#but his brain is very much not braining right now

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 & 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

prequel to juno

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: someone asked about this and honestly thank you so much for doing that, i love the idea and have been obsessing over it for weeks now. hope this does the first part justice (also i couldn’t figure out which filter i used on the first fic’s header and now this one pisses me off bc it looks different 😔)

also, i’m totally in love with this dynamic. i might keep writing oneshots about these two specifically because damn 😭 i can’t let them go

summary: college!au, fuckboy!nat and reader trying to get her to commit

warnings: smut, tipsy sex, implied dubcon (very brief, not between reader and nat), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, cheating but not really, vomiting (mentioned)—not sure if there’s anything else, but lmk if you find something so i can add it

word count: 18.5k (ik it’s long and i apologize for that but i promise it’s worth it if i may say so myself)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The basketball hits you in the back of your head.

It's not the most painful thing to ever happen to you, but the impact is enough to make you stumble. A dull ache shoots through your skull and you turn around, glaring at whoever the offender is.

Red hair, basketball jersey, hands lifted in silent apology before you can even say anything. Natasha's been walking behind you for about five minutes now and, unbeknownst to you, she's been staring a little too much. Staring hard.

Short white skirt, baby pink lacy top, high heels — it's enough to make her lose her train of thought. Paired with the sun framing your body, the sight is lethal.

It's also enough to make her forget about Clint. Once he'd realized she's staring, he knocked the ball out of her hands and sent it flying.

All she wanted to do was check out whoever's walking in front of her. Suddenly, she has to deal with an angry, no less gorgeous girl staring her down.

Her thoughts falter. Her witty self is gone. All that remains is a mushy brain and the urge to somehow turn things around.

"Say something", you demand, rubbing the sore spot on the back of your head.

"...His fault, not mine."

You tilt your head, briefly glancing at her jersey. Natasha Romanoff — you know her. Not intimately, just in passing. You exchanged names once, during Welcome Week. You’ve seen her in bars, been to some of her basketball games. Usually, she's tangled up with some other girl.

Natasha picks up the ball again. She holds it out to you, almost like a peace offering. Your lips twitch and you lower your hand from your head.

"You ever play?", she asks.

You snort. "I don't think my high heels are gym approved."

"High heels or not, I think you'd look pretty good on the court." She leans in, voice dropping to a murmur. "Or against the lockers. Pick your poison."

Next to her, Clint rolls his eyes. He's seen her do this way too many times before. Find a girl, flirt with her, take her home. Then, complain about a hangover and a phone that's getting blown up with messages and voicemails. All it leads to is another girl who got ghosted by Natasha Romanoff.

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. You're familiar enough with her reputation and, truthfully, you like to protect your peace. No need for more drama, right?

But the sweat glistens on her biceps — she must've finished basketball practice not too long ago. Loose strands of red hair curl in the moist heat. Green eyes twinkle. You look away, at the parking lot stretching out next to you. Painfully uninteresting, but you're trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory.

"You're going to the cafeteria?", you ask, finally glancing at her again. Pull yourself together.

"Mhm", she says, tossing the ball into the air and catching it with one hand. "You, too?"

"No." You tilt your head, smiling sweetly. You step back and lift your hand, waving. "Have fun!"

You turn and walk towards the main entrance, skirt swishing and heels clicking against the pavement.

All Natasha can do is stare, eyebrows raised. The basketball drops and rolls away, causing Clint to curse and chase after it, but she's still staring. Only when he returns and punches her arm does she turn around.

"What?"

"You’re not serious."

"Oh, come on. That was harmless."

"That?" He wheezes, tucking the ball under his arm. "With you, it's never harmless."

Natasha lets out a dismissive sound, but her eyes have tracked you again. She's used to girls falling into her lap, not them walking away without so much as glancing back at her.

Nothing about this is, or will be, harmless.

. . .

Natasha's not the type to spend her Fridays studying, but she has no choice. That is, if the prospect of studying includes running into someone who seems to be avoiding her.

The lighting inside the library is dim. Pages rustle, keyboards click, people murmur softly. It smells like old books and the coffee you brought along in your thermos.

On the table in front of you, you've got a real setup — laptop, books, some notes, a few pens. You're distracted, which is good. You don't notice the people entering the library, don't notice the students making a little too much noise. This way, you can study more efficiently.

You also don't notice when Natasha walks in, but she notices you. All it takes is one glance in your direction, and suddenly, she's on her way to your table.

She slides into the seat across from you and stretches out. Her legs bump into yours. When you look up, she grins faintly and crosses her arms behind her head.

"You lost?", you mumble, directing your attention toward the laptop in front of you again.

"I'm right where I want to be."

"Doubt that."

Natasha steals one of your pens and twirls it between her fingers. She stays quiet for a moment, watching you, taking you in. Oversized sweater, off-shoulder. Lacy bralette peeking out from underneath. Hair half-up, slightly messy, and a delicate necklace around your neck.

You look up and your eyes meet. You tilt your head.

"Looks like you're staying."

"Am I not allowed to?"

"As long as you left your basketball at home", you say, reaching for a marker, "it's fine."

"I told you that wasn't me", she points out, stealing the marker from you. She flicks off the cap and draws a crescent on one of your notes. You look up, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together to keep them from twitching. She shrugs. "Matches your necklace."

"I almost got a concussion", you say, grabbing the marker again. "And you were right behind me. So I'll assume it was you."

"That's odd", she says. "Girls usually don't get concussions when I'm behind them."

You scoff, tucking some hair behind your ear. Natasha hums and leans in, arms crossed on top of the table. Her eyes are a deeper green now, courtesy of the dimmer light inside the library, but they shimmer just as much.

You shake your head and shift in your chair, fingers tapping against the book in front of you. "You're here to study or piss me off?"

"A bit of both. Multitasking, you know." She tilts her chair slightly, balancing it on its back two legs, making herself comfortable.

You're still not sure what she wants from you, but you have your assumptions. You know who she is. Everyone does. Star athlete, newest captain of the university's basketball team, current record holder of hooking up with the most girls. At least that's what everyone says about her.

You're certain they have a point, though. You're witnessing it with your own eyes. Natasha Romanoff is a flirt, a fuckboy, and you're her latest victim.

"I'm here to study", you point out.

"I can see that."

"And you...?"

"Keeping you company."

"Who's saying I want company?"

Natasha shrugs. "You haven't made me leave yet."

You sigh, conceding, then lower your eyes again. You skim the vocabulary list of French in front of you. If you'd paid more attention last semester, you maybe wouldn't be struggling as much now.

Natasha leans in, glancing at the vocabulary as well. Se doucher, s'habiller, être d'accord — she glances at you, at the slightly bored look on your face, and taps your arm with a pen. You look at her.

"Ton français est déjà pas mal", she whispers, "mais j'aimerais bien entendre comment tu gémis dans cette langue."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it.

There's no way she just asked you to moan in French.

"You're way too fucking bold for your own good."

"Yeah?" She hums, getting up from her chair. She walks around the table and you turn your head to keep her eyes on her, but suddenly, her mouth is right next to your ear. "I've found that it works."

You look up, slowly, until your eyes are boring into hers. Her mouth is inches away from yours, heat radiating from her plush lips. Then, your eyes dart lower. You stare at them.

She notices. Of course she does.

A smirk forms on her face. Small, barely noticeable, but irresistible. It convinces you that maybe two can play this game.

"Alors", you mumble, "fais-moi gémir."

Natasha pauses, surprise crossing her features. But then you're packing up — stacking books and papers, putting your laptop into your backpack — and she almost puts her hand on your arm.

"You were being serious?"

"Hm?" You look up, head tilted and glossy lips shimmering. You shake your head. "Oh, no. I'm going home."

"This is the second time you're doing this."

You sling the backpack over your shoulder and glance at her. "Pretty sure it's not the last time, either."

She shifts on her feet, jaw clenched and hands tucked into the pockets of her sweatpants. Before you can leave, she quickly steps in front of you.

"There's this party", she says. "Next week. Pietro's place. Perfect spot for you to reject me a third time."

"Pietro?", you ask, raising your eyebrows.

"One of the Maximoff twins."

"Right." You nod. "Sounds lame."

"It won't be", she insists. "Just...come by. Have a beer. Maybe you know a few French party tricks?"

You exhale, trying to stop yourself from smiling. It's a lost cause, though, and the way your face seems to soften gives Natasha whiplash.

"We'll see", you say, brushing past her. "Guess you'll just have to keep an eye out for me."

"Okay", she mumbles.

You pause, arms wrapped around the books you're holding to your chest. You look at her one last time, then you step out of the library.

. . .

A steep staircase and dim lighting don't pair well.

One hand sliding along the railing attached to the wall to keep yourself from falling, you're slowly making your way down the stairs and into the basement. As soon as you've stepped inside, the stench hits you.

Air thick with smoke, smelling like vodka and sweat. Weed and cheap perfumes, pizza and something not unlike the sourness of vomit. You scrunch up your nose and glance at your friends.

Everything is exactly how you expected it would be. Neon LED strips, worn couches, a dying potted plant in the corner. The bass from the speakers is rattling the walls. Someone's rolling a joint on the coffee table.

In your tiny corset top and silk skirt, you definitely feel a little out of place. Then, you spot her.

Grey hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, basketball shorts, a bottle of beer in her hand. She laughs at something Clint says, then tips back her head to take a sip. As she's moving her lips from the bottle's mouth, she quirks her eyes in your direction.

What comes next seems to be the longest hour of your life.

60 minutes of tiptoeing around each other, of glancing across the room, of trying to distract yourself. You're tense, you both are, you're tipsy, and every time you try to focus on something else it fails horribly — which is exactly why a game of 'spin the bottle' is both a blessing and a curse. Looking at the expression on Carol's face, though, you feel like Natasha may have meddled in this.

You gather on the couches. You sit on the armrest, one leg crossed over the other, and watch Natasha as she sits down on the floor right across from you.

The bottle spins a few times, but you barely pay any attention. That is, until it's your turn.

You spin the bottle. You watch it almost land on Natasha, but then it stops too soon. Before you know it, you're kissing one of Clint's friends.

You're tipsy enough to not care too much, but Natasha's lips form a thin line. She lifts her bottle to her mouth and takes a swig.

The game continues. More kisses, some resembling pecks and others turning into full make out-sessions.

Suddenly, it's your turn again. You spin the bottle, watch it closely — and it lands on Natasha.

First, there's a beat of silence. Someone whistles. Heart racing, you clear your throat and put aside your drink. You get up, approach her, and end up in her lap. Her hands come up to rest on your waist.

"Not rejecting me this time?", she murmurs, looking at your mouth. Your lipgloss has been tempting her all night.

"Third time's a charm", you reply, running your hands along her jaw and up into her hair. Silky red locks, smooth between your fingers.

Natasha exhales quietly. She leans in, closing the distance and pressing her lips to yours.

It's controlled at first. Nothing but a firm press of lips. Beer and weed, lipgloss and strawberries.

Bass that's making the floor thrum. Warm hands and plush lips. You feel her heat against you. Natasha, dazed and undone, pulls you closer until your body is flush with hers.

Her hands sneak higher, fingertips grazing the hem of your top. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie. Your lips part, and so do hers, and her grip on your sides tightens.

Your thighs are snug around her middle. Her hands move lower, to the part beneath your ass, and grasp at the soft flesh there.

Suddenly, it's desperate. You're tipsy enough to be bold, so you deepen the kiss further and further. Natasha goes along with it, because why shouldn't she? — This is what's she's been wanting for weeks at this point.

At some point, you're forced to remember you aren't alone. You pull away, breathless and flushed, need growing inside your buzzing body. Natasha stares back at you, breathing heavily, her shorts uncomfortably tight. You see a muscle in her jaw tick.

Swollen lips tingle, kiss bitten and slick with her taste. Her fingers twitch against your sides, the suppressed urge to get up and drag you away apparent.

There's no need to say it out loud. You both know you're getting out of there, and you're doing it together.

You get off her lap and sit back down in your spot. She keeps looking at you, her knees tucked against her chest to hide the issue the kiss left her with.

You last five minutes. You shift, glance at her, let your eyes sweep over your friends. Having decided you're done waiting, you get up and disappear in the hallway. Natasha's eyes track you down, then she scrambles off the floor and shoves her beer into Clint's hands.

"Don't wait up", she says, already chasing after your retreating figure.

You glance over your shoulder as you're going up the stairs. Sure enough, Natasha's following close behind.

You start pushing open doors. Bathroom? Occupied. Living room? No way. Anyone could walk in on you.

One of the bedrooms is empty. Judging by the looks of it, it belongs to Pietro. Messy desk, unmade bed, empty bottles on the nightstand. At this point, though, you really don't care.

You hear the door close and turn around. A few seconds later, you're tangled up with her. Hands roam your body impatiently, lips move in sync with yours. You try to walk her backwards, maybe push her against the wall, but she hoists you up by your thighs and carries you to the bed.

You're too tipsy to consider whether this can end well, but you're also horny enough that you wouldn't worry even if you were sober.

Natasha is almost sober — two bottles of beer don't have much of an impact on her at this point —, but she doesn't care, either. You've been on her mind for weeks. You've been that dirty little fantasy she jerked off to, that one girl that somehow managed to catch her attention in a room full of others. This is something she needs.

She spins around and sits down with you in her lap. You pull away for a second, only to tug at her hoodie. She peels it off, revealing a fitted tank underneath. Muscles taut, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands reach for your corset top, fumbling with the stubborn fabric.

"Fucking- how do you get this off?"

"Try being less rough", you mumble, smiling, and use your finger to tip her chin up. You kiss her. Her tongue sweeps past your lips.

The corset top comes off, and Natasha moves you onto your back. She tugs down her shorts just enough to get what she wants.

All it takes is one look at her, and you instantly realize this will hurt. You knew she's big — you felt it sitting on her lap. But looking at her now, hard as a rock and flushed and pulsing, your tipsy brain starts to grasp that making her fit will be a challenge.

"You'll be fine", she promises, having noticed you staring. She rolls on a condom and crawls on top of you. Her lips meet yours and she guides herself into place.

You moan into her mouth. Her hips roll against yours, easing it into you inch by inch. It stretches you out. You're soaked, but getting her fully inside you still proves to be difficult.

She keeps her eyes glued to your face, watching every little reaction as she buries herself in your swollen cunt. Your thighs wrap around her waist, trembling, and she bottoms out.

"Doing so good", she pants. She pulls away to bury her face against your neck. She starts moving her hips, fucking her throbbing cock into you. You mewl and whine, manicured nails raking down her muscular back. "Wanted this for so long."

"Yeah?" You moan, nails digging into her skin. Your hips rock against hers. The bed shakes underneath you.

Gripping your waist tightly, she pulls out and thrusts back into you. It's enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

"Yeah", she grunts, placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Wanted you so bad."

Your eyes flutter shut. You lift your hips, meeting each of her thrusts. The orgasm builds up, and you come around her cock.

In the morning, you're up first. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, the air smells like sex and sweat.

You roll over and see Natasha, still asleep and one arm behind her head. The other is tucked under your body. Once the fog in your head has cleared up, you realize you've just added yourself to her list of disposable one night stands.

'Not that serious.' That's the words she says whenever she's questioned about her hookup habits. Now you're part of that, as well.

You sit up slightly and pause. When she stays asleep, you slip out from underneath the covers and pad through the room. You grab your skirt, your underwear, and put your clothes on.

"Y/N?", she mutters, rubbing her eyes. You look at her as you stand there, slipping your high heel on. "You leaving?"

"It's not that serious, right?", you say.

