#because it's good but also because it's FAMILY | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kwanisms · 23 hours ago

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HELP! My Neighbor is an Alien a Porn Star — h.joshua

Neighbors come and go and for Y/N, this is inevitable. Which is why she never bothered to get to know her neighbors. She owns her townhouse while the two on either side of her are rentals. When a new neighbor moves in, she doesn’t think much of it until she sees the extremely attractive and single man moving in next door. She learns his name is Joshua and that there’s more than meets the eye; a whole lot more. alien!Joshua × fem!Reader

» back || m.list || taglist « ❑ WORDCOUNT 13k (i'm not sorry anymore lol) ❑ WARNINGS — adult dialogue, female reader, sex work, mentions of: food & alcohol consumption, aliens, porn, cam work; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! ❑ CONTENT — fluff (in the form of comedy), smut (hella); sex work, porn industry, neighbors to lovers; non idol au, alien au, porn star au ❑ NOTES — this is my submission for @ddeonghwa-s cupid event. Hello, hello @shuadotcom it is I! Your cupid! This was so much fun to write and the premise was so fun to come up with! I hope you like your alien!Joshua! I love this concept so much and I could definitely be convinced to return to this in the future. This is not proofread because I didn’t have time 😭a huge thank you to @wooahaeproductions jupiter, @facethesunflower (+hubby) for helping coming up with the usernames. y'all are hilarious and wild. and thank you all for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

❑ SMUT WARNINGS: voyeurism, watching porn/cam show, masturbation (male receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (do not do. especially with an alien), sex with an alien (lol), joshua has an alien cock (which is described in full detail so enjoy that image), use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), mild degradation, praise (f receiving), joshua’s precum is an aphrodisiac (pretty cool tbh. aliens are fun to write) so there’s that and also cum eating??, choking (f receiving), and I think that’s all of them lol but of course, let me know if I missed anything!

One of the things that came with living in the suburbs was neighbors but for you, getting to know them was never a priority. Owning your townhome meant you were a constant in the neighborhood while your neighbors were not. The townhomes on either side of you were rental properties with a plethora of families coming and going depending on how long the lease was.

Despite not taking the time to get to know them, you still made a conscious effort to be a good neighbor, never causing problems or resolving any that popped up. Most of the neighbors you had were families with young children or young couples still in the first few years of marriage. There were the occasional single professionals that moved in but they were far and few between.

So when you woke up one morning and headed down to make a cup of coffee before clocking into your work from home job, the sight of the box truck parked outside the house wasn’t a surprise. You walked over to the large bay window, spreading the slats of the blinds to peer outside.

The box truck must have pulled up while you were still upstairs as the back was now open and workers were moving briskly to unload items from the back. As you watched, you wondered who your new neighbor was going to be. Would it be another family like the last ones? Or maybe a couple of young professionals.

Letting the slats fall back in place, you turned from the window to go about your day, heading into your downstairs office off the main entry and shutting the doors to close off the rest of the home from your working space. You took a seat at the desk, setting your coffee on its designated coaster and powered up your dual screen pc. While it booted up, you sipped on your coffee, eyes occasionally drifting to the window where you could still see some of the movers unloading boxes and furniture.

The jingle of your computer home screen loading drew your attention back to the task at hand: work.

The rest of your morning consisted of checking emails, starting on reports and reviewing itineraries. It wasn’t a glamorous job but it afforded you a comfortable living and to pay your bills while also adding to your savings and being able to spend money on your hobbies.

When it was lunch time, you broke away from your screen and picked up your phone, scrolling through the various delivery options before deciding on something that sounded good and was relatively close. You placed your order and decided to leave your office and check to see if the mail had arrived.

Upon opening the door, you could see that the box truck was still parked but that the movers seemed to be finishing up. Walking down the steps from your porch, you glanced over to the townhouse that had sat vacant until today. Amongst the movers who wore khaki uniforms of short sleeve button downs and black pants, was a man who was dressed entirely different.

You opened your gate, stepping out to the cluster of mailboxes you found the mail had indeed come. You quickly opened yours with your key, pulling out the various envelopes, sneaking glances at your new neighbor as he spoke to who you could only assume was the boss of the movers. He had black hair, pushed back off his forehead.

He wore a simple white tee shirt, light wash jeans, and a pair of sneakers. He looked relatively ordinary. As you shut your mailbox door, you moved back to your gate, opening it. At the sound of the gate latch, the man looked in your direction. You quickly averted your eyes and made your way back to your steps.

You chanced a glance at the man, finding his attention was back on the moving company boss. You returned to the safety and privacy of your home, mail clutched against your chest as you shut your door. You shook yourself and headed into your office, grumbling about looking and feeling like an idiot.

It wasn’t like you weren’t supposed to be there. This was your neighborhood, too. You were perfectly within your rights to collect your mail and it was only natural that you would be curious about the new neighbor moving in. So why did you feel so strange?

You didn’t have much time to dwell on it as the sound of your doorbell made you jump, the letter in your hands you were about to open flying through the air and landing on your desk. You mentally scolded yourself for being so jumpy and got up, moving to the front door where you peered through the glass, shifting the small curtain to find the delivery driver with your food.

You opened the door, collecting your lunch with a ‘thanks’ and a generous tip before retreating once more into your home and carrying the takeout to your kitchen.

After lunch, you returned to your office, sorting through your mail before clocking back in for the rest of your shift. As the day wound down, you finalized your reports and submitted them before checking in for an end of the day meeting. It wasn’t a long meeting, fortunately, and you mostly just had to listen, occasionally giving your input before you were finally released and allowed to clock out.

After powering down your computer for the day, you left the office, heading into the kitchen to get started on making dinner. It was a mostly quiet affair, listening to one of your favorite scary story podcasts while you cooked a simple meal.

Once finished, you sat down to eat, continuing your podcast and listening to the narrator tell stories about the horrors of backpacking through Appalachia, something you would never do solely because of the stories you’d heard. Not that being outdoors was really much of your thing. You were more of an inside cat.

After eating and cleaning up, you made sure the downstairs was locked up and headed up to your bedroom, drawing yourself a nice, relaxing bath with the rest of your open bottle of wine. The bath was less about getting clean and more about relaxing as it was thankfully the weekend and you were now allowed to hide away in your home for two days before returning to the office on Monday morning.

As you soaked in the tub, you thought about your new neighbor. Was he the only one living in that big house? Did he have a family? A partner? Children? Answers that you would definitely not learn tonight but surely you would meet him in passing at some point. Perhaps you would find out then.

Then again, you never really made much of a conscious effort before to get to know your neighbors on more than a surface level, sharing names and basic information like job titles and pleasantries. You’d never invited a neighbor over for dinner nor had been invited over. You preferred it that way.

You had friends, you weren’t looking for any more.

The next day, you slept in, enjoying the warmth of your nest of pillows and cocoon of blankets for as long as you could before your subconscious nagged at you to finally get up and start the day. On a normal day, you would be up by 6 am, making breakfast or taking a shower before you had to clock into work at 8 am. Today however, you slept in until 9 before guilt wracked you for wasting the morning.

You went about your day, making a simple breakfast of eggs, sausage, and some sauteed vegetables. You downed your breakfast with some coffee before deciding today you would get your shopping done. Every weekend, you stocked up on groceries that were running low. After getting ready and donning more appropriate clothing, you ventured into your garage, located on the backside of your townhouse and got into your car.

The drive to the nearest market wasn’t long and you enjoyed the mostly empty streets and mild weather by singing and dancing along to your playlist. Drumming your fingers against the steering wheel to the beat and bobbing your head, you pulled into the parking lot of the market, pulling into a space and putting your car into park before shutting off the engine.

As you got out, you grabbed your bag of reusable totes from the trunk of your car and headed for the door, grabbing a cart and pulling out your list, kept conveniently on your phone. Walking up and down the aisles, you grabbed the items from your list, marking them off as you set them down in the basket.

As you rounded up your shopping, your phone started to vibrate in your hands and you checked the screen, seeing the face of your best friend along with her contact name. A smile crept over your face as you slid the bar across the bottom of the screen to answer, holding the device up to your ear.

“Hi Jiji,” you said softly. “Y/N! Where are you? I’m at your house and —” You let out a sigh as you maneuvered your cart, one-handed, through the store towards the check out area. “Jiji,” you said, trying to hide your exasperation. “I’m at the store. You know you’re supposed to tell me when you’re coming over before you get there, right?” you asked as you got into the queue to wait for an available terminal.

“I know,” your best friend started. “I was in the neighborhood and —”

Your brows furrowed at your best friend’s obvious lie. “You’re never just in the neighborhood, Youngji,” you countered. “Don’t pull that with me.” You heard her click her tongue impatiently. “Okay, you’re right but that’s not why I’m calling. When were you going to tell me you got a new neighbor?” You rolled your eyes as you neared the start of the queue.

“When I saw you tonight,” you answered. “Like a normal person would.” There was silence on the other end. “Oh… well, when will you be home?” she asked, sounding like a bored child. “I’m in line to check out,” you explained. “I have another errand to run and then I’ll be home.” You heard Youngji whine on the other side of the line. “Just let yourself in,” you said with a chuckle. “You know where the spare key is.”

You heard Youngji fumble with something. “Oh you’re right. Let me make sure no one is watching,” she murmured before you heard movement. “Got it!” she said triumphantly. You could hear the sound of her putting the key into the lock and the click of the latch as it unlocked. The sound of the door opening and shutting came over the line before you heard her turn the lock.

“I’m in,” she said in a whisper. “I’m gonna raid your fridge,” she added. You snorted as one of the checkout terminals opened up and you pushed your cart towards it. “It’s empty, so good luck,” you said as you started to unload your times. “I’m checking out now,” you announced as you heard the fridge open. “Boo, you suck,” Youngji whined. “Goodbye,” you continued and hung up, pocketing your phone.

As you continued to scan your items, you glanced up, eyes landing on the person at the self checkout machine across from yours. It was him. Your new neighbor. He glanced up, meeting your eyes. Your cheeks burned at being caught and you quickly offered a polite smile before returning your attention back to scanning and bagging your items.

You could feel his eyes on you and when you glanced back up, you saw them still looking at you as he scanned his own items, bagging them without looking. Seeing him this close, you could see that his eyes were a striking ombre of yellow and green and it caused your breath to catch in your throat. Either he had some really kick ass contact lenses, or he wasn’t human.

Upon meeting your gaze, he offered a mischievous smile, one where you could see that his teeth were slightly off, and definitely not human. The canines were too sharp and a little too long. You lowered your eyes and finished scanning your items, placing them into the reusable bags.

You quickly pulled out your loyalty card, scanning it and hoping for some deals before you started to finish up your transaction. Following the on screen prompts, you pressed the buttons for payment and card before holding your card over the reader until it beeped. Once your receipt printed out, you put your bags into your cart and pushed it away from the check out, not sparing another glance back.

Out in the parking lot, you returned to your vehicle, popping the trunk and placing your bags into the back before shutting the lid and pushing your cart into the cart return area. As you turned, you nearly ran into a cart pushed by none other than your new neighbor who had the same mischievous smirk on his face. “Pardon me,” he said, his voice lower and more honeyed than you were expecting. It simultaneously sent chills up your spine but also sent a wave of calm over you.

He was definitely not human.

“Apologies,” he added as you stepped aside, allowing him to push his cart into the slot behind yours. “D-don’t worry about it,” you stammered as he turned to look at you, those same piercing eyes looking back at you. “I should be going,” you added, taking a step backwards. “You’re my neighbor, aren’t you?” he asked, leaning casually against the metal fence surrounding the cart return.

You nodded slowly as he looked at you. “Y-yeah,” you said breathlessly. A smile spread across his face before he held his hand out for you to shake. “Joshua,” he said in what you assumed was an introduction. You hesitantly took his hand, feeling the heat radiating off him. “Y/N,” you responded in a much softer voice than you intended.

Just as quickly as he took your hand and shook it, he let go, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, putting an emphasis on your name. You couldn’t deny, you liked the way your name sounded when he said it. “You too, Joshua,” you answered. He tilted his head like a curious puppy. “So,” he started, taking a step forward, closer, towards you.

“Do you live alone?”

His question seemed to snap you out of whatever trance you seemed to be in and now that the allure of his smile was no longer clouding your judgement, your entire body was screaming at the danger it sensed. “No,” you lied. Joshua stopped to stare at you. “You don’t live alone?” he asked curiously. You shook your head. “No,” you answered again. “I have a –” you trailed off. What lie could you get away with. A roommate? A parent? A boyfriend? At some point he might notice if no one else showed up.

“Cat,” you finally said. ‘What the fuck?’ Joshua’s confused expression morphed into amusement. “Ahh, a cat.” You mentally scolded yourself. ‘What the fuck was that? How the hell is that going to deter anyone? A fucking cat???’ You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, a cat.”

Silence fell over the two of you before you finally broke it.

“Well, I should be going. Nice to meet you!” you said quickly before turning and making a beeline for your car. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N,” he called. You quickly unlocked your car and got in, shutting and locking the doors before fighting with your seatbelt. Once it clicked into place, you started the car, checking the coast was clear before hastily pulling out of the space and hurrying out of the parking lot as fast as you could without hurting anyone or violating any laws.

Your second errand only took a few minutes and soon, you were pulling into your garage, the door shutting behind you as you got out of your car and started unloading your groceries. Entering your home, you heard the subtle sounds of the TV and deposited your bags on the kitchen island. Turning around, you found Youngji lounging on your couch, remote in hand as she flipped through the channels.

“Welcome home, dear,” she called jokingly from her spot. “How was your day?”

You grimaced as you removed your jacket and moved to hang it up in the small hall near your garage entrance and kicked off your shoes, opting for your house slippers instead. You returned to the kitchen and started unpacking your groceries. “If you’re going to pretend like you live here, you can at least help me put the groceries away,” you said, looking over at her.

Youngji turned off the TV, tossing the remote onto the cushion beside her before getting up with a groan and making her way into your kitchen, wearing a pair of guest slippers. “Did you bring me any snacks?” she asked as she peered into one of the bags. You lightly tapped her on the head with an unopened plastic jar of grated parmesan.

“No snooping,” you said as you continued to pull everything out. “Just unload.”

As she helped, you chatted, talking about your respective weeks. As you started to put your things away, Youngji hopped up onto the kitchen counter, handing you things. “So,” she started as she handed you an unopened bottle of your favorite wine. “Your new neighbor.”

You stood up straight, taking the bottle from her and looking up at her nervously. “What about them?” you asked as nonchalantly as you could, bending over to lay the bottle of wine on its side on the bottom shelf of the fridge. “Have you met them?” Youngji asked as you stood up straight. “Yeah,” you answered vaguely. “I met him.” Youngji’s expression lit up.

“Him? As in singular man? Living next door?”

You looked up at her, noticing the excitement in her eyes. “No,” you said, pointing at her with your finger. “Don’t look at me like that!” Youngji pouted instantly as you continued putting away your perishables. “Oh come on!” she whined as you shut the refrigerator door. “Is he single?” she asked as you moved to start putting away the pantry items.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I didn’t ask.”

Youngji hopped down and moved to lean against the wall next to the pantry opening, arms crossed over her chest. “You met him but didn’t talk about the basics?” she asked. You looked at her as you set a new bag of rice on the shelf. “We didn’t really have a chance to talk,” you admitted. “I met him at the store while I was checking out.”

Youngji narrowed her eyes. “Is that why you hung up on me?” she accused. You shook your head. “No,” you answered. “I hung up on you because I needed both hands to scan my items and put them away. Stop jumping to conclusions,” you added. Youngji stuck her tongue out at you as you finished putting the groceries away.

“Well, what’s he like?” Youngji asked as you moved to grab the non-food items to put away. She followed you through the house as you put away your laundry detergent in the laundry room. She continued to follow you as you took your toiletry refills upstairs to your linen closet.

“His name is Joshua,” you offered when she asked for his name. “That’s as much as I got.” Youngji wandered behind you as you led the way back downstairs. “No job?” she asked. You turned to face her as you reached the kitchen. “I didn’t get to ask and he didn’t offer the information.”

Youngji frowned as you opened the fridge and started to pull out the things you needed to make dinner. Your best friend moved to sit at the kitchen island. “So,” she started as you grabbed the necessary pans and set them on the counter. “What’s for dinner, boss?”

Dinner was a regular affair, sipping on wine as the pasta boiled and chicken cooked. Youngji was great company and always knew how to keep the conversation going, cracking jokes and telling amusing tales of her coworkers’ antics.

After finishing your early dinner, you headed upstairs to get changed and ready to go out. It was Saturday night and twice a month, you accompanied Youngji out to the city to visit her favorite club and let loose. You opted for a fitted, black dress that hugged your curves and fell just above your knees. Paired with the only pair of red bottom shoes you owned and a simple black clutch, you joined your best friend downstairs to put on your shoes and grab your jackets while you waited for the rideshare to arrive.

Youngji had donned a similar fitted dress but in white with a different neckline and long sleeves, over which she wore a black denim cropped jacket and wore black pumps with silver heels. Her clutch, which was a cross body with a chain strap, hung off her shoulder and the body of the purse was a vibrant red. You’d gone more subtle on your makeup but Youngji had, as always, gone bold with a dark smokey eye and nude lip.

Your uber arrived shortly after and Youngji led the way out of your house, letting you close and lock the door behind you. The black, four door sedan had tinted windows but the driver in the front seat matched the picture on the app, as did the license plate. You followed your best friend into the backseat, settling into the black leather interior.

