warmed her heart. Memories like that kept her sane. One day, she would be free, and she could make memories like that again if she got the chance.

Natasha looked down at her tray. Lunch consisted of Pirozhki, a stuffed roll with minced beef and rice. There were also a ton of vegetables that Natasha wasn’t fond of. While the Red Room was another hell on earth, the girls were fed well. Their bodies needed it to remain healthy and strong enough to fight.

Natasha took her time biting into her food. Despite the lump in her throat, she chewed her food while keeping her eyes up. She only ate half before she decided it was not for her. She stood, walking over to the trash bin, before clearing her plate. She wiped her hands against the leg of her black sweatpants. She eyed the two guards at the entrance of the cafeteria. Demetri and Igor. They’d worked there for as long as she could remember. She approached the door with an excuse already at the tip of her tongue.

“Kuda ty idesh? (Where are you going?)” Igor’s hand pressed against Natasha’s shoulder, his voice sharp.

Natasha paused but didn’t look at him. “I am going to the infirmary,” she said in English, her tone clipped. Since returning to the Red Room, she had refused to speak Russian unless necessary. It wasn’t defiance—not entirely—but a quiet rebellion against a country that allowed men like Dreykov to exist unchecked.

Igor’s brows furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with Demetri. “Zachem? (Why?)”

“I have my period.” Natasha’s voice was steady, and she met their gazes without a hint of embarrassment.

Both men immediately looked uncomfortable. Demetri muttered something under his breath and opened the door. Natasha didn’t wait for a formal dismissal. She slipped through before they could change their minds, her steps quiet on the worn linoleum floor.

The hallways were dimly lit, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. Natasha passed several doors before she reached the infirmary. Her hand hesitated on the knob. She shouldn’t care about you—not here, not now. But she did.

Turning the knob, she opened the door just enough to peek inside. Voices drifted through the crack, low and tense.

“You need a break,” Nora’s voice was firm, though tinged with concern. “She’s been pushed too far, Madam B. Her body can’t keep up at this rate.”

“She’s fine.” Madam B.’s tone was clipped, her frustration evident.

“Widows are made of marble, is that it?” Nora countered, sarcasm dripping from her words. “She’s not marble. She’s flesh and blood, just like the rest of us.”

“Enough!” Madam B. snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “We do not coddle here, Doctor.”

“She’s still a child,” Nora shot back, her voice firm and determined. “A growing girl who needs her rest if you want her to carry out any of her duties.”

Madam B. stilled, her lips pressing into a thin line. The word child hung in the air like a taboo, an unwelcome reminder of the humanity the Red Room sought to erase.

“She ceased being a child the moment she stepped into this place,” Madam B. said coldly, her eyes narrowing.

“And yet her body hasn’t caught up to your expectations, has it?” Nora’s voice softened slightly, though it didn’t lose its edge. “You can push, break, and mold them—but they are still human. Y/N needs time to heal, or she’ll collapse in the middle of your next mission.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Madam B. said sharply, her gaze flickering to you where you sat on the infirmary bed, silent but seething.

“I wouldn’t,” you said defiantly, your voice cutting through the tense exchange. “I don’t need a break. I’m fine.”

Nora turned to you, her expression softening. “Y/N, this isn’t a competition. It’s your health—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists. “Widows don’t need rest. We don’t break.”

Madam B.’s gaze lingered on you long before she returned to Nora. “You see? She understands the stakes. Weakness is not an option.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Nora muttered under her breath, though not quietly enough.

Madam B.’s sharp glare returned to the doctor, but a quiet creak drew their attention before the tension could escalate further.

The infirmary door was slightly ajar. Natasha stood frozen in the opening, her green eyes darting between the women.

Madam B’s eyes narrowed as she glanced toward the door. “Watch her,” she commanded Nora before letting out a sharp huff and storming out of the room. The door slam echoed through the infirmary, leaving a tense silence.

Natasha pressed tightly against the wall outside and held her breath. Her heart pounded as she strained to listen for footsteps fading down the hallway. She waited—one second, two, three—until she was sure Madam B had left.

Carefully, she peeked around the corner to ensure the coast was clear. Satisfied, she stepped closer to the infirmary door. Her hand hovered over the knob, hesitating.

Inside, Nora sighed as she adjusted the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around your arm. “You really need to care more for yourself,” she muttered as she scribbled notes on a clipboard.

“You really need to stop worrying about me,” you replied, shaking your head.

“I’ve been worrying about you since you were four years old,” Nora said sharply, her eyes meeting yours.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Nora had been the closest thing you had to stability in this place. Her care had always been a confusing blend of warmth and frustration, a kindness wrapped in thorns. You could never understand why she cared so much. Why did she care at all?

Before you could think of something to say, you changed the subject. “How’s this love story with the scientist going?”

Nora froze, her brow furrowing as she shot you a pointed look. “Melina Vostokoff is a respected Widow who is incredibly smart,” she began curtly. “There is no love story. And you know it’s dangerous to talk like that.”

“You know Melina?” Natasha’s voice cut through the conversation as she stepped into the room.

Nora spun on her heel, her expression hardening as her eyes locked on Natasha. “What are you doing here?” she snapped, her tone sharp. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Natasha hesitated, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I just—”

“You just nothing,” Nora interrupted coldly, stepping forward. “Do you think this is a game? That you can wander wherever you please? Do you even understand the danger you’re putting yourself in by being here?” She gestured toward you, her anger flaring.

“Nora,” you said softly, sitting up straighter.

Nora ignored you, her eyes still fixed on Natasha. “You have no idea what she’s been through—what we’ve all been through. And now you think you can just walk in here and—”

“Nora,” you said again, more firmly this time.

Nora finally looked at you, her jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice steady. “Let her stay.”

Nora’s shoulders sagged slightly, her anger dissipating into more like exasperation. She glanced back at Natasha, her eyes narrowing. “If anything happens, it’s on you,” she muttered before returning to work.

Natasha stepped closer to you, her movements careful, almost hesitant. Her eyes flickered to Nora, who was now busying herself with the clipboard, and then back to you.

"Hello," Natasha whispered.

"Dobro pozhalovat (welcome)," You said, not looking at her.

Natasha didn’t know why she came. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper she wasn’t ready to name. She stood stiffly in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as she scanned the room.

You were sitting in bed, your posture slouched but tense, eyes staring ahead as if avoiding any attempt to connect—whether with the walls, the room, or anyone.

“Are you sick?” Natasha asked, her voice soft, though her eyes were sharp as they scanned your body for any signs of injury. There were no bruises, bandages, or anything that would explain your absence.

“I wish,” you muttered with a sigh, fingers tracing aimlessly over a loose thread in the blanket that covered your lap. “Just getting evaluated,” you excused yourself, trying to shrug it off.

“You’ve missed all your training sessions.” Natasha pressed, her gaze intense as she approached cautiously.

“Keeping up with my schedule?” You raised an eyebrow, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you my new handler?”

“No,” Natasha replied quietly, her throat tight momentarily. “I thought we were friends.”