You grab your purse and Natasha leans on her elbow, studying you. In the early morning light, with your hair messy and your lipstick smudged, you look even more tempting. If she was different, she'd beg you to stay. She'd try to make more mornings like this one happen. Maybe she'd even see if there could be more than sex to this.

But that's not who she is, or at least that's what she tells herself. Still, she clears her throat and shrugs, almost awkwardly.

"Not staying for breakfast?"

"Not today", you say, hand on the doorknob. "See you around?"

"Sure", she mumbles. The door falls shut behind you. Any chance at getting you back into bed with her is gone — for now, at least.

Natasha exhales slowly and sinks into the mattress again. She stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched and one hand fisting the bedsheets. She doesn't know why she's so frustrated. You said it yourself: 'not that serious'. Nothing is ever serious with Natasha.

After a few minutes of silent sulking, she decides it's the lack of sleep that's got her acting like this.

. . .

Natasha doesn't chase.

She tells herself that multiple times — usually when you make fun of her for getting clingy, or soft. When she asks for your number, when she starts texting you late at night. When the hookups become more frequent.

It's still just sex, but something more begins to build. Friendship, affection. Something that feels like love but can't be — or that's what you both tell yourselves.

When you get a text one evening, you expect it to be another booty call. You've been hooking up for a while now, and not a day goes by where you don't see each other.

It's not an invitation to come have sex, though. You look at your phone and raise your eyebrows.

Natasha: please tell me you

know how to take

care of a kitten — 8.37 pm

Natasha: Y/N im

begging you — 8.38 pm

*image attached*

You: what the fuck — 8.40 pm

Natasha: COME OVER — 8.40 pm

The sight you get when walking into her dorm is ridiculous in the best way possible. Natasha — all muscles and basketball shorts — and a little kitten clawing at her hoodie.

It turns out that Natasha, leaving the court after practice, heard something meow pathetically. At first, she wanted to leave — it was pouring rain, and she was tired, and truthfully, she can't take in every stray she runs into.

Then, she saw the kitten. Tiny, partially hidden in a bush, its fur soaked. It meowed again.

She tried to walk away. A few minutes later, she was stuffing the tiny thing into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.

"Aw, so cute", you coo, sitting down next to her. "I guess the kitten's cute, too."

She shoots you a glare, but the effect is destroyed by the little feline trying to catch one of her drawstrings. "You could try helping."

"No fun in that." You reach for Natasha's hands and start adjusting them. That little bit of contact is enough to send heat into her cheeks. "It's still wet. You need to dry it."

"I tried! It bit me."

"Yes, yes", you mumble, grabbing a random towel and silently praying it isn't full of sweat or other gnarly bodily fluids. "It fits in your palm, but it's so scary."

"It has knives for hands."

You dry the kitten off together. Once that's done, you show her how to hold it. But then, it knocks.

"Randy here", someone calls. Your resident advisor.

"Wait, let me-"

"No!" Natasha, panicking, grabs the kitten. All you can do is stare, stunned, as she yanks down her hoodie to stuff it inside. The poor creature lets out a pitiful mew, and your eyes widen in horror.

"Natasha!", you hiss.

"Shut up!" She grips the front of her hoodie when the kitten meows again, as if she can physically will it into silence.

You give her a bewildered look. Then, you remember.

Randy hates cats for multiple reasons. Mild allergies, bad encounters when he was a kid, general lack of fondness toward other living beings. Pets aren't allowed in the dorms, either way — but he'll even shoo the strays away. He's awkward, but he's not a pushover. If he finds out about this, he'll rat you out.

Another knock. More impatient this time.

"Uh, guys? It's Randy! Open up?"

"A minute", you call back, smoothing down your hair. Natasha is wrestling with the kitten inside her hoodie. She winces when it buries its claws in her chest.

Cheeks flushed and expression somewhat schooled, you make it to the door and open it. Randy stares at you. Clearly, he expected someone else.

"You", he says.

"Me."

"This is Romanoff's dorm, though."

You step aside just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her. You glance over your shoulder as well. When you see her flushed face and the wiggling hoodie prison, you quickly block his view again.

"What do you need?"

Behind you, you hear a muffled mew.

"Just wanted to pop by", he says, looking over your shoulder again. You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe, chin lifted in silent defiance.

"We're studying", you lie. "So please leave?"

Another mew. Natasha is fidgeting, trying to keep the kitten and her hoodie in place. She could swear she's never sweated this much in her entire life. Her fingers shake as she gently adjusts the kitten.

This is the first time everything between you begins to feel different. You're not sure what it is — the absurdity of hiding a kitten? The panicked looks she keeps shooting at you? Her softer side, so unlike what she's shown you so far? —, but you feel yourself slipping into a dangerous situation.

Falling in love with Natasha can't end well.

Randy frowns and shifts, his head tilting. You scoot to the side, silently cursing his nosiness.

"I got a test tomorrow, Randy."

"Yes, just-"

"No", you say firmly, heart thundering with a mix of anxiety and thrill. He sighs. "Whatever it is, just come by tomorrow. I'm sure we'll run into each other again."

He gives you one last skeptical look, then steps back. You shut the door and turn around only to see Natasha barely holding back laughter. She's still shaking, the kitten finally pushing its head through the neckline of her hoodie. A tiny paw presses against her collarbone and your stomach flips.

Not the cocky athlete. Not the shameless flirt. Just a girl in her dorm, a girl you're starting to like more and more, freaking out over a kitten.

You cross the room before you know it. Hands cupping her face, heart rabbiting with exhilaration, you lean in and kiss her deeply.

It's the first crack that appears in your just friends-facade.

. . .

Most people expect the casual stuff to be less complicated than actual relationships.

In many cases, that's true. In others, it absolutely isn't.

The emotional intimacy is there, but there's no commitment. Neither of you has the right to get jealous, but it happens anyway. There are expectations, but there are no labels. Either of you could walk out at any given moment.

It's thrilling. It's terrifying. It makes every hookup, every kiss, feel like something worth chasing.

Then, you fight. Usually, it's nothing serious, but it sucks anyway. It creates this odd push-and-pull, this combination of cursing each other out only to end up in bed together. It leads to jealousy plays and spikes of irritation, sleepless nights and desperate text messages resulting from being lonely and horny.

This time, it started when Natasha flirted with someone at a bar. You were there with a couple of friends, and when you turned around to order another cocktail, a girl had approached her. Suddenly, you caught her flirting shamelessly.

It wasn't what made you fly off the handle, though. The nudes in her phone, hours after you'd had sex in her dorm, were.

Not that serious, she said. We're just hooking up. Casual, you know. I wasn't even interested in her.

You kept yelling, anyway. She glared at you, but it wasn't too intimidating. You know she's scared of you, for some reason, so you kept bawling her out. The night ended with you blocking her.

Almost a week later, you're still ignoring her. You're pissed, and it'll stay like that until she apologizes, so you keep her number blocked and your bed empty.

Wanda is the one who drags you to a sorority party. Mainly because she likes one of the girls there, but also because she thinks you need to get out of your dorm and find a rebound. Plus, the theme is 'movie characters', and she can't miss that.

The word rebound makes you frown, though.

"It wouldn't be a rebound", you tell her. "We never dated. No wounds I need to distract myself from."

"Y/N, honey, that girl always leaves a wound."

Maybe she has a point. Trusting her judgment, you end up going to that party. You step into the room, and the first person who looks at you is none other than Natasha.

She sees your costume and forgets how to function. A green, short dress, shimmering wings on your back, makeup flawless. Ballet flats with pompons on the toes.

Tinkerbell. Short and sweet — very on point.

Her thoughts are a mess. No way. She did this on purpose. To ruin my night. What if I ruin her, instead?

Fuck, I need to sit down.

Her hand tightens around the beer bottle. Her jaw clenches as she grinds her molars.

But you? You're barely paying attention to her. You're smiling already, talking to Wanda about everything and anything — some concert, the kitten she took in — while Natasha is losing her mind. You're sipping drinks, chatting with people, laughing.

You step closer to some guy in a Joker-costume. He leans in, mumbling, and you giggle. He reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

It's barely something, but Natasha feels like she's witnessing a war crime.

She downs one more shot, her brain fuzzy, and then gets up. You feel her hand on your back, pushing you away from the guy. You're too surprised to react properly.

"She's not interested", she snaps when he tries to stop her.

"Since when do you speak for me?"

"Shut up", she mutters, wrapping her arm around your waist.

You stare at her, frowning. Is she drunk?

Maybe. Not necessarily. She could be completely sober and still act like an idiot.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk to you tonight, you know."

"Sure", she grunts. "That's why you're dressed like this. To piss me off."

You stop and tear yourself away from her embrace. She pauses, blinking.

"Not everything I do is for you!", you snap. "And I'm tired of you acting like it is!"

"Then why are you dressed like that?", she barks.

You glare at her, your back against the wall. She's walked you into some hallway — secluded, dark, but close enough to the party so you can still hear the music. The ground is vibrating, shaking beneath Natasha's feet, and her head spins with a mixture of anger and want.

Your costume isn't helping. The short dress, the sparkling material, the smooth skin of your thighs. Now she's not only drunk and pissed, but can also feel herself harden and twitch in her camo pants.

"Are you kidding? I'm dressed like this because I look good!"

"Obviously", she retorts, stepping forward. The dog tag around her neck dangles in front of you, her alcohol-warm breath fanning your mouth. "You always do."

Her hand comes up to press against the wall beside your head. You look up at her, expression forcibly blank. She leans in closer, breathing heavily. Her lips almost touch yours, but you push your hand against her chest.

"You're drunk", you say.

"I'd want you even if I was sober."

"You don't get to say that", you hiss. "Not after what you did."

"And what did you do?", she says, fingers curling and fist pressing harder against the wall. "I saw you, you know. With that clown over there. What do you even want from him?"

You stare at her, both of you out of breath. Something about this situation is turning you on — how close she is, how she smells like that one cologne you love on her. How you're alone, bodies inches apart. How her hips twitch, and her eyes both search and avoid yours. How, despite it all, she's actually jealous.

"It's just casual, right?", you murmur.

Natasha furrows her eyebrows. Her lips curl into a faint smirk. "That's something you worry about?"

"No."

"Liar."

You shove her. She stumbles closer anyway, grabbing your face and kissing you.

Teeth clash, bodies intertwine against the wall. Your hands grasp at the material of her tank top. Your back hits the wall, again and again, and her hands move to fumble with your dress. She bunches it up around your hips, her fingers quickly finding the front of your lace panties. She groans when she feels how wet you are.

"Who'd you wear these for?", she pants against your neck.

Your hips buckle into her touch, chasing friction. She rubs against you through the thin fabric. You moan and Natasha sees stars.

"Fuck- fuck, Nat-"

"Stop talking", she gasps, pulling you into another kiss. Her fingers nudge past the fabric and slide against slick heat. She works you open, filling the hallway with quiet squelching sounds.

Her fingers fuck into you. You moan, back arching, and reach between you to fumble with the zipper of her pants. You yank the fabric down enough to let her cock spring free. Pink-tipped and veins throbbing, oozing precum.

Natasha's breathing stutters when she feels your hand around her cock. You stroke her, slowly at first, and her head drops against your shoulders. Her fingers are still inside of you, but the movements become more irregular.

"Shit", she whines, burying her face against your neck. You smear precum down her length, lubricating it. Her fingers curl inside you and you almost let go.

She pulls away and tears her pants down. Not willing to waste any time, she squeezes your thighs together and pushes her cock between them. She fucks herself with your plush thighs, the shaft just barely grazing your clit, precum making your skin slick.

Beads of sweat roll down her temple. You stare at her, equally lightheaded and mesmerized.

Finally, she hikes up your thigh and aligns herself with you. She thrusts in, deep, and both of you moan.

Wet, hot, tight. Natasha's losing her mind.

"Tinkerbell, huh?", she pants, snapping her hips forward.

"Yeah", you moan, meeting each of her thrusts. She laughs roughly, pressing her lips to your neck. "Bet you've never fucked a fairy before."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." She grunts against your neck, then lifts her mouth to your ear. The coil in your stomach tightens. "Wanna cum inside you."

Not thinking straight, you nod frantically. You grab the chain around her neck, keeping her close. Her cock throbs hotly inside you, and your clit is so swollen that it hurts each time her skin rubs against it.

She couldn't stop if she wanted to. She's so deep, so close, chasing it, and your soft moans and whines aren't making it any easier for her, either. Hot spurts of cum shoot into you, your own orgasm milking out every drop as your walls tighten around her.

Natasha sags against you, spent. Her cock twitches inside of you, a white and sticky fluid dripping down your thighs, and you exhale shakily. The noises from the party — muffled music, voices, the bass — takes you back to reality. Back to the dark hallway, the fight, the fact you just had sex without even considering you could be walked in on.

You're sticky, overstimulated. Dizziness is setting in. The music thumps, but it's nothing compared to your pounding heart. Natasha breathes against your neck, her arms still keeping you trapped against the wall, and you finally push her away.

"You still need to apologize."

"I just made you come", she says.

"You really think that's a smart answer right now?"

"No, but-", she says, but you shove her off and the words die on her tongue. She frowns, opening her mouth again, but then it shuts when she sees her cum drip down your thighs. She stares, her half-erect cock twitching once more.

"Don't even think about it", you say, glaring and straighten your dress. "Apologize, or I'm leaving."

"There's nothing to apologize for", she says after a few seconds of silence. She pulls up her boxers and cargo pants and zips up again. "We're not official."

Just like that, you regret everything that happened in the past ten minutes. You regret ever getting to know the feeling of her finishing inside you, of ever thinking things could change. You regret thinking you could be the odd one out, the one who makes her change.

You don't say anything. You step back, using your hands to remove most of the cum sticking to your thighs, and walk away.

Natasha's heart races as she watches your figure disappear. She doesn't chase. And yet, she runs after you.

She catches your wrist just as you're about to leave the house. She spins you around and pulls you into her arms, kissing you.

You want to shove her away. You want to let this go. You should let it go.

An hour later, you unblock her number.

. . .

Popcorn, soda and a horror movie at a flashback cinema.

It was Natasha's idea. She was the one who came up with it, thinking it'd be nice to see you squirm. Maybe you'd clutch her arm, hide your face against her shoulder, make her feel needed. Though, she obviously couldn't tell you that.

You couldn't say no, even if a part of your brain kept telling you to. Two hours, spent in a dark room, hearts racing and bodies too close to ignore the heat burning between you.

You were right. It is dark, and intimate, and you notice her stretch and put her arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes. Way too cliche.

Her breath fans your ear. Her thumb slips under the shoulder strap of your top. She teases the skin there, listening closely to see if you'll react in any way.

You don't. But then, her free hand pushes up the hem of your top to touch your stomach. Fingers travel higher, graze the lacy bra, and then dip underneath the fabric.

In front of you, you watch Krueger kill Glen. A Nightmare on Elm Street — a classic, one that'd probably leave you with at least a week worth of sleepless nights, but you're barely able to focus.

Natasha cups your breast. Her thumb rolls over the nipple, flicking it, tugging at it, until it's pebbled against her touch.

Then, you feel her mouth on your neck. Her tongue darts out and licks a stripe over your throat.

Your thighs press together in a hopeless attempt at keeping the wetness at bay, but it's no use. You shift in your seat, hoping no one will notice.

On-screen, it's a bloodbath. Between your legs, it's like a dam broke.

"Scared yet?", she mumbles, twisting and rolling the bud until it's raw and almost painfully sensitive.

"Watch the damn movie", you hiss through gritted teeth.

"I've watched it twice", she says dismissively.

You'd ask why she picked it. You don't have to, though. It's obvious — she did it so she could feel you up under the cover of darkness.