The ride to the club wasn’t far but took longer with the traffic as you neared the heart of the city. As the car pulled up to the entrance of the club, you thanked the driver, handing her a cash tip and getting out of the car, curbside. Youngji joined you on the sidewalk as the car pulled into the flow of traffic and you turned to join the thankfully short queue into the club.

The location of the club was off the main strip of the downtown area so it never got exceedingly busy but it was still always full of people when you arrived. You never had to wait in line for long though and soon you were handing your IDs over to the bouncer and being directed inside where you paid your cover charges. The charge was higher than other clubs, but the higher cover charge meant the drinks were cheaper.

After turning your jackets into the coat room and getting your tickets, which you tucked into the safety of your clutches, you made your way to the bar, keeping a firm hold on Youngji’s hand as she led the way through the throngs of people on the dance floor. The music the DJ played was always a good mix of different genres that always got people dancing. He definitely knew what he was doing.

At the bar, you squeezed between the other patrons, next to your best friend so you could order something simple. There were several bartenders, bustling about as they got drink orders, made drinks, stocked the station, and other usual duties that came with the job. You ordered something with cherries.

When you got your drink, you were surprised to find it was green with green cherries. The bartender, a very attractive man with a black button down under a black vest, gave you a wink as he set the drink down before you. You thanked him but before you could hand him your card, Youngji beat you to it, opening a tab and telling you it was on her tonight.

After getting your drinks, you nursed them at the end of the bar as you looked around for either an empty seat or table. Youngji must have spotted one because she grabbed your hand and started steering you away from the bar and around the dance floor. As you neared the corner, you noticed two empty chairs and quickly snagged them, thankful to find somewhere to sit.

“How is that?” Youngji asked, eyeing your very green drink. You glanced down at it. “It’s good,” you replied over the bass that reverberated through the club and vibrated against your feet. Youngji silently held her hand out for your drink which you handed over. She took a sip, eyes widening as she handed it back. “That’s good, what is it?” she asked. You shrugged as you took another sip. “No idea,” you replied. “I taste sprite and melon though,” you added, taking another sip.

You continued to nurse your drinks as you listened to the music and watched the other patrons. One of the main reasons you came out here was to people-watch. It was fascinating to see how others interacted, especially strangers. When you finished your drink, Youngji got up and went to retrieve two more, bringing back two of the same drink you had received from the bartender.

“It’s some special drink for the night,” Youngji said as she sat down, handing you one of the drinks. “Mean Green or something like that,” she added. You took another sip, enjoying the taste. It was one of those drinks where you could barely taste the alcohol and in your experience with the club scene, you were well aware that drinks that tasted like juice were dangerous.

The alcohol had a way of sneaking up on you.

After downing a second and eventually a third drink, you were loose enough to throw your inhibitions away and join your best friend on the dance floor. The music, a mix of a couple sounds you’d heard in passing, played, drowning out almost all other sound as you enjoyed this time you got to spend with your best friend.

When you first moved to this city after graduating from college, which felt like a lifetime ago, Youngji was one of the first people you met. She worked at your last job. You were both fresh out of college, in debt, and needing work so entry level was the only thing you could find.

Youngji had immediately latched onto you and quickly became your closest work friend. After a few years of attempting to make your way up the corporate ladder, you found a much better paying job and Youngji was the first to encourage you to go for it. When you left, you had expected that your friendship with Youngji wouldn’t last but she continued to text and call, inviting you out and your friendship blossomed into more than just coworkers. You became actual friends.

Eventually, she left that job as well and went in a completely different direction in her career and now you were both settled and comfortable in your careers. Youngji lived in the city in a cute apartment on the edge of downtown that overlooked the river while you lived in a townhouse which had been a gift from your late aunt.

The next logical step now that you were settled was finding someone to share your life with but you weren’t in a rush to find anyone. Youngji was also in that stage where she was looking but not too seriously. You were just enjoying your life and living vicariously.

As the music changed again, Youngji leaned in to speak into your ear. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she said over the music. You nodded to show you understood and told her you’d wait right there. You were having too much fun, feeling the music and dancing. You were well past the stage where you felt embarrassed or too anxious to do anything by yourself.

As your body swayed, your eyes shut and you continued to move to the beat. The lights seemed to mimic the crowd, dancing over the people in time to the music. You started to turn when you felt a warm body press into you from behind. Your eyes snapped open instantly, knowing it was impossible for it to be your best friend. They were too tall.

Turning in their hold, your eyes met those same green-yellow ombre eyes.

“Well, hello, neighbor,” Joshua said, an amused smirk on his face as he looked down at you.

“J-Joshua?” you asked, your voice barely audible over the music. Your body had stopped swaying as you stared back at him. “What’re you doing here?” He tilted his head curiously, those yellow-green eyes staring into your soul and seemingly glowing under the club lights.

“It’s a club, Y/N,” he answered. “I’m here to partake in this…” he trailed off, looking around at the dancing patrons surrounding you. “Revelry.” You stared up at him, heart pounding in your chest and echoing in your ears. “Am I not supposed to be here?” he asked, moving closer until his body was pressed right up against yours.

“Is this your special place? Should I find somewhere else to go and watch the people of this planet drink and make fools of themselves?” he asked, hands skimming over your hips as he drew you closer, holding you tight against him. You shook your head, staring at him wordlessly. “No,” you finally said, breath leaving your lungs as he leaned in closer.

“No,” you said again, clearing your throat and finding the will to push him back. “I’m uh…” you hesitated, closing your eyes and your brow furrowing. The club had started to spin and you were getting dizzier and dizzier by the minute. “Y/N?” Joshua asked, hands gently grabbing yours. “Are you alright?” he asked. You shook your head, attempting to shake yourself out of whatever this was.

You looked up at him as his face came back into focus. “Yeah,” you gasped. “I’m fine. I need to go find my friend. Enjoy your night.” You pulled away from him and started to push through the crowd only for him to catch up to you, gently grabbing your hand. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, all amusement gone from his expression, replaced only with concern.

You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Have a good night, neighbor,” you said, attempting to banter back with him. Whatever it was in your tone seemed to work and a small smile came over his face. “Alright, neighbor.”

You quickly found Youngji and after telling her about your almost spill on the dance floor, she agreed it was time to leave. You left out the part about running into Joshua as you retrieved your jackets while Youngji closed her tab at the bar. Outside, you waited for your rideshare on the sidewalk. The line for the club now extended down the side of the building and around the corner.

Your uber arrived shortly after stepping outside and after dropping Youngji off at her apartment, the driver took you back to your home in the suburbs. You thanked him, handing over an additional tip as you opened your door and stepped out.

The walk up to your front door was slow and sluggish and your body felt hot, despite the cool night air. It was a heat that radiated from deep within you and you couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the alcohol but it didn’t feel quite right. As you unlocked your door, a car passed on the street behind you but you paid it no mind as you let yourself into your home, shutting and locking the door behind you.

You dragged yourself upstairs after checking to make sure your home was locked up and barely stripped yourself of your dress and shoes before collapsing into bed where exhaustion and sleep overtook you. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the run in with your handsome neighbor, but your dreams that night were weird to say the least.

Weirder than usual.

When you woke the following morning, you couldn’t really remember much of them other than your neighbor starred in them and they were accompanied by that same deep seated heat that had thankfully dissipated by morning. The rest of your weekend was spent doing chores. You cleaned your house, did the laundry, and the dishes.

The morning had started out very gray and by afternoon, the clouds hadn’t dispersed and a light rain had settled in. You decided to light a few candles and camp out in the front room in front of your TV while you folded your laundry and caught up on your favorite show.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion and soon you were falling into bed.

Your sleep was plagued with the same strange dreams with Joshua. You weren’t sure what it all meant and you weren’t able to learn anything else as you woke up abruptly when your alarm cut through your subconscious. It was still dark out when you pulled yourself out of bed to shower and start your day.

It was the one day a week you were required to be in the office. Your job was mostly work from home but you had to go to the office every Monday for in person weekly meetings which were always done on Mondays. The commute to the office was the worst part, driving downtown, parking in the company parking garage, and making your way to the lobby and then up to the fifteenth floor.

The day dragged on but you were thankful that it was just today that you would be required to go in and then you could lounge about at home and get your work done. When the clock finally read half past four, you were beyond relieved to be leaving and heading home.

The commute back was much more enjoyable due to less traffic and you weren’t required to head back for another week.

You pulled into your garage and got out, letting yourself into the house where you were quick to rid yourself of your jacket and shoes. As you headed into your living room, you caught sight of the mail truck outside and sighed. ‘Right,’ you told yourself. ‘The mail.’

You retrieved your shoes and put them on at the front door, stepping out into the cool air and making your way down the steps. As you were halfway to the gate, you noticed a familiar face at the mailboxes and stopped in your tracks. Joshua. You were contemplating turning around and head back in to wait until he was gone but when his eyes flickered up and he caught sight of you, it was too late.

You committed and continued down the pathway, opening your gate and stepping out onto the sidewalk. “Hey neighbor,” Joshua said as he unlocked his slot, pulling out his mail and shutting it before stepping aside and allowing you to do the same. He sorted through his mail, checking to make sure it was all assigned to him while you pulled your own bills and other junk from your little metal box.

“Hey,” you said softly. As you shut the small door, locking it, Joshua spoke up. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked, his voice sounding genuinely concerned. You looked up at him. With a smile you nodded. “Yeah,” you answered. “Just tired from the day. Had to go into the office today.” He glanced down, taking note of your attire. “So where do you work?” he asked,

“Just at a firm downtown,” you answered. “I mostly work from home but once a week, I have to go into the office. Makes my Mondays just that more awful,” you joked with a light chuckle. Joshua mimicked your amusement. “What do you do?” he asked, sounding mildly curious.

You spent the next couple minutes explaining the nuances of your job and what you did on a day to day basis. “It sounds much more tedious than it is,” you added. “It’s not a glamorous or highly important job,” you added. “But it pays really well. Allows me to live a comfortable life.” Joshua nodded slowly.

“And rent such a beautiful home?” he asked, a smile gracing his face. You shook your head. “No,” you answered. “I actually own my townhome.” His expression shifted to awe. “Your salary covers your mortgage?” he asked, sounding impressed. You shook your head. “No,” you answered. “I actually inherited this place from my aunt,” you explained.

Joshua leaned against the gate, glancing back at your place. “It’s a beautiful home,” he said with a smile. You echoed his expression. “My aunt loved this place. She took great care of it and actually renovated it from the bottom to the top.” Joshua glanced down at you. “She did a great job.”

You looked up to meet his gaze. Silence fell as you stared at one another. Finally you broke eye contact and cleared your throat. “So, uh,” you stared. “What about you? What do you do for work?” Joshua’s smile shifted into a smirk for the briefest of moments but before he could answer, you heard the sound of a phone ringing. He apologized softly, digging into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

His eyes read the contact on the screen and you watched as his brow furrowed slightly. He finally looked up at you. “Sorry,” he said with a kind smile. “I have to take this. It was nice talking to you,” he continued. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he added before turning away and heading towards his own gate, answering his phone and holding it to his ear.

You watched as he headed towards his front door and disappeared into his home before making your way back to your own front door. Once inside, you went about your night, making dinner, eating, and then settling down for bed. As you lay there, your mind wandered back to Joshua.

You’d never really bothered to get to know your neighbors before, at least nothing past surface level.

Perhaps just this once, you could make an exception.

Over the next couple days, you continued to run into Joshua, whether it be at the mailbox or the store. You managed to chat with him each time and learned more and more about him. He worked in the entertainment industry but kept the details vague which you could understand for that line of work. You also learned that apart from being extremely good-looking, kind, and hardworking, that he was also very single and had signed at least a two year lease on the townhouse next door. Since it was just him, he’d turned one of the extra bedrooms into a home gym.

He seemed almost as interested in you as you were in him but despite the occasional flirting, he never really made a move. He also never said or did anything that made you feel uncomfortable and after a couple weeks of interacting with him, his inhuman qualities started to feel less shocking and the feeling of alertness or danger that had accompanied him started to dissipate into the background.

You knew he wasn’t human but that didn’t seem to bother you or anyone else around the two of you.

Nearly two months had passed by since Joshua had moved in. It was Friday which meant the weekend was coming up. Youngji was coming over as planned for dinner and Joshua had managed to catch you outside while you were getting your mail.

Joshua had started a new home project now that the weather was starting to warm up and you caught him in the middle of gardening. He was dressed in an old pair of jeans, the knees stained with grass and dirt, a plain white tee shirt, also smeared with bits of dirt tucked into his jeans and a dirty pair of work boots. He was leaning against the fence that separated your yards, a pair of gardening gloves on his hands, and a trowel in one hand.

You had been in the midst of conversation when you heard a car door shut and glanced out towards the street to find Youngji gathering her bag from the passenger seat of her car. She looked up as she reached the gate and her eyes went wide. “Youngji!” you said, waving her over. This was the first time she had come over while Joshua was out so this was the first time she’d ever seen your neighbor.

“This is Joshua,” you said as she let herself in, staring wide-eyed at your neighbor as she approached. Joshua removed one of his gloves and extended a hand for her to shake. She slowly took it, eyes still wide and staring at him, almost as if she were in a trance. Joshua seemed to have that effect on most people he met. She finally shook herself out of it. “N-nice to meet you,” she murmured, retracting her hand quickly after shaking Joshua’s hand a couple times.

The interaction seemed a little cold from your perspective. “Joshua’s started a new project,” you said, trying to break the tension that started to build between the three of you. “He’s built a flower bed here,” you explained. “What are you planting again?” you asked him directly.

Youngji listened silently as Joshua explained what he was planting in the flower bed before explaining the other plans for the yard he had. Throughout the whole thing, Youngji kept staring at him, occasionally glancing at you. Finally, you excused yourself and Youngji, wishing Joshua a good rest of the day and leading your best friend into your home.

Once inside and the door shut, you rounded on Youngji.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded as she kicked her shoes off and carried her bag over to the couch, dropping it on the cushion and sat down, covering her mouth with her hand. “Ji?” you asked, walking over to the couch. “What is it?”

Youngji looked up at you. “Do you have any idea who that was?” she asked. You nodded your head slowly. “Uh, yeah? That was Joshua. My new neighbor,” you answered. Youngji shook her head. “No,” she said. “I mean, yeah. He is your new neighbor but do you know who he is?” she asked. You stared at her, confusion spreading across your face.

“No?” you finally answered. Youngji let out a laugh, not of amusement but of astonishment. “Your new neighbor, the boy next door,” she started as she pulled her hand away from her mouth. “Is a porn star.”

Your stomach flipped at her revelation. “What?” you asked incredulously. “A p-porn star? No,” you said, shaking your head. “There’s no way. You have to be mistaken.” Youngji watched as you crossed in front of her to take a seat on the other part of the sofa. “He is,” she retorted. “He’s actually a really popular one. There aren’t that many alien porn stars out there,” she continued and you sat up, holding up your hand to silence her.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted. “What did you just say? A what porn star?”

Youngji stared at you, a deadpan expression on her face. “An alien one,” she finally answered. “An alien porn star?” you repeated before bursting into laughter. “How do you even know this?” you finally asked when your laughter subsided. You watched red creep up your friend’s neck and face. “That’s not the point,” she said nervously, fidgeting in her seat.

“The point is that your neighbor is a porn star from another planet.”

Later that night after Youngji left, you were sitting on your couch, a movie playing in the background but you weren’t paying attention. Your mind was elsewhere. You glanced over the back of the couch towards your office where you could see your computer sitting on your desk in the darkness of the room.

Your curiosity was peaked but you weren’t even sure if you wanted to act on it. You weren’t exactly afraid of what you might find, but more afraid that you would like it. Youngji hadn’t given you much to go on other than a link. You stared at the computer for a moment longer before sighing and getting up.

Entering your office, you grabbed your laptop and took it back to your couch, setting it on the coffee table and producing a pair of earbuds that you paired to the laptop. Grabbing your phone, you opened your texts with Youngji and typed the link she had sent you into the address bar of your browser exactly as it appeared in the text.

It took you to a dark webpage with three large electric green tentacles, curling up around a singular rectangular box with rounded corners. Glowing and dripping green text read the word enter with a little green arrow pointing to the right. You hovered your mouse over it, checking the link properly to make sure you typed it correctly.

“Just do it,” you whispered to yourself. You clicked on the arrow and the page seemingly refreshed. The page had changed and now you were greeted with the same black page, green tentacles and an empty box with a typing cursor. Glowing and dripping green text instructed you to type in a name before allowing you to continue.

You pondered for a moment. You could keep the name vague but something deep down in you wanted Joshua to know that you knew about his career in the entertainment industry. He’d been purposefully vague when telling you and now you knew why. Alien porn star wasn’t exactly a career you’d go around advertising. Smiling to yourself, you typed into the box and clicked the little arrow next to your new display name.

Immediately, you were met with the home page. It was like the rest of the website you’d seen so far. Dark background, glowing green text but instead of the three large tentacles in the middle of the page, extending up from the bottom of the screen, there were a bunch of smaller tentacles peeking out from around the edge of the browser.

At the top of the page was a banner with a logo for the name of the website. It read Xeno-rotic in that same glowing green text that dripped down. Under it were various navigation buttons ranging from ‘home’ to ‘contact.’ Under that was a small search bar with a little green magnifying glass. You started to scroll, checking out the home page.

It displayed a list of active streams, a thumbnail with the name of the stream, the user who was live with a little slow blinking green dot, as well as a small description and a little green eye icon next to how many viewers were currently watching. You scrolled down to the bottom of the page where a little simple white arrow pointed to the right, indicating a next page.

Instead of clicking, you scrolled back up to the top. When you reached the top of the list, it refreshed and a couple new streams showed up. Once of which was at the very top and quickly gaining a lot of viewers. You looked at the username and checked your text from Youngji. The username of the top stream matched the one she had sent you.