You didn’t answer right away, your lips pressing into a thin line. But you didn’t deny her, either. The silence between you two stretched, uncomfortable in its weight.

Nora kept her eyes on your chart from the corner, deliberately avoiding any direct attention. She'd never seen you regard anyone with such softness. You weren’t open with anyone other than her.

“You’re not going to go and report this to the other widows, are you?” You finally broke the silence, eyes narrowing slightly.

“The other widows are not my friends,” Natasha said, calm but firm. She let her gaze flicker toward Nora momentarily before returning to you. “You know Melina?”

Nora's response was clipped, her words tight and minimal. “She’s gone,” she said when Natasha asked about Melina’s whereabouts. “Don’t know where, don’t need to.” She didn’t look up from your chart as she spoke, not offering any more information. Her gaze remained focused on the paper in front of her, the lines of your vitals there, as if pretending not to notice the growing tension in the air.

After a long pause, she finally sighed, rolling her shoulders back as she stood up. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she muttered, making it clear she wasn’t interested in offering anything more.

With a curt nod to Natasha, she stepped toward the door, leaving you and Natasha alone in the sterile quiet of the room.

Natasha stood there momentarily, unsure of what to do, her thoughts swirling around the brief, cryptic exchange. She glanced back at you, her expression softening just a little.

“Is that your mom?” Natasha asked, her voice low and tentative, though the curiosity in her tone couldn’t be hidden. She didn’t wait for an immediate answer; she just leaned against the wall, her eyes still on you, waiting for a response.

"You see the resemblance?" You said flatly. "Nora is not my mother. Though she likes to pretend she cares."

"She seemed soft with you," Natasha offered, watching your reaction closely. "Not like the other Widows. Not like the guards."

Natasha shifted uncomfortably, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned against the wall. She looked at you, her gaze unwavering but uncertain, as if trying to piece together her own reasoning for being there.

You huffed, shaking your head. “Softness is just another strategy. You know that.”

Natasha didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flicked toward the door where Nora had exited moments ago and then back to you. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s different.”

You scoffed, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it. “Why are you here, Natasha? You’ve never been one to check up on anyone.” You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes as if trying to read her. “So why me?”

Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t a question she’d asked herself before walking into the room, but now it hung between you, heavy and unavoidable. She shifted her weight, her fingers brushing over the edge of the wall she leaned on.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice almost too soft to hear. She looked down briefly, her lips pressed into a thin line, before meeting your eyes again. “Maybe I was curious. Or... maybe I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why would you care?” you asked, your tone blunt but not unkind. “I’m just another Widow, right?”

Natasha shook her head, stepping closer to the bed. “No, you’re not. You’re... different.”

You raised a brow, leaning back slightly. “Different, how?”

Natasha didn’t answer right away. She stood there. Finally, she said, “You don’t let this place break you. I’ve seen it. You don’t let them win.”

Your gaze softened, but your walls didn’t crumble entirely. “And what about you?” you asked. “Are you letting them win?”

Natasha didn’t flinch at the question, but its weight settled in her chest. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I’m trying not to.”

"I am to train you,"

"You?" Natasha blinked, her surprise evident. "Aren't you too young?"

"They say I'm the best,"

"Then, why not use your talents on a mission?"

"Leaving this place is too much of a privilege," You shrugged. "I am meant to be here. I am meant to be his."

"Does he hurt you?" Natasha asked.

You paused, your expression unreadable. You didn't want to answer. It felt like admitting weakness, like giving in. "I'll live."

"That's not what I asked,"

Natasha frowned, her curiosity gnawing at her despite your apparent resistance. “You’re not like the others,” she said cautiously, watching for any shift in your expression. “He treats you differently.”

You let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You ask too many questions. You’ll do best not to in the future.”

“I just want to understand,” Natasha pressed. “How did you become so close with him?”

“If I had a straight answer, you’d have it,” you muttered, your voice low and even, your fingers absently fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “But if I were to guess, it’s probably because I’m a good fighter. Maybe the best. That’s all that matters to him.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. “He doesn’t treat you like a child.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you replied, your tone sharp, almost cutting. “What is it that you really want to know? What happens when I meet with him? It’s private.”

“It’s not nothing,” Natasha said softly. “I can see it. It’s not.”

“No,” you agreed, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “It’s not. But it’s none of your business.”

“You’re too young to—” Natasha started, but you cut her off.

“I am young,” you said sharply, sitting up straighter, your gaze hard. “And I’m the best. That’s a gift and a curse. He gives me gifts, and I give him something of myself in return. I’ve gotten used to it.”

Natasha’s stomach turned at your words, but she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she wanted to push further, not when you were unwilling to share.

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing just slightly as you glanced at her. “I’ll train you,” you said, your voice softening, “but I won’t tell you things about my life. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Natasha hesitated, her mind racing with unspoken questions and uneasy thoughts, but in the end, she nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly.

*******

The door to Dreykov’s office loomed taller than Natasha expected, its dark wood heavy and foreboding. She hesitated before knocking, her fist pausing mid-air. No one talked about what happened inside. Girls went in and came out changed—quieter, sharper, colder.

The door opened with a groan, and Natasha stepped inside. The warmth hit her first, different from the biting chill that filled the rest of the Red Room. A space heater purred softly under the desk, and the faint smell of tobacco lingered in the air. She didn’t know what she expected—something barren and clinical, maybe—but this wasn’t that. Shelves lined the walls, packed with books she doubted he read. A globe sat in the corner, and photographs she didn’t dare look at too closely caught the light from the desk lamp.

“Natasha,” He greeted, not looking up right away. He sat behind a wide desk of polished mahogany, his large hands resting flat on the surface. His tone wasn’t harsh but didn’t invite ease, either. He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit.”

Natasha did as told, tucking her hands into her lap.

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes roaming over her body before resting on her face. His gaze was unnerving. It reminded her of a hawk eyeing a mouse, calculating and cold.

“You’ve been doing well,” Dreykov began, lifting his gaze to meet hers. His eyes were sharp and calculating, making her feel like he could see through her skin. “Top marks in marksmanship. Hand-to-hand combat. Strategy. Impressive for someone so… young.”

“Thank you, sir,” Natasha replied carefully. Her voice was steady, even though her heart was pounding.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the desk.

Natasha hesitated. She didn’t know. Not really. “No, sir.”

Dreykov smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve caught my attention, Natasha. That is not an easy thing to do.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“But,” he continued, his voice softening in a way that somehow made it more dangerous, “attention can be fleeting. Do you know what keeps it?”

“No, sir.”

“Loyalty,” he said, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. “Obedience. Dedication. Do you have these things?”

“Yes, sir,” Natasha answered quickly.

Dreykov studied her for a long moment, the silence thick and uncomfortable. She wanted to look away but didn’t dare.

"You're familiar with y/n?" Dreykov asked.

She didn't know how to answer the question. She didn't know how much he knew. If he knew, she would be in trouble, too.