You don't fully understand why. You could do this in either of your dorms. You'd have more privacy, more time. You wouldn't risk being caught and getting banned from this cinema.

It's a nice cinema, though. The speakers are loud enough to cover up the moans that escape you.

Your hands grasp the armrests, nails digging into soft fabric. Natasha keeps trailing kisses all over your neck, wet and open-mouthed, and your hips shift desperately.

Fingers curl. You're trying to keep yourself from grabbing her stupid hand and pushing it between your legs yourself.

In the end, you don't have to do that. Her hand comes up from underneath your shirt again. You feel it inside your panties.

Your thighs spread just a little bit. Just enough to allow her fingers to gather wetness before thrusting into you. Your hips nearly jerk off the seat.

She thumbs your clit. Her fingers piston into you, setting a fast, relentless pace.

"Got plans for spring break?", she mumbles, like she isn't fucking you stupid inside a movie theater right now. Like her fingers aren't drenched with your slick. Like she isn't about to rip through her own sweatpants.

You almost laugh, but then her fingers curl just right. You whine, hand jerking and knocking over your popcorn. Natasha gives a breathless chuckle against your neck.

"Taking that as a 'no'", she muses, voice a whisper, and pulls out only to thrust back in. Your hips buckle. "How's Miami sound, baby?"

"Fuck."

"You a fan?", she mumbles. "All our friends are going. Tony said he'd get us a surprise."

Your vision blurs. Your lower belly tightens, heat shooting into it. The pleasure builds up, relentless and overwhelming, and your hips wiggle in the seat.

People are being murdered brutally on-screen. Blood, screams, booming speakers.

The real horror? She pulls out.

The emptiness hits you suddenly. You gasp quietly, feeling the pleasure shift into an aching, throbbing sensation. For a moment, you consider shoving your hand between your legs just to get it over with.

"I'll fucking kill you", you hiss, grabbing her slick hand. "Finish that."

"I'm not a fan of exhibitionism."

"Want to end up like that guy on the screen?"

She snorts quietly and sinks back into her seat, not making a move to help you out.

You shift, again and again, the movement giving you some much needed friction. But it's not nearly enough, and before you know it, your hand is pushing past your underwear.

Natasha watches, wide-eyed, as your hand starts to move. Something about it makes blood shoot into her lower half.

"Jesus Christ", she practically moans, her hand flying down to press against the bulge in her sweatpants.

She watches you squirm in your seat, soaking your own fingers because she left you desperate. Your hips roll up into your hand, chasing that high, and when it finally comes, the noises that escape you are enough to make thick ropes of milky cum shoot into Natasha's boxers.

She wasn't even touched properly. Watching you was enough.

The aftermath is a mess. Both of you wrecked, panting, her boxers drenched and your thighs sticky.

You feel her warm breath against your ear.

"So, Miami?"

. . .

The entire campus — no, the entire city — knows Tony Stark is extra.

Still, you don't expect him to pull up with an entire bus the day you're going to Miami for spring break.

"It's like The Magic School Bus", you say.

Natasha's got her arm around your shoulders. You're both leaning against the wall in front of your dorms, the early morning sun blinding you. You lift your hand to protect your eyes.

The people around you, groggy from waking up at 6am, are rubbing their faces. Oversized hoodies and disposable coffee cups galore, none of you too sure whether this is worth it. It feels more like a school trip than spring break.

"Would love to see him in a Mrs. Frizzle getup", she mumbles.

Clint, standing in front of you, snickers. He's got his arms around his girlfriend. You eye his outfit, which consists of a Hawaii shirt and khaki shorts, and are silently glad Natasha decided to go with something less obnoxious.

Steve grunts as he closes the luggage compartment. A total of 15 people are going to Miami, and he had to haul every suitcase and duffel bag into the bus.

"Done? Took you long enough", Tony says, arms crossed. He nods at the bus. "Come on."

"20 hours", Natasha mutters, walking into the bus with you. You find two seats in the middle and sit down. "I'm going to lose it."

"They're taking turns driving. You can literally sleep the whole way there. You'll be fine."

She grunts and plops into the space next to the window. You sit down and she pulls you closer, hand slipping under your top and resting on your stomach. Smooth, warm skin, her fingers drawing circles.

Your friends are staring. You know they are. It's not everyday that they see Natasha cozying up with someone like this.

A 20-hour bus ride is long enough already, but time really starts to drag when you're spending it next to the person you can never quite figure out.

Hour 1. You talk, quietly, and share earbuds.

Hour 2. Tony apparently managed to find one of the few buses nearby that have a/c. You shiver, Natasha notices, and suddenly, you're wearing her hoodie. You breathe in her scent.

Hour 4. Bored and tired, you both stretch out your legs and accidentally nudge each other. She doesn't pull back, it turns into a mindless little game of footsies, and your feet tangle.

Hour 5. You fall asleep. You didn't mean for that to happen — but she's warm against you, and her hoodie's soft, and a sip of the vodka she brought along knocked you right out.

Hour 7. You wake up, slowly, to find out the seat next to yours is empty.

"Where's Nat?", you ask sleepily.

"Taking a leak", Clint calls from the driver's seat. Wanda turns toward you, a knowing look on her face. You roll your eyes.

A minute later, she's back. She slides into the seat next to you, arm immediately resting over the backrests of the seats, and hands you a little flower. You twirl it between your fingers, studying it, and Natasha gets that dreaded warm feeling in her stomach again.

"Hope this didn't hurt your credit score."

"Be grateful."

"I am."

Her lips press against your cheek before she can stop herself. Everyone stares, and Natasha mutters something about you 'just having fun.' Her words sting.

Hour 9. Golden hour. The playlist is slower, the bus quieter. Her fingers tap an absentminded rhythm against your thigh.

Hour 14. Sleep-deprived and travel-weary, the idiocy is hitting you at full force.

Natasha pulls you into her lap, hands roaming your middle. You curl into her, grinning stupidly. She smiles against your neck and drags her lips higher up, kissing your earlobe. Her tongue darts out, just barely touching the shell of your ear. You laugh, and the others stir in their sleep.

You both freeze for a moment. When everyone stays quiet, she shifts you in her lap until her mouth can press against yours.

Hour 19. You're two hours away from your destination. You're way too honest and tired to keep the walls up. Hands intertwine, breaths mingle. You're sprawled out on the seats, squished together, but you don't mind.

"You ever think about leaving?"

"Leaving?", you murmur.

"Yeah. Just leaving. No plans, no destination. No...bullshit."

You're not sure why she's asking you, of all people.

Hour 21. You finally arrive at the hotel. You each have separate rooms, but it's 5am, and you're exhausted and needy, and Natasha ends up in your bed. Head on her chest, you fall asleep.

. . .

Just friends, you've told the others. Just having fun, you know.

Friends — but you're not kidding anyone.

You spent the first day in Miami sleeping. In your hotel room, on the balcony, and now, on the beach. You're on a lounger, a beach umbrella protecting you from the UV rays. Her face is planted between your boobs, her hand resting on your ass with her fingers under the fabric of your bikini.

You're not alone. Your friends are everywhere around you, either napping or suntanning, drinking cocktails or swimming. You're not sure whether this is what spring break is supposed to be like, but it's nice. Peaceful, slow, quiet.

Natasha grunts in her sleep, nodding her head to push her face further into the plush heat of your body. Your arms wrap around her head.

So much to do, so many things to see — yet it still feels like she'd rather be wrapped around you than anything else.

You see Tony return with a bag of food. Your hand trails down her spine, an attempt to gently coax her into wakefulness.

"What?", she mutters, fingers curling.

"Stark brought cheeseburgers."

"Don't care. Let me sleep."

"I'm hungry."

Natasha looks up, eyes bleary. You smile faintly when you notice the light sunburn on her cheeks.

"I want food", you add.

She stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then she sighs and sits up, raking one hand through her hair. It's curled at the ends from the saltwater, with little grains of sand in it. She gets up like going to grab you some food is the most obvious thing to do.

You lean back, watching her. You're so lost in thoughts that you almost don't notice Daisy poking your side. Your head turns.

"What?"

"Her? Really?"

You shift, looking away again. "What about her?"

She shrugs, but silently, she immediately comes up with an entire list of reasons. At the top — the fact that Natasha's slept with basically every girl on campus and hasn't had a relationship last longer than a week so far. It's happened to her as well, but there's no way she'll tell you that.

"Nothing", she says evasively. "She's just got this whole...dumb and poetic-thing going on. Like, she has no clue what the fuck she's saying, but it sounds good anyway."

Natasha, crouched down in front of the greasy paper bag, grabs two burgers. Your head lolls to the side and you almost sigh when she looks up and puts her jawline on full display. It's too easy to want her, even if you maybe shouldn't.

"She's not dumb", you say, glancing at Daisy again. You hesitate. "But she's not poetic either. I mean, that sex joke she made yesterday?"

"You laughed, though."

"Huh?"

"You laughed", she repeats. You give her a deadpan look. "Seriously. You laugh at all her jokes."

You scoff, shaking your head. Internally, though, you're wondering whether she's right.

You watch Natasha return, two burgers and a soda in her hands. You scoot forward and she plops down behind you, letting you sit between her legs. Daisy doesn't say anything, but the look on her face is telling enough.

. . .

Logs and branches in various stages of burning, smoke curling into the air, sparks drifting upward. Embers glow, stars sparkle mirthfully, tequila burns your throat.

You're sitting on blankets, feet buried in the sand, and watch the bonfire. Natasha's next to you, roasting marshmallows and sipping tequila. You nudge her when she puts the bottle a little too close to the fire.

"Careful there."

"I am", she mumbles, looking at you. Her eyes roam all over your face, drinking in every feature. She has no idea how mesmerized she looks. She has no idea how helpless she looks. She's tipsy, and she's warm, and she's in love. The thought would scare her, but her brain isn't capable of much more than staring at you and keeping her awake.

If she had to choose between the two, she'd pick the former.

People are dancing, swaying around the bonfire. Music is playing on portable speakers. Her hand finds yours. Suddenly, you're stumbling through the sand.

"Hey, my marshmallow!"

"Screw that", she says, turning to pull you in close. There's that stupid little smile on her face, the one that makes you gravitate towards her. She leans in, hot breath fanning your lips. You tilt your head.

Hands smooth down your sides, the fabric of your bodycon dress silky under her palms. She leans in, nose almost touching yours.

"Bet you wanna", she mumbles, drunk and testing her limits. You roll your eyes, but don't pull away. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like this is funny."

"It is funny", you say. Her hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. "You're ridiculous."

She scoffs, hands sliding down your sides. Hooking her thumbs under the hem of your dress, she starts bunching it up around your thighs. You swat at her hand.

"Not here", you say, glancing at your friends. Another knowing look from Wanda. You flip her off.

Natasha doesn't respond. Her head dips into the crook of your neck, peppering the perfumed skin with kisses. Wet, warm, worshipping. She's smitten and drunk and hard, and the ocean is right nearby, and if she tries enough...

"No."

She groans, her fingertips digging into your thighs. She presses against you, already straining against the fabric of her shorts.

"They're not even watching."

"They are", you insist. "You're the one who keeps telling them we're friends, anyway. So let's not go overboard."

Another noise of disapproval. She's drunk, and you're soft and warm, and she'd probably fuck you right here in the sand if given the opportunity.

Also, enough guys have been staring at you all night. She wants to give them something to stare.

You pull back and cup her face. You look right into her eyes. Her heart skips a beat. She's a goner.

Now everyone is staring. This time, neither of you notices.

(Because even drunk, she knows it's you.)

. . .

It's rare that you and Natasha part during that week in Miami, but it does happen.

She's at the bar, you're in your hotel room. She's ordering drinks, you're making sure your hair looks nice. She's chatting up some girl, you're twisting and turning in front of the mirror to see every angle of your body.

Natasha doesn't even know how it started. All she remembers is waking up alone, the memories of last night fresh in her mind.

A beach concert. You, in front of her, complaining about not being able to see. In hindsight, she knows you must've been exaggerating; in that moment, however, she didn't care. She grabbed you and hoisted you onto her shoulders.

People stared. Her shoulders felt like the top of the world. When you slid down, she didn't let go.

A few hours later, at 4 in the morning. You, tipsy, in her lap. Strong arms wrapped around your middle. A heart that beat a little too fast.

It's overcompensation. She's desperate to prove to herself that what she has with you still isn't anything serious, but she knows that's ridiculous. Looking at the girl in front of her — tiny bikini, full lips, messy eyebrows — she feels nothing. Just months ago, she would've done everything in her power to get her to sleep with her.

Now? Static. Boredom. Emptiness. It's frustrating and it's terrifying.

The girl leans in. She brushes her fingers along Natasha's bicep, down to her forearm and to her wrist.

Natasha swallows, trying to focus. Much to her dismay, she can't remember a single trick. She feels like she doesn't even know how to flirt anymore.

Then, you walk past. Black strapless bikini, a net wrap around your waist, tan lines on your shoulders. You walk past, barely noticing them, but Natasha jumps up and pretty much dumps the girl she was talking to.

You don't pay her any attention. It only makes things worse.

You round a corner, and Natasha puts her hands on your waist. You turn your head to look at her.

"I thought you had somewhere else to be."

Her thoughts falter. Then, she shakes her head.

"Nowhere else", she promises, kissing the back of your neck. "Where you going?"

"The pool", you say, adjusting the tote bag you've got slung over your shoulder. You weave through the crowds of half-naked people.

An hour later, you're both in the water. You haven't forgotten about her flirting at the bar, but she has. The second you walked by, that other girl was off her mind.

You're in the water, a drink in your hand and Natasha standing behind you with one arm circled around your waist. Her fingers slip under the strap of your bikini top, and she pulls at it to let it snap back. You glare at her, but she just smirks.

You're surrounded by your friends. Wanda is sitting on the edge of the saltwater pool, a cocktail in hand. Clint is snoring on one of the loungers. Sam jumps in headfirst, making Wanda squeal when she gets splashed with water.

Natasha leans in, lips against your wet shoulder. Water glistens on your skin. Hours pass, and the sun dips lower. Everything is washed in orange and gold. You're facing her now, arms wrapped around her middle. She runs her hand up your back and gently tugs at the clasp of your bikini, but this time, she doesn't let it snap. She just holds it.

You're staring. You both are. She's in way too deep.

The group asks whether you want to go to some club. You agree and go back to the hotel the change.

It's just the two of you now, hands brushing and skin sun-kissed, barely clothed. You both prefer this, but neither of you says it out loud. You step into the elevator, only in swimwear and with your hair damp and smelling like saltwater. Natasha so close, skin still damp from the pool.

The numbers on the panel tick. She watches your reflection in the elevator's mirror. You catch her eye and tilt your head. She pushes her hands into the pockets of her swimming trunks and looks away.

"You okay?"

"Fine", she mumbles. She's not one to get scared easily, but she's terrified.

You hum, unconvinced, but don't press further. It dings, the elevator doors slide open, and you step out. Natasha trails after you, noticing way too much. The strap of your tote bag sliding off your shoulder shouldn't be important. The water drops rolling down your spine shouldn't be important.

You shouldn't be important. This started as a fantasy, a hookup. Nothing that should've lasted more than a night or two. And yet, here she is. Not walking past your hotel room to get to her own, but stepping in right after you.

Inside, it's cool from the air-conditioning. Natasha plops down on your bed, hands tucked under her head and legs stretched out. She watches you as you dry your hair with a towel, and your eyes meet. It's quiet, way too quiet, and you clear your throat.

"We're leaving in ten", you remind her.

"We have to?", she asks. You glance at her, already in front of the mirror and changing into a dress. She swallows.

"You told them we'd go."

"Changed my mind."