You mouse hovered over the thumbnail and for a moment, you sat unmoving, unblinking as you contemplated just closing the whole thing and pretending this never happened but your curiosity was too strong and you’d already come this far. Taking a deep breath, you clicked on the stream and waited with baited breath as the page loaded. It was a lot like the home page but instead of a list, you were greeted with an embedded video player. The screen of the player was black with a circular loading icon, a glowing green one.

Just as you were about to back out and close your browser, the blackness flickered away and you were greeted by the sight of a figure moving on screen. “Sorry, sorry,” a familiar voice said. “For those of you just joining, the audio cut out so I’m trying to fix that.” Your heart skipped a beat as your neighbor’s face came into view, from the nose up. He was very close to the screen but you could tell he was smiling just from the way his eyes turned into crescents.

“I’ll have it fixed in a second,” he added before disappearing. You could see below the video was a white chat box with black text. It was going crazy with chats from various users. Off to the side of the player was a small box displaying a few names with little alien icons next to them. Above the names was the same green text that read “supporters.” You assumed it was some sort of payment system. If you paid so much, your name was shown in that tier.

Joshua’s face reappeared in frame and he peeked over the edge of the desk his computer was sitting on. “How’s that?” he asked. His voice was clear and the video also seemed clearer. Several people in the chat agreed with your personal sentiments, applauding him for fixing the audio and video feeds so swiftly. Joshua chuckled as he stood up and you could now see he had changed out of his gardening clothes. He was wearing a black tee and a pair of light gray sweatpants.

The chat went absolutely feral over this revelation.

You watched with amusement as Joshua leaned in to read the chat. “Oh is that so?” he asked, raising a brow, a playful smile appearing on his face. “We’ve only just started, chat, and already you’re demanding I remove my clothes?” he continued, a teasing laugh leaving his lips, “At least buy me dinner, first.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at watching him banter with his viewers. It wasn’t unlike the way he teased and flirted with you. He was a natural at it. You watched as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes scanning the chat. “No, no,” he said softly. “It’s not out yet. It should be coming in the next couple months. We finished filming a few months ago. There was a lot of post production they needed to do before it’s ready,” he explained and you wondered what he was talking about and started reading the chat.

t3ntacleluver101: how was filming? It’s been a while right? knottyxbunny: hi shua! xen0ph1liac: i love you shua b34mmeupdaddy: beam me up daddy asstr0nut: will physical copies be released or will it only be available for streaming?

Based on the comments you could make out as the chat moved at lightning speed, Joshua must have finished filming something. He confirmed this as he answered some of the questions you had seen.

“No, it’ll be released for streaming first and then physical copies will go out to adult stores. You’ll also be able to buy it directly from the company website,” he explained, answering that question first. You watched as he reached up, scratching the back of his head. “Filming was different,” he continued. “It’s been a while since I’d been in front of a professional crew,” he added with a chuckle. “I’ve been doing cam stuff for so long that I got used to just being in front of a camera on my own. It was weird having to act again,” he continued stretching before leaning forward, resting his chin in his hand as he read more.

“I’m seeing a lot of familiar usernames,” he said with a smile. “Hi bunny,” he added. You watched his eyes scan the screen and assumed that he might have a list of all the viewers on his end. You watched his brows raise before a smirk came over his face.

“Here’s a few new ones,” he started. “Hi monster smasher sixty-nine, I hope I said that right. Here’s another, black hole bandit,” he read, letting out a chuckle. “Clever,” he continued. “He loves me not, with a k. Oh, a play on words. How cute,” he continued. “Scum lord four-two-one, I’m a monster for you, and…” he trailed off as he read the next one, his grin widening.

“Neighbor six-eight-three,” he read your username aloud and your heart skipped a beat as he looked into the camera. “Hello, neighbor,” he said and you swore he knew it was you. “Welcome to the stream everyone. I guess I’ve taken up most of the beginning of this,” he said sitting back in his seat, slowly swiveling back and forth as he continued to read the screen.

You watched as his hands moved and he did something with the mouse. “There,” he said, turning his head slightly. “Now I can see the chat and viewer list on this screen,” he said, sitting back once more. “For those of you that are new,” he started as he rested his hands behind his head, sitting back with his thighs spread, looking every bit as comfortable as he probably felt.

“I like to do things a little differently here. Most cam stars will only take suggestions from paying viewers,” he explained. “I don’t think that’s fair. So I will take suggestion and direction from paying viewers, of course, but don’t think that if you can’t pay, that I won’t listen to you as well. I want everyone to have a good time and enjoy the show,” he said with a smile. “It’s why I don’t charge an entry fee like some of the other stars here. I’m not shaming them by any means,” he continued.

“Everyone’s gotta do what they can to make money,” he added. “I just personally don’t like to do that.” You watched as he continued to swivel, turning his focus to the screen with the chat on it. “Oh come on now,” he said playfully. “Bunny, Xeno, Beam,” he said. “Be kind to our new guests. Don’t hog the chat. Remember what happened last time? I had to mute you because you wouldn’t stop spamming. Don’t make me do that again.”

A wave of heat washed over you, arousal shooting straight to your core at the sound of his voice. His voice was soft but his tone was very commanding and stern. Joshua lowered his hands, resting them on his thighs as he continued to read. You tore your gaze away from him to look at the chat as well.

b34mmeupdaddy: sorry alien daddy knottyxbunny: sorry. I’ll be good xen0ph1liac: just wanna express my luv ):

You heard Joshua chuckle and looked back at him. “It’s okay Beam, and you better Bunny. You know what happens when you don’t behave. I know Xeno, and I appreciate it, but we have six new viewers,” he said with a smile. “Don’t be shy, say hi, he encouraged. You watched as the others said hello and hi in the chat.

imamonster4u: howdy 🤠 heluvsmekn0t34: hi hi m0nstersmasher69: greetings scumlord421: yo blackh0leb4ndit: hey 👋

You realized that you were the sixth and you hesitated to type. Joshua noticed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he held back the urge to smirk. “Come on, neighbor,” he said. “You’re holding up the chat.” Your fingers hovered over the keys of your keyboard and you quickly typed out a response and deleted it before typing another in and pressing enter. Your whole body felt like it was on fire.

neighbor683: i don’t like being told what to do

You watched as Joshua sat up straight, leaning in to rest his chin in his hand, a smile spreading across his face as he read your message. “Oh, is that right, neighbor?” he asked, turning to look at the camera. “Don’t like being told what to do? How interesting.” The chat went wild, other viewers rushing to repeat the same words but Joshua’s attention was on the camera, almost as if he was staring past it and into your eyes. “I’ll have to remember that,” he finally said and pulled away.

He didn’t waste any more time as payments started coming in with suggestions as well as the chat asking him to show more, to talk, to do anything. You merely observed, watching as he gave a show, slowly moving his hands over his body until one rested over the growing bulge in his sweatpants.

“You’ve been so patient,” he said, eyes flitting over to the chat but speaking to no one in particular.

Or so you thought.

“Wonder what I am, where I’m from, what I do,” he continued, his hand moving over his erecting and palming himself through the thick material of his sweats. “Wonder what’s under here,” he added, gesturing to his crotch. “I look human enough,” he continued. “But I’m far from it.”

You watched as he rested his head back against his chair headrest, his chest slowly rising and falling as his breathing started to grow heavier. “You wanna see it?” he asked, the hint of a smirk on his face. “Wanna see what I’m hiding under here?”

You could see the chat moving at hyperspeed as the viewers threw out their own suggestions and pleaded with him to take something off. His hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats and you could see a peek of his underwear. You watched his hand move under the material, no doubt fingers wrapping around his shaft and slowly starting to pump himself.

You were on the edge of your seat, eyes glued to your screen as you watched him, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips started to buck, fucking his fist a little faster. You watched as a large payment, some four figures, appeared on screen with a single request: show us.

Joshua let out a breathless chuckle, his free hand grabbing his waistband. “As you wish.” he said and you watched, lips parted in awe as he pushed his sweats and underwear down, pulling his cock free from the confines. Or what you could only assume was his cock.

Despite his eyes, the teeth, and the overall feeling that Joshua was far from human, he was still human looking enough that when you looked at him, you could justify that he was wearing contacts and had fake teeth but when you saw what he was hiding under his clothes, at least his pants, all justification of him being human was thrown out the window.

In his hand was something that resembled a cock, just not a human one.

The base of it rested against a slit telling you that whatever this was, it was retractable. Meaning it withdrew inside of him when not in use. The color of it was what threw you. The base, which was slightly bulbous, was a deep crimson. The shaft was veiny and quite girthy but it also had small ribbed like patterns that wrapped around.

As your eyes were drawn up the shaft, the color faded from the deep crimson color to a lighter, more pale red. When you reached the head, you finally let out a soft gasp. It was a very soft pink. The absolute tip of his cock was a darker pink. The head was pointed, almost like an arrow shape, the base of the head slightly flared. It was like nothing you’d ever seen before and would probably ever see.

From base to tip, it was probably a good seven inches, so it wasn’t massive but you were certain that it would definitely fill whatever hole he decided to put it in. You watched his hand glide up the shaft towards the head and noticed a small bead of a translucent, pink liquid, almost like a pink syrup, drip from the slit of his cock. ‘Precum?’ you wondered to yourself.

You watched as he gathered the viscous liquid and spread it along his cock, making his hand glide smoother. Joshua let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke himself, hand moving a little faster. It was a mesmerizing sight. The way his precum seemed to shimmer in the light of his room. You cou;dn’t seem to look away. As another bead of the pink precum appeared, you wondered what it tasted like.

Before you could stop yourself, your fingers were typing into the chat. Joshua’s eyes opened as you hit enter and he slowed his movements so he could focus on reading. You watched as he lifted his head and stared at the screen with the chat on it. “Taste it?” he asked, curiously. He turned to look at the camera. You typed quickly into the chat.

neighbor683: have you ever tasted your own precum before?

Joshua let out a chuckle. “I have,” he said with a nod before turning to look at the camera. “Do you want to taste it, neighbor? You wanna come over and see what my cock tastes like?” Your thighs pressed together on their own, as if you weren’t in control of your body. You didn’t care about the rest of the chat at this point and you weren’t sure if Joshua did either.

neighbor683: how about you come over here instead

Joshua let out another chuckle, his hand moving up and down his cock again, spreading more of the precum. “You want me to come over?” he asked, his head falling back against his headrest again. “Want me to come over and fuck that cute, tight little human cunt?”

The chat was going wild over your interaction but you didn’t care as you typed another response.

neighbor683: do it. I dare you.

Joshua let out a moan, low and pornographic as his cock twitched and he came onto his stomach. Thick ropes of milky pink painted his golden skin as he continued to pump his hand up and down, making sure to get everything out. You watched, eyes wide and underwear sticking to you, as his chest rose and fell, his breathing erratic and heavy.

The chat was still going off when he finally opened his eyes and lifted his head. “I wasn’t expecting to cum so soon,” he said softly as he sat up and reached off screen for something, producing a few tissues which he used to clean himself off with. “I’ll have to take another shower,” he said with an amused smirk as he wiped his stomach and hand. His cock had gone flaccid and started to retreat back inside his body. He pulled his underwear and pants back up, hiding it from view.

“Let me wash my hands really quick,” he said as he got to his feet.

He disappeared for a few moments, all the while, you sat there, staring at your screen in disbelief as the chat demanded to know what was going on. You saw your username being thrown around a few times. Without saying anything, you closed the browser, your screen going back to your desktop. Wordlessly, you shut your laptop, got to your feet and carried the device back to your office.

Setting it on your desk, you glanced out the window where you could see Joshua’s yard, the small flower garden barely visible in the darkness. As you shut your blinds, you headed back out into the living room, not noticing the dark shadow that crossed his yard and hopped the fence.

As you grabbed your empty cup from the coffee table, you were unaware of the footsteps ascending your front steps. It wasn’t until three sharp knocks rang out from your front door that you knew someone was there. You looked up from the sink. Had Joshua decided to make good on your dare? Or was he here to reprimand you?

You hesitated before wiping your hands on a towel and walked over to the front door. You knew it was Joshua without checking and unlocked the door, pulling it open and bracing for impact.

There he stood on your porch, still dressed in the same sweats and black tee. As the door opened, he turned to look at you, those piercing yellow-green eyes meeting your gaze. Nothing was said for a moment before he took the chance to look you over, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, leaning against your doorframe. You swallowed thickly. “Look,” you started. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have watched—”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You looked up at him. “I… I don’t know,” you answered. “Are… aren’t you upset?” Joshua stared at you before letting out a laugh. “Upset? That my attractive neighbor now knows I’m a sex worker? No,” he answered. “And since you just sat there and watched from start to finish, I’m going to assume you aren’t upset?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No,” you answered. “Good,” Joshua replied. “So, you still want me to come over?” he asked, his tone lowering. Excitement coursed through you at the prospect of seeing in person what you’d seen on your screen. “I uh,” you started. “Don’t you need some time to … you know?”

Joshua chuckled as he leaned in closer. “You’re really cute when you’re flustered,” he said. “I’m not human,” he started. “Give me like five minutes and I’ll be more than ready to go.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “Do you wanna come back in five minutes or—”

“Just let me in and eat you out already,” he said with a smirk. You could feel your arousal pooling in your panties. “Besides,” he added as you stepped back, letting him into your home. “It smells like you could use some release.” You stared up at him in shock as he shut the door behind him. “Alien, remember?” he said, tapping his nose.

You watched him look around your living room. “Nice place,” he said with a nod. He looked down, meeting your gaze and neither of you moved or spoke for a moment. “So,” he started. “We gonna do this right here on the floor or you wanna show me to your room?”

Without any more prompting, you took his hand and led him up the stairs, leading him down the hall to your bedroom. Inside, you watched him look around curiously. “You can tell so much about a person by what they decorate their room with,” he said softly as he neared your bed, running the tips of his fingers over your bedspread.

You walked over as he turned towards you and let out a laugh as you pushed him down onto the bed, falling onto his butt with a bounce. “You’re so eager,” he said with a chuckle. You started to climb onto the bed, straddling his lap. “Just right into it, huh?” he whispered as your hands rested on his shoulders. You could feel his move up your back. “Have you watched any of my films?” he asked, his voice still soft. When you shook your head no, he smiled. “Good,” he said with a nod.

“I’d rather you didn’t have any expectations. The way I fuck in front of a camera is not how I do it off screen,” he explained, his hands sliding down your back and moving to your waist. “Do you have a safeword?” he asked, his voice still soft. “Cherries,” you whispered. Joshua reached up, cupping your cheek. “Good,” he replied. “Tell me what you like,” he continued, his hand sliding down the side of your neck, watching how you reacted, head tilting back slightly.

His fingers wrapped around your neck and you let out a moan as he squeezed gently. “Choking, got it,” he said, his voice slightly amused. “Anything else?” he asked, his hand sliding down to your chest and smoothing over your breast. “Dom-” your voice cut off. “What was that?” he asked. You licked your lips, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Dominate me.”

The minute the words left your lips, Joshua had done a complete 180, flipping you onto your back on the mattress and hovering over you. “Are you sure you want that?” he asked softly, eyes searching your face. You nodded slowly. “Yes,” you breathed out. “Take me.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything else as Joshua’s lips crashed against yours, muffling a gasp as his hands wandered. He pulled back briefly. “Can I take this off?” he asked, gently tugging at your top. You nodded. “Take it all off, please,” you replied. Joshua chuckled as you pulled him into another kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

His spit was different from your own. Whereas yours was watery, his was thicker, more viscous. It had a slight taste to it. Something you couldn’t place. It was almost tangy but oh so subtle. Joshua’s hands pulled your shirt up and he broke away to pull it off entirely, tossing it aside as his eyes drank in your appearance. “I like this,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the black lace of your bra.

“But I’d like to take it off,” he added, looking to you for permission. You granted it with a nod and sat up, helping him undo the garment so he could slip it off and toss it aside. He guided you back down onto the bed, lips leaving a trail of kisses down the side of your neck to your collar. He continued, kissing down your chest, stopping to swirl the tip of his tongue around one of your nipples before continuing on until his lips met the waistband of your shorts.

He lifted his head but before he could ask, you were shimmying out of both your shorts and underwear, tossing them aside. Joshua let out a chuckle as he placed his hands on your knees, pushing your thighs apart. His eyes swept downward, taking in your nude form until they settled on the space between your thighs, your arousal glistening in the dim light of your bedside lamp.

You watched as his tongue slipped out to wet his lips. “I could probably just slide right in,” he said softly. “But where’s the harm in having a little taste,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye as he lowered himself onto his stomach, head between your legs. He pushed your thighs further apart, fingers digging into your flesh. “Just a little taste,” he repeated.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue met your clit, dragging slowly over it. On the surface, his tongue looked a lot like a humans but now that you could feel it, you could feel what felt like millions of small spines, like a cat's tongue only on a much smaller scale. It felt incredible and each pass over your clit had your back arching off the mattress as you moaned loudly, the sound unrestrained in the privacy of your bedroom.

True to his word, Joshua only had a small taste, groaning against you as he lapped at your essence. When he pulled back, he sat back on his heels and tugged his shirt off, dropping it aside before also shuffling out of his pants and underwear. The same cock you’d seen on the live stream was barely peeking out of the slit but quickly pushed its way out.

Joshua glanced up at you, a smirk on his lips. “You wanna taste it?” he asked, drawing your attention. You looked back down at his cock before nodding, your eye watching the way the small bead of pinkish precum caught the light. Joshua swiped his thumb over the slit, catching the liquid and brought his hand to your face, offering it to you.