"She is a fighter and the best of the Red Room," Dreykov continued.

"Yes, sir," Natasha answered, swallowing hard.

"And do you respect her?" Dreykov's eyes bored into hers, unrelenting.

"Yes, sir," she said, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.

Dreykov was silent for a long moment as if contemplating her answer.

"She is to train you," He finally said, his gaze not wavering. "You will report everything back to me. Your training, your progress, her attitude and treatment of you."

"I don't understand," Natasha said, her brows furrowing. "Why?"

"Because you're special," Dreykov said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Because I have plans for you, and I need to ensure y/n does not interfere."

Dreykov’s gaze didn’t waver as Natasha processed his words, her thoughts running a mile a minute. How could you interfere? What could you possibly do to derail his plans? Natasha didn’t understand.

The confusion must have been written all over her face because Dreykov chuckled—a deep, humorless sound that sent a chill down her spine.

“Ah, you’re wondering, aren’t you?” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk. “How could she possibly get in the way?”

Natasha didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak, her jaw tightening as she forced herself to remain composed.

Dreykov smirked, the expression cold and sharp. “Y/N is… how shall I put this? A jealous little thing,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “She doesn’t like to share. Especially not with me. You trust her?"

"I do,"

"Don't. Don't trust anyone,"

"Not even you?"

Dreykov laughed. "Especially not me."

Natasha didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. Her mind raced, the warning ringing in her ears. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the words stuck in her throat. A knock at the door broke the tension before she could muster the courage to speak.

“Come in,” He called smoothly, leaning back in his chair, his smirk firmly in place.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside. Natasha barely recognized you. Gone was the confident fighter she’d seen earlier in the training halls. In your place stood a girl—more petite, somewhat more fragile, with your shoulders held high. Your dress was simple, patterned with tiny flowers, its soft colors highlighting your youth. You looked pretty. Beautiful if she dared to think it. For the first time, you looked your age: fourteen.

Natasha watched as you crossed the room without sparing her a glance. It struck her as deliberate. You kept your eyes forward, focused solely on Dreykov, and your expression was carefully blank.

His smile widened as his eyes roved over your appearance, a glint of satisfaction gleaming in them. “Perfect,” he said, gesturing toward you. “Doesn’t she look like a proper child, Natasha? A flower among thorns.”

Natasha’s stomach twisted at how he spoke and appraised you as though you were nothing more than a tool he’d shaped with his own hands.

“Someone will teach you how to blend in,” Dreykov continued, his gaze shifting to Natasha. “How to act like a child. Then, how to act like a woman. It’s a skill, you know. One you’ll need.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed. The idea felt foreign to her—learning to act like something she was supposed to be. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly, daring to speak despite the tension thickening in the room.

“Of course, you don’t,” Dreykov said, his tone condescending. “But you will. There’s a reason I’ve paired you with her.” He nodded toward you, and Natasha caught the faintest flicker of something—an emotion she couldn’t place—across your face before it disappeared. “She’ll show you. Watch her. Learn from her.”

You finally spoke, your voice softer than Natasha had ever heard it. “What do you need me to do, sir?”

Dreykov’s grin returned. “Everything you already do, my dear. And perhaps a little more. Natasha will shadow you for a time. Set an example for her. Show her how to be... convincing.”

You nodded stiffly, your movements almost mechanical. Natasha couldn’t tell if you were resigned or simply afraid.

She watched you with a growing sense of unease, unsure of what she was seeing. She couldn't pinpoint the shift in the air. Maybe it was the way you moved, the way you held yourself. You were afraid of him. Truly afraid of him. Every display of bravado she'd seen of you with others was thrown out of the window. You were small. Fragile. Vulnerable.

It scared her.

******

As the door shut behind you, the silence was almost unbearable. You walked ahead, your steps quiet and purposeful, refusing to meet Natasha’s gaze. She followed you down the hallway, barely able to keep up with the pace you set.

Finally, Natasha broke the silence. “Do you always wear dresses like that for him?” The words came out sharper than she intended, her voice laced with something between curiosity and accusation.

You stopped abruptly, turning on your heel to face her. You looked less fragile momentarily, the fire she’d seen in the training halls flickering behind your eyes. “What do you think?” you snapped, your tone cutting.

Natasha stared at you, searching for an answer, unsure of what she was looking for. “I don’t know. You won’t tell me anything.”

“And I don’t plan to,” you shot back. “You’re not here to know me, Romanova. You’re here to watch and learn. Do that.”

Natasha felt the sting of your words, but she refused to back down. “He thinks you’re jealous of me. That you don’t want me around.”

You flinched at that, just barely, but it was enough for Natasha to notice. “He doesn’t know anything,” you muttered, your voice quieter now, tinged with bitterness.

“Doesn’t he?” Natasha challenged, stepping closer. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, hasn’t he? Playing dress-up, doing whatever he tells you to do.”

Your jaw tightened, and for a moment, Natasha thought you might lash out. Instead, you smirked, though there was no humor in it. “And you’re any different? Do you think he doesn’t have plans for you, too? You’re just another piece on his board, Romanoff. Don’t kid yourself.”

The words hit harder than Natasha expected, but she kept her expression neutral. “At least I’m not pretending I have control,” she said evenly, her eyes narrowing.

Your smirk faltered, and Natasha caught a flicker of something—hurt, maybe, or anger. “You don’t get it,” you said quietly, almost whispering. “You don’t know what it’s like to be... useful. To matter.”

Natasha opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what it was like—not really. But she could see the weight of it now, the burden you carried. And for the first time, she wondered if Dreykov’s warning wasn’t about jealousy but the cracks in your armor that he didn’t want her to see.

You turned away before she could say anything else, your steps brisk as you returned to the training hall. “You don’t need to understand,” you said over your shoulder, your voice cold again. “Just keep up.”

Natasha watched you go, a knot tightening in her chest. She didn’t know if she wanted to follow yr fight you, but she knew one thing for sure: Dreykov was right. You were dangerous—but not in the way he thought.