"Well, I didn't." You adjust the straps of your bra. "What, you want to miss out on a night in Miami?"

"We have other nights."

You slip into a dress, but internally, you've slammed your foot down on the brakes. Natasha shifts on the bed, turning her head to look at the ceiling instead. You watch her through the mirror, something inside you twisting. You're not sure you want to leave, either.

"You okay?", you ask quietly.

Her head lolls to the side. "I'm good."

You hesitate. "We don't have to go, you know."

"It's fine. We said we would."

"I mean it." You pad to the bed and sit down beside her. She rolls onto her side, her hand trailing over crisp white bedsheets and coming up to rest on your thigh. "We'll order room service."

"No more cheeseburgers", she says.

You smile faintly. Tony has been in charge of getting everyone food a few times too many.

"No", you say, brushing some hair away from her face. "Anything else."

She hums. She glances at your face, then averts her eyes. Her head tips forward and her lips press against your knee. You reach out absentmindedly, running your fingers through her damp hair.

"Don't tell me you're tired", you mumble, smiling.

"Not tired enough", she says. She tugs at the hem of your dress. "So we're not going?"

You sigh. "Apparently not. Why?"

"May as well take this off."

You laugh, swatting at her hand. It's no use, though — she grabs you, pulls you down with her, keeps you trapped with her arms. You squirm.

"That's the real reason, huh?!"

"Maybe", she concedes, grinning. She kisses you, her hands moving to bunch up the fabric of your dress around your thighs. Hands roam bare skin, slowly, memorizing it. She pulls away and presses her lips to your shoulder, then her eyes drift.

For a moment, she just stares.

You nudge her.

"Natasha."

She blinks, meeting your eyes. Right — keep moving.

You're not used to her being this slow. Hands seem to move in slow motion. Lips drag across skin. Her nose brushes against yours.

The dress comes off and is tossed aside. You roll on top of her, feeling how warm and damp from the pool she still is.

"I should've gotten you a towel", you mumble, cupping her face. "You'll get a cold, with the a/c on."

Natasha just smiles. She tucks you against her body, forehead leaning against yours, and reaches into her swimming trunks. Hand around her length, she lazily palms herself before starting to pump herself to full mast. Not that much is missing, anyway.

"I'll be fine", she replies.

Her lips brush against your forehead. She keeps her hand around herself, but doesn't rush it. Her movements are lazy, unhurried. For the first time ever, you feel like your time isn't limited. It's a nice feeling. Maybe you'll let yourself get used to it.

She tugs off the swimming trunks, the fabric clinging to her skin. Finally, she rolls on a condom. Nudges your thighs apart, moves one to rest over her hip.

"Come here", she mumbles, one hand cupping the back of your head. "Let me feel you."

The head of her cock taps against your entrance, teasing you. You do have all the time in the world.

A breathless little moan escapes you. Her skin is cool from the a/c, with an undercurrent of heat beneath it. You press closer, making her strokes deeper. Her hips roll into yours, her arm stays wrapped around your waist. You meet every thrust, eyes slipping closed.

"Fuck", you breathe.

"You're good, baby."

Defined abs flex with every roll of her hips. You tug her closer, even deeper, and she grips your hip in an effort to stop herself from rutting into you mindlessly.

Your hand slips between your bodies. Your thumb finds your clit, swollen already, and circles it. Breathless little sounds escape you.

Natasha moans. She kisses you, traces your spine with her thumb, gently presses you down into the mattress. It's lazy, soft, and you've found a steady rhythm that works for you.

You're slick with arousal, but pulling out and rocking back in is still a challenge for her. Natasha grabs your thigh and pushes your knee to your chest, opening you up more. You whine and break the kiss, mouths inches away as you both breathe heavily.

"Not gonna last long at this rate."

"We got all night", she pants, thrusting her throbbing tip against something deep — so deep it makes it your hips stutter. "You got plenty of time to last long."

She's in so deep she barely has to pull back. She just grinds in deeper, cursing under her breath whenever you clench around her. Her cock is swollen, aching and twitching, and she can feel herself get closer to the edge as well.

Your hips jerk off the mattress when she rotates them with her hands. She laugh, voice rough, and kisses your throat.

"Yeah?"

You nod, clutching her biceps. "Right there-"

"You got it, baby. You got me."

Another roll of her hips. The pleasure builds, making all your nerve endings tingle with the approaching orgasm.

Breathy pants against your neck. A hand maps out your side, your thigh. Groans in response to whimpers, the sun outside disappearing from the horizon. A hotel room, darkened by the lack of sun and cold from the air conditioning.

The heat increases. She starts pounding into you, her nose nuzzling your neck. More kisses.

"I'm close."

"Me too."

"Wanna cum in you."

Your mind jumps back to the first time you did that. Back at the sorority party, after you'd had that fight. You remember the feeling, and a part of you craves it, but you also know you got incredibly lucky back then.

"Don't want to be a mom yet", you say, words punctured by little grunts.

Natasha whines at the mere thought. She loses rhythm before you do, her thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate.

She comes first — hard. You feel the way the condom swells when she spills into it. You feel her throb, feel the continuous twitching against your walls. It pushes you over the edge as well.

Thighs trembling and hips rutting, you moan. Natasha catches your mouth, swallowing every sound, and keeps rolling her hips until you stop.

Her hips twitch. She's wrecked, but there's no way she's pulling out. She kisses your collarbone instead, dazed and spent.

"Nat", you mumble, aftershocks coursing through you. "I'm full."

"Fuck", she pants. Her head drops forward and her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder. "Feel so good."

"Better than the club."

"Agreed."

You spend hours like this. Intertwined on your bed, in the shower, over the table. When you finally decide to call it a day, Natasha's too tired to think properly.

Her face is tucked against your side. Her hand is on the inside of your thigh. She nudges your ribs with her nose.

Two words make everything better and worse.

"You're different."

. . .

Things go both up- and downhill. Sometimes, everything seems perfect. She kisses you in front of others, tipsy and clingy. She sleeps in your bed. She washes the salt out of your hair and kisses the underside of your thighs.

Red lipstick on her shirt colors, her nails painted with your favorite nail polish. Risky snaps and smelling like your perfume. Secretive kisses, messy kisses that end in spit-slicked lips, smiling into kisses before pulling away just to hear you whine.

She loves every second. Every second of it terrifies her, but she loves it.

She doesn't know why she ends up ruining it.

There's something that feels way too serious about waking up under you every morning. About how defensive she gets. How she uses sunscreen to draw shapes on your back. Your friends teasing her isn't helping, either.

It's harmless at first. It hurts, but it's harmless.

She disappears at a party. You have no idea where she goes, or what she's doing. When she returns, she doesn't tell you anything.

She's always been touchy, and that hasn't changed. Her hand ends up on someone's thigh. Her arm rests over someone's shoulder. You try your best to ignore it.

Then, the text messages. They light up her screen at night, flashing names you don't recognize. Natasha grabs her phone and flips it over. You scoot away from her.

She ignores the people who text her, but she doesn't tell them to stop, and she doesn't block them, either.

During another party, she's without you. It's rare that this happens, and she knows it. But the others know it, too.

"Single again?", Tony asks, handing her a vodka shot. She rolls her eyes but doesn't respond, instead knocking back the shot. "Where's your girl?"

She rubs her eyes. They're tearing up from the alcohol. "Seriously, shut up."

"No, I mean it. Where's Y/N?"

"Maybe they broke up", someone adds unhelpfully.

"Can't break up if you were never dating in the first place."

"Were you dating? I mean, with your track record..."

Natasha averts her eyes, jaw tense. She leans against the wall and starts counting the cigarette butts on the ground. But she's panicking, and she doesn't get far.

"Come on", Clint says, nudging her. He has no idea just how much damage his words are about to cause. "You can tell us, you know. We'd love to know if someone finally got you to dip your toes in the monogamy-pond."

She has two options.

One: admit she's all in with you.

(Not happening. She hasn't even been able to admit that to you, or herself.)

Two: prove that nothing's changed.

(How the fuck is she supposed to manage that?)

Natasha drags a hand down her face. She feels hot all over, her cheeks tingling, her fingers numb. She steps away. They all start talking at the same time, a chorus of we weren't being serious and come on and take a joke, man.

She edges past a small group of men and bumps into some girl. Natasha barely pays her any attention, but the girl's eyes linger. She watches her slide onto a barstool and order a shot from the bartender.

She downs a shot, then another. The girl watches her for a while, then she sits down next to her. Natasha glances at her, barely reacting.

Sun-kissed skin, glowing. Wavy blonde hair. Red dress, barely-there and accenting every curve. Exactly the kind of girl she used to go for.

Glossy lips tug into a smile. She touches her bicep and runs her fingers down to her forearm.

"Alone here?", she asks quietly. Her head tilts. Natasha curses silently when the simple mannerism reminds her of you.

"Nobody else around me, is there?"

"I suppose not." The girl leans in. Her breath is sweet and fruity, with notes of alcohol woven into it. "Oh. But now there is."

Natasha smiles reluctantly. The girl is flirting, and she's about to let it happen. This is her opportunity to prove she's still herself, prove that nothing's too serious yet.

Too many shots. Too much alcohol, even for Natasha. She's not someone who likes to feed into stereotypes, but she's Russian, and she's been drinking for way too long. She can hold her alcohol — still, she ends up drunk and with some girl in her lap.

Natasha doesn't even know her name. She comes up with the genius idea to call her Blondie.

More alcohol. Suddenly, she feels unfamiliar lips press against hers. Ignoring the nauseating feeling of guilt in her stomach, she kisses her back harder. Her tongue gets sucked into the girl's mouth, hands squeeze and roam her biceps.

"Wanna get out of here?"

Natasha, drunk but still able to think, hesitates. Blondie cups her jaw.

"Getting shy on me?", she teases. That hits her right where it shouldn't.

They get up. They stumble to the hotel. They burst into the room.

Lips clash, hands unbuckle a belt. She hardens slightly, but it's nowhere close to what you manage to do to her. Blondie starts peppering her jaw with kisses, and her hand dips under the waistband of her boxers. Natasha's head is spinning, drowning in panic and vodka.

She wants to tell herself this doesn't mean anything. That this just proves she's still herself. But she knows the truth.

She feels her hand around her half-erect cock. She grabs her wrist.

"Wait", she says, swallowing. "I don't-"

The girl pouts. "I thought you wanted this."

Natasha shakes her head. Does she want this? No. Does she know what she wants, though? She's not sure.

She looks away. The girl starts moving her hand inside her boxers. Natasha's stomach turns.

The door clicks open.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. You don't even process it at first. It's too surreal. Natasha wouldn't do this. She's known for sleeping around, but those last few months couldn't have been in vain.

And yet, the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Natasha and some girl are half-naked, and they're clearly in the middle of something you don't want to know about. Hand still in her boxers, wrapped around her, touching what you had in your mouth just hours ago.

Your heart stops, then slams against your ribs. First, you feel nothing — then it's just pure anger. The other girl glances at you, lazily, and you'd love to do some serious damage with that chair to your right.

Natasha, immediately sobering up, curses and pushes the girl away. You're out of the door already, storming down the hallway. You hear footsteps behind you, and you change your mind about taking the elevator. Instead, you take a turn and rush down the stairs.

"Y/N, wait! Fuck-"

You shake your head, running faster. She's close behind.

You make it into the lobby. Natasha's running, shoving people aside. Her heart is racing, and for the first time ever, she feels like she truly fucked up.

She's done similar stuff before. Slept with girls only to ignore them literal hours after, ghost people, lie and cheat and hurt the ones around her. It feels different now. Worse.

Finally, she makes it. She reaches for your wrist, fingertips grazing your skin, but you whip around and pull away.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"Please, please just listen-"

"Listen? I'm supposed to listen? Go on then, explain!"

Natasha stops in her tracks. She starts babbling, face flushed and hands shaking. You're still in the lobby, and people are looking at you weird, but you block them out. You block everything out, everything except the hot, boiling feeling of disappointment in your veins.

You knew it from the beginning — falling in love with Natasha can't end well. Here you are now, four months later, and you realize just how right you were.

"Look, I- I regret this, okay?", she says, desperately, pathetically. "I didn't want it to happen. I just- I drank, I drank too much, and she was right there, and I was terrified-"

You let out a bitter, hurt laugh. "Oh, you regret it? Well, that changes things. I'm sorry for assuming."

"No, baby, I mean it", she says, eyes pleading, and grabs your hand. You draw back as if singed by her touch. "Please."

"No", you say. You can feel the moisture forming in your eyes, the tears way too close. "No. Seriously. Fuck you."

"Y/N..."

"You're so full of yourself", you spit, stepping back. She steps forward again, but you rebuff her attempt once more. "You really think you're worth any of this? That any sane person will keep playing this game for you?"

Her face falls. She shakes her head, trying to pretend like your words didn't cut to the bone.

"You're not worth it", you say. "You're not worth any of it."

Natasha has to agree. All she can do is watch as you leave.

. . .

You ignore her. You block her. You stay away from her.

And still, somehow, she's everywhere.

On campus, at parties, outside the library. In basketball shorts and hoodies, an iced tea or black coffee in hand. Apologies lay on her tongue, ready and waiting to be served to you, but you're not in the mood to listen to any of them.

Natasha knows she's being pathetic. She's gone from 'the girl who doesn't chase' to 'the girl who's sadder to look at than a blind puppy'. She used to get any girl she wanted, no matter who, but now, the one girl she likes can't even bear to look at her.

She's aware you don't want to hear it, but she keeps trying, anyway. In the hallways, when you're on the way to class (you start regretting ever telling her where your seminars take place), in the cafeteria (which you start to avoid going to), in the parking lot.

"Can we talk?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care."

"Y/N, please."

You whip around. "Can you quit that?!"

Natasha freezes, hands lifted. Your chest twists at the sight — almost half a year ago, not too far away from where you're standing right now. A basketball and a girl that was a little too cocky. If you'd known, would you've still taken that same route? Or would you have taken a detour?

"I'm sorry", she repeats, more quietly. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to make it better. But I miss you, and I'm sorry, and..."

And what?, she thinks. And please take me back? And I've never been this miserable over anyone before? And I love you?

She still can't say any of it out loud. She just rubs the back of her neck and shifts on her feet.

You stare at her, waiting, not saying a word. You're letting her sweat because she deserves it. You're letting her hope that you might forgive her.

Then, you turn around. You leave abruptly, not even bothering to give her the satisfaction of a response. Natasha stands there, staring, before finally reacting.

"It wasn't that serious, anyway!"

You flinch. Just barely, but she notices anyway, and her blood runs cold. She can't fathom why she'd even say that — all of this is her fault.

You leave. Again.

. . .

It's midnight when something hits your window.

You're in bed, not doing much. Staring at the ceiling, scrolling through whatever social media app your finger clicks on first, trying to somehow fall asleep.

It's quiet, aside from the rain outside. It's been storming for hours at this point, but the heavy downpour has turned into a slightly gentler hissing.

Then, a thump against your window disrupts the near-silence.

You sit up with a start to look at it. Faint cracks have appeared in the glass, forming a suspiciously circular shape. You hesitate for a second — god knows who's throwing shit at your dorm window in the middle of the night. This is New York, after all. Tons of crazy people running around, even on campus. Maybe it'd be safer not to check.

Then, it hits you. You blink, slowly, before getting up and padding to the window. You open it and look down only to find out it's Natasha. She's standing there, basketball in hand and bottom lip briefly tugged between her teeth, her clothes and hair soaked from the rain.

"Can we talk?", she pleads.

You stare at her. You step back and close the window.

The second you're back on your bed, Natasha exhales in frustration. She's panicking, rubbing her face and clenching her jaw. She has to do this, though. She has to get you to talk to her.