Opening your mouth, you stuck your tongue out and Joshua let out a low chuckle before smearing the fluid over your tongue. Immediately you closed your mouth, swallowing. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Most human precum was salty but this was almost… fruity. There was a distinct taste of fruit, maybe a berry but you couldn’t fully place it. One thing was certain tho.

It definitely tasted like it looked.

There was a dull tingle that accompanied the taste and it started where the precum made contact with your tongue but started to slowly spread across your whole tongue and soon your mouth. It slowly spread down your throat, into your stomach and extending further until it settled low in your belly. A heat started to radiate from your belly, spreading throughout your whole body.

Joshua watched as your breathing started to quicken, your heart hammering in your chest. Arousal started to drip down and seep into your bedspread. “What is that?” you asked, referring to the tingling heat. Joshua chuckled. “It’s a natural aphrodisiac,” he explained. “My species secretes it during foreplay to prolong intercourse.”

He leaned over, his fingers wrapping around your throat. “You still want this?” he asked, to which you nodded. “Then do exactly what I tell you,” he said before roughly rolling you onto your stomach. He pulled your hips back, pulling you onto your knees. You felt his hand on your back between your shoulder blades, pushing your chest down. “Stay just like that,” he said in your ear as he moved your arms under your head. “You might want to hold on, baby,” he added as he guided the flared head of his cock to your dripping slit.

You felt the pointed tip enter you and let out a gasp before the rest of the head of his cock followed, pushing into you with ease. Your fingers dug into the sheets as he slowly eased his way in, your walls welcoming the intrusion as he stretched them. You let out a long, low moan as he bottomed out, the bulbous base kissing your entrance and the head of his cock pressing against your cervix. How he even fit inside you was beyond you but it felt even better than you imagined.

Joshua gave you a few moments to adjust before he started moving, setting a slow, steady pace. He had a firm grip on your hips as he thrust into you, the base of his cock hitting your lips with a wet smacking sound. You let out a cry of pleasure as he thrust into you harshly, testing your limits. “Just as warm and tight as I thought, he groaned, picking up the pace.

Each thrust had your toes curling, stars clouding your vision. Pure, unbridled pleasure coursed through you, the aphrodisiac running its course and making you more pliant and increasing your arousal. Joshua’s strength and stamina was a surprise to be sure but he wasn’t human so it wasn’t all too surprising.

“You had a lot to say earlier,” he growled as he wrapped his fingers around your neck from behind and lifted your head, his chest meeting your back as he leaned over you. “But you can’t say anything now. Does it feel good? Do you like how my cock feels inside you?”

You could only mewl and moan in response which only further fueled Joshua’s monologue. “Have I already fucked you dumb, sweetheart?” he panted into your ear, pounding into you from behind. “So pathetic and dumb just from a little bit of alien cock? What a good human slut. Are you gonna be good for me?” he asked, fingers tightening around your neck. You nodded wordlessly, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Gonna be a good girl and take it all?” he whispered, holding back a moan as your walls clenched around him. “Mhmm,” you moaned. Joshua let out a growl, hips slamming into you now. The base of his cock was trying to breach your hole and each attempt had you crying out in both pain and pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Be good and let me in.” With one final thrust, you came, tumbling over the edge as he managed to push the base of his cock into you, locking into place as he came, pumping you full of the same thick milky release you’d seen paint his stomach during the live stream.

“That’s it,” he mumbled as his cock twitched inside you, pumping even more cum. You let out a whine as you felt a slight ache from between your thighs. “Stay still,” Joshua murmured in your ear, his grip on your throat loosening. “Stay still, baby.”

A moan ripped from your throat as you felt the base of his cock start to swell. “What’s that?” you mumbled. You tried to push yourself up but Joshua gently forced you back down. “Just stay still, okay baby? Be good for me.” You did as he asked, receiving praise for your obedience.

After a couple more moments, everything seemed to stop. Chancing a glance downwards, you could see that your lower stomach was slightly distended. Swollen almost. “That was a lot of cum,” Joshua murmured, pressing a couple of soft kisses to your cheek. “But you did so well. Took everything I gave you.” You whined, trying to shift under him but he held your hips still.

“You can’t do that. We’re locked together. If you try to pull away, you’ll only hurt yourself or me. Just stay right there,” he cooed. “What do you mean, locked together?” you asked. “Remember the knot?” he asked softly. You shook your head. “What knot?”

“At the base of my cock is a knot. When I came, I pushed it inside you,” he explained. A brief flash of pain shot through you at the memory. You did remember that. “And then it started to swell,” he continued. “Well, now it’s swollen and locked in place. If I try to pull out, it’ll only hurt. So we have to wait for the swelling to go down before I can pull out,” he added.

You sighed, resting your cheek against the sheets. “How long will that take?” you asked as he gently caressed your thighs, massaging your muscles. “About an hour or so,” he murmured nonchalantly. “An hour?” you asked incredulously, lifting your head. “Mhmm,” he hummed. “About an hour and then you’ll need to go to the bathroom to get all of that out of you,” he added, reaching a hand around to press against your stomach. “And then we can go again,” he said with a smile as he nuzzled against your shoulder.

“I’m not done with you just yet.”

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lostinlovingrevery · 2 days ago

Text

Loveuary Challenge! - I Think I Love You

Worst! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: Here's my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt and @lubdubology's Loveuary Challenge! I picked Worst Logan cause he's my boo rn <3, also I sorta but not really based it off the song "I Think I love You" by the Partridge Family! It just been stuck in my head!

Plot: Logan has a crush on the florist in the neighborhood...

Warnings: SMUT, and fluff :), MDNI, PiV sex, Logan being an anxious baby girl, Wade being a nuisance, a lil angst cause of Logan self-loathing

Word Count: 5650

Logan stared at the door of the apartment building, his hands felt shaky, and his stomach turned. He felt like all the adamantium that had merged into his bones had melted and pooled into his feet, keeping him from stepping outside.

The Wolverine, the toughest son of a bitch out there

Frozen in place because he’s nervous to talk to a woman.

Pathetic.

He swears he could hear Wade right now, taunting him, calling him names.

“Whiskey dick, whiskey dick, whiskey dick-OW!”

He turned his head, annoyance clear on his face, shoving his hand in Wade's face which had become annoyingly close to his, and pushed him away. Apparently, he zoned out in his anxiety-ridden panic so much he didn’t notice Wade stalking him. “Shut the hell up.” He growled, shaking his head, turning back to the door. He took a deep breath, pushed the handle of the door and stepped outside in the cold February air.

He didn’t like the cold, but at least the fresh air seemed to help clear his head, as he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way down the street, to you. He knew where you would be, as you are almost every day. He has your routine remembered down to the second - though hopefully you haven’t noticed that.

The colorful florist shop came into view quickly, seeing it was only right down the street from the apartment Logan was hopefully temporarily residing in. He caught sight of you, wonderful, lovely, gorgeous you, and his heart started beating faster.

He met you pretty quickly after he regrettably agreed to live with Wade until he could get on his feet. He’d been walking the block, the streets of the neighborhood every day to get familiar with them, and hopefully find a job. He bumped into you- well actually, he caught you.

You were up on a ladder, fixing the marquee sign of your shop, changing out the words of the previous promotion you were offering for your flowers, and putting up the new sale. Logan was watching you- you immediately caught his eye from the way the sunlight glowed around you. One misstep down the ladder and you nearly took a tumble to the concrete- but he stepped in and caught you in his arms, bridal-like in how he held you- like a true hero.

God, you were so sweet, so flustered. You thanked him a million times, and gave him some flowers as appreciation. A bouquet of Hyacinths. He felt silly as man to be taking flowers from someone…But he couldn’t say no to you, not with how you made over him, how your hand touched his arm, how you fixed the collar of his flannel and pressed your hand to his chest. That pretty smile, those gorgeous eyes….

He was smitten from then on.

Something drew him to you, every day. An urge to see your smile, to hear your voice. A strange comfort in a world that was similar to his but not-quite-his and it had put him on edge.

He came home that day he met you and Wade immediately knew what was up.

“Oh, I see you ran into a flower girl.” He grins, eyeing the bouquet in Logan's hand. Logan frowned, quaking a brow. “The lovely lady at the florist shop down the street, yes? She’s a good friend of mine. You recognize her in the picture?” Wade nods to the polaroid that was sitting in a frame, burnt and torn from the incident with the TVA, now carefully preserved. Logan glanced at it and recognized your smiling face.

“I just helped her out. “ Logan mutters, a shake of his head as he glances down at the pretty flowers you gave him.

“And she appreciated it so much that she gave you flowers?” Wade stood up. “So…I’m only going to ask this once and whatever you say, I’ll believe you! But…”

Logan waited in confusion, his irritation growing as silence went on.

“Whose ass do you prefer? Me or hers?”

That was about 6 months ago. Since then, he’s gotten to know you on his walks, running into you nearly every day- purely by coincidence of course - not because he had the pull to see you ever since he met you. Wade invites you to his parties, occasional dinners, and movie nights- sometimes you stop by with a homemade meal to drop off for them. He’s learned your favorite drink, your favorite snack, your favorite song, your favorite flower. Your favorite things. Ever since he’s been on these walks, your shop being on the path that he takes to his job, the dining room table of Wade and Althea’s apartment always has a vase of fresh flowers.

Logan felt for you a feeling he thought he didn’t have the capability to feel anymore.

Today was Valentine's day, and Logan was working the nerve up to finally ask you out. Wade had been pushing him to for months, always getting hit with a “shut the fuck up” from Logan, pretending as if he wasn’t interested, even though it was far from the truth.

Logan was terrified. Not just of asking you out, but of you saying yes.

Logan didn’t think highly of himself. He was dragged into this universe, forced to start over, in some ways a blessing but also a curse. While the Wolverine in this universe is regarded as a hero, he still remembers his old life, where he was regarded as a killer, a monster, a disgusting mutant. He knows of the blood on his hand, the mistakes he’s made, the people- people he loved- that he turned his back on.

You didn’t know this.

You were just such a lovely creature. You had a figure that made Logan want to drool like a dog, fisting himself nearly every night in the shower to the image of you. You were smart, open and welcoming, and extremely compassionate - and likely the only person truly patient enough to put up with Wades antics.

Logan didn’t feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his arms, in his life. Yet, with the constant nagging from Wade, and the flutters he gets from your smiles - he found himself giving in. He was going to attempt to ask you out today, Valentine's day, and hope that this doesn’t end in hellfire, like most things in his life.

He spotted you, outside your shop, preparing bouquets of roses, lilies, and other flowers he hadn’t really learned the name of yet. The sight of you took his breath away. You had on a pink t-shirt, tied in the front that hugged your waist, and high-waisted jeans- they fit around your tummy and thighs snuggly. When you turned around he had to gulp. Two large heart prints on the fabric of your jeans, over your butt.

He couldn’t help but hold a small smirk as he admired your ass from afar. It wasn’t till he got glared at by an old lady walking past that he realized he probably looked like a pervert. He cleared his throat, giving the lady a courteous yet awkward nod as he made his way over to you.

He reached you, and could barely make a word to you, you turned around, looking up in surprise at Logan.

“Oh! Hey Lo!” You smiled, eyes bright. “Happy Valentine’s day!”

He thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. “Hey doll,” He greeted back. “Sell a lot of flowers already?”

“Yes, actually.” You smiled bigger. “It’s so cute, these people coming in here, buying flowers. I had this teenage boy come in a little bit ago, he was SO nervous, he was buying flowers for his first girlfriend.” You clasped your hands together, shaking your head, your hair bouncing with your movements. “So cute, young love. You remember your first crush?”

Not really, it was almost 150 years ago.

“Sure do.” Logan lies.

“Do you have any Valentine's plans? I heard Wade and Ness’ are going on a date!”

“Yeah,” Logan nodded. “I mean, no- no I don’t have any plans.” He stammers, “I just know about them going on a date. Wades all nervous about it.”

“He’s so cute.” You laugh, turning back to the bouquets and fixing them up a little bit. “So, you don’t have any plans?”

“No, not at the moment.” He says. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment, your expression looked like you wanted to say something, but then you bit your lip, and nodded, turning back to the roses.

Flowers, you need to give her flowers before you ask her out.

“I actually wanted to buy some flowers, bub.” He says finally, almost monotone- lacking any excitement in his voice.

“Really? What are you looking for?”

“Uh…” He glanced at the bouquets in the front. “I’ll look around.” He nodded to the shop, and you smiled a nod. He turned to go inside, but you called his name.

“You okay Lo?”

“Fine.” He forced a thin-lipped smile, before heading inside your shop, and you watched him with a suspicious squint. This was not the usual Logan you knew. He looked nervous as hell, he’s never acted like that before. An anxious thought hit you. He’s never bought flowers before- you gave him bouquets for free, it was your discreet way of flirting. What if he’s buying them for some other girl?

You tried to shake the thought out of your head, as you ended up going inside- the cold was biting your skin, and now you were nervous at the thought that some girl out there had caught Logan's attention before you could muster the courage to say something to him.

The inside of your shop was an absolute wonderland of plants. Not only did you sell flowers, but you sold houseplants, gardening tools, gardening decorations, and more. Seeing that it was Valentines, you had the place decorated with red and pink hearts, and bouquets were scattered all over- alongside decorative cards someone could pick up and hand write to their loved one.

He was staring at the cooler of flowers, that you could create individual bouquets with. He had several flowers picked out already, as he stared at them with concentration, completely focused on the task at hand.

You tried to busy yourself with your usual tasks as you leaned against the counter, but your eyes kept wandering to where he stood. You glanced up to his face and felt yourself swoon for a moment. He’s just so handsome.

When Wade first told you about the new roommate, whom he described as “Hugh Jackman is he was an alcoholic and had emotional constipation”, you just rolled your eyes and laughed- figuring he was up to his shenanigans. Then you met said roommate- the man literally caught you when you fell off a ladder the first time you met. How could you not form a crush on him?

He did strangely look like Hugh Jackman too...

Then you got to know him. You got to know of his temper, his smart mouth, and you saw how hard he tries every day, despite his past. He doesn’t know that you know about it, and that you know he’s a mutant. Wade spilt the beans accidentally over a few drinks where he ended up crying in your lap about Vanessa, and somehow ended up talking about Logan's problems too.

It didn’t change your view of him at all. Of course not. Sure it sounds a bit...violent. Logan wasn’t a perfect man, but neither were you. You were the kind of person who believed that everyone deserves second chances, and you fully believed this was Logan's second chance…

Logan huffed, staring at the flowers he picked out. Hyacinths, roses, something leafy that he doesn’t know the name of but smells incredibly good. He walked over to your register, catching sight of the bare skin of your midsection as your shirt rode up your body from leaning over.

“Pick something out?”

“Yeah..This looks alright?”

“It looks great.” You smiled, you took the bouquet, and began preparing them. “You want them wrapped, or in a vase?”

“Wrapping is fine.”

“Color?”

“Um…Pink.”

You nodded, and moved to start wrapping the bouquet, snipping the stems, and pulling some leaves off so the flowers would remain fresh. You hummed along to a song that played over the speakers in your shop - something Logan knew was your own personally crafted playlist. He faintly recognized the song, something he likely heard years and years ago.

This morning I woke up with this feeling

I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself

I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it

And did not go and shout it when you walked into the room

I think I love you (I think I love you)

I think I love you so what am I so afraid of

I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for

I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way

His eyes trailed over the curve of your face, as he thought about what it might feel like to press his lips along your jaw, leaving behind soft kisses and purple bruises as he showed you how he felt about you.

You finished wrapping the bouquet, and presented it to him proudly.

“There you go! Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.” He nods, flashing you a genuine smile that makes you blush. You moved to type the price into the registers. You informed him of the price and he pulled his wallet out, pulling out some cash and handed it to you.

“Thanks Lo…” You put the cash away, completing the sale. “So…Who’s the lucky one getting that bouquet? Or are you getting it for yourself?” You tease as you lean forward against the counter towards him. He looked at you blankly, then looked at the flowers.

You fucking idiot.

“Well,” He glanced at the bouquet, “It’s actually for you.” He says, handing it back to you over the counter. You stood up, surprise on your face. He felt himself flush, you have to think he was the biggest dumbass on Earth. Walking in here and buying flowers from you just to hand them back over? He wasn’t even thinking. That’s what you do to him, his brain goes fuzzy when you’re around. It’s not as if he wasn’t over 200 years old, and has done flirting and relationships more times than he can remember.

You slowly took the flowers, and he waited, but a huge grin grew on your face. You looked up at him through your lashes. “Logan?”

“Yeah bub?”

“You want to have dinner with me tonight?”

His mouth hung open, and he closed it, a thin-lipped smile, and he nodded. “Yeah..That’d be nice.”

You bit your lip, as you resisted the urge to wiggle your hips and dance from excitement. “Okay, how about 7 pm?”

“That’s good for me.”

“Okay, just buzz in when you’re here.” You smiled. Your apartment was upstairs, a very convenient location for you when you were looking for a place to open your shop a few years ago. He nodded, turning to leave, “And Lo? Thank you.” You add, cradling the flowers to your chest.

He smiled at you, before leaving the shop. You took a deep breath.

God he is so cute…

The next few hours were hell for Logan. He sat on the couch panicking over every possible situation that could happen tonight. Ranging everything from you laughing him out of your apartment to him somehow accidentally maiming you with his claws.

He reached out for the bottle of whiskey he pulled out the second he came back into the apartment, and then another horrifying thought came to his head.