[stvrnioloslvt]

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

pride

t.w: suggestive language, sexual tension

there was a reason why you tried to interact as little as possible with matt, way too scared by the effect he had on you each time you two would meet.

growing up, your mother had taught you two lessons that quickly became the fundaments of your own persona:

lesson number one, if you think you have mastered something, you have not. you're just overestimating yourself, and you can't risk that when there will be judges on the other side of the plastic walls of the rink.

lesson number two, if a person has an effect on you, they have power over you. and no one should have power over you, outside of yourself.

love wasn't even an option: love was a distraction, an emotion for those who've got nothing to loose. but you had something, you had your thing, that little passion young baby had for figure skating quickly became both your best friend, and your worst enemy. well, no, technically your worst enemy was your mind, always so fucking determined to make you the best out there, the number one in every competition. there was no space for distractions, and no space for mistakes, either. your mind and eyes were fixed on one thing only: perfection.

your little ambition, unfortunately, got quite out of control and you had soon learned to see the worrying consequences of it when your grades drastically dropped. sure, you were studying. but what could a stressed out mind ever memorise?

cherry had tried to help you more than once. poor, sweet, cherry, who had to live with you every single day. you were truthfully sorry for everything you put her through, sometimes wishing you had never met her just to spare her from your toxic side.

either way, cherry's help turned out to be useless, no matter how smart the girl was, and you still needed to bring your grades up. that's how you ended up replying to matt's messages a whole day later, asking if he could actually help you with that exam you couldn't pass no matter how hard you tried. he accepted, of course, always so polite even if he looked all tough and mean on the outside. you both had decided that you would go to his place after your skating lesson - which was right after his hockey lesson - and try to at least understand where the problem laid.

useless to say, you made a mental note to yourself: you had to focus on your studies, nothing else. no matter how hard he pulled and tugged your strings, you would not cave like this.

except, you did. you fell for matt harder than you thought, and you didn't even notice.

a soft puff of air blew from your lips as you entered the arena, sitting on one of the empty seats, your gym bag slipping from your shoulders and dropping down with a thump. you grumbled, reaching down to pick it up and put it on the seat next to you before slipping your headphones on. the hockey team was almost at the end of their practice, their coach had just blown into the whistle before announcing to cool down and then head to the showers.

"sturniolo, come here," he yelled, sitting down on the bench right outside the rink. at that command your ears perked up, slightly slipping your headphones to the side of your left ear to hear better what was going on. truth was, you had fully expected for chris to head to the coach, thinking that maybe he had done yet another stupid thing, so you were definitely surprised when you saw matt gliding towards the middle-aged man, carrying his whole weight on his right leg. you observed as his left foot didn't touch completely the ground, his leg slightly bent. right behind him, chris waved his hands in order to grab your attention. you looked at him with a puzzled expression as he took off his helmet, mouthing "watch now" while discretely pointing to his brother, a smirk forming on his lips.

your gaze shifted back on matt who had taken off his helmet, running a hand through his sweaty hair as the coach touched his leg in multiple points, asking where it hurt more. you couldn't really make out what was going on exactly since he had given you his back, but the two men seemed engrossed in their conversation.

chris reached you on the benches, motioning for you to move. "scoot over, ice baby, wanna see your reaction." you muttered a confused "what?" before the boy grabbed your chin with his long fingers, turning your head back towards the rink. your breath stopped in your throat for a second as you watched matt follow his coach's instructions, slowly falling to his knees and elbows while the older man crouched down next to him, keeping a hand on his lower back as he helped him open his knees as much as possible before coming back to the initial position, instructing him to repeat the stretch for a couple times. his head hung low, his long hair covering completely his face. well, fuck.

chris' eyes didn't leave your face for a second, not even trying to hide the amused expression printed on his face while your eyes bore into his brother's figure, almost drooling at the sight.

"enjoying the little show, baby?" he chuckled at your reaction, a little flinch taking over your body as you were brought back to earth by your rather annoying friend.

"w-what?" you asked, your voice raspy and feeble. your eyes didn’t leave matt’s figure for one second, your mind running miles per hour with not-so-innocent thoughts, hypnotised by the way his hips and legs moved. all of a sudden, his head shot up, his eyes straightway locking with yours. everything in that moment ceased to exist, wrapping you and matt in a bubble. he, too, looked taken aback by your presence there, his gaze slowly dropping to chris’ fingers sinking in the soft flesh of your chin and then to his brother’s satisfied grin. matt’s expression turned dark; if looks could hurt, chris would be grabbing his own hand in pain for how intensely matt was staring at the iron-grip his brother had on you, jealousy bubbling under his skin. 

you cleared your throat, excusing yourself before bolting out of the arena with your bag dangling in your hand, rushing towards the locker room. as you entered, you shut the door behind you with a loud bang.

you didn’t even notice cherry sitting on the bench, rolling her muscle warmers on her calf. “whoa, what- what is happening?” asked the girl, taking in your shocked and flustered appearance. you whipped your head around, your back melting against the wall as you slowly slid down on the ground. “one of the weirdest things in my life,” and just like that you began explaining to your best friend what had happened in the span of the last ten minutes, which definitely felt like hours. 

in the end, cherry groaned frustrated, complaining about the lack of action from both of you, rambling about how you two would never end up together if neither mustered up the courage to go talk to the other one.

“first of all, we do talk to each other. matter of fact, i’ll go to his place after practice since chris insisted he could help me study.” cherry raised her eyebrow at that, a sceptical yet surprised look on her face. you raised your hand before she could speak further, continuing with your remarks. “and secondly, i don’t want us to end up together, i ain’t got the time for that.” 

“okay you’re fucking ridiculous,” began your friend, but before she could continue the door opened and revealed the two sturniolo brothers, their helmets and skates in hand and weird looks on their faces. as the two spotted you and cherry, they quickly raised their hand in greeting before grabbing their gym bags and heading for the showers. matt was the first to disappear, still looking pissed off. chris waited for him to go to the showers room before he muttered as silently as possible “he’s pissed cause i had my hands on you,” snickering to himself as he, too, disappeared in the other room. cherry’s jaw hung low, excitement building quickly in her. “see!” she half-whispered, half- screamed, “i fucking told you!” 

“no, no,” you quickly interrupted her, jumping towards her figure to slap a hand on her mouth, trying to contain her excited blabbering. “shh, cherry, damn. get your skates, you need to burn some of this pent-up energy.”

you spent the next two hours training and training and training, trying to perfection your technique as best as you could, trying to ignore the two brothers sitting on the furthest bench of the arena, knowing that a particular set of eyes was planted on you the whole time.

“give him a chance,” whispered cherry as you closed your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. you had finished practice a few minutes ago, and after a quick shower you were ready to head towards the brothers who were waiting for you outside. “i’m serious, baby. you don’t need to be always so strict with yourself.” you smiled softly at your friend, nodding briefly before you reached the brothers who were waiting inside their car. the ride to their place wasn’t uncomfortable, but not pleasant either: you could tell matt was trying to brush off the events from earlier, failing miserably. and chris - well, he did nothing to ease his brother’s mind, constantly talking about memories he had of when you two met for the first time years ago. you really couldn’t tell if he was that oblivious to his brother’s annoyed attitude, or if he was working him up on purpose. either way, whatever his plan was was working perfectly. 

as you reached their place, chris finally quieted down. he was the first one to jump out of the car, immediately heading towards his room. 

matt sighed tired, running a hand on his face. “i’m sorry, i- had a long day.” you smiled sympathetically at him, feeling sorry for the poor boy who had to deal all this time with his brother’s constant teasing. “it’s fine, i know how obnoxious chris can get. by the way, how’s your leg?”

matt groaned, shaking his head before plopping down on the couch. “apparently i pulled a muscle and it hurts like a motherfucker,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the couch’s back. you put your bag down, trying to not dwell too much on how attractive he looked like that, manspreading and confident. 

“you can come sit down,” he said, patting the space next to him. “just give me five minutes so the pain subsides and we’ll get to studying.”