She lifts her hands and aims again. The ball flies through the air and slams against the window again — this time, too hard.

Glass shatters, a basketball shooting straight into your room. You stare at it in disbelief, too shocked to react, before finally jumping up. You grab the first thing you find, which is a half-empty vodka bottle, and step in front of the window to hurl it at her.

Her eyes widen and she barely dodges it. It shatters on the pavement, clear liquid spraying.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!", you yell, grabbing the next object. Another bottle, this time a plastic one. She curses when it hits her shoulder.

"Y/N, please-"

"No!" You search your desk frantically. You grab one of your old French books. Natasha jumps aside.

"Jesus Christ! Can we not make this a pattern?"

"Oh, you're sick of patterns?", you yell. You see a pair of scissors and immediately know what to do. You return to the window, basketball and scissors in hand, and her jaw slackens. "That's funny!"

"Wait", she says, scrubbing her hand down her face. "That thing's damn expensive."

You glare at her, breathing heavily. "That's your priority right now?"

"I'm not saying that, but I do care about it-"

The blade stabs into the rubber. Air hisses. The ball deflates in your hands, and you toss it in front of her feet. Natasha winces.

"That was a limited edition, babe."

"I don't fucking care!"

Natasha looks up. For the first time all night, you feel something close to guilt. She's drenched, defeated, water dripping from her hair and down her face. Her hoodie is completely soaked, and her expression is absolutely wrecked. She's so unlike the cocky girl that hit on you not too long ago that she's almost unrecognizable.

In that moment, you hate her. Still, she's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"Tell me how to fix it", she pleads. "Just tell me what to do."

You glare at her, still out of breath. The anger is making your blood boil, hotly and thickly.

"Get your ass upstairs", you hiss. "NOW."

Natasha looks like she just short-circuited. She's frozen in place, blinking up at you through the rain, water drops catching in her eyelashes. Slowly, she grabs her deflated basketball and starts moving to the front door of the building.

Wet sneakers squeak, her steps heavy. She walks up the stairs and finds your dorm — stickers on the door, ranging from Strawberry Shortcake and Tinkerbell to a lipstick kiss print and a heart with the words 'try me' inside. She hesitates before knocking.

The door opens. She slips into your room, clutching that stupid shell of a ball like it'll save her. You slam the door shut.

Your room is too you. She used to love it, in a way. Pink blankets, vanilla candles, lipstick marks left on your desk from that time she had you bent over it.

She turns around and her thoughts falter. A flimsy blue babydoll dress, lacy and short. Your thighs are on full display, distracting her a little too much.

Why did you have to wear this? How is she going to focus?

"And?", you prompt.

"Uh...", she says dumbly. She's staring, and she's not able to stop. "I, uhm..."

Natasha's soaking wet, freezing and humiliated. She came here to patch things up with you. And now, her biggest problem is that she wants to bury her face between your thighs.

It's too late when she drags her gaze back up. You've caught her staring.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! You're still thinking with your dick?!"

"No, I-"

Her back thuds against the wall and she winces, but no complaints come from her. She's aware that she deserves this, so she doesn't fight back.

You shove her, again and again, letting her body hit the wall. She's bigger than you, towering over you, strong enough to grab you and haul you across the room. Yet, you've got the upper hand.

"Say something, you coward!"

You need her to react at this point. You need the silence to stop, need her to do anything else but stand there and take your rage like a kicked puppy.

Silence. Barely a reaction. You fist the front of her soaked hoodie and shake her. Your heart is thumping against your chest.

"You had a ton to say when you were hitting on me!", you shout. "Now you'll just stand there?"

She nods weakly. It's enough to make your chest burn as the desperation flares again. She can't be that indifferent.

Tears burn in your eyes, hot and stinging. You continue to shove her, keeping this one-sided fight alive. Because that's what it is — one-sided. It has to be when your counterpart is acting like a damn vegetable.

"Fucking fight me, Natasha!"

An order, or a plea. You're not sure.

She stares at you, gaze trailing to your lips. She shouldn't be thinking about kissing you, or about taking off your dress and keeping it slip to the floor. She should stay rational. If she does something dumb, she's done for. She—

"So we're not hooking up, I guess."

Oh.

Eyes wide, heart stopping for just a split second. Oh, she's dead.

If you were mad before, you're livid now. You slam her against the wall, making her let out an 'oof' for the first time since this started. It's not just a spat, it's a full blown fight. The worst one you'd ever have, if you think about it.

Your fists thunder against her chest, then you grip her hoodie again.

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

The back of her head hits the wall. She grunts, finally grabbing your wrists. But her grip is as gentle as possible, considering you immediately try to break free from her grasp.

"Hey", she says, out of breath and pleading. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Seems to be a common theme with you!", you hiss, tears gathering in your eyes. "Fuck- let go!"

"Only if we talk!"

"Let go!"

She shakes her head. You struggle against her grip, twisting your wrists and kicking and fighting, then the tears break free. You sob, the noises tainted with frustration, and thrash against her.

"I hate you", you sob out. The words hit her right in the chest, like gunshots and needles all at once. "You led me on for half a year, and for what?"

"I wasn't leading you on", she promises, desperate to fix things. But god, it's hard to fix something you think has already shattered. "Please believe me. I just- fuck, I'm bad at this."

You shake your head, breathless and sobbing and furious, and slam your arms against her. "Stop talking! Fuck, just- just-"

Natasha's heart is beating so fast she thinks it'll jump right through her chest. Not a good idea. She's pretty positive that if that happened, you'd grab and squish it until it bursts like a balloon.

"Please hear me out", she begs. "Just for a moment. Fuck, Y/N, I- I-"

You sob, fists managing to hit her chest once more.

"You what?"

"I love you."

You freeze. There aren't many things you're certain of when it comes to her. Everything feels like an illusion, like something that could change tomorrow.

What you are sure of, though, is that she's never said these three words to anyone.

The question now, though, is whether this is an illusion as well. Whether she's trying to find a way out of this by telling you another lie.

"You think I believe anything you say?", you sob, the tears coming harder.

"I mean it", she says, squeezing your wrists and rubbing her thumb across your skin. Her eyes search your face frantically, trying to see if you'll listen for at least a second. "I love you, and it's fucking terrifying, but I do, I love you, and- fuck, I'm not used to this."

You shake your head, unwilling to let her words cut too deep. But they do, they cut, and not only to the bone but through the bone.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have slept with someone else, you- you wouldn't have made me stay just friends."

She decides not to comment that, technically, she was about to sleep with someone but didn't go through with it. You're not hitting her anymore, but if she dared voicing that thought, you'd probably straight-up murder her just like you did her poor basketball.

"Because I'm not used to any of this", she says, voice quieter. "I've never been in an actual relationship, Y/N. I don't do that. I sleep with girls and move on. I don't- I don't just fall in love. But I fell in love with you, and I'm too fucking stupid to act right."

You stare at her, breathing heavily and swallowing. She sounds sincere. You feel like an idiot for thinking that, but fuck, she sounds like she means it. And that is the worst part.

You're certain this might end up killing you eventually. But your lips press against hers just as suddenly as she appeared in your life.

You kiss her. Hard, desperate, furious. Natasha, stunned, hesitates before putting her hands on your waist. You cup her face, grabbing it, and tug her closer.

Your lips slam against hers, again and again. You walk backwards. Natasha, confused and hardening amid all of this chaos, follows obediently.

You suck on her tongue. She exhales, shuddering against you. Her hands tighten around your waist.

You push your hand into her shorts. She pauses, startled.

"Fuck me", you say. "Do something right."

"Y/N, you-" Natasha cuts herself off, breathing heavily. Then she's all over you, pushing you down on the bed, kissing and sucking on your neck, teeth scraping against skin. Hands under her damp hoodie, nails raking down her back and drawing blood. Her breath stutters, her face is pressed against your neck.

She wants to fix this, fix whatever's left of you. Return to what you had and make it better this time.

She kisses down your throat and reaches your chest. Latching onto your breast through the thin fabric of your dress, her hands push your legs apart.

Lacy underwear comes off. Her fingers are cold against your slick heat, making them slide in easily. She sucks on your boob, leaving a wet stain on the delicate fabric. Your back arches.

You grind against her, head thrown back. "Not like this", you pant. "Get on the bed."

"What?"

"You heard me." You sit up, grabbing the front of her hoodie. "Come on, asshole."

Natasha doesn't let anyone boss her around. But it's you, and she's done enough damage, so she scoots off you and lays down. You lean over her, your hair creating a curtain around your faces, and kiss her. Your hands trail down her front, right to her shorts. You pull them down just enough to be able to straddle her cock, easing it into you and stretching you out.

You roll your hips against hers, the tears having dried on your cheeks. You stare down at her, both of you out of breath, and fist the damp fabric of her hoodie.

The bed creaks beneath you. Cold gusts of wind enter the room through the broken window. She feels the same — throbbing, filling you entirely, her hips thrusting off the bed — but something's off.

You push the feeling aside and bob up and down, moaning quietly, your breasts bouncing with every movement. Natasha watches you, both mesmerized and worried. The fight was intense. You were sobbing, thrashing — for good reason. But now, you're riding her like a you've forgotten about everything.

She opens her mouth, wanting to say something. You grip her hoodie tighter.

"Don't."

"Y/N, are you-"

"Don't make it worse."

She keeps her mouth shut. She grips your waist instead, fucks up into you, letting you take what you need.

Is this what you need?

It used to be. You're not sure anymore.

A few more thrusts. Natasha thumbs your clit. Watches you fall apart for a second time that night. Comes when you do. You ride it out, pulsing around her, feeling her hot seed spill into you. Three, four spurts, heavy and filling you up.

You shudder, thighs sticky, and lift your hips to make her pull out. Coldness surrounds what was once enveloped in tight heat. Natasha wishes she could make you sit back down, but she's not in the position to ask for anything anymore.

You roll off her and lay down on your back. Shoulder to shoulder, your feet right next to the middle of her calves. You're right next to each other, but there may has well have been hundreds of miles between you.

She hesitates before glancing at you. Your eyes are staring up at the ceiling, face blank, distant.

Her fingers brush your hand. You don't pull away. She intertwines them with yours.

"Nat?"

Your voice startles her, makes her breath hitch. She closes her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You should go."

Despite having anticipated this, her heart drops. It takes her a bit to get out of her frozen state and sit up. Part of her thinks like she'll never feel this again, so she just sits there for a moment.

The various shades of lipstick on your nightstand. The high heels next to your closet. The fucking shards on the floor.

You, in bed, refusing to look at her.

She gets to her feet and falters. This can't be it, but this is it. At least that's what it feels like.

Natasha leaves her deflated basketball where she left it, right near the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob, twists it, and steps out.

This isn't it. It can't be. She'll make sure of that. But for now, all she can do is leave you alone for once.

You look up when you feel her linger. She's watching you, her body already half-concealed by the door. Then, her mouth opens.

"It was serious", she mumbles. "It never wasn't."

The door shuts.

. . .

You and Natasha ending up in the same place is a coincidence.

You were just trying to distract yourself, and Natasha got dragged here by Stark. Clint would kill him if he knew — he's been trying to keep her away from basically every girl in existence. Tony, on the other hand, believes she just needs to get laid.

She's told him that that's the last thing she needs. That that's what got her into this mess. But he doesn't listen. He's very convinced she just needs to 'act like herself again.'

"That one."

"No."

He turns, then points the mouth of his beer bottle at a girl with blue hair. "That one. Dyed hair, meaning she's probably unstable, meaning-"

She kicks his ankle. "Stop being a pig."

He whips around, looking offended. It's a show, though. It always is. "Excuse me? May I remind you of that girl in sophomore year? When you made up that story because she-"

"Okay, okay. Got it, I'm a hypocrite. Now stop trying to hook me up!"

He smiles, eyes sweeping across the room as he tries to find another victim. "You're sure? Give me five and I'll find someone with daddy issues."

Natasha sighs, knocking back a tequila shot. It burns, but not in a pleasant way. Whatever bar Tony dragged her into — the alcohol they serve is cheap, the lights flicker, and it smells like something rotten. But, according to him, it's the least pricey one in the area. Which shouldn't be an issue, considering he's rich and likes to splurge, but for some reason, he enjoys the low quality booze more.

He keeps pointing out various girls. 'Insecure. I can tell by the way she adjusts her dress.' 'Got dumped. Look how she keeps checking her phone.' 'Hey, a slut. Your soulmate!'

She almost rams her elbow into his side. Then, she spots you.

It's been almost two weeks since that night in your dorm. Two weeks of little to no sleep, of resisting the urge to apologize again, of regretting every tiny thing that happened since that night in Miami.

You haven't been doing better. You've been trying to move on, but it's hard. Moving on from someone who feels like home is like trying to move mountains.

There you are now, sipping cocktails and listening to some guy go on and on about something. He's been buying you drink after drink, and truthfully, you've been going along. Getting drunk isn't the worst thing you can think of in that moment.

Natasha blinks and rubs her eyes. Her heart is beating faster, rabbiting in her chest like it's trying to escape and run toward you.

"Oh. Oh, no. Not again."

She turns, frowning. "What?"

Tony gestures in your direction. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Okay, man."

"Seriously. Better find a new heart to rip apart."

She grits her teeth, clutching the shot glass in her hand. You're still oblivious about her being in the same room as you. Although, you seem to be oblivious about pretty much everything else, too.

She's seen the look on your face a bunch of times before. Too many times to not realize. You're drunk.

And the guy next to you? Still talking, still flirting, still pushing drinks in your direction. Still hovering.

You sway. He touches your side, right where your ribcage is, and tries to pull you aside. Natasha snaps.

Shoving her way through the crowd, she's by your side before Tony can tear away his eyes from some strawberry blonde girl. She moves next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and essentially nudging the guy's hand off.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Take a hike", she barks. "Can't you see she's drunk?"

He scoffs. "She's only had, like, a couple drinks."

"She looks like she's about to pass out!"

"Nat?"

She glances at you, startled and worried. "Hey, baby. You good?"

You look at her lazily, eyes squinted and head spinning. "You're here."

"Yeah", she murmurs, softening.

Whoever that guy was — it takes one look at the two of you to realize that his little plan won't work out. He clenches his jaw and walks off, fuming silently. He'd fight her if he didn't recognize her face. Of course it's Romanoff.

"I'm dizzy."

"Let me get you out of here", she says, looking for your jacket. It's not even May yet, and the nights are cold. She finds it and tries to get you to put it on. When that doesn't work, she wraps it around your shoulders. "Still can't hold your alcohol, I see."

"Fuck you", you mutter. But you're drunk and safe and warm, and for once, you don't mean what you said.

Natasha rolls her eyes and helps you up. She turns around, and thats all it takes — you trip and crash into the bar, knocking over a glass of wine.

"Hey!"

"Oh, hush", Natasha says, shooting a glare at the upset girl and steadying you. "That shit's cheap as hell, anyway."

"Burns, too", you add, grasping the front of her letter jacket.

She smiles faintly, your arm over her shoulders, and leads you outside. She has to bend over a little since she's taller, but she doesn't really care.

The night is cold, and the way to your dorm is longer than it should be. When she's on her own, it takes two minutes. With a drunk you by her side, however, it takes fifteen.

You stumble. You curse her out. You throw up into a hedge.

Going up the stairs is easy. Getting you into your dorm, however, is not. You're on the floor, one hand grasping the metal rods of the railing behind you, and ignore Natasha's attempts to coax you into your room.

"Get inside."

"No."

"Y/N."

"I'm tired."

"Your bed is right there."

Eventually, she just grabs you and hoists you over her shoulder.