Whiskey dick

He set the whiskey bottle down. It’s not like he was expecting anything to happen tonight, it was just dinner. It’s not the first time you had dinner together, but..If something were to happen, he couldn’t risk the idea that he wouldn’t be able to perform. Fuck, nothing would be more embarrassing then the idea of being able to get into your pants and he couldn’t even do anything. In fact, he hasn’t done anything in years and he really rather not think about that.

You were not much better. After you closed the shop at 4 o'clock- it had been an extremely busy day. Customers rushing in and out, men, women, mothers with children, a father with a newborn, an old man, a man in a business suit who had no idea what he was looking for, a group of teenagers, people who tugged you left and right for a custom bouquet, advice for flowers, even asking you to write love notes to their loved ones. Some of them are cute, others baffling you at how they managed to get a lover if this is the effort they only put in towards it.

Despite the chaos of the day, Logan lingered in your mind. Nerves shot through you as you realized that you had nothing planned when you asked Logan to come over for dinner.

You rushed upstairs to your apartment, rushing to shower, shave, moisturize- and figure out what the hell you were going to make Logan. Oh- and clean your apartment. Put on makeup. Figure out an outfit.

Didn’t think this through.

You check the time, 5:45. It’s okay. You have time.

You looked at the bouquet Logan had gotten you, and you smiled softly, carefully taking one of the flowers in your hand as you felt the petals. How adorable was he, the way he scrutinized every flower he picked out, and you were so worried that he was picking them out for someone else, and it was meant for you the entire time. The way he looked like a deer caught in headlights when he handed them back to you.

You've never seen him act like this before. Logan was always so…calm, if that’s the way to put it. He acted with a certain nonchalant grumpiness that didn’t make him an asshole but more like someone you could be comfortable with because he didn’t mind the silence and didn’t force the awkwardness. He’d get pissed at Wade- that was the worst you saw of his temper, albeit you’ve heard a few amusing stories from Wade over it. The Logan you saw today seemed like a schoolboy approaching his crush to ask to dance. Did you really make him that nervous?

You took forever picking out the dress, the perfect makeup, deciding how to style your hair, and you started cooking a tad late, and before you knew it you heard the familiar buzzing at your front door.

You walked up to your door, pressing the intercom button,

“Hello?”

“It’s Logan.”

“Come on in, apart 4-”

You hit the unlock button, hearing a clicking across the intercom, as you let go and go back to the kitchen to check on your food for the moment. A knock at your door and you quickly ran over to open it.

Logan stood there, adorning a nice t-shirt, flannel, and jeans. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, a hand in his pockets. He blinked as his eyes raked over your figure.

“Wow.” He breathed out, a small smirk appeared on his face. “All this for me?”

You blushed, biting your lips, “Come in.” You moved out of the doorway to allow him space. He stepped in, brushed past you, not taking his eyes off you.

“I brought some wine- It’s the kind you like, right?” He held up the bottle and you smiled, taking it and nodded for confirmation.

“It is! Thank you.” You say, “Dinners running a little late by the way…Hope you’re not too hungry yet.”

“Need help?”

You eyed him cautiously, “Didn’t Wade say you almost set the apartment on fire trying to cook?”

“No. That was him, asshole just blamed it on me.” Logan scoffed, shaking his head. You chuckled, leading him to the kitchen. He was greeted by the fresh aroma of seasoned veggies, and steak simmering in a pan. “Smells great.” He says warmly, his eyes taking over your back.

God you looked good.

He had been so nervous, but then you opened the door. Standing there, all gussied up and it felt like he could breathe. A stroke of confidence ran through him, and suddenly he didn’t know why he had been so…Nervous.

It was you. Sweet, wonderful you. Who always knew how to calm him down with a simple touch of your hand, how you always asked how he was doing but never pushed him to talk about anything he didn’t want to. You, who greeted him happily every single day as if you didn’t know he was going to show up, with that sparkle in your eyes that made him think you saw something in him he didn’t know existed.

How’d that song go again?

I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of

I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for

I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

Though it worries me to say that I never felt this way

His eyes landed on your thighs, where the hem of your dress ended just above your mid-thigh. Your skin just looked plush and soft and fuck he wanted to bite you.

“Thanks! Could you wash those potatoes and cut them up for me?” You asked, turning your head to glance at him. You saw his eyes snap up to yours at the last second.

“Sure bub.” He nods, moving to the counter next to you, he grabs the sack of potatoes already lying out, pulling a few out and bringing them to the second where he washed them under the faucet, before placing them on the cutting board already set out. He reached out and grabbed a knife from the placeholder and set to dice them. You watched him for a moment and it slipped out.

“Do you ever use the claws to do that?”

He stopped, completely frozen, before his eyes turned to look at you and you realize you messed up.

“Cause..I…Figured that…Would be…more…convenient…” Your voice got quieter under his stare. “Wade…Told me. A while ago. To be honest though I assumed, even if you guys didn’t say anything, you both acted weird about how you came here and stuff.”

He sighs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head turning back to start dicing the potatoes again, anger evident in the way the knife slammed into the cutting board.

“It doesn’t bother me.” You say softly. His face relaxed, and he looked at you again. You brought a hand up to his bicep. “I think you’re great Logan.”

You saw his shoulders relax. He put down the knife, and he turned to face you. “You sure?” He asked, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. “There’s still things you don’t know about me.”

“I actually think I do.” You squeezed his shoulder, stepping closer. “I’m sorry, for everything that happened to you.”

He pursed his lips together. “I’m not a good guy bub.”

“You’re trying though.” You say. “That’s the only thing that matters.”

He let out a small breath, as he leaned forward and quickly captured your lips in a kiss. He was soft, gentle about the way he kissed you- trying to give you space to pull away, but your hands slid into his hair, and pulled him closer. He placed his hands on your hips, pulling you against him.

Parting with a harsh gasp, slowly opening your eyes, to still him in a similar state as you. Flushed, panting, with swollen lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He says.

You shook your head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out.”

“How long?”

You bit your lip, “Few months.”

He let out a sigh. “You really knew all that time…And didn’t think less of me?”

“Of course not.” You reassure, your eyes glancing down at his lips. You looked back up at him. “I like you…A lot Logan.”

He smiled, tugging your closer, lowering his head against yours. “Yeah bub? Think I like you a lot too.”

Your hands moved down to the collar of his shirt. “Why don’t you show me?” You whisper.

“Really?” He chuckled. “What about dinner?”

“That can wait. Show me.”

He wasted no time in capturing your lips in a searing kiss, your arms rested on his shoulders, as his hands gripped your hips and tugged you closer, leaning into you. Your lips moved together with a fervent passion, and he licked across your bottom lip, as you allowed him inside, moaning the moment you felt his tongue lick into your mouth.

His hands moved down your hips, over the curve of your ass, and he squeezed- letting out a soft breath at the feeling of you and the way his hands covered you. He leaned down, encouraging you to jump as his hands went to your thighs and he picked you up, carrying you into the living room.

He placed you gently over the couch, one hand braced by your head, the other still resting on your hip, as he kept himself located between your thighs. He pecked your lips a few times before moving down to kiss your neck, his lips brushing over your pulse point, you sighed contently at his touch.

He brought his hand down, realizing that he’d become a tad shaky as he pushed it underneath the skirt of your dress, and began moving up your thigh.

“This okay?” He mutters as he kisses along your collarbone.

“Mhm.” He felt you nod, and his fingertips made contact with your panties- they were lacey, he could feel as he brushed over them and he let out a shaky breath. “You’re so beautiful darling-” He mutters, nuzzling into your neck and sucking at your pulse point.

You let out a soft moan, which spurred him on as his fingers flit under the hem of your panties, reaching your soaking wet core. Your hands came to his shoulders, gripping his flannel tightly.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.” You nodded again, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip. He lifted his head up, watching your reaction as he delved his fingers into your warm wet folds. “Oh-” You breathed. He had to swallow back his moan at the feeling of you- so wet for him already. Have you been needy for him for a long? He’d have to make it up to you.

His fingers stroked back and forth in your folds, before he found your clit, softly pressing against it, making your hips jump. He nuzzled against your face, hearing the sound of your heart pounding. He understood, his heart was pounding too. He began running circles over your bud, listening and watching for your reaction that showed him what you liked.

“Logan-” You whined.

“Yeah bub?”

“I need you.”

Oh fuck.

“Please?”

He let out a shaky breath as he lifted his head to look down at you. “You sure?”

You opened your eyes and nodded. Biting your lip and you look up at him pleadingly.

Normally, he’d like to take his time. Open you up, get a taste, and hear those sweet moans escape your lips. He’s not sure if he’s going to last long- the way you’re looking at him right now made him want to cum right then and there.

He captured you in another heated kiss, adjusting himself, his hands came to your panties and pulled them off you. The sweet smell of your arousal haunting his senses and making his mind go blank. His hands came up and quickly undid his belt and pants, pushing his jeans down, his hard cock popping out- thick and swollen, pre cum oozing at the tip and making your mouth water. He was huge, bigger than any man you’ve seen. You’re wondering if maybe you should have let him finger your- but then again, the idea of him fucking you open created a fresh gush of wetness between your legs.

He started to adjust himself, then stopped.

“I don’t have a condom.” He says blinking up at you.

“That’s okay. I’m on the pill.” You say shyly with a shrug.

He groaned. “I think I love you, bub.”

You giggled at that, not realizing how much honesty was behind his words.

He leaned down and pecked your lips again, before leaning his forehead against yours and angling himself against your wet pussy, finding your hole and circling his tip around it, lubing you with his pre-cum.

You gasped the moment you felt his tip push inside, and your legs shook from the pressure of him stretching you open. He waited a moment, before moving deeper inside you, inching slowly and carefully, watching for any sign of your discomfort.

You on the other hand? Was on cloud 9. You tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes rolled back. You would often use your fingers to fuck yourself, imagining it was him- but your fingers were nothing compared to him.

He bottomed out inside you, resting there, as he felt your walls constrict around him.

Don’tcumdon’tcumdon’tcumdon’tcum

He begged his mind as he went into a haze over how good you felt with you spread on his cock. He should have made a move sooner, fuck he should have asked you out the second he caught you off that ladder. He knows one thing for sure, that he wasn’t letting you go at all. You’ll be lucky if he even lets you out of his sight at this point- much less this apartment. Already making plans in all the ways he’s going to fuck you.

“Logan-” You whined. “I- I need you to move.”

He took a deep breath, and he slowly pulled out, before thrusting back inside. A small hiccup escaped you, and he did it again. He pressed his hands onto the cushions of the couch. One leg braced against the floor, the other bent and resting against the cushion. He thrusted his hips again, as he felt you begin to open up, and moved his pace to go faster.

He fucked into you at a steady pace, his lips finding purchase on your neck again as he sucked bruises onto your skin, giving him something to focus on because he thought he was going to blow any second, your whines and cries filling his ears.

He sat up, looking down over you, his mouth hung open and eyes heavy-lidded as he panted, maintaining his pace. He moved to grab the hem of your dress and pushed it up your belly.

Fuck fuck fuck!

He watched himself fuck into your, the way you pussy sucked him in greedily with each thrust, your arousal coating his cock and your thighs.

“You feel so fucking good doll-” He moaned, he started getting faster, his fingers finding your clit again, and began rubbing. “I’m gonna need you to cum baby.”

“Logan-” You whined, grabbing his arms, your nails digging into the skin of his forearms as you stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes and parted lips.

“C’mon, I know you can do it sweetheart. Cum for me.”

Your body trembled, as his fingers moved faster against your clit, he angled himself to thrust upwards into you, and that thin thread finally snapped. You stared into his eyes as your cunt clenched and tightened over him. Relief washed over you as wave after wave of your orgasm passed, Logan fucking you through it and finally cumming himself.

He slammed into you, his body falling over yours, with a shout of your name, as he filled you up with ropes of his cum. He was panting harshly, and your arms wrapped around him, as you turned your head to seek out his lips. He pressed an eager kiss back to you, bringing his arms to carefully hold onto you while you both laid there in post-orgasmic haze. His head resting next to yours, your hand softly scratching his back.

“Lo?”

“Hm?”

“Can I see the claws?”

There was a moment of silence, and he brought his fist up, safely away from your face as he let his claws out.

Snikt!

You gasped, eyes wide in delight as you observed the metal appendages that came out of his fist, the way they shined against the light of your living room. “Wow!” You exclaimed. “You know that would be nice for pruning.”

Logan chuckled, “Really? You think?”

“Yeah!” You grinned looking at him, admiring his smile, and the flush of his cheeks.

“Are you hiring?”

You giggled, moving to kiss him again, you moved to wrap your arms around him and you heard the claws retract as his arms wrapped back around you, his arms pulling you into a warm embrace that felt nothing but safe in his arms.

Logan thought back to that song again, as he felt your lips against his, your hands tugging him closer.

I think I love you isn't that what life is made of

Though it worries me to say I never felt this way

Believe me you really don't have to worry

I only wanna make you happy and if you say "hey go away" I will

But I think better still I'd better stay around and love you

Do you think I have a case let me ask you to your face

Do you think you love me?

#klloveuary2025 #wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fic #vans daydreams #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut

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ariahmichelle · 1 day ago

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Fake It Till You Feel It- Part 3

Rafe Cameron x Reader Series

Series Masterlist Here

Summary: You see your ex with a new girl wrapped around him after he told you “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings. Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. One night you impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. This starts to become an unspoken routine between you when either Alex or Amelia are around. Simple right? However, longer this goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

Part 3- The Rescue Mission

••••••••••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••••••••••

It had been a slow, uneventful day—exactly what you’d wanted. You had spent the morning running errands, picking up a few things from town before finally making it home. Now, curled up on the couch, half-watching a show while scrolling on your phone, you were perfectly content to do nothing for the rest of the afternoon.

Then your phone buzzed.

Rafe: You busy?

You frowned, already suspicious.

You: I might be. Why?

Rafe: Because I need saving.

You snorted, shaking your head.

You: Let me guess… Amelia?

Rafe: What do you think?

You sighed, debating for a moment. Maybe it would be good for him to deal with her himself for once. But you also knew how persistent Amelia could be.

You: Sounds like a you problem, Cameron.

Rafe: Come on. Be a team player.

You: …How bad is it?

Rafe: Bad enough to text you :(

Before you could dwell on it too much, your mom walked into the room, grabbing her purse. “I’m heading out for a bit. Need a ride anywhere?”

“Actually, yeah,” you said, already slipping on your shoes.

——

When you arrived at the country club, you expected to find Rafe surrounded by Topper, Kelce, and maybe a few other guys, with Amelia clinging to him like always.

But instead, he was standing outside, alone.

You narrowed your eyes as you approached. “If you made me come all this way for nothing, you’re dead.”

Rafe exhaled, shaking his head. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have called you unless I had no other option.”

“That bad?”

He ran a hand down his face. “Worse.”

You crossed your arms, waiting.

“I was having lunch with my family,” he started, “and Amelia just invited herself over, telling my dad, Rose, Sarah, and Wheezie that she and I have been getting to know each other.” He grimaced. “She’s acting like we’ve been seeing each other, and I told them we weren’t, but—”

“But Ward told you not to be rude and let her stay,” you finished, already knowing how this went.

Rafe pointed at you. “Exactly.”

You groaned. “So now what?”

“I told them I was going to the bathroom,” he said. “And now I need you to help me get rid of her. And make sure my family knows I’m not with her.”

You hesitated. “Rafe, I’m not pretending to be your girlfriend in front of your dad.”

“Come on,” he said, and for the first time, you noticed how desperate he looked. “My dad likes you, okay? If you say we’re together, he’ll believe it, and Amelia will finally back off.”

You still weren’t convinced. “And what happens when he finds out it’s a lie?”

Rafe just shrugged. “That’s a future problem.”

You exhaled, glancing toward the entrance. “I swear to God, Cameron…”

Rafe smirked, sensing your hesitation cracking. “So you’ll do it?”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

His smirk widened. “No, you don’t.”

Rolling your eyes, you held out your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

Without hesitation, Rafe took your hand, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And just like that, you walked into the lion’s den.

——

The Cameron family sat at a round table on the patio, the perfect picture of wealth and power. Ward sat at the head, Rose beside him, while Sarah and Wheezie chatted quietly. And, of course, Amelia stood close to Rafe’s empty chair, her hand way too close to where his arm would’ve been.

The moment you walked in, Sarah’s eyes widened.

“Are you kidding me?” she blurted.

Amelia turned—and her expression darkened instantly.

Ward raised an eyebrow. “Rafe?”

Rafe barely hesitated. “I wasn’t being rude earlier,” he said, looking directly at his father. “I was just trying to make it clear—I’m not with Amelia. Because I’m with someone else.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, and you took that as your cue. “Hey, Mr. Cameron,” you said with an easy smile, leaning slightly into Rafe’s side. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing family lunch.”

Ward looked between you and Rafe, brow furrowed. “You two are together?”

“Yep,” Rafe said smoothly. “Have been for a little while now.”

Sarah still looked shocked, and Wheezie looked downright delighted, but the best reaction came from Amelia, whose face was rapidly turning red.

“You have to be joking,” she snapped.

“Why?” Rafe tilted his head, feigning confusion. “Jealous?”

Amelia scoffed. “Please. I just didn’t realize you’d lowered your standards so much.”

Your smile tightened. “You know, for someone who’s so sure I’m not a threat, you seem really upset about this.”

Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed off.

Wheezie barely contained her laughter.

Rose just sipped her wine, watching you both closely. “Well,” she said, “this is… interesting.”

Ward nodded slowly, clearly still processing. “Hmm.”

Before they could say anything else, Rafe let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, this has been fun, but we’ve got plans.”

“We do?” you muttered.

Rafe ignored you. “See you guys later.”

And with that, he pulled you away from the table, out of the club, and toward his truck.