“yeah, no it’s fine, don’t worry about it. do you want some medicine? i think i’ve got something in my bag.” you replied, bringing your bag with you on the couch. as you sat down next to him, you rummaged through your things to find the little pouch you used to store your medicine. 

“no, i’m fine, it’s not the first time this has happened.”

“you sure? i’ve got a few things against the pain, i just need to find where they went-”

“baby,” matt’s hand gently grabbed your wrist, pulling it out of your bag. your skin broke out in chills at the contact, your heart racing in your ribcage. “i’m serious, i don’t need anything. thanks, though.”

you nodded, staring at his hand still neatly wrapped around your wrist, not showing any signs of wanting to let go anytime soon. he gently pulled it towards him, making you turn slowly so that you were completely facing him. you observed as his eyes fell slowly to your chin, his free hand delicately lifting your head and turning it side to side to check if your skin had any marks from chris’ grip earlier. your breath hitched at the proximity. if you closed your eyes and focused, you were sure you could feel his breath gently fanning over your neck. you didn’t dare to speak, not wanting to mutter a single word in fear of fucking everything up. your mind screamed at you to pull away, to break contact as soon as possible, but how could you when it felt so good?

a loud noise broke the spell that had you both hooked, followed by music playing softly in the background. matt groaned annoyed, pulling back slightly to mutter “‘m sorry, it’s the fucking speakers, chris is probably convinced that he turned them on only in his room.” at that, you couldn’t hold back a smile from creeping on your face, chuckling softly. “may i say that i do not envy you?”

matt scoffed, an amused glint in his eyes. “yeah, well, understandable. don’t even know how you bear him as your friend.” you shrugged your shoulders, a silent way of saying “it is what it is.”

matt cleared his throat, his index finger running softly on your jaw. “he- he didn’t hurt you, right?” you shook your head, instinctively shifting closer to him. you felt his breath blowing on your lips, and you observed as his eyes shifted from your jaw, to your lips, to your eyes and then to your lips again. the air all around you buzzed with electricity, the tension between you two becoming almost palpable. 

“i’m- i’m sorry, i…” you whispered, hands shaking with anticipation. you tried to stabilize your breath, wanting to gain back control over your body that seemed to respond only to matt’s actions instead of your own mind.

“don’t.” he mumbled, finally closing the space between you two. his lips found yours in a delicate and tentative kiss, but once you kissed him back there was nothing soft left. his hand cupped your cheek, bringing you impossibly closer to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing over your bottom lip. you whimpered quietly as his tongue grazed yours, his other hand leaving your wrist to wrap around your waist, helping you straddle him. 

“matt,” you moaned, fingers locking in his soft hair and pulling them gently. his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses behind. “‘m sorry, angel,” he whispered on your skin, his teeth nipping and sucking and painting your neck in violet marks. “couldn’t hold back anymore,” he continued, arms wrapping even tighter around your torso. your hands stroked his cheeks, bringing him in for another kiss. 

and while you two were busy on the couch, a song played in the background, tying everything together:

love' s gonna get you killed

but pride’s gonna be the death of you, and you and me.

© stvrnioloslvt

ও read other parts of this au here. asks and requests are always open!

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@sofieeeeex @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11 @frankoceanfanpage @ivysturnss @watercolorskyy @bluestriips @sllutty-sturniolo @hesvoid34 @mattsturniolover @emely9274 @boomshakalaka12381238 @lovergirl4gracieabrams @sturnsrecord @joselyncsblog

[i-wanna-write]

If One's Different, One's Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Chapter Warnings: violence, cussing, lewd comments/thoughts, lots of angst

Word Count: 4k+

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Many months passed and it took you a while to become semi-comfrortable living at the school. The first few weeks were completely overwhelming. You spent half your time in your room, needing space from the voices, the scents, the people. 

You did not teach at first, Charles allowing you to grow accustomed to school and being in civilization again. Your days consisted of you using the combat training room and prepping lesson plans for teaching - something you found yourself terrible to do.

You could easily teach the kids how to defend themselves and harness their powers. You did it yourself so many years ago. But deciding what books to read and why was proving to be difficult.  

The bright side of living at the school was that you were able to find friendship in Ororo. The two of you ate dinner together everyday, yourself not being much of a morning person. You were able to eat with some conversation, though never going too deep. You learned that she taught an elective of multicultural studies and discovered her mutations when she was only nine years old. 

Another bright side was that Charles allowed you to frequent the woods in the surrounding area when you needed a break from others. You were able to fully be yourself, not keen on showing the students the full capability of your mutation yet.

Soon, you felt comfortable enough and found it ridiculous that you were nervous to teach. You were surprisingly good and due to your love of literature and ability to read people, you were able to plan lessons that the kids actually enjoyed. They always seemed to be engaged in your classes and had deep thoughts about whatever book you were reading.

When it came to combat training, the kids actually respected you, though some were even scared of you. You figured to throw caution to the wind and started day one with explaining your mutation and letting the kids who felt comfortable to do so too. You explained to them how it was important to have confidence and embrace their abilities. To not be afraid or ashamed of them.

In addition to being the resident doctor, Jean also taught biology courses and was dating mister stoic, Scott. The cyclops taught geometry and continued to annoy you to no end. 

A year into living in the school, Charles pulled you into his office one day. He explained how he and some of the faculty are what he deemed the “X-Men”. How they scout for other students or adults to join their school, as well as take down any threats, mutant or not.

So that became your life for the next three years, joining Scott, Ororo, and Jean on missions to find other recruits. Sometimes Charles would send you and Ororo on solo missions, knowing that you’ve gotten your hands dirty in the past and had no qualms doing so in the future. 

You weren’t offended by that notion. You were confident in yourself and not ashamed of your past. If these people could accept you despite it, you could accept yourself. You were happy to be the go-to mutant to take down any enemies - especially when it meant helping kids who needed it. 

You were able to get more comfortable around others, Charles helping you explain the concept of ‘putting up a wall’ in your mind. The wall allowed you to limit the increased stimuli your instincts constantly gathered. 

The next three years of our life you were content. You may have even considered yourself happy.

Until a man you never thought you’d see again showed up.

And he didn’t remember you.

You just got back from a solo-mission, your aim to gather intel on a mutant named Magento and his brotherhood of mutants. His right hand man, another mutant similar to a Sabertooth was spotted and Charles sent you to do some scouting. Your skill of adaptability comes in handy. 

But as soon as you entered the school, Charles’ voice entered your head.

“Y/N, come to my office, it’s urgent.”

Odd, as the man rarely enters without your permission, you quickly made your way to that destination. You passed Ororo and Scott on the way, both looking weary but not speaking a word to you. You reached Charle’s office and knocked, waiting for a response.

“Come in,” his voice sounded and you did as he said.

You entered and froze at seeing a man from your past. There, standing in Charle’s office was Logan. Was the Wolverine. He was dressed in gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, ones that definitely did not fit him.