Pajamas, water, bed. She sits down, hesitates before tucking you in. You stare at her, still not sobered up.

Wet eyelashes — did you cry? She didn't see you cry —, oversized shirt, smudged lipstick. A mess if she's ever seen one, and you're usually so put together.

"You should sleep", she starts. Your eyes flutter shut. "You need anything, before I leave?"

"You know damn well", you mumble, face half-buried in your pillow. She swallows.

"Painkillers?", she asks, ignoring what you said. "For the hangover. A bucket, maybe?"

"Don't do that."

Natasha exhales, slowly. She rubs the back of her neck and glances at your window. At least that's fixed now. Everything else still seems to be in shambles. Even if she tried to pick the shards up, they'd cut delicate skin and draw blood.

"What?", she asks reluctantly. Absolutely no part of her wants to know the answer, yet she can't help but ask.

"Don't act like you care."

She opens her mouth, but you've passed out already. Guilt churns in her stomach, but there's no way to get rid of it. She can't apologize — you're asleep. And even if you weren't, you probably wouldn't listen.

No apologies, then. Instead, she cleans up after you. Puts aside your dress, your high heels. Orders coconut water and bananas from some local convenience store that delivers this late at night (good for hangovers, apparently, at least according to the internet) and tucks you in.

. . .

There's no trace from her when you wake up. Just a note next to some groceries, saying: good for your hangover.

It takes you a moment to remember last night. You're disoriented, hungover, and the entire room seems to be spinning. Once the memories have fought their way through the mess in your head, you freeze. Everything seems to go silent, even the birds and cars outside.

A guy, putting his hands on you. Alcohol. Natasha. At the bar, in the street, in your dorm. Touching you without actually touching you.

Now, she's gone. No trace from her, except for a random stalk of bananas and a bottle of coconut water.

You stare at it, unsure. You unscrew the bottle and take a sip. Not bad.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you grab your phone to check it. No message from her, but Daisy sent you a picture of a flyer for the basketball game later that night.

Daisy: you coming? — 8.21am

You: forget it — 8.59am

Daisy: not a question anymore.

you're coming to the game — 9.00am

You: im really not — 9.00am

Daisy: school spirit or something

like that. you can't avoid her for the

rest of the semester — 9.01am

Unfortunately, she has a point. You fight it at first, but you know you have to go. Not for Natasha. Not so you can fix what's broken (though 'broken' is one hell of an understatement at this point).

You'll go. You'll watch. You'll leave. Maybe that'll help you leave things behind.

When you enter the university's gymnasium, you feel her friends' eyes on you. Not too long ago, your friend groups had mixed and mingled — Carol and Wanda, Sam and Daisy, Tony and Bruce. Now, they barely talk. Neither of you made them take sides, but it happened anyway. Everyone else seemed to split when you broke up, too. Though, it wasn't really a breakup.

You slip through small crowds of people, following Wanda and Daisy to a row of empty seats. It's loud already, with some pre-game playlist playing and everyone talking loudly. People throw popcorn, yell, laugh. It's rare that you feel out of place, but this time, you do.

"You really dolled yourself up", Daisy says, handing you a coke. "Is that lace?"

You glance down, realizing the neckline of your top is a little too low. You quickly adjust it. "I threw on the first thing I saw."

"Uh-huh."

"I can still leave", you hiss. She smiles and nudges you.

"Not yet", she mumbles, right as the teams walk onto the court. You follow her gaze and feel your heart speed up. "There we go."

Natasha. In her jersey, hair pulled back into a low bun, green eyes flickering across the stands nervously. It doesn't take long until she spots you. You both freeze, and the entire gymnasium may as well have noticed.

Nobody noticed, of course, except for Daisy and Wanda. They're all caught up in themselves. To you, it still feels like they did, because nobody else matters in that moment. It's you and her, and everything else is a blur.

Daisy doesn't dare say anything. She saw the look on your face, and she's not risking anything. Because even if she knows your relationship with Natasha was a whirlwind — it was still the most genuine thing she'd seen you get involved in.

Natasha averts her eyes. Knowing you still came here is both the worst and best thing in the world.

Carol, also on the team, noticed this little moment between you. She pats her back and tells her to come warm up.

The game starts. Natasha's team wins possession.

You stay in your seat, watching her. She's playing aggressive today, you can see that. Scoring hoops, pushing past defenders, blocking shots.

She's on top of her game today, and you refuse to acknowledge why.

Then, she runs across the court. She gets fouled, hard, and slips. You jump up right when she slams onto the court, a low thud echoing through the suddenly silent hall. But she bounces up like it's nothing.

"You looked worried there."

"She fell", you mumble, arms crossed over your chest. Daisy raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

Halftime. Natasha's team is slightly behind, with the other team leading at 30-32. She makes her way to the bench and grabs her water bottle. She looks distracted at first, absentminded, but then she finds your face in the stands and you realize what exactly is distracting her.

Maybe it should've been obvious. Maybe part of you doesn't want to believe it, though.

You hold her gaze for longer than necessary. Daisy goes silent next to you, Wanda tilts her head curiously. You finally lower your eyes and fidget with the seam of your skirt.

The second half begins, and Natasha's team catches up as quickly as it loses the lead again.

You're actually frustrated for her. You watch the way her jaw tightens, how she briefly rubs her eyebrows, how she rolls her shoulders. It's a tough game, and even worse?: something's at stake. She's got something to prove.

She's getting more aggressive as the seconds pass, even forces a foul. When someone throws a cheap elbow while she's guarding someone and the referee doesn't call it, she loses it.

Your eyes widen as she gets in the referees face, snapping at him and gesturing with one hand. He tries to calm her down, but it seems futile. There are multiple things stressing her out, and there's only so much she can take. Your stomach twists at the sight, because despite everything that happened, her frustration still seems to be yours.

Eventually, she backs off and jogs back onto the court. Looking up, she searches for you. You nod, tentatively and your heart pounding, and she lowers her head and exhales.

One minute left before the game ends. The score is tied.

It's electric now — the players are sprinting, the ball is a blur. Natasha runs, dribbles, hesitates. She finds your face in the crowd, glancing at you for just a fraction of a second, and then jumps and swishes it through the net.

The gym erupts, the buzzer sounds. She doesn't hear any of it.

Her team is celebrating, and so are the people in the stands. Someone shakes and opens a bottle of beer to spray others with it, everyone is yelling, the cheers are so loud you feel like your eardrums are in genuine danger.

Natasha isn't celebrating. She's walking towards the stands, nervously wiping her hands on her shorts.

Whether this is a good idea or not, she doesn't know. But it's too late now. She's right there, right in front of you, only a row of people separating you from her. Out of breath, sweaty, adrenaline crashing. You stare at her, unsure, and watch her grab the bottom of her jersey.

She pulls it over her head and tosses it in your direction. You don't catch it — it hits your chest and falls into your lap.

You look at her, hesitating. Is she being serious?

She is. She stands there, staring at you, still trying to catch her breath. It's an impossible task, with the way you're looking at her.

Swallowing, she turns around. Daisy nudges you, and you finally grip the stupid jersey. It's still warm, smelling like sweat and cologne.

Natasha walks away, soles squeaking quietly on vinyl ground. She glances at you over her shoulder, briefly, but it's enough.

She looks away. You jump up.

You shove people aside and hop down the rows in front of you, reaching the court. You're practically sprinting at this point, desperate to reach her before she gets to the locker room.

You grab her, spin her around, kiss her so hard she almost stumbles. She groans, but it shifts into a soft whimper. She drops the bottle she was holding and grips your waist.

Around you, people are still cheering, still celebrating. But this is the real victory.

You deepen the kiss, drag your fingers through the damp baby hairs at the back of her neck. Her lips are salty, addictive, her body thrumming against yours.

Natasha tastes something sweet, fizzy, matching the way her stomach tingles. You're here, choosing her in front of everyone, and god, it feels good.

Time slows down. She inhales against your lips, sharply, her fingers digging into your skin. You get on your tiptoes, allowing her to stand a bit straighter. You pull away just enough to take a breath, and she makes a quiet noise of protest.

By the time you part, your lips are swollen and slick. Natasha's looking at you like you hung the damn moon, like you're the reason her heart is slamming against her ribs. Which you kind of are.

"You- I-"

You manage a smile, your fingers still playing with her baby hairs. How often does she get nervous? Once in a blue moon.

"You did good", you mumble, studying her. She swallows thickly. "Finally."

"I'm so sorry", she mumbles, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you against her. Your feet leave the ground. "I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck. It was all a mistake. I..."

You don't let her finish. You kiss her, again and again, until the tension slowly disappears from her shoulders. She pulls away and buries her face in your neck. It's not the basketball game that's leaving her shaking — it's you.

"You're a moron."

"Mhm." Her lips press against your shoulder.

"An idiot. An absolute buffoon."

"That's fair."

You pull away again, still clutching her jersey in your hand. Natasha gives it a quick little nod, and it looks so ridiculously shy you can't help but laugh.

"Say it", you tease, cupping her cheek. She frowns. "Come on. You're a big girl, aren't you?"

A deep breath in, then out. Her eyes sweep across your surroundings, making sure no one's listening.

"Put that on", she finally mumbles. "It's yours now. I'm yours."

You press another kiss to her cheek, then step away and put on her jersey. Your jersey, actually. Sweaty and damp, smelling like her.

Natasha smiles softly. She fidgets, shifts, then grabs your hand.

"We never had an actual first date, you know."

You hum. She's right. You hooked up, and then continued hooking up. There was never anything that even resembled an official date.

"What're you saying?"

"You, me." She squeezes your hand. "Maybe a nice restaurant? Or takeout? We can have a picnic. I don't know, I don't usually do this."

You want to say no at first. Not because you don't want to, but because the after game-celebration is in full swing. The entire team is talking about going to a bar.

But then you realize that Natasha hasn't spared them a single glance since the buzzer announced the end of the game. She's been here, with you, looking at you, asking you out on a date.

The fuckboy athlete who keeps everyone at an arm's length, now actually taking something seriously.

You kiss her, already leading her out of the gym.

"Yes. But no cheeseburgers."

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @esposadejoyhuerta

[ravenclaw-jojo]

Fandom: LaDS Pairings: Caleb x afab!reader Tags: Possessive love,  graphic smut, very ‘touch her and die’ vibes, breeding kink, Caleb is jealous of Xavier, light impact play, overstimulation, creampie (be safe ya’ll). MINORS DNI. WC: 2.5k

Description: You were a little late returning home from the Hunter’s Association. A/N: For @laddelulu30 who put breeding on my mind xD Also dedicated to @unintentionalseductress because well, Caleb :3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You said you’d be out late. He already expected that. Yet something about the whole situation still made him uneasy. 

“There’s a pair of agents that just got back from their interrogation. We’re debriefing and then planning our schedules for the next few days. I promise, if it’s later than midnight, I’ll call you to pick me up.” You reassured him over video call. 

Caleb couldn’t protest, not when your eyes are staring back at him with sincerity he’s known for the better part of your lives — it was the same look you fixed him when you wanted an extra five minutes of his time to play whatever game you’d come up with that day. 

“Alright, alright, fine. Just promise to text me.” Caleb relented, the muscles in his jaw tightening despite the smile he tried to fix on his lips. 

“I will.” 

That was over two hours ago.  Thanks to the lifestyle app that you had suggested you download onto your phones, you were able to see each other’s general location on the map, and the speeds at which your phone was traveling at. Of course this only worked if you had your phone on you and the location was only accurate up to a 3-miles radius…and that wasn’t acceptable for him. No, he needed to know where you are at all times, down to the last step.

There’s a secret app on Caleb’s work cell, one he clicked open to reveal your precise location (the Hunter’s Association building, third floor, in one of the meeting rooms that’s in the south-eastern wing). This app was connected to the tracker embedded in the ruby gemstone of the dainty gold anklet he’d gifted you. You didn’t know about the tracker’s existence of course, and if you did… well that stirred a different feeling in Caleb that he was all too happy to entertain, if his focus wasn’t already fixated on your location. 

When the hour struck 10 and you still hadn’t called, he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“C’mon pip-squeak…pick up the phone.” He muttered as the video call attempted to connect. 

“Caleb? Why are you calling me silly?” Your laughter made the imaginary claws around his heart retract by a few centimeters. Despite trying to maintain some semblance of restraint, the reproachful tone in his voice reverberated through his sentence. 

“You said you’d call if you were staying later than midnight.” 

“And it isn’t midnight.” 

Caleb snorted. “Just like you to rely a little too much on technicalities.” 

Your laughter made his fingers pause mid-strum against the arm of your sofa. “It isn’t technicalities, it’s the truth. Clock has yet to strike midnight, Mr Caleb.” Your teasing tone doesn't go unnoticed. 

He chuckled, “It’ll be past midnight by the time you get here. Let me pick you up from work.” 

“Caleb, I’m not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I’ve made the walk home a dozen times before with no problem-���

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? The pure coincidence that you haven’t been attacked by some stalker?”

Oh, it was certainly rich of him to say this. But you didn’t know that. You didn’t know how he was practically on edge right now, the sound of your laughter, the gentle curve of your lips…. 

“Stop that.” He commanded before he could stop himself, startling not just you but himself. It wasn’t like him to lose his control like this. 

“What?” You questioned with furrowed brows. 

“Biting your lip. Stop biting your lip, I want to do that.” Caleb said, his voice dropping into that gruff tone that made your thighs clench. Torn between surprise and a sudden rush of arousal, you licked your upper lip, brain trying to grasp at the thoughts that rushed through your mind from his authoritarian tone. “I…I wasn’t aware I was doing it. Sorry.” 

Caleb shook his head, locks of his hair curtaining his purple gaze. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Just be careful coming home.” He told you in a gentler tone. The soft smile didn’t reach his eyes and you wondered what could’ve possibly changed… Caleb was no stranger to you working late, especially when it came to a case that had spanned months of tracking and intel gathering. 

“I will be.” You answered. You will be. Caleb thought to himself, watching the little red dot move along the map of his work phone, muscles on the back of his neck slowly relaxing when the very same dot started to move towards the building’s exit. He felt better knowing your exact location at all times.

Your fingerprint unlocked the door to your apartment and you were pleasantly surprised by the scent of good food wafting from your barely used kitchen – outside of baking, the kitchen was only functioning when Zayne happened to drop by. Though the doctor much preferred to spend time at his apartment or experiencing the service of an actual chef in a restaurant. Caleb however, had long since made himself at home in your kitchen. There was something oddly intimate about how he knew where you kept all your cups and plates, which drawer stored the utensils versus the designated junk drawer – drawerS, if we were being truthful. 

“Perfect timing, the rice just finished cooking..” He gestured towards the tasty food and dinner setting that waited for them at the table. You closed the door behind you, hanging your coat with an air of playful suspicion. “What did you do Caleb?” You asked. 

His easy chuckle softened your heart, while he led you to the table, the warm touch of his fingers easily breaking down said suspicions. This is Caleb. Your Caleb. “I’m not trying to butter you up pip-squeak. I promise. Juuuust making sure you’re eating, even if it isn’t really on time.” He pulled back a chair for her to sit down, before taking his own seat. You picked up on his pointed tone. 

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t like I intended to stay that late, I swear.” You said watching as he picked up your plate and started to arrange the home-cooked meal on it. His gaze met yours over the food, his scrutiny a little gentler than before. “Who else was there?” He asked.

You cocked your head, accepting the plate he offered. “The usual crowd, you’ve met Tara before. Then Simone was there to give a debriefing…”

“And what about that guy?” 

You suddenly had flashbacks of being a preteen and Caleb’s presence scaring away any and all potential crushes. Picking at your food, you raised an innocent eyebrow. “You mean Xavier?” His silence spoke more than his words ever could. 