As soon as you were outside, you smacked his arm. “You are so dead for that.”

Rafe just grinned, opening the truck door for you. “Relax. It worked, didn’t it?”

“You owe me.”

He just smirked. “That’s why I’m making it up to you right now.”

You eyed him suspiciously as you climbed into the truck. “How?”

“You’ll see.”

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself sitting in the bed of his truck, legs crossed beneath you, a cup of ice cream in hand, on a hill overlooking the beach. Almost a little secret hideout you’ve never been to before.

“You know,” you said, glancing at him, “this is a pretty good spot. Romantic, even.”

Rafe scoffed. “If I was trying to be romantic, you’d know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what does romantic Rafe Cameron look like?”

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade.

You took a slow bite of your ice cream, then glanced at Rafe. “So… this isn’t where you bring all your girls?”

Rafe scoffed. “Please. You think I waste gas on just anyone?”

You hummed. “Mm. Seems like a solid move, though, so I must be very special.”

Rafe just smirks not giving you the satisfaction of an answer.

After a few moments of silence, he leaned back, voice softer. “You know… I never thought Alex was good enough for you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugged, “you always deserved better than that asshole.”

You shook your head. “Well… thanks, I guess.”

Rafe smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed, licking your spoon. “No promises.”

—————————————

Let me know what you think? Could be some drama in the coming parts???

Taglist: @rafecameronsbaeee

@drewwhor @wtfisastiles @emmafitzzz

@yourmomdotcom42069 @yasmin-oviedo

@pogueprincesa @maybankslover

@my-name-is-baby @rafecameronsslut1234

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queer-asinfuckyou · 6 hours ago

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My parents were fairly shit growing up. College for me was a lot of realizing that, as bad as I thought things had been, they had actually been worse.

I convinced my family to do group therapy a couple years into college because I didn't want my little sister to kill herself, and I was worried that, with her mental health and the fact that my parents were neglecting her physically as well as emotionally, she would. I nearly had to call CPS on my parents just before the pandemic hit because of how bad the neglect was.

My dad has spent the years since then apologizing for what he did wrong and learning to be better. He doesn't always get it; his internalized ableism is still very obvious and he tends to think without speaking. But he checks in with me regularly, talks about his life and asks about mine. Offers support however he can. I'm no longer worried about my sister because I know my dad makes it a point to look after her.

My mother hasn't become a better parent. But she's only realized within the past year or so that she is the reason she has no close relationships with her family members, and honestly, I'd guess that she thinks it's too late to try. She is the parent her mother was, and she seems too stuck in that rut to put in the energy it would take to fix that.

Both of my parents were abusive. Neither of them thought they were in the moment. And I'm incredibly proud of the work my dad has put into learning how to be a good parent for his children.

You have to make room for abusers to become better people, but you also have to walk away if they show they're not willing to put in the effort to do so. And even then, you have to recognize that they're not doing it to be malicious, they're doing it because it's easier than trying to change.

otherwise interesting post ruined by the bold insistence that you can never accidentally abuse someone & that all abusive people are self-aware evil masterminds

#my dad fucked up a lot but he's a good man #also yelling at my parents in group therapy is how i sent my ptsd into remission #lifehack

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thesvnandthemooon · 3 days ago

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𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝?

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

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

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

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

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

You're 12 when you meet her again.

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

Natasha's back. Again.

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

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

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

This is the moment where they part again.

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

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

Only a pair of green eyes meets yours.

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

I know her, you think before looking away.

Bedsheets rustle. Natasha climbs into the spot above yours.

. . .

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

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

But you never, ever hesitate.

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

The result?

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

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

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

Natasha.

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

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

Somehow, no one notices.

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

Why won't you sleep?

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

Another toss. Another turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue hair, green eyes.

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

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

"You were loud", she states.

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

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

"Because of me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Natasha?", you say.

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

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

"...Thanks."

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing seems to change, but somehow, everything does.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enough!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop apologizing.”

"I didn't mean to-"

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

No. You certainly don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop moving."

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

"Quit that!"

"I'm cold", you whisper.

"News flash: so am I."

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

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

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

"Don't make this a habit."

You'll make it a habit.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

Two years have passed. Maybe three.

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

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

What really shows you that time has passed is Natasha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you should've expected it.

You don't.

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

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

It's everything and nothing at the same time.

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

"Shit", she mumbles.

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

"You're counting this as a kiss?"

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

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

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

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

This time, it definitely is a kiss.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not your fault."

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

"We're not much older."

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

"I lost her."

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

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

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

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

We.

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

. . .

You feel the illness long before it really hits you.

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

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

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

"Y/N?"

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

Tough luck. You have to push through.

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

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

"Nat", you mumble dismissively, voice muffled.

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

"We have training-"

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

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

"Lay down", she murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

Black Widows don't have a future.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More than this place?"

An unnecessary question, and you both know it.

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

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

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

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

"It works on me."

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you, you know."

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

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

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

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

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

"Where?"

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

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

"I mean it."

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

"What would we do?”

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

"Anything. Everything."

. . .

You're 18 when Natasha starts to slip away.

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

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

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

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

She seems different, too. Withdrawn, defeated. You watch her fingers trace the edge of her tray, her mind elsewhere.

You aren't sure what's going on until her name is suddenly called.

"Romanoff."

The entire room goes silent. She hesitates for what can only be a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Her chair screeches as she pushes it back. Your hand reaches out automatically, then you retract it as if you got burned. Part of you wants to jump in and stop her, tell her to stay, but you can't. No one can.

She doesn't look at you as she turns around and leaves.

You don't see her for days.

It's late in the evening when she returns. Nothing is the same anymore.

She doesn't speak, doesn't look at you. She curls into your side and puts her head on your chest. Her eyes stay open.

Concern washes over you. You dare looking down at her, at her top that has ridden up, and you feel something sour rise in your throat.

There's a bandage around her lower stomach, stained with dried blood.

You've seen many injuries in your life before — cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds — but this is different. This is deliberate, meant to keep her under control. You don't have to ask what it is.

The Red Room doesn't take kindness into account. It doesn't care about pain, grief, trauma. It doesn't care about futures stolen before they could even begin. Futures that may have never happened in the first place.

You wrap your arms around her and carefully pull her closer. You feel something warm and wet against your neck, slowly soaking into the fabric of your tank top. You don't say anything, because what are you supposed to say, anyway? That you're sorry? That you wish you could take her pain away? That this doesn't change who she is?

It doesn't change who she is. She's Natasha. But it still changes so much.

The damp area of your shirt grows warmer and larger. Her nose presses against your collarbone. You want to reassure her, comfort her, but you're not sure how. Nothing is going to give her back what was taken.

You bury your face in her hair and breathe in her scent. Soap, metal, something unmistakably her.

Her breath hitches. You can feel her suppress her sobs, making herself smaller. Her fingers twitch against your ribs, restless, not sure what to do. You're not sure, either.

Then, a sound. Small, pained, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

"I don't feel real."

Some experiences haunt you for a lifetime.

. . .

You aren't aware of your lasts when they happen — your last kiss, your last 'I love you'. It isn't something you get to cherish, because you foolishly assume it'd happen again.

It won't. You just don't know yet.

The night before, she's in your bed. The scar on her lower stomach has healed by now. The next morning, she'll leave for a mission. Budapest, Hungary.

She doesn't want to go. It's always the same — violent, bloody, scary. At least she'll get out of the Red Room's confinements for a few days, which is the only upside she can think of.

You don't sleep much that night. Neither does she.

Her hands slide under your shirt, up to your ribcage. Fingertips trace your skin repeatedly, mapping out scars and ribs and birthmarks. She memorized the feel of you years ago. At this point, doing this is mere comfort. It's a quiet assurance that, no matter what, some things don't change.

Oh, how wrong she is.

"It's just a few days", you murmur. You can sense the anxiety radiating from her. It's not funny — obviously not —, but there's something ironic about someone as strong and resilient as Natasha being nervous about a mission. You both know that being in the Red Room is worse in many ways.

Maybe it's returning to the Red Room that worries her. Or not returning. Or always having to return. A never-ending cycle, perhaps.

"It's not about how long I'll be gone."

"I know."

Natasha looks up. Her eyes are exhausted, full of that same resignation you've been carrying for years.

"Then why'd you say it?", she asks.

You don't have an answer to that. Instead, you cup her face and kiss her. Not urgently, not desperately. Soft, slow, familiar like the feeling of your heartbeat under her fingertips.

By the time you wake up, she's gone. You won't see her again for years.

. . .

You're 31 when you get out.

Morocco's air is hot and full of dust. Yelena and you jump out of the window and land next to a woman. She turns and spots you, immediately going for an attack. You dodge her and wrap your arm around her neck. As she starts gasping, you see the vial, filled with red gas, in her hand.

"No!", she wheezes as you tighten your grip. Somehow, she manages to break the glass open right when Yelena stabs her. The powder spreads in the air and enters your airways and eyes, so you start coughing and let go of her — and the control that Dreykov had over you starts to fade.

For the first time in an eternity, you're yourself again. Or a version of yourself. You're not too sure. All you know is that the grip on your mind, your body, has disappeared. The thick haze through which you've been seeing life gets thinner and weaker.

Next to you, Yelena sneezes. You're too overwhelmed to react to that.

"What- what happened?", you stammer, letting go of the woman. Her limp body drops to the floor. "Fuck, did we kill her?"

"That...was that an antidote?" Yelena scrubs her hand down her dust-caked face. "Shit."

Confused, you start turning around to look at your surroundings. Right, Morocco. The mission. You remember getting here, but you also don't remember anything. Your memories don't seem to be your own. But they have to be, right?

Probably. You're not sure, though. Being freed from the Red Room's mind control is an odd sensation, and there are way too many things you're supposed to focus on.

You feel freedom. But it doesn't feel like you thought it would. You're...you. Just you. Suddenly, other parts of you have disappeared — parts that weren't yours in the first place, parts that they implemented in you.

Implement. They also implemented a gps-tracker. You grab a small blade and slice open your thighs to remove the small chips. You wipe your hands on your suit and get up, eyes scanning the area. For now, you're alone.

"We need to leave", Yelena says, throwing the trackers on the ground and crushing them with the sole of her boot.

"But Oksana..." You swallow as you glance at the woman lying on the dirty ground. "She helped us."

"She won't make it, Y/N", she says. "Seriously. If we don't leave now, they'll find us."

You give her a hesitant look, but Yelena looks resolute. She's about as stubborn as her older sister.

"Come on", she urges you, grabbing your arm. Her touch burns — you don't know how long it's been since you consciously felt another person's touch. You want to protest, to stay and see if Oksana's case really is as hopeless as Yelena is saying, but she keeps tugging you through the streets and into a dark alley.

A motorbike, flying down Morocco's roads. No idea where Yelena got that thing from — she suddenly made you sit on it without offering much of an explanation —, but you assume she stole it.

Wind that stings your face, whipping against your skin like punishment. You take a breath and taste dust. You cough and tighten your arms around her waist, quietly praying you won't fall and break your neck. Dying right after escaping from the Red Room would have to be the most embarrassing thing to happen in your life so far.

About an hour passes. The city flies past you, blurring like the thoughts in your head.

Yelena grips the handlebars harder and takes a sharp turn. You let out an undignified noise and bury your face against her shoulder.

"сука!", she curses when a guy, also on a motorbike, almost crashes into you. "Ah, fuck. They drive like lunatics around here."

"Are you kidding?!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She cackles and stops in front of a gas station. You both hop off the motorbike, your legs shaking like jelly. You lean against the gas pump and groan. "Come on, that was nothing!"

"Screw you." You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand and sigh, glancing at your surroundings.

A gas station, tucked between two buildings with flickering neon signs. You smell gasoline, sweat (probably stemming from you and Yelena — you really need a shower), grilled meat coming from the stall across the street. A stray cat slinks past you, briefly looking up before losing interest. The only noise comes from a few cars passing by and a group of men loitering by their cars, laughing and talking rapidly.

Beyond the station, the road stretches into darkness. No Red Room agents, no looming threats—just empty space. It's peaceful out here, at least judging by what you can see and hear. But the paranoia lingers. You glance over your shoulder, waiting for something — someone — to come after you.

Yelena nudges your side. "Zoning out?"

"What?...no, I'm fine."

"Well, good. We still need to get some supplies." She jerks her chin toward the station and starts walking. "Chop chop!"

You sigh again, but ultimately follow her inside. Your days in the Red Room seem to be over, but peace isn't something you'll get acquainted with soon.

. . .

You awaken with a pained groan. Sunlight blinds you, so you turn your head only to be met with the sight of Yelena. She's not the most graceful sleeper — mouth agape, one leg hanging off the bed, her hand twitching in her sleep. But you're happy she's here, that you're not alone in this unfamiliar place.

You get up and stretch. The wound on your thigh stings as you step toward the window and look outside.

Early morning in Budapest is quiet but not silent. It's calm in a way you aren't used to. You still haven't gotten used to the fact you can sleep in (other than the woman snoring like a freight train), or that you can just go outside and buy bread. Or walk around the block. Maybe step into the park.

Because you're not used to it, you also don't do it. You're inside most of the time, only leaving the safe house when it's necessary. And even then you carry a gun with you, loaded and hidden under your jacket. It's a steady weight, providing you with a sense of safety. You're telling yourself it's a precaution, but deep down, you know better. The Red Room still has a grip on you.

Behind you, Yelena shifts and mumbles something in her sleep. Then, a sigh. A grunt.

You turn around and look at her. She peeks at you and rolls over so the sun isn't shining on her face anymore.

"Blinds", she mutters.

"Sorry", you say, closing the blinds. "Not going to get up?"

"I'm not crazy like you. But if you're up, you might as well make coffee."

You roll your eyes, but nod and put on your sweatshirt before padding into the kitchen. Right as you're grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge, you hear someone fiddle with the lock of the apartment's front door.

You freeze.

Yelena may be lazy in the mornings, but she's not careless. Only you and her have access to this apartment.

The lock clicks. The door creaks open. Your hand instinctively touches your side, but you left your gun in the bedroom.

Steps, almost silent. Whoever it is, they're moving with the stealth of a cat. Only one person springs to mind, but your brain quickly pushes the thought away. Instead, you press yourself against the fridge.

You didn't expect them to find you yet. You found a spot that's well hidden, secure, thinking it'd grant you at least a few weeks to figure out what comes next. In the end, it's someone you never expected to see again.

A shadow appears in the doorway. When you look up, your eyes meet the ones you used to know like your own reflection.

They're the same. Time has had an impact on both of you, but her eyes? They never changed.

The bottle drops from your hand. Glass shatters, milk spills everywhere. But Natasha doesn't flinch. In fact, neither of you move.

You stare at her, trying to convince yourself this isn't real. That this is a dream, or she's a ghost, or maybe both. When you realize that's not the case, you silently start begging for her to leave again. Leave like she did last time, and never return.

She abandoned you in the Red Room. There's no room for sympathy here — but she stays anyway. It feels like no time has passed, even if that's definitely not the case. Time has passed. Years, decades.

Finally, her eyes flick down to the milk seeping across the floor, curling around the shards of glass.

"What a waste", she says, almost quietly. Her voice is soft enough to infuriate you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?", you snap, stepping away from the fridge. She doesn't react, doesn't budge. Truthfully, you didn't expect anything else from a woman that's able to stay calm even while defusing bombs and hunting literal aliens.

"I could ask you the same thing", she says, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. You back away and bump against the fridge again, but it's just a few pictures. On them? Two little girls, one blonde and the other blue-haired. "You sent me this."

You let out a humorless laugh, but it's tinged with pain. Your eyes stay glued to the simple images that managed to revive decades old feelings. Feelings that should be long buried.

"I didn't send you shit. You thought I'd contact you?"

"Someone", she says sharply, "sent me this. It led me here. So it was either you, or-"

"Morning", Yelena says, yawning and stretching as she enters the kitchen. She steps over the puddle. "Who the fuck is yelling this early in the morning? Also, someone dropped milk." She looks at Natasha and raises her eyebrows. "Oh, finally. Took you long enough. You're slacking."

"You sent those?", she asks, crossing her arms.

"Huh?" Yelena leans over to peek at the pictures. "Oh, yes. Right."

"Why?", you snap. Yelena gives you a surprised look.

"What, 'why'?"

"Why'd you send those", Natasha says, sliding the pictures toward her. Then, she grabs a bundle of vials and puts them on the table. "This, too."

"Oh, right", she says, sitting on the counter. She stirs the cup of coffee in her hand and takes a careful sip. "Because of the Red Room, you know. So we'll go take it down."

"You...what?"

"What are you talking about?", Natasha says, frowning. "The Red Room is gone."

Two heads whip around at the same time to stare at her. Her words, simple as they may be, make your heart pound. But she truly seems to believe what she just said.

"Are you kidding?", you say, your voice rising. "Gone? Don't tell me you really believe that."

"Dreykov's dead", she says, frowning. "I killed him years ago."

"Ha! She really believes that." Yelena jumps up and avoids the shards to reach for the vials. "This is an antidote, you know. For mind control."

Natasha shakes her head. She didn't expect to find you here; she thought it'd be just Yelena. It'd be easier if it was just her sister. She knows how to deal with her. But you? God, it's hard when it comes to you.

When she ran from her past, she ran from you. Now she has to confront the one person who, at some point in time, wasn't only her past — but her entire future.

"Dreykov is alive", you say quietly, looking away from her. You saw the expression on her face, and it's too much to handle in that moment. "You really think he'd let anyone kill him?"

"Killing him was part of my defection to SHIELD", Natasha says stubbornly. She still sounds convinced. "It took destroying almost the entire city to get to him."