Your eyes gaze over him, noting how his build seems larger than before if possible. The sweatshirt was zipped halfway, showing off his brown chest hair that you missed so much. His shoulders are broader, arms more defined. You finally reach his face and a gasp leaves your mouth. You can’t help it.

He looked the exact same as all those years ago. His jaw is lined with stubble, longer than you've seen it before. His hair was longer as well, the tufts on either side more pronounced then you’ve ever seen. 

You take a deep breath to inhale the scent you missed so much. Smokey like a cigar, a splash of whiskey, something that you always defined solely as Logan. Only there’s something else.

Something different.

When your gaze finally meets the rich brown you’ve been dreaming about, there is no softness like you expected. No look of trust and warmth. No recognition.

Instead, they were filled with distrust and confusion.

You felt like you were stabbed through the heart.

“I know this is Logan, and you knew him in the past.,” Charles’ voice starts in your head. “But I’ve looked into his head and he has no memory of you. In fact, he has no memory of anything past ten years ago.”

You give a stubble nod, showing Charles you understand. You swallow a lump in your throat but do your best to remain professional.

“Miss. Y/L/N. I’d like you to meet Logan.” Charles begins introductions, gesturing to Logan with one hand. He brought a teenager here and will be staying for the time being to help us assist against Magento. We think the girl, Rogue, is wanted by Magneto.” Charles begins to explain before turning his attention to Logan. “Logan, this is Professor Y/N. She teaches English Literature and helps out with Combat Training. In addition, she is a member of the X-Men and one of my most trusted companions.”

That’s news to you.

“Y/N, I was hoping you could give Logan a tour and show him where he will be staying for the time being.” Charles finishes.

“Um.” You hesitate before clearing your throat. “Of course.”

No. You do not want to be around this Logan. This is not your Logan. This is someone entirely different. Someone who had to have gone through something similar to you to not have his memories. To smell different. 

“Wonderful! I’ll leave you two to it.” Charles finishes, dismissing the both of you.

You look to Logan, motioning with your head for him to follow you at the door. The man looks at you with distrust before sighing and doing so. You close the door to Charles' office, stopping to turn to the man you used to know.

“Sorry about Charles or any of the other people you met already. While they’re also mutants, they don’t get people like us.” You say quietly, knowing he’ll hear you.

“Us?” He questions, eyebrow arched.

His voice, too, is the same it was all those years ago. Rough and husky that sends a feeling throughout your entire body. You shake that thought and send him a sly smirk. You raise your right hand, growing your claws on it and flashing your sharp teeth.

“Us.” You say.

Logan raises an eyebrow in surprise at this. You wonder if you’re still the only female mutant like him he's met before - except he doesn’t recognize you so he’s now meeting you for the first time. You watch as his gaze travels down your body, as if assessing you for the first time. His mistrust seems to grow in you as his eyes narrow. You should have expected that, with what happened during your first meeting and all. A feral with another feral could lead to someone getting their throat ripped out.

“Shall we begin the tour?” You don’t wait for a response, turning on your heels and walking down the hall.

…

The tour ends with you bringing Logan to his assigned room, the one right across from yours. Lucky you. You open the door and step in, throwing your hands up and spinning around the room.

“And this is where you will be staying. You got a bed, dresser, nightstand, closet, and private bathroom.”

You watch as Logan steps into the room, looking around and taking it in. He was quiet throughout the tour but you could tell he had questions. That he was observing and reading you, waiting for a moment to escape or attack if he needed to. The two of you were still so similar. His personality was exactly as you remembered it. Confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant. You just wished he remembered you.

“I’ll leave you to it.” You give a tight lipped smile and go to leave, passing him as you do so.

His arm grabs yours, stopping you. Unlike the last time you first met though, his claws don’t come out and pierce you. He merely grabs you and turns you to face him.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as this is the first time you’ve been touched by him in so many years. You hope he doesn’t notice the reaction he gets from you. The increase of your breathing and heartbeat. The slight blush you’re sure you’re wearing.

Your gaze goes from his eyes, to his hand, then back to his eyes. He immediately lets go, his face almost looking apologetic before he stops himself.

“How did you end up here?” He asks after a moment of silence, as if he’s waited the whole day to ask. “How can you stand being here?” He shakes his head, as if he can't fathom being around all these people.

You let out a chuckle. 

“I couldn’t stand it. Not at first. I’ve lived my whole life alone,” You stretch the truth “enjoying the comfort of it. Charles found me and I was hesitant at first. But, I realized I could be the person I needed years ago. It’s been a good few years for me since I came here.” You reveal, not wanting to say too much.

Not wanting to say how much you missed him. Or how you’d wait for him to show up on your front porch. Or ask what he’s been up to. Or what has happened to him to not remember things.

“And they don’t care that you’ve -”

You cut him off. “Killed people?” You shake your head. “No. If anything it gives them an excuse not to get their hands dirty.”

Logan stares at you, as if pondering your answer. You don’t give him time to explain, stepping halfway at the door.

“I’ll leave you to get settled. During your stay, if you need booze, you won't find it here. Charles doesn’t allow it in common areas due to the kids around. But feel free to knock on my door. I have lots of beer and whiskey.” You shoot him a smile.

You cross the hall and unlock your own door, not looking back and closing it. You then lean against it and slide down to the ground, silently letting your tears fall.

…

The next morning, you cry again. You can’t help it. Everything you imagined happening to Logan the past years, this wasn’t it.

You always assumed he was out there searching for you too. That the two of you would eventually find eachother again and simply missed each other in passing every so often.

You never expected this.

You’re currently sitting in med bay with Ororo, Scott, and Charles. Jean ran tests on Logan, examining his mutation and performed a full body scan - all similar to your own when you first arrived. The results startled you. All his bones have been coated with a metal called Adamantium. It was surgically grafted into his entire skeleton. 

That explains the change in his scent.

Jean explained how his mutation is the reason he survived the surgery. His regeneration capability allowed him to heal rapidly. Jean added how determining his age could be impossible because of this. His was very similar to your own mutation, she added.

Ironic that you’ve been dying to know the similarities between you two all those years ago. Yet you find out the worst way imaginable.

“Who did this to him?” Scott questions, voicing everyone's thoughts.

“He doesn’t know.” You speak up before Jean can. “And I bet he doesn’t remember everything about his life before it happened.”

All four of your companions look at you, surprised at your knowledge. 

“That’s correct.” Jeans confirms. “How do you know that?”

You look to Charles for guidance. You weren’t sure if you should reveal that you’ve met Logan before. That his name was James and he had a brother named Victor. That he enjoyed whiskey on the rocks and added too much salt to his steak. That he smoked cigars in bed and was a blanket hog.

“Share what you’d like. We won’t tell him.” Charles promises, getting nods from the others.

You swallow, trying to form words to discuss a past you’ve long since tried to forget. “I haven’t seen him in many years..” You start. “I met him in the 50s, and we ran into each other for the next ten years or so. He went off to Vietnam and got tangled with some people but we found eachother again.” You close your eyes, remembering the day like it was yesterday. “We lived peacefully for six years. We were… normal. Until one day, I was captured and we saw each other for the last time.” You finish, keeping it short and concise.