“He hasn’t been around. Out on another mission by himself. And even if he wasn’t, do you honestly believe you have anything to be worried about?” You challenged him with a smile – one that immediately made his pants feel a little too tight. Caleb glowered back at you, “It’s not you I don’t trust, pip-squeak. Let’s make that clear. It’s other people I have little faith in.” He watched as you stood up from your seat, walking over to him. There was a glimmer in your eyes, something that hinted at mischief. Given your history, he was all too familiar with that look of yours. You had something up your sleeve. 

“You know, you’ve got to start working on your expressions if you’re ever going to go undercover, y/n.” He teased, your fingers trailing across his broad shoulders. He kept his focus on you as you walked around his chair and with a gentle nudge of your hip, had him push it backwards to provide you with just enough room to sit on his lap. 

You weren’t as amused by his jab, pouting up at him in a way that made his heart rate pick up. “I got a high score in ‘stealth and disguise’ thank you very much.” You retorted, arms going around his neck. Your fingers begin to play with the sterling silver chain of his dog tag, savoring the warmth of it between your fingertips. “Are you going to be a meanie all night just because you made dinner?”

His chuckle is followed by his arms cradling you, “Well I wasn’t going to say anything but since you pointed it out-...” His grip on you tightened before he stood up and carried you from the dining table. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

If he were being honest, he’d lost count of the number of orgasms he gave you. All he knew was that he’d never get tired of the way you look beneath him, the way the silver apple charm and dog tag clinked against his chest with each thrust he makes, and he’d especially never get tired of the way you moaned his name like you were begging for repentance from a god.  “Where do you think you’re going pip-squeak? Don’t tell me you’re done taking cock? You were so desperate for it earlier.” His voice took on a darker edge, his evol thickening in the air, the fine hairs on your body standing on end at the gravity change in your environment. Your hips that had unconsciously tried to pull away are forced back onto his, forcing him in an angle that made you feel so full. “Caleb…” You whined, walls tight as you accommodated his hard, almost manic thrusts – like he just wanted to see how much he could pull out of you, how big of a puddle he could make on the hardwood floor of your living room. 

“Love hearing you say my name like that.” He muttered, rolling his hips in figure 8’s just to further blur the lines between insanity and pleasure. “What do you think about recording it one day for me, hmm? Give me the pleasure of listening to you moaning over and over again when you send me texts.” Caleb’s smirk is replaced with a sudden darkening of his lavender eyes. “Then again, that would mean risking other people hearing your beautiful, needy voice. And I like knowing that this is all for me.” His hand slid into your hair, grasping a handful in a rough ponytail and tugging you back to focus on him. You wanted to say something but half your face is still pushed into the couch cushions, his hand keeping you in place. 

SMACK.

Fuck. Your mind was blanking out, the world narrowing down to the strain of your legs while Caleb continued rutting into you like a man possessed. The sharp sting of his palm against your ass cheek only sent more heat to your groin. More… “Aww you’re so cute like this pip-squeak. Look how wet you’re getting when I treat you like the good little slut I knew you always were. I wonder how many times your colleagues fantasize about you, wonder if they know just how depraved and dirty you really like it… All hidden behind this sweet face.” He released your hair, fingers sliding around to squeeze your round cheeks, forcing your lips to purse while his eyes drank in your features. 

Without so much as a warning, Caleb is suddenly pulling out of you – the disappointing emptiness only lasting for a fraction of a second before he flipped you over and with the help of his evol, pinned you down into a mean mating press – his favorite position with you. Caleb loved to watch the way your pupils dilate into lust-blown hearts when his cock stretches you, loved even more when your legs hook over his shoulders so he could leave gentle kisses along your calf, which honestly used to be his favorite part about fucking you like this. That quickly changed when he gifted that anklet to you – yes, the one with the tracker embedded in the matching apple charm – he’d also had the foresight to include another addition to the anklet: his initials. He’d only ever admit this to himself; something about the way he watched the letter ‘C’ bounce against your ankle in the same fast-paced rhythm he’d started, made his cock twitch. It was another way to mark you, filling him with prideful arrogance when he knew he’s the only privileged bastard to have their initials around your ankle. The same ankle he could hold onto when you have your legs on his shoulders. Well that was the situation until you said the very words that made the last thread of his restraint snap. 

“Breed me Caleb.” You pant, his pendant and chain pooling on your sternum. 

His hips stuttered, hand slamming down beside your head on the cushion while he steadied himself. “What did you say?” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t catch it the first time. The burning desire within Caleb had everything to do with needing to hear it again. 

The sting of your fingernails leaving angry red marks on his back made his irregular breathing heavier, especially when you’re staring straight into his eyes with that expression that practically begged him. “Breed me, please.”

“With fucking pleasure, pip-squeak.” Instincts took over when Caleb leaned down to nip on your luscious lower lip, making good on his promise from before.  Once upon a time, you’d have sworn the noises escaping your lips were fake – no way those videos across the Internet could be onto something – Caleb, however, knew everything about your body, knew precisely how to break you down just to take his sweet time putting you together again. “Caleb-...”

“Louder. I want the whole building to hear who you belong to.” His voice is husky, fingers tight enough to leave bruises against the back of your thighs. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock between your heated, velvety walls-

“Caleb!” 

He was thrusting into you with blind need, the scent of your lovemaking thick in the air punctuated by the sodden thwack thwack thwack of your bodies.

Your vision is filled with a white sunburst, your body giving into your pleasure while you keened for him. The noises you made, the expression on your face, that vulnerability of how your chest seemed to flutter while you caught your breath…his. He was going to make you his. To breed you is to claim you in the most basest sense possible, no one would mistake who could’ve possibly made you swollen…the cadence of your voice begging him to breed you rang in his mind again further weakening the battle of wills he’d been having with himself – the need to drag this on as long as possible, or to fill you up to the brim with ropes and ropes of his-

“Fuuuuck…” You purred, overwhelmed from the feel of his warm cum spilling and smearing against your inner thighs.

“Y/n…” The crack in his voice instinctually made you grind against him, forcing another needy moan from Caleb. You both remained that way for a few beats, catching your breath while the white ring around the base of his cock slowly dripped along his balls. He pressed his cheek against your ankle, lips brushing against the curve of the ‘C’ from your anklet. His. You. Are. His.  

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

ravenclaw-jojo™️2025 writing | No copying, plagiarizing or translations without expressed permission.

[sreabhadh]

Would love to see this concept in more depth, in more places, and just in general. Very yummy, delicious even.

Also when I read this my brain just went: Cosmere. Brandon Sanderson. *Starts listing mini instances of this*

Major Spoilers for Warbreaker, Stormlight Archive, Elantris, and Mistborn

Warbreaker. The lore is that the God-King is the ruler of Hallandren and the most powerful person alive? Psyche, he's a puppet head that's only a VESSEL for the most amount of power held by (probably) anyone else on the planet. He doesn't even have a tongue. Also he's a bean and precious and very much on the protect-at-all-costs list

Stormlight Archive. The lore is that in times of old during the desolations, there were monsters called Voidbringers. Oh. Wait. Based on this character's research, those monsters are actually the commonplace mindless slaves everyone uses and if they ever somehow regain their minds they'll be able to start killing everyone everywhere. Oh. Oh wait no oh wait, HOW- the humans were the Voidbringers? They're not even from this planet?? They DESTROYED the first one???

Shardblades, Shardplate. Initial lore? They're magical weapons from times of old when monsters had stone skin and thus our ancestors had swords that could cut through stone. How do they work? We don't know, we're still trying to figure that out, but hey we've invented some pretty cool stuff that works kind of like them so we'll get there eventually. :D Nope. Nope the magic weapons and armor are the literal corpses of old spren dead from broken oaths. If you are a character who has now spoken oaths and you try to wield one of those old magic weapons, you will hear it screaming in your head.

Gavilar. Initial lore? Oh, he was a great king who founded Alethkar, united the nation. A brother, a father, an uncle, husband and king who cared about doing things the right way and had big aspirations, a life unfortunately cut short by assassination, a huge loss for the kingdom. Um. No. No. There is a reason everyone who's ready the books revel in his death. He was manipulative, toxic, beyond power hungry, a cruel scheming heartless warmonger that used everyone around him like the tools he saw them as. He was the worst and a horrible brother, father, husband, king and uncle and his death was an absolute blessing.

The Heralds, holy beings second only to the Almighty himself. Actually, yes they are immortal but also every single one of them are categorically insane and broken and they gave up the fight centuries ago and have been living among mortals this whole time. One of them defaces every image and depiction she comes across of herself, one runs around killing people who become Radiants to stop the Desolation from coming again (it's already here but he's firmly in denial), another is trying to become a god and has been tainted by the voice of an actual (evil) god and, uh, you remember that guy in the psych ward that just keeps saying the same thing over and over again? Yeah him too. Also. Remember that homeless drunk guy you were buddies with and was there the night your brother got assassinated? Yeah him too. Oh, also the Almighty, (god) is dead. Straight up dead. Sort of. Mostly. It's complicated.

Elantris. Hrathen lore. He's a big important religious leader from an enemy kingdom where the government and religion are one and the same and he's here to do missionary work to convert the people so they can join the kingdom peacefully without dying and stuff because if he fails then they are going to attack, also he wears this fancy fake armor everywhere cause he's pretentious and crap and- .... -and he was straight up lied to, he wasn't sent there to convert people, save their souls, or give them a chance for peace. He was sent there. As a distraction. For the already invading army there to decimate the entire city and every single living inhabitant regardless of any religious or political affiliations. Oh also the armor he was wearing (literally) everywhere that was obviously fake because what nutjob willingly walks around in real, super heavy, great for overheating, cumbersome and restricting armor LITERALLY everywhere- Hrathen. Hrathen does.

Mistborn. Oh my GOSH Mistborn. So THIS is the legend, this is the story, the lore, behind ALL these things PSYCHE the story is a FABRICATION because the dang inscription said to "Only trust words written in metal" for a ding dang REASON Sazed and Sazed only took a rubbing of it instead of writing it in metal which meant Ruin was able to alter the words and EVERYTHING was a lie and that great heroic sacrifice of Vin's is ACTUALLY going to destroy the world and everyone on it. Among other things but this is already getting unintentionally lengthy, so~

Brandon. Storming. Sanderson. Cosmere. Skyward series (not Cosmere) and others I didn't mention fit this, but YEAH. It's good lol.

I would love to see a fantasy novel where the lore that the reader / protagonist learns at first is not true

[juleswritesstuff]

The Pillow Contract

James Potter seems to have found the best pillow on earth. You.

james potter x fem!reader

warnings: none

James liked to consider himself a man of simple pleasures. 

A good meal ? Heaven. A lazy Sunday spent wrapped in a blanket burrito ? Perfection. A well-timed, sarcastic remark ? Chef’s kiss.

But above all else, there was one thing James had come to love more than anything in the world.

Your chest.

Well, you as a whole, of course. Body and soul alike. He was not a bloody prick, thank you very much. 

He loved you for you, not just for the flawless vessel that carried your golden heart and your beautiful mind.

But he couldn't help the way he was especially drawn to the perfection that peeked from your neckline when your shirt hung a little lower than usual.

And he also could not, in good conscience, ignore the life-altering comfort that was that perfection.

Now, to be clear, James wasn’t just some guy obsessed with his girlfriend’s body –okay, maybe he was a little addicted. 

But, come on, who could blame him when you were said girlfriend ? 

He was supposed to be a bit obsessed with you, right ? That’s what every person in their sane, right and helplessly in love mind would be about their partner, no ? 

Was that just him ? 

Ok, fine, maybe he was a bit of a simp (read, you had him at your feet). So what ? 

He liked it exactly like that. Sue him.

But this ? This was different. 

This wasn’t just about attraction or some primal male instinct. No, this was about something sacred.

This was about comfort.

The kind that he’d accidentally stumbled upon one evening when you had curled up next to him on the couch, and his head had somehow –miraculously– ended up resting right on your chest.

That’s when he had discovered it.

The Holy Grail of pillows. The pinnacle of all headrests.

Your chest was perfect. 

Warm. Soft. Inviting.

It had been life-changing. Existence-altering. World-stopping.

And in that moment, with his head resting against the softest, most heavenly cushion known to mankind, and your heart beating under his ear like a lullaby, James had made a decision.

He was never going back to regular pillows again.

Ever.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know how to turn this into a permanent arrangement without looking like an absolute fool.

Which, really, was ironic, because James didn’t mind acting like the biggest dumbass in the world when it came to you. Not even a tiny bit.

The man had zero shame, and zero chill when you were involved.

If he had to beg ? Done.

If he had to bribe you with kisses ? Oh no, how awful.

If he had to declare his undying devotion in front of his friends and suffer their relentless teasing ? Call Sirius and Remus over, he was ready to suffer.

If he had to wear one of those, frankly quite obnoxious --yes, even for him-- ‘I ❤️ My Girlfriend’ shirts in public just because you wanted him to suffer a bit for forgetting the chores ? Consider it his new favorite outfit.

He’d do anything and everything –yes, even sacrificing his dignity in front of Pads and Moony– if it meant putting a smile on your face (and making you agree to be used as a headrest for the rest of your life. But let’s just say that was a teeny, tiny, wonderful bonus if the case ever came to be).

Tonight was his chance, he told himself.

You were already curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. The dim lighting of the room cast a soft glow over you, and James took a moment to appreciate the scene. 

Because, honestly ? You looked really good.

Too good.

Like, unfairly good.

The hoodie –his hoodie, the one he had technically claimed as his favorite, but which spent more time on your body than his closet– was slightly oversized on you, slipping off one shoulder in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a second.

This was his moment.

You were comfortable. The couch was comfortable. 

And your chest ? Well, that was a level of bliss he had yet to find anywhere else in the world.

Time to execute: Operation Smothered by Heaven.

Ok, the name was a little ridiculous. But, to his defence, he had been a little distracted while thinking about it –the dress you were wearing mysteriously met the floor not even five minutes after he had taken a glimpse of you– and his brain had refused to work at his full potential.

Something that he absolutely couldn’t let happen now. 

Not when the fate of his comfort and sanity was at such a high risk.

That’s why he casually –so casually– stretched like a giant cat just waking up from a nap, letting out an exaggerated yawn before –still ever so nonchalantly, of course– leaning closer.

And would you look at that ? His head, as if drawn by an invisible magnetic force he absolutely had no control on –God forbid– found its way to your chest.

It was seamless. 

Flawless execution.

Absolutely fucking nailed that.

He gave himself a mental high five.

Operation Smothered by Heaven: officially successful.

“Wow. Smooth” you blinked down at him, amused.

James grinned but didn’t move. Not even an inch. Nope. 

He had claimed his rightful place, and there was no going back now.

“What can I say ? Gravity is a powerful thing” he purred, his voice smug, his eyes half-lidded like a cat who had just found the warmest sunspot in the house.

“Ah, I see. So this is all gravity’s fault, then ?”

“Absolutely” he confirmed, burrowing his face in just a little more “I have no control over it. Pure science”

You snorted, shaking your head, but you didn’t push him away. 

Of course you didn’t.

If anything, you shifted slightly, letting your arm drape around his back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing along his spine. He hummed in approval, his whole body melting against yours like ice under the warm sunlight of a summer’s day.

Because the thing James didn’t know –or, at the very least, seemed to forget– was that he wore his heart on his sleeve. Always.

James Potter and secret scheming ? Not a good match. 

Not a match at all, actually. But you still liked watching him try.

And with the way he had been ogling you for the past week, it really wasn’t hard to figure out what had been brewing in that ridiculously pretty head of his.