Yelena pours some vodka into her coffee. When you glance at her, she shrugs. "We don't have any milk left." She turns to Natasha. "Did you confirm the kill? Check the body?"

Natasha takes a shot of vodka, her eyes tearing up slightly. You see the faint redness in them, the moisture that matches the one in your own eyes. You're both tearing up, but for different reasons. She bites the insides of her cheeks and lifts her chin in a defensive manner. "There was no body left to check.”

"He's not dead", she repeats. "Ask me, ask Y/N. We'd know."

They look at you. You shake your head, the heels of your hands pressed against your eyes, and blindly take a step forward. Glass cuts into your sole, but you ignore the sudden pain, the blood mixing with the spilled milk.

You need to get out of this room. You need to get away from Natasha, just like she got away from you.

. . .

In the morning, you leave. All three of you.

You're in the back of the car, refusing to do anything other than sit there and stare out the window. The tension in the small space is thick enough to be cut with a knife, but Yelena doesn't seem to notice that. She's never been particularly good at reading social cues, which is something she has in common with her sister.

"You two are so dramatic", she says after an eternity of silence. "I should've brought popcorn, you know."

At her words, Natasha makes a sharp turn. You brace yourself against the door and bite back a retort. Instead, neither of you reply.

Yelena yawns and stretches. She rolls her shoulders until her joints pop, then reaches over to turn on the radio. Natasha bats her hand away.

"Don't."

"It's boring."

"Yelena."

"I'll start singing." She clears her throat and then begins belting out an off-key rendition of some song. Natasha white-knuckles the steering wheel when Yelena's voice fills the car. She's doing this on purpose.

"Get her to shut up", you mutter, kicking the back of Natasha's seat.

She grits her teeth, not replying to you. Then, suddenly, she presses the small button on the radio. Static fills the car before settling on some station playing a song from the 90's you vaguely remember.

A mission in rural Russia. You and Natasha, 16 years old and curled together behind the dumpster of a bar. Soaking up the minutes left before returning to the place you're now about to go take down.

Natasha's gaze meets yours in the rear view mirror. It's just for a split second, but you both seem to soften.

. . .

You leave the city behind. Winding roads and open stretches of land replace it, the world eerily quiet in the dead of night. The car is silent, but only because Yelena has fallen asleep — head resting against the glass and mouth open, you're surprised she hasn't started drooling yet.

"How much longer?"

"A few more hours", Natasha mumbles, glancing at the fuel gauge. "We need gas."

She pulls up in front of a gas station and gets out. You stay in the back for a moment, watching her refuel the car, then unbuckle. It's cold outside, so much so that goosebumps form on your arms. You lean against the car and wait.

Natasha keeps a close eye on the fuel display, watching the numbers climb. She lets go of the handle as soon as it hits the right amount, shaking the nozzle to remove any excess fuel. She steps around the car and looks at you.

You hesitate before following her inside.

It's a typical gas station, with a bored looking clerk leaning against the counter and shelves half-stocked with dusty snack bags. Refrigerators full of soda and water bottles, some porn magazines, newspapers, souvenirs. You glance at a stuffed teddy bear that's wearing a shirt with the word 'Hungary' printed on the front.

Natasha grabs a bottle of water. When she notices you eyeing the shelves, she pauses before grabbing a second bottle and a protein bar. She holds them out to you and you hesitate once more, but then you take them.

Yelena is still asleep in the car. You sit on the curb and unscrew the bottle to take a few sips. You feel her presence as she sits next to you, see how she plucks a cigarette from her pocket, how she lights it but doesn't take a drag.

Silence used to be comfortable between the two of you. Now, it feels like an eternity of discomfort.

Plumes of smoke curl into the air as she finally takes a hit. You glance at her, briefly, but manage to catch her gaze. Wordlessly, she holds out the cigarette.

You inhale a lungful and stifle a choked cough. Natasha's lips twitch.

"Careful", she says.

"I'm not used to it."

"Might be for the better."

Natasha flicks ash off the tip before taking another puff. You glance at her and see everything that wasn't there the last time you saw her.

"You're an Avenger now", you state. She looks at you, but doesn't say anything. "Was it worth it? Leaving, I mean?"

She averts her eyes again. The cigarette falls to the ground and she presses it out with her boot.

"We're adults now", she says carefully. "There's no point in pretending. Y/N, I didn't have a choice. It was either leaving or dying in there."

You nod, fingers fiddling with the loose cap in your hands. "You left us to die instead."

No reply, no arguing back. Just silence and the hum of the cars as they pass by.

Finally, she turns around. Her fingers brush against yours, cold yet familiar, as she takes the cap from you. You look up only for the ache in your chest to increase.

"I would've come back", she says. "I didn't think you'd made it."

"Only 19 in 20."

"Yeah."

You study her in the dim light that's cast by the neon signs above you. Green, lighter than her eyes but not nearly as mesmerizing.

"I wanted to come back", she starts, glancing at the cap between her fingers. "I couldn't. Clint, he- he told me it'd be too risky. I couldn't afford going back there. Not after making it out."

"Clint?" It sounds like a question, but really, you know that name. Another Avenger.

She shakes her head in dismissal. "You'll meet him."

You tilt your head. I will?

"Point is", she says, glancing away again, "I didn't have a choice. Not really. By the time I did, it seemed like it was too late. I tried to find you, but I couldn't. It seemed impossible without directly confronting Dreykov, or someone close to him."

You nod, exhaling slowly. Trusting her still seems impossible, no matter how plausible her story may be. Being left behind like that leaves scars. Most of them haven't healed.

"The others were impressed", you mumble, tugging at your loose shoelaces until they come undone. "Jealous, but also impressed."

Natasha manages a bitter smile. "And you?"

You hesitate and let go of the shoelaces.

"I hated you for it", you admit. "At first. Now I get it, I guess. Which doesn't make it right. But you were trying to survive. We all were."

"It never stopped being about survival", she mumbles. "Not without you."

You swallow, eyes squeezing shut. You try to find an answer beneath all the layers of pain and anger, but you find nothing. Her words cut deeper than anything else she's said tonight.

You're pulled back to reality by Yelena stirring in the car. You turn around right as she lowers the window. Her tired voice cuts through the silent night, through the tension.

"You two better not be making out back there."

"We're not", Natasha calls. Despite the irritation in her voice, her lips curl into a tentative half-smile as she looks at you.

"Good. Let me know if you need a room or something."

"I'll kick you out of the car", Natasha says, unimpressed, and gets up. She holds out her hand and you take it, letting her pull you to your feet. The simple contact of skin on skin sends a familiar flurry of electricity through you. You ignore it as best as you can.

. . .

You're 32 when you take down the Red Room.

Somewhere between those moments in Hungary and the day you finally watch the place that stole your life go up in flames, you celebrate your birthday.

Truthfully, you have no idea what your actual birthday is — which is the case for most girls in the Red Room. It's a piece of information that's deliberately withheld from you, for whatever reason that may be. It's not that it'd be of importance, either. They don't celebrate your birthday. All you know is that you were born somewhere in the late days of summer.

Natasha used to celebrate with you. Handing you a piece of fruit or bread wrapped in a tissue, kissing your cheek, scooting closer. It only happened a handful of times, but every second of those nights is ingrained in your brain.

The motel you're at is rundown and small. It's unlike the ones you've seen so far, but it's not the worst, either. Considering your circumstances, you're happy with mold-free bathrooms and a somewhat clean bed.

You plop down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging, and untie your boots. Yelena is in the shower, leaving you alone with Natasha. She hasn't said a word since you got here.

When you're about to toe off your second boot, a rounded something wrapped in a paper napkin lands in your lap. You look up and are met with the sight of Natasha watching you.

"You know what day it is?", she asks.

You stare at her, caught off guard. "No?"

"Your birthday."

You hesitate and unwrap whatever she handed you. It's a small cupcake, crushed from being carried around. Vanilla, judging by the color of the frosting. "I don't have a birthday."

"Not true", she says, sitting on the bed next to you. The mattress dips, reminding you of nights in the Red Room. How the thin mattress would sink under her weight, announcing her arrival. How the first thing she'd do is press closer and seek the warmth you both craved. "Everyone has a birthday."

Touché. You brush your finger against the bottom of the cupcake, unsure what to say.

Natasha shifts, arms crossed and expression guarded.

"I didn't bake it", she states the obvious. "I found it at a gas station."

You let out a sound that's dangerously close to a laugh, inspecting the cupcake. "How did I not notice?"

"I made Yelena distract you."

This time, you let out an actual laugh. You peel back the wrapper and take a small bite. Dry, but yummy. A bit too sweet. Nice vanilla flavor, though. "Thank you."

You look at each other. Natasha hums, tentatively reaching out to brush a crumb from the corner of your mouth. It's a brief, light touch, but it makes you freeze. Silence suddenly fills the room.

"Happy birthday", she mumbles. She pulls back, arms crossed over her middle. You swallow and look at the cupcake again.

"Doesn't feel like much of a celebration."

"They didn't have balloons."

"Candles?"

"No."

You crack a smile and poke at the cupcake. "A song, maybe?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Not even for you. Sorry."

Something flickers in her expression, mirroring your own. Before you can address it, the bathroom door swings open. Yelena walks into the room, towel-drying her hair and humming to herself. When she sees you sitting so close on the bed, she stops and squints.

"What's going on?" Her gaze falls to the cupcake in your hand. "Hey, nobody told me we had cake!"

"It's not cake", you say. "It's-"

"A birthday cake?", she cuts in. "Oh my god. Whose birthday is it?"

"Cupcake", Natasha says, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"My birthday", you add, glancing at the woman next to you. "According to her."

"Oh. Well then..." Yelena saunters over and inspects the sweet treat. "That's pathetic. I could've stolen something way better for your birthday."

"You did steal something", Natasha reminds her. "Lollipops. A handful of them."

"Yes, but those were for me." Yelena lets out a long-suffering sigh and plops onto the second bed. She stretches her arms and legs and yawns. "Worst birthday ever."

You smile to yourself and lick some frosting off your finger. Everything else seems to fade, at least for a moment — your past, your history with Natasha, the Red Room. It's just you, a small motel room and people that maybe do care.

You take another bite.

"It's not so bad."

. . .

With the Red Room gone, you're free.

Yelena leaves with Melina and Alexei (who she, embarrassingly, introduced you as Natasha's Любовница to — it took you ten minutes to assure them you definitely aren't lovers); they're about to be useful and help the girls you freed from the Red Room.

Natasha lingers by your side as the three drive away. You glance at her, allowing yourself to study the facial features that have changed so much yet are still the same.

"So", she finally says, suddenly twirling a set of keys around her finger, "Любовница?"

You roll your eyes. "God, I hate you."

"Come on." She nudges you with her shoulder, then starts to walk without waiting to see if you'll follow.

You do. Maybe you always will.

You have no clue what to expect, following Natasha blindly like this.

It's been 14 years. A lot can change in over a decade of time.

Examples?

The cost of homes has doubled.

Gas prices have gone from $1.36 per gallon to $2.10 per gallon.

Instagram has replaced MySpace.

Somehow, Natasha stayed the same. Even the way she walks — long strides that you can barely keep up with — is familiar. Her little smile as she glances at you, the glint in her eyes that remained from her so-called childhood.

"You're always the same", you say as she sits in the driver's seat. "Everything's different, except you."

The engine roars to life, and the black SUV pulls out of the parking lot. Natasha focuses on the road, so much so that you start to believe she didn't hear you.

"Yeah?", she finally says, absently, and glances at you. "Is that a good thing?"

"I haven't decided yet", you mumble, tilting your head. She smiles faintly.

"I think it's good", she says. "If you're as perfect as me, why bother changing?"

You know she isn't being serious, but a part of you knows very well that, once upon a time, you'd have agreed with the sentiment. Natasha was the closest thing to perfection you knew. She exceeded whatever it is you two had back then. A foolish, naive thought only a teenager in love can have.

She didn't change. She's still brash, self-assured, always pretending she's got everything under control. But there's a weight to her now, something that's been there ever since her graduation ceremony in the Red Room.

"You're not invincible", you say quietly. "Even you've got your cracks."

Natasha hums, her gaze briefly flitting over to meet yours. "Cracks aren't always bad", she says. "Sometimes, they let light in."

"Sometimes, they make glass shatter."

For a long few seconds, she goes quiet. Then she sighs, and you hear the exasperation in her voice.

"Alright, Shakespeare", she mumbles.

You laugh, but it's an unconvincing sound. You're tired, exhausted actually. You want to sleep. You want to rest. You want answers, but you also want to drown the whole world out. You want to cling to the one familiar feeling you know, but you're also scared that the same feeling — the same person — will suddenly leave again.

You don't voice your thoughts, your fears. You stay quiet and let the darkness of the night swallow you.

. . .

It takes an actual jet for you to get wherever the hell Natasha is bringing you.

In the end, it's all the way in New York City. Here, everything is alive — the bustling crowds, the neon signs, the cars. Music and chaos and hopes and dreams, all crushed into one place.

You can tell Natasha likes it here. You can tell it's become a home to her. It's so different from the Red Room, which is probably why she likes it so much.

This place is huge. From the city to the building, everything is ten times bigger. Nothing encloses you, nothing keeps you back. Freedom seems like an achievable goal out here.

She parks in front of the building. It's late at night, so there are barely any lights greeting you from the windows of the compound. Just silence and the lighting coming from the logo beaming above you — a big A, as in Avengers.

"Not too shabby", you mumble, closing the car door behind you. Natasha follows, her eyes holding something you can't quite place. "Must've costed a fortune."

"Probably", she says. She keeps pace with you, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. "I'm not the one who paid for it, though."

"Tony Stark", you say. She opens the front door using a keycard, her fingerprint, and a password. Something beeps and the door opens automatically. Inside, it smells like citrus.

"Yes, exactly."

You can barely hear her footsteps as she walks upstairs. You follow behind her, briefly studying her back. Her legs, the braided red hair, the leather jacket. You smell her perfume and avert your eyes.

Natasha walks you all the way to the end of a hallway and unlocks a door there, then she pushes it open. The room you enter is spartan, minimally furnished — a bed, a closet, a desk. Clean towels, folded and stacked, lay on a chair.

"I assume you don't have any clothes in your nonexistent suitcase", she mutters, disappearing into the hallway again. She returns moments later. "Here."

Pajamas, underwear, a bottle of water. Her fingers brush against yours. You curse your heart for doing that fluttery thing again.

You swallow, cradling the clothes to your chest. Natasha, leaning against the doorframe, watches you.

"You okay?", she eventually asks.

"Are you?"

Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She nods at the bed.

"Get some sleep", is all she says. You listen to her leave down the hall, retreating to her own room. The door closes with the gentlest of clicks.

Being alone again, you allow yourself to relax. Or, in your case, try to relax. You sit down on the bed and take a whiff of the clothes in your arms. Laundry detergent and something distinctly not Natasha. Probably for the better.

The bedsheets are softer than anything you've ever felt before. You curl into them, letting them warm you up, but sleep doesn't come. Everything else seems to be more interesting in that moment — the moon outside, the crystal clear windows, the fact that, somewhere in this big building, Natasha is going to bed as well.

You find yourself wishing for the bunk beds again. She was much closer then. Now, she seems so far away.

You roll onto your side, fingers curling into the sheets. You miss the sound of her breathing. You miss how her cold feet would press against your legs, how she'd tuck her hand under your back.

Maybe she misses it too. She probably does.

You use that as an excuse to pad down the hallway and look for her room.

She didn't tell you which one it is. She didn't have to — the pair of black boots in front of the door tell you where to go. Your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it.

You don't need to look at her to know she isn't asleep. Her breathing is a telltale sign that she's wide awake.

You walk on cold floor until your feet step on a rug made of wool. Your breathing hitches ever so slightly when your eyes meet in the near darkness of her room.

She stares at you for a moment. Then, without a word, she moves the comforter aside so you can lay down. You make sure to leave some space between you when you do.

You both roll onto your sides. You put your head on her pillow and smell the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. The fabric feels soft against your skin when you turn your head to bury your face in it.

"Reminds me of something", she murmurs. You can't stop the corners of your mouth from twitching into a faint smile.

"Bad habit."

Natasha's eyes trace your features. Beneath the sheets, her fingers brush against yours. Barely, just enough for your heart to start hammering. A test, maybe. Or a reminder.

Your first instinct is to scoot closer, so you do.

Your second instinct is to stay away, but this one, you ignore.

"I missed you", she says. "I really did."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"I was selfish", she says. You scoot closer again. "I didn't want to be reminded of that place. Not even by the person who was there with me."

You give a small, bitter smile. Your fingers touch hers, and after a split second, you take her hand.

"Sometimes, I thought you were dead", you say. "Sometimes, I preferred that idea."

"Can't blame you for that, can I?"

Not letting go of her hand, you shake your head. You can hear the rain outside, but it's a sound you barely focus on. Her breathing is much more interesting than the pitter patter of the water droplets against the window.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. You look up and feel the impending kiss like a bad omen.

Before anything can happen, you turn your head. Ever so slightly, just enough for the tension to turn into confusion and hurt.

"Get some sleep", she says, after a long moment of silence. "I'll be here in the morning."

Natasha is a woman of her word.

. . .

You wake up at the same time. Her eyes linger on your face, then you catch them flit down.

You realize two things:

1) Your shirt has ridden up while you were asleep.

2) The faint scar, stretching along your lower belly, is on full display.

You pull down your shirt and sit up abruptly. Natasha frowns and follows in suit, scrambling out of bed.

"Hey, wait-"

"Coffee", you say, hurrying down the stairs. You hear her footsteps right behind you. "I just- I need coffee."