“You guys ran into each other or you guys ran into each other?” Ororo questions from your right.

You shake your head at the woman, knowing what her thoughts are. You couldn’t blame her. Logan looked just as appetizing fifteen years later.

“You trust him?” Jean questions, asking you curiously.

You can tell she wants to dive into your mind. To figure out Logans past from you and try to work through how to help him. That’s how Jean is, you've come to learn. Always wanting to solve the next puzzle. 

You sigh, thinking of that question before finding your answer. “Back then, our roles were reversed. I was more feral, more likely to get into a fight or kill someone. I hated being around anyone and solely followed my instincts. He was the calm one. He had no qualms ignoring his instincts. Now though, although his personality is the same, he’s definitely not the man I knew back then. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, he’ll still have good morals. ”

Which was the truth. Even when you saw Logan at his worst, he knew right from wrong.

There’s silence again, everyone taking in your answer. They knew of your past and didn’t think any differently. But they weren’t sure about a stranger in the school full of teens. A stranger that solely trusted his animalistic instincts with indestructible metal throughout his entire body.

You had to add the part about his morals. That was the very first thing you admired about him. He always seemed to not want to cause harm, cause destruction. He always seemed to want to make the right choice. 

“Experimentation on mutants. It’s not unheard of but I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Charles breaks the silence.

“What do you think Magneto wants with him?” Scott questions.

“I’m not entirely sure it’s what Magneto wants.” Charles reveals.

…

Later that day, you follow Jean into the exam room where Logan sits upon the table. He’s back to wearing the great sweatshirt and sweatpants and looks up as you too enter.

“So?” He asks, seeming to ignore your presence. 

“The metal is throughout your entire skeletal system, as expected.” Jean informs him.

He snorts, as if to say ‘I told you so’. His eyes take you in as they did last night. Only this time they only hold curiosity. You guess that's a step up from mistrust. 

“So why are we here again? You people got your pictures.” He tells you.

“With my abilities, I might be able to grab a memory and see it.” Jean simply explains to him. The two of you make your way towards the man, you behind him while Jean is in front. His gaze solely focuses on you, as if he poses you as the bigger threat and doesn’t want his back to be turned. 

“And you brought the English Lit teacher because?” Logan questions, not turning to look at the doctor.

“It might hurt and I probably rival your strength the best here.” You smile snarkily, wanting to smack the condescending look off his face.

“Whatever you think bub.” He states.

You roll your eyes but don’t say anything, looking to see if Jean is ready. The woman nods and you place both of your hands on either of his shoulders. You squeeze and press down with your strength, smirking slightly at the way Logan tenses. If he was going to be a dick to you without even knowing you, then you were going to be a bitch back.

“Ready?” Jean asks, raising her hands to both his temples but not touching him.

You feel Logan take a deep breath and you assume he closes his eyes before Jean does the same. His body immediately tenses up and you take a guess that he probably would have moved if you weren't holding him, You watch as Jean's eyes flutter back and forth beneath her eyelids as she tries to uncover any memory. Not even thirty seconds later, Jean’s hands are removed and Logan relaxes. 

“What did you see?” He asks her.

You watch as Jean stares at him before saying, “Scott.”

You turn to the door and see the man standing there. Jeans doesn’t answer Logan's question and bids you both goodnight, Leaving the two of you alone.

“Guess you’ll find out tomorrow, tough guy.” You tease before walking out of the room and leaving him alone.

…

You wake to a shout. You immediately rush out of bed, dressed in sleep shorts and a t-shirt that's seen better days. You open your door and look up and down the hallway, seeing no one there. You start to head back to your room before you hear another shout, realizing it’s coming from Logan’s room.

Throwing caution to the wind, you enter his room and quickly shut the door to find him thrashing around on his bed. You slowly walk closer, knowing how to be silent, and look over him as he has what you assume is a nightmare. 

Sweat litters his brow and shirtless torso, his eyes moving under his eyelids. He continues to thrash, his head moving side to side as another shout escapes him. You can’t bear the thought of him going through this.

“Logan.” you whisper, body standing on the left side of his bed. “Logan.” You say a little louder.

It does nothing to wake him and he continues to dream, body moving more as if it’s becoming worse. Sighing, you lean forward with your left hand, reaching down to touch his left shoulder. Before you can touch him though, he awakes.

“Arrghh!” He exclaims, a schilt noise heard before you feel metal pierce your body.

“Fuck!” You shout in pain, feeling your breath catch in your throat, guessing that a lung or both have been punctured.

You begin to gasp for breath, feeling as you open your mouth but nothing will enter it and make it to your lungs. You E/C eyes match dark brown and you see a now awake Logan staring up at you, eyes filled with concern.

“Help me.” Logan says. “Somebody help!” He screams as you continue to struggle for breath.

For some reason, your body is taking longer than usual to heal and you don’t like that thought one bit. You’ve survived so much in your long life. Bullets, Animals. Other mutants. Knives. You are damned if the man you used to love is the one that kills you.

Willing your body to cooperate and heal, you raise a hand to one of the wounds and grow our own claws. You then dig them in, and it seems to snap your body out of shock, starting to heel. It’s at that moment the light flickers on and you turn to see Scott, Jean, and Ororo enter the room, children standing in the hallway.

“What happened, are you okay?” Ororo asks, immediately rushing to your side along with Jean while Scott tries to block the kids.

“Yeah. I just startled him and got to close. His claws got me.” You explaining, looking at both the concerned women and smiling lightly.

“Then why did he scream for help?” Jean questions, lifting your shirt to see where the wounds should be, already gone and healed.

“I don’t think my brain registered what happened. My healing didn’t trigger right away so I sped up the process.” You explained. 

“Healing?” Logan questions from behind.

Suddenly remembering you’re in his room and have an audience, you glance up at Scott and the kids, addressing everyone except the man seated on the bed behind you.

“I’m okay. We’re okay.” You start. “Everyone back to bed. You have class in the morning.”

Some of the kids groan, probably excited that they saw more action tonight than they have throughout all of their combat training. You look to Ororo and Jean and say,

“I’m okay, promise.”

They both search your face for a moment, looking for any signs of a lie. But since you’ve known them, you’ve been evasive yes but never lied to them, furthering their trust of you. They seem to believe you, both nodding before turning around and leaving the room. Ororo shoots you a small smile before closing the door so you’re now alone with Logan.

You turn and look at the stranger wearing the familiar face. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, his face full of concern and staring at you. His gaze still seems to continue to roam your body, as if not believing you’re okay.

Even though he doesn’t remember you, you remember him. It breaks your heart to see him like this. You walk closer to him, his gaze never leaving. You gesture with your hand to the seat on his left, silently asking if you can have a seat there.

He nods, turning his head to look at you. You take the seat and lick your lips and sigh before starting to speak. “When I said you and I are alike, I wasn’t lying. Your mutation is similar to that of the Wolverine animal. Mine is similar to a Jackal.”