"Y/N, wait-"

You shake your head, round the corner — and suddenly see a group of people sitting around a table. The strong coffee smell tells you you're right here, but the amount of eyes that are watching you unsettle you.

Natasha comes to a halt next to you. She gently grabs your wrist and leads you away before anyone can say anything. As soon as you've left their field of view, their conversation continues. You don't hear it, though. You're shaking too hard to notice.

"It's okay", she starts, furrowing her eyebrows. She doesn't know what to say, either. "They're friends."

"It's not about them", you say, running your hands through your hair frantically.

"What's it about, then?"

You try taking a deep breath, but it fails. Shaking your head, you start pacing. Natasha stays still.

"Y/N", she says slowly. "Tell me."

Tell me. The way she said it makes it sound so easy — like you wouldn't be ripping open old wounds, wounds that haven't even properly healed yet. You almost laugh at the absurdity, but you're too focused on not losing that last bit of sanity you have left to do so.

"No", you snap, whirling around. Her eyes widen, but your brain doesn't register it. You're too focused on trying to breathe, which seems impossible in that moment. "No, I- fuck."

"Y/N..."

"No!" You step backwards, eyes darting across the room. Paintings, plants, polished marble floors.

A door.

Without reconsidering what you're even doing, you turn and bolt. Natasha freezes before following, but you're outside before she does.

The rain is louder than your thoughts, louder than her voice. It soaks into your clothes and hair, biting and unrelenting, weighing down your clothes and chilling you to the bone. Not nearly as bad as the Russian winter, but cold enough to make your teeth clatter.

You almost slip on the wet grass while trying to get away from Natasha. She runs after you, breathing heavily despite the fact her stamina is as good as ever.

"Y/N!", she yells. "You'll get hypothermia, you idiot!"

You don't hear her. All you hear is the pounding of your heart, the sobs ripping through your chest, the ringing in your ears. Your hand grazes against your shirt, right where the scar is.

Then, someone grabs your wrist. Pulls you closer. Another sob, your hands pressing against her chest to keep her away. But, as unrelenting and stubborn as you may be — this is a fight you can't win.

Natasha shushes you, her arms wrapping around your body. She's as drenched as you are. Your head drops against her shoulder, body still shaking and shivering.

She doesn't tell you that it's okay, because she knows it isn't. So she leads you inside, up the stairs, into the bathroom. You lean against the wall as she starts the shower, eyes slipping closed. Steam fills the room and warms it up.

You feel her fingers brush against your wrist. When you open your eyes again, she's rolled up her soaked shirt to reveal the scar that matches yours.

You've seen it before, of course. Back in the Red Room, after she disappeared for days. When she slipped into your bed and cried. The bloodied bandage, her sobs, the way something between you shifted.

You blink, looking at her for a moment, then you reach out and trace the line with your fingers. Natasha tenses, then relaxes. You slowly pull your hand away again.

"You should shower", she says, adjusting her shirt. "You need to warm up."

"You're wet, too."

"I'm fine."

"Join me."

She looks at the shower, hesitating. Then, her eyes meet yours again. She pulls her shirt over her head, the sound of wet clothes against skin louder than ever. Your hands tug your clothes off blindly.

It's warm in the shower. Not nearly as warm as her body, though. You feel it against yours.

“I’m sorry”, she says.

Your hands touch her face.

“I know.”

She kisses the side of your thumb. You push her against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

You press your lips to hers. Water fills the space around you, between you, replacing the emptiness that’s been growing for more than a decade now.

“This isn’t me forgiving you”, you say, then kiss her again. Her hands run down your back, her head tilts so she can deepen the kiss.

In the Red Room, you were never granted the freedom to go this far. Displays of affection were kept to a minimum — kisses, cuddles, fingers trailing underneath clothes but never quite reaching their destination.

Somehow, you know your way around each other's bodies anyway. It's a language in itself, one you didn't have to learn to be able to speak it fluently.

. . .

There is a reason why you always stayed in Natasha's bed. Even in a place like the Red Room, where doing so was risky, dangerous — a death sentence if anyone found out, basically —, you did it anyway.

Back then, you were both kids. You were nameless soldiers, no future or family in sight, but you were kids. Teenagers at most. Raised in a world of lies and betrayal, finding something real seemed impossible. Then, you found Natasha. Natasha, who was so human despite claiming not to be, who was more real than the hunger you felt or the prickling pain of snow on bare skin. Natasha, who was a constant, a fragile thread that connected you to life itself.

You were in a place that saw emotions as a weakness, a place in which connection was reason enough to get killed. In each other, you found something that wasn't just a weapon, or a tool, or something to be broken.

Things have changed since then, but the feelings remain. The safety, the comfort, the simplicity of it are still very real.

You used to slip into her bed every night. Suddenly, you find yourself doing the same thing all over again — but this time, there's no fear of being caught looming over you. No one's going to kill you for sharing a bed.

The other Avengers don't notice, or don't care. Either way — they don't bring it up, for whatever reason that may be. They're polite enough, possibly because Natasha threatened them to be. You find yourself getting along with them quite well. Despite that, you spend most of your time latching onto the one person whose every breath seems familiar.

You don't talk when you get under the covers at night. You feel her roll over, her cold feet against your legs and her hand under your back. You see glimpses of what could've been if you had met in a place other than the Red Room.

Sometimes, you wonder what would be different. Whether you'd be married, maybe with kids. Or maybe you would've broken up after a few years. Maybe you never would've fallen in love in the first place.

So many possibilities, and you can't decide which is the least painful.

You feel that she's still awake without her having to say anything. You aren't able to fall asleep, either. Something in your body is protesting the idea of sleep.

Instead, you roll over. You curl into her and feel the kisses she places on your face.

"Sleepy girl", she mumbles.

"Can't fall asleep, so not really."

"You can be sleepy without being asleep." Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her bare chest. You nuzzle her warm skin with your nose, her scent surrounding you. "Something on your mind?"

"Please", you mutter. Ever since you were a little kid, there's always been something on your mind. Not a day goes by where your brain isn't flooded with (sometimes irrational) fears and worries. She should know that because she can relate. She does know that.

Natasha realizes her mistake and runs her hand down your back. Her fingernails gently scrape along your spine. "Fair enough."

You hum and close your eyes, lips brushing against the side of her breast. Your lips part slightly, tongue flicking against her skin. She exhales, a nearly silent sound you should've missed.

"I just..." You sigh, turning your head again. Your voice is muffled. "None of this is easy."

"Y/N, it was never easy in the first place."

That's true. It's only gotten easier over the years, but somehow, it feels like the opposite occurred.

"It's not fair."

"It was never fair, either."

You look up, eyes squinting and lips forming a thin line. "You really do have an answer for everything."

"Years of dealing with the bullshit of five different men help", she replies. Her fingertips brush against your ribs, tickling you, coaxing a small laugh from your mouth. The sound makes her feel a fluttery something in the pit of her stomach. "It's not about fairness. If it was, you'd leave."

You go silent for a moment. Slowly, you lay down on her chest again. Her heart thumps against your ear.

Natasha knows she should shut up. Not enough time has passed for her to say things like this. Wounds haven't healed, scars haven't faded. But the words lie on the tip of her tongue like you do on her chest, so she lets them tumble out.

"I love you."

You close your eyes. Her fingertips draw shapes on your back.

"I think we missed our shot there."

. . .

You're 33 when you do something you'd regret for the rest of your life.

Your relationship is a push and pull. You find that, even in the Red Room, knowing what you want was easier. Now, the decision seems unnecessarily difficult.

You may stay in her bed, but you don't join her before the hallways are dark. You kiss her, but not where anyone can see. You feel that you love her, but a part of you protests the mere idea.

Natasha notices the pattern, but she chooses not to comment on it. At least not at first — too big is the relief of having you back, of feeling something that comes close to what she last felt more than a decade ago. Things are hard, but they’re harder for you.

Still, there is a breaking point for everything.

You know she's back home without having to see her. You hear the Quinjet landing, the footsteps, the muffled voices. The Avengers are returning from a mission you didn't go on.

You glance at the live feed display of the security cameras and see a bunch of now-familiar people — among them, Natasha. Her suit is a bit torn, there's dirt on her cheeks, her hair is a mess, but she looks like she's fine. You get up anyway and open the door for them. They spot you from about 40 feet away, but your eyes are on her. When you realize they're all looking at you, you turn your head and step aside to let them in.

Natasha lingers by the door. Tentatively, she puts her hand on your side. You don't pull away from the contact, but don't lean in, either.

"Hurt?", you ask, searching her face.

"I'm good", she says, squeezing your waist. "Nothing a few painkillers can't fix."

You hum, still staring at her. She smiles faintly and kisses your cheek, but you unconsciously slip out of her embrace. You realize what you've done as soon her smile, small to begin with, fades.

"Am I doing something wrong?", she mumbles.

"No, I just..." You hesitate, unsure how honest you're allowed to be. "No. You're not doing anything wrong. This is about me, not you."

"No", she says. "It's about both of us."

You frown at her. Steve, who has been crouching in the hallway and cleaning his shoes, glances up before slowly leaving the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"In case you haven't noticed", she says, starting to unzip her suit and walk up the stairs, "there's two of us here."

You follow her, hand sliding along the railing and eyebrows furrowed. "Wow, newsflash."

She doesn't say anything. She walks into the bathroom, door almost closed, and doesn't react when you enter after her. She peels her suit off and reveals skin covered in scars, most of them healed, and dirt mixed with blood. You lean against the wall, trying not to stare.

"I want to shower", she suddenly says.

"I've seen you naked."

"Y/N."

You ignore her, and she ignores you. Her back is turned to you as she begins doing mundane things — test the water temperature, prepare a rug to put in front of the shower, pick which body lotion to use. The muscles on her back flex, on full display thanks to the sports bra she's wearing, but even that doesn't snap you out of your thoughts.

You don't know what to tell her because you don't know what you're feeling, either.

It's not that you don't feel anything — it's the opposite. After so many years, you still feel too much.

Her bra comes off, then her underwear. She takes her hair out of the braid. Stepping forward, you run your fingers through the tangled strands. She freezes before her shoulders slump.

"Are you going to keep punishing me for the rest of- of whatever this is?"

You stop, fingers still buried in the red locks. Is it a punishment?

Maybe. Not a conscious one, though.

Water flows, steam rises, hearts pound. Neither of you dare to move for a moment that lasts way too long.

"I'm not punishing you", you say, slowly moving your hand away. She exhales.

"Then what the hell are you doing?", she asks, stepping into the shower. You almost follow before realizing you're still fully clothed. Letting out a noise of frustration, you take off your shirt. "No, don't."

"No, we're talking." You let your sweatpants pool around your ankles and step out of them. Natasha swallows when she sees you half naked. "This is bullshit."

"What?"

"It's bullshit that we were better at figuring stuff out at 17 than we are now."

You join her under the water. She bites back a quiet whine.

"It's bullshit that we can't just pick up where we left off", you add. "It's bullshit that everything feels the same when it clearly isn't."

"It feels the same to me", she says defensively.

"It's not. It hasn't been since you left."

"Y/N", she says, voice low. "I know it isn't. I know what I did. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

(She would.)

"You can't make up for some things", you reply. Her sides, her breasts, her arms are warm and slick to the touch from the water. You feel the slight roughness of her scars, the contrast of smooth and scarred. You feel the muscles beneath, the gentle thump of her heartbeat. You wish you could take it all in and not have the weight of your past press down on you.

Natasha leans in, forehead resting against yours. The water falls in a steady cascade, enveloping your entwined bodies, blurring the space between you. Scents of sea salt and orange, the tiles slippery beneath your feet. You've never been closer, but you've never felt further away. Her lips brush against yours, promise and plea at once.

"Let me try", she mumbles before kissing you again. You feel the tears form in your eyes. Her lips travel to the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, down your neck. "We got out of the Red Room. We can do everything else, too."

You want nothing more than to believe her. But her words can’t undo the years of separation and silence.

"Natasha." A soft sob rips from your throat.

She kisses your collarbone, your chest. You run your fingers into her red strands of hair and grab them for purchase. Her head tilts up so she can look at you. "Please, Y/N."

Breathing ragged, you can do nothing but stare at her. Natasha gets on her knees, her lips finding the scar stretching along your lower stomach. The faded line feels hot when she litters it with slow kisses.

"No", you whisper, voice thick and shaky. "No, Nat. It doesn't work like that."

Her kisses stop. She buries her face against yours stomach. You feel her unsteady breaths against your skin, her fingers curling into the soft skin on the back of your thighs. Your thumbs brush against her temples.

"Get up", you plead. Natasha hesitates. For a second, you think she might fight for this moment with you.

But then gets to her feet. Once she's on eye level with you, you cup her face and kiss her. Firmly, deeply, apologetically. You step away, out of the shower, wrapping yourself into a towel and leaving without looking back.

There is both a first and a last time for everything.

. . .

It's been months since everything was somewhat normal.

Conversations are short, clipped, impersonal. Eyes don't linger. Her bed is a place you don't visit anymore, not even at night, when the silence is suffocating.

She doesn't initiate anything. She doesn't try to change your mind, doesn't try to fix things. She thinks it's better this way, that maybe the space will allow you to heal.

She's still making up for what happened years ago, but it's small, quiet, and you find it hard to notice it when the walls between you are this thick.

One morning, as you pad into the shared space downstairs, you see Natasha in the living room. She's wearing her suit, her hair pulled back into a braid again, and there's a backpack on the coffee table. Next to it lie guns and her Widow's Bite.

You frown. Nobody said anything about a mission.

"What?", she asks, not having to look up to know you're watching her.

"Nothing." You glance at the weapons that are neatly arranged in front of her. "You didn't...“

"No."

"Right.“

Natasha looks at you. She puts the taser aside. "Won't take long. A few days."

"Okay." You hum, briefly sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Not that it concerns me."

"It doesn't", she just says. Her eyes don't look away from yours. You shift under her gaze, the history between you like a weight in the air you can't escape.

"Be careful", you say.

"I always am."

"Liar."

There it is — the subtlest twitching of her lips, the almost-smile you've been dying to see. Amusement glints in her eyes, and she blinks it away.

"Go eat something", she says, focusing on her weapons again. "I made waffles. ...They're a bit burnt, though."

You want to tell her it's fine, that you'll eat them anyway. But nothing is fine. It hasn't been for a while.

"I'll pass", you say, briefly shaking your head. Natasha hums and glances at you, then she puts the weapons aside before walking into the kitchen. You follow her without needing to be told to.

A plate of — indeed burnt — waffles is handed to you. You inspect them, smelling the slight char, and look up at Natasha. The helplessness in her eyes is unfamiliar, and your chest tightens.

She's trying. She's always trying, even when you make it hard for her.

"Thank you", you manage to say, looking at the plate of food again. "I'm sure some syrup will help."

"It won't", she says, leaning against the counter. "I tried it, too."

"Sugar?"

"Nope."

"I could scrape off what's burnt."

She laughs, but the sound isn't as genuine as you hoped it'd be.

"Don't bother", she says, walking to the freezer. She pulls out a box of Eggo waffles. "Just heat these up. They'll taste better."

You glance at the yellow box. Not a bad brand — you've eaten them for breakfast a few times since getting here.

"No", you say, sitting at the kitchen table and ripping one of Natasha's waffles into two pieces. "I prefer these."

She watches you for a moment, a bunch of unsaid words lying on the tip of her tongue. Then she turns around and puts the Eggo waffles into the freezer again.

You watch her grab her stuff. She returns to the kitchen, her backpack slung over her shoulder, and studies you.

"I'll be back."

"I know."

"You can call me. If you need anything."

You smile faintly and reach for her hand. You squeeze, feeling the fabric of her fingerless gloves. "I'll be fine."

"Good." Her lips brush against your hair. "I love you. Be back soon."

One truth, one lie.

. . .

Hours after Natasha's death, Clint knocks on the door to your room. You wipe your eyes and look up, glancing at the little velvet sachet he's carrying. You two look at each other for a long moment. You see the redness in his eyes, how swollen they are. You know his pain because you feel it too.

He walks up to your bed and puts the sachet in your open palm. It's light, which doesn't make it any less confusing. Your fingers wrap around it.

"For you", he eventually says. "From her."

You frown and look at the sachet again, brushing your finger over the soft fabric. "I'm supposed to open it?"

"It'd defeat its whole purpose if you didn't."

You nod, opening the sachet and taking a look inside. What you see doesn't give you the explanation you desperately crave. What could be important enough for Natasha to give it to you from the afterlife? Not a hex nut, certainly.

"Try it on", he says. "If you want."

You put the hex nut into your palm and inspect it, then glance at Clint. "What are you talking about?"

"Y/N, just...give me your hand. Left one."

He grabs the hex nut and slides it onto your ring finger. When you realize what it is, you nearly break down. The edges, almost smooth. The shape. His explanation almost falls on deaf ears, that's how distraught you are, but you manage to catch the most important details.

How she made it in the Red Room, the nights you were sick. How she polished it using the floor. How a screwdriver she stole allowed her to hollow out the center. How she kept it in her nightstand, for years, and how a tiny part of her believed she might be able to put it to use someday.

It's not perfect. Even after all her hard work, it still resembles a hex nut more than it does an engagement ring. Natasha didn't care — it was the result that mattered, the future it may have lead to. The day you maybe do say yes, despite everything that happened.

That day wouldn't come. Nobody would ever say it out loud, but you know it's because of you.

She was your first kiss, and you're her last.

You're 34 when you lose her entirely.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel mcu #x reader #marvel #fanfic #lesbian #wlw #angst #fluff #oneshot #fanfiction #moon’s fics

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