Reconfizition immediately fills his face. You hope, for one second, it’s a memory. Maybe you were in his dream. Or maybe, be some stroke of luck, he’s remembering you and all your times together. But that’s not what happens.

“I’ve heard of you,” He starts, his voice gruff. “A mutant that relies solely on their instincts. Known for hunting down dangerous mutants.”

You smile slightly at that. “That’s me.”

“But I’ve heard about them existing in the mid 1900s. You don’t look like you're 80.” Logan says, his eyes moving across your face, as if observing if your true ability is to simply disguise your age.

“Hence how we’re alike so much. I was born in 1895. I have regenerative abilities that cause me to age slowly. And also heal quickly.” You inform him by gesturing to your healed wounds.

His gaze travels down, able to see your stomach through the holes in your shirt - which you have no qualms about. He has seen you naked before - memory or not.

“Have we ever, I mean,” Logan pauses, as if searching for how to ask a question. “If I’m as old as Jean thinks I am, and you're as old as you are, have we ever met before?”

His voice is hopeful, as if you can be the answer to his lost memory. You immediately think of what could possibly go wrong if you tell him the truth. You certainly don't think it would jog his memory. If anything he could possibly look at you with pity if you tell him everything. How you guys got to know each other and all it entailed.

You sigh though. You don’t want to lie to the man. You decide honesty with some hidden truth is the best option.

“Our paths crossed over forty years ago. We ran into each other a few times after.. Just shared about our experiences as mutants.”

Surprise and relief covers his face. You wish you could be fully transparent, you really do. But you know it wouldn’t be fair to him. He’s essentially a new person, he has a chance to start over. Forget all the wrong he did and maybe do some good.

“What was I like?” He questions and you knew it was coming.

“Exactly the same.” Your reveal. “Confident but not cocky. Smart but not arrogant.” You leave the explanation at that, not wanting to dive deeper into how he's the same person but now has a chance to do different things. “Can I ask a question?” You try to change the subject.

Logan sighs, as if knowing you were going to. Since Jean revealed his adamantium skeleton, one question has been on your mind.

“When your claws come out, do they hurt?” You needed to know. Needed to know if what he went through continues to torture him everyday.

“Every damn time.” Logan reveals.

Your heart breaks even more, if possible.

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[nislost]

unvirgin | chapter 6

warnings: suggestive, people being mean again

(written + smau)

you’re driving back to your apartment after you finished your class. you have 2 hours to get ready and you need to look good. you quickly jump in the shower to shave and take off all that school stench off of you.

after two hours you check how you look in the mirror and you feel good. wearing the two piece outfit your friends voted on that consisted of a tight miniskirt that matched the cropped jacket you had and platform heels because who are you without your heels?

you rush out the door and make your way to the library after you notice you’re 5 minutes late. at least you’ll be fashionably late! you walk into the library searching for the black haired boy and when you do you smile walking your way over. tapping jeno on his shoulder he turns around startled.

“sorry i’m late” you whisper giving him an apologetic smile. “i-it’s fine don’t worry” he whispers before clearing his voice his eyes looking everywhere but you. you giggle at his nervous state before sitting in the empty seat next to him. you noticed he looked good really good…why? well he’s wearing the number 1 kitty cat defeater. gray sweatpants and a matching hoodie.

“so what did you need help with?” jeno asks softly not to bother others around. “everything” you groan “i swear math is my worst enemy” he chuckles at your words. “okay let’s start from the beginning of the topic we’re currently learning” he says as he takes out a stack of textbooks from his bag causing your jaw to drop.

your reaction makes him giggle which in return causes you to pout. “stop laughing at my pain” you mutter. you prepare mentally and physically for the time you’ll be spending here.

30 minutes in your brain is hurting and you’re completely frustrated. you begin working on a problem jeno gave you until your ears pick up a conversation behind you “omg did you see y/n with jeno?” one voice says “omg yeah i bet she’s trying to get into his pants” the other voice replies with a giggle. you can’t blame them you have a reputation, but it doesn’t give them the right to talk about you like that. “she’s such a fucking slut. poor jeno” the first voice says.

jeno notices your mood change and the conversation behind him. “i heard she fucked the principal and that’s why she’s here” they just kept going. they were wrong the reason you even got into this university was because you (kinda) tried in high school. don’t get you wrong you never studied or anything you just did the bare minimum and that got you a 3.4 gpa.

your friends wondered what happened since then and it’s just because you lost motivation and wanted to have more fun, but look where that landed you. you get up from your seat causing jeno to look at you confused and worried. you give him a smile “i’ll be right back” you state before you walking over to where those girls were.

seeing you in front of them made them shocked “what? you can talk shit about me behind my back why not in my face” you raise your brow waiting for them to respond. they just look at each other before one of them finally speaks up. “w-well it’s not like we’re wrong! look at yourself you dress like a prostitute” she spits out. the other girl taps her friend and points somewhere behind you. you turn around confused and see jeno.

“what’s going on here?” he asks. both the girls in front of you begin to stutter “n-nothing” “nothing at all! we’re just talking about how much we love y/n’s outfit” you roll your eyes at their words. jeno just hums in response before grabbing your arm and taking you back to your table. “anyways let’s continue our tutoring. don’t let anyone distract you.” he says giving you back your pencil.

you sigh before continuing solving the equations given.

2 hours pass and you’ve grown tired. “do you think we can stop for today?” you ask letting out a yawn. jeno chuckles before nodding. “oh i forgot to ask earlier but what would you want in return for you helping me? money, food or something else? i’m okay with doing anything” you turn to him. jeno ponders seeing if there is anything you could possibly help or do for him.

“can- no never mind that’s too embarrassing to ask for” he says blushing and looking away. this interests you a lot and makes you wonder. “just ask i already said id do anything” you say softly somewhat implying something. “i-i can’t” he stutters his nervousness makes you grin. you place a hand on his thigh to “comfort” him and it causes him to flinch. “jeno you can tell me” you pout tilting your head. he looks at the hand on his thigh then up at you.

“i have no experience…in you know” he mutters because you could hardly hear him you lean in closer “repeat what you said louder” he looks at you all flustered which makes something purr and it’s definitely not your pet cat at home. “can you h-help me um” he groans “take your time baby” you giggle. his ears perk up at the nickname you didn’t even realize you said.

“can you um unvirgin me?” he says softly looking at you with a vulnerable expression. you can’t help but giggle “unvirgin? seriously?” he looks at you embarrassed. “jeno are you sure? wouldn’t you want to save something like that for someone special?” you giggle again “i have no experience and everyone around our age has at least done it once and all my friends tease me” he looks at you with a pleading gaze.

“fine. i’ll unvirgin you, but only if i pass a math test. just so that’ll give you time to think this through” you stand up. jeno quickly nods before standing up as well and walking you to your car. “u-uh ill text you about our next session” he stutters slightly which makes him want to punch himself. you nod before driving off.

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