His thoughtful frown, the way his brows scrunched together, his deep-in-thought lip-biting. James had looked like he was trying to crack some highly classified government code.

Except the code in question was you.

Or, more specifically, that area right below your neck that seemed to steal his attention more times then it should've been considered healthy.

Subtle, he was not.

He had been studying you. Analyzing the way your sweaters dipped lower when you leaned forward, the way the fabric of your shirts clung to your curves, the way–

God.

James had the audacity to look like he was pondering the meaning of life when, really, all he was trying to find was an excuse.

Funny how he could’ve just asked.

It wasn’t like you would have refused him.

Hell, you didn’t even think you possessed the ability to refuse him. To refuse him anything, really.

But your smitten and extremely down-bad behavior when it came to your boyfriend was a topic for another time.

James let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You know” he murmured, voice slightly muffled as he nuzzled closer “I think I’ve discovered something important”

“Oh ?”

“Mhm” he tilted his head up, his expression dead serious. Like a man delivering a life-changing revelation “Your chest ? Best pillow I’ve ever used”

You raised an eyebrow, a quiet grin making its way onto your mouth. “I should be flattered, I think”

“You should be honored” he corrected, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk “I mean, it’s a very competitive market. But yours ? Easily top-tier”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right ?”

James nodded solemnly. 

“Hell yeah, baby. I’d even write a five-star Yelp review if that were a thing”

You let out a soft laugh and slid your fingers into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

James immediately melted.

He let out a low, contented hum, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body dissolving completely. You thought if he was a cat, he would’ve started purring.

“Mmh. Keep doing that, and I might never get up” he mumbled, voice already laced with drowsiness.

“Wouldn’t mind that” you teased.

Because, really, who in their right mind would complain about this ?

No one, that's who.

And surely not you.

James hummed in response, his arms tightening around your waist burying himself further into you. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. 

His lips brushed absentmindedly against your collarbone –a barely-there press of warmth that sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

This. This was perfection.

Then, because James Potter simply could not help himself, he tilted his head up again.

“So, uh... just out of curiosity. How often do you think I can get away with this ?”

You smirked. “That depends”

“On ?”

“How well you behave”

James’ eyes darkened slightly, though amusement still played at the edges. 

“Define behave” his voice dropped, all smooth and teasing, like he could coax an answer out of you if he said it just right.

You arched a brow, pretending to think. 

“Well, let’s see. No stealing the blankets at night. No pretending you don’t hear me when I ask you to grab something from the kitchen. And definitely no distracting me when I’m trying to get work done”

James gasped, offended.

“That last one is unreasonable and you know it”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is it ?”

“Yes. It is literally part of my rights as your boyfriend to distract you”

You hummed, pretending to ponder your decision.

“Well, if we can do nothing about that…” your hand cupped his cheek, slender fingers applying a gentle pressure to lift his face up from that cocoon of warmth he had nestled himself into.

He blinked. “I-wait. What ?”

Before he could fully register what was happening, you leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

James melted.

Like, gone. Out of commission. Absolute goner.

The smug confidence he had a second ago ? Obliterated.

His hands, which had been lazily resting at your waist, tightened, pulling you closer like he never wanted to let go. One of them trailed up your spine, fingers tangling into your hair, holding you there like this was oxygen and he needed it to breathe.

You sighed against his lips, feeling the way James shuddered, the way his grip on you tightened, like he was physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Like you had just ruined him.

And maybe you had.

Because when you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, James just blinked at you, dazed and utterly wrecked, lips still parted like he hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet.

You bit back a smirk.

Unbelievable.

How had this man made a full-time career out of turning you into putty, and yet one well-placed kiss had him looking like he’d just been personally blessed by the universe ?

You dragged your fingers lazily through his curls, watching the way his lashes fluttered at the sensation, the slow, dopey grin tugging at his lips.

Completely gone.

You tilted your head, murmuring teasingly against his mouth “Was that up to your standards, Mr. Five-Star Review ?”

James, still grinning –and still absolutely useless– just nodded.

"Five stars ? That was worth the entire Milky Way, baby"

You let out a laugh, and James practically glowed at the sound, his fingers flexing against your waist like he wanted to bottle it.

Then, before you could say anything else, he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in that infuriatingly sweet way of his.

"You know-" he murmured, voice all warm and syrupy "-if this is part of my reward system, I promise to be so good"

You smirked, fingers tracing idle patterns into the back of his neck. “Do you now ?”

James nodded solemnly, though the grin he was fighting gave him away.

“The best. Model citizen. Proper gentleman. Will hold doors, carry bags, call you milady unironically if I have to”

You snorted. Loudly.

"Now that, I need to see"

James hummed, tilting his head up like he was about to deliver the most profound statement of his life.

“Mmh. Maybe after another kiss”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “That so ?”

He nodded again, already leaning in, his lips curling mischievously.

You let your fingers drag slowly down the back of his neck, feeling the way James shivered under your touch.

The moment stretched, thick with something warm and electric, the air between you charged in that intoxicating way it always was whenever you teased him like this.

You leaned in deliberately, lips hovering just over his, close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

James, for all his usual smugness, stilled, his lazy smirk faltering into something softer, deeper. His lips parting slightly, his pupils dark and expectant.

Waiting.

Wanting.

You let your gaze drop to his lips, watching as his tongue darted out just once, a quick, unconscious flick, like he was already tasting the kiss before it happened.

And, God, he was beautiful like this.

All that usual bravado stripped down to this, his sharp edges melted, his hands twitching slightly where they rested on your hips, fighting the urge to pull you closer.

His restraint was admirable.

His patience ?

Well. That was something you just had to test.

You leaned in that final inch –only for your lips to land on his cheek instead.

Soft. Chaste. Infuriating.

James let out a dramatic, suffering groan, his head thunking back against the cushions.

“Tease” he mumbled, voice hoarse, his hands finally losing their battle as they gripped your waist, fingers pressing into your sides like he was physically holding back the urge to grab your face and kiss you properly.

You pulled back just enough to grin down at him, impossibly pleased with yourself.

“What ?” you asked innocently, tilting your head “You asked for a kiss. You didn’t specify where, love”

James cracked one eye open, glowering.

“Oh, that’s dirty” he grumbled, before huffing dramatically and rolling onto his back, taking you with him.

You yelped as you landed against his chest, sprawled across him, your laughter cut off when his arms wrapped around you, pinning you against him with the strength of a human vice grip.

“James-”

“Nope” he said, shoving his face into your neck like a petulant child, muffling his words “You’re stuck here now. Actions have consequences”

You laughed, wiggling in his hold, but he just tightened his grip.

“James”

“Mmm. Nope”

“I-”

“Shh. Thinking about my suffering”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, your fingers naturally finding their way into his curls again, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He made a sound, deep and content, his body practically melting beneath you.

“See ?” you teased, voice softening “That wasn’t so bad”

James exhaled heavily, but his hands had already started skimming over your back again, lazy and unbothered, like he’d completely forgotten why he was fake-pouting in the first place.

“Mmh” he hummed “Don't know. Still feel like you owe me”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Oh ?”

“Yeah” James sighed dramatically, finally tilting his head up again. Looking at you.

That expression.

Soft. Mischievous. A little challenging.

Maybe even a little hopeful.

Like he was just waiting for you to put him out of his misery.

You let the moment stretch for a beat longer, lips quirking.

Then, with a small, amused sigh, you finally gave in.

And kissed him properly.

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed like that, tangled together, basking in the warmth of each other’s touch.

You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled back just enough to murmur “So… hear me out”

“Oh boy” you sighed, already knowing. 

James just grinned, completely unbothered by your lack in faith in him.

“What if we made this a permanent arrangement ?”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head at him. “A permanent arrangement ?”

“Yeah. Like, an official thing. A contract, even” he lifted his head slightly, hie expression the picture of seriousness “Something binding. A legally recognized agreement that states you will be my official human pillow for the foreseeable future”

You stared at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, lips twitiching. 

“You want to draft a pillow contract ?”

James nodded, almost professionally. 

“For accountability purposes”

You rolled your eyes, a disbelieved chuckle leaving your lips before you could stop it. 

“You’re ridiculous”

“But lovable” he pointed out.

You exhaled, shaking your head, your heart betraying you with the sheer amount of fondness you felt for this man.

“Fine” you relented, rolling your eyes as if you weren’t already completely gone for him “You win. You can rest on me whenever you want”

James grinned like he’d just won the lottery, wasting no time in smacking a quick, eager kiss right on your lips.

“But” you added, poking him in the ribs “I reserve the right to move if you start drooling”

“Excuse me ?” James gasped, offended “I do not drool”

You smirked. “That’s not what the couch cushions say”

James gasped again, dramatically this time, like you had personally insulted his honor “That was one time-”

“Oh, it so wasn’t”

James pouted, pulling you even closer and pressing his forehead against yours with a grumble.

“You wound me” he muttered, a mock distraught lilt to his voice.

You grinned, the warmth of him, the smell of him, completely surrounding you as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, lingering just enough to feel the way his breath hitched.

“I think you’ll survive just fine”

James hummed, tilting his head slightly, inviting you to keep going.

So you did.

You let your lips trail along his jawline, slow and lazy, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly in a way that made him melt.

“Well” James sighed, voice lower, heavier, the tiniest shiver running through him “If this is how you comfort me, I guess I’ll forgive you”

You laughed against his skin.

“How generous”

James smirked, but there was something else in his eyes now, something wicked, something that sparked just before–

Before the menace shimmied down.

Yes. Shimmied. Like a man with a mission.

“James-”

Your protest was cut off by laughter, because he was determined, wriggling lower and lower with expert precision, slipping out of your hold like a human-sized golden retriever trying to find the perfect spot on the couch.

And then, with a triumphant sigh, his head landed where he had been aiming all along–

Right on your chest.

James let out a deep, satisfied hum, snuggling in, his nose nuzzling into the soft fabric of your shirt like this was some long-lost paradise he had just returned to.

“Now we’re talking” he exhaled in sheer satisfaction, like the heaviest of weights had been lifted from his shoulders, snuggling even deeper, and muttering an appreciative “Mmh. Yep. Definitely five stars”

You blinked down at him, helpless to fight the way your heart swelled, a smile threatening to bloom against your better judgment.

“Should I start charging you for this service ?” you teased.

James hummed, content, his lips brushing absently against the skin just below your collarbone.

“I’d go broke, baby”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your fingers finding their way back into his hair, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

James groaned, pressing his face deeper into your chest, mumbling something incoherent that you were pretty sure translated to never stop doing that.

Before you could fully process how utterly whipped this man was, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss there –just because he could.

You pulled back slightly, blinking down at the mop of messy chocolate strands currently buried between your collarbones. 

“Do you make a habit of kissing all your pillows ?” you asked, voice mildly amused despite the unreasonable warmth now flooding your chest.

James, completely unashamed, grinned against you. 

“Pillows don’t usually deserve appreciation, but this one ?” his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns against your waist, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur “This one gets special treatment”

A full-body shiver rolled through you.

And James, that absolute menace, felt it.

His smirk was obnoxiously satisfied as he nuzzled in even deeper, practically purring as he molded himself further against you.

You rolled your eyes, trying –truly trying– to ignore the overwhelming affection clawing at your ribcage. And utterly failing.

“Jamie, you’re gonna choke like this” you warned playfully, fighting against yourself not to let out the endeared laugh threatening to spill.

James made a noncommittal noise, fully unbothered.

“Best way to go, honestly”

And that was it.

Not one beat missed. Not a single ounce of shame registered in his voice.

You stared wide-eyed at the mop of untamable chocolate curls right below your chin, completely bewildered by the words that had just come out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

Did this man, the actual lover of your life, just casually declare that he would willingly –no, gladly– perish via boob-related asphyxiation ?

Because that was what it sounded like.

Was that a normal thing for a person to say ?

No. No, it wasn’t.

And yet—here you were.

"James"

“Mmm ?”

"James, get up"

"No"

You sighed, trying to nudge him off, but it was useless.

Because this man –this grown, six-foot, sport-trained, annoyingly fit man– was currently clinging to you like a koala experiencing its first-ever existential crisis.

And you knew –you knew– that there was no reasoning with a man who had just fully committed to making your chest his final resting place.

"James-"

"No"

"You cannot suffocate yourself on my–"

"I can and I will"

"You will not"

James lifted his head just enough to look at you with actual betrayal.

"How dare you harm a man in his final moments ?"

A stunned laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous”

James smirked triumphantly.

“And yet-” he murmured smugly “-you don’t seem to mind it”

He barely gave you a second to respond before he nuzzled right back in, burrowing into your chest like you were some long-lost paradise he had finally returned to.

You stared at the ceiling, dead inside.

How was this your life ?

You used to have dignity.

You used to be a strong, independent person.

And yet, somehow –somehow– you had become a glorified human mattress for your very large and very needy boyfriend.

And the worst part ?

You didn’t even mind.

You sighed deeply, fingers slipping into his hair against your better judgment. James melted immediately, exhaling in a way that was obscenely pleased. Like if he were any more relaxed, he'd have dissolved into a puddle of mushy, lovesick goo.

Then, with the solemnity of a man about to deliver a groundbreaking presidential address, he cleared his throat.

You barely had time to register the shift before he–

“Ladies” James began, his voice smooth, reverent “It’s always a pleasure”

Your mouth fell open.

Did he just–

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I just wanted to take a moment to express my deepest gratitude” he continued talking to your breasts, completely ignoring the look of utter disbelief and sheer horror plastered on your face and sighing dramatically “For your service. For your warmth. For providing me with the best naps of my life”

Your soul, quite frankly, left your body, just straight-up abandoned you.

“James–”

He shushed you.

Shushed you.

“I’m having a moment with my girls, baby” he whispered, like he was delivering a speech at fucking Buckingham Palace.

You gaped at him. “You are not-”

“I am” he placed a hand over his heart “They deserve it”

You had never contemplated murder so seriously in your life.

James, completely unbothered, pressed on. 

“I promise to treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. To appreciate your softness in all its glory. To-” he paused, tilting his head “Actually, I feel like I should name you”

“For the love of God, James. Don’t you dare-”

James gasped. 

Gasped. 

“That’s a brilliant idea. Baby, why haven’t we named them ?”

You smacked his arm, your eyes so wide they threatened to fall out of your skull. “Because they are literally attached to my body ?!”

But he wasn’t listening. No, the absolute menace was thinking, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

“They deserve names that reflect their greatness. Something regal. Something powerful”

He snapped his fingers. “Got it. Thelma and Louise”

You groaned. “Absolutely fucking not”

James ignored you. 

“Or maybe Hall and Oates ?”

“I- What- Aren’t they both men ?”

“Gender’s nothing but a social construct, darling”

“Ok-”

A sudden gasp interrupted you, as if he had just discovered the meaning of life itself.

"Baby- Baby, I’ve got it"

You sighed, already regretting everything. "James, no"

"Yes" he insisted, eyes alight with the thrill of an idiot about to say something profoundly stupid "Bonnie and Clyde"

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You want to name ‘your girls’ after two actual criminals ?"

James nodded solemnly, as if he were making the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "Iconic criminals. Star-crossed lovers. Thrill-seekers. Just like us, babe"

"Just like us ?" you repeated, incredulous "James, they literally died in a hail of bullets"

"Tragic, right ?" he sighed dramatically, resting his cheek against your chest. "Just two outlaws against the world. Inseparable. Madly in love. Probably great at robbing banks"

You stared at him, completely dead inside. "Are you about to compare my chest to a highly coordinated armed robbery ?"

James lifted his head just enough to grin at you. 

"Well” he mused, eyes twinkling “they did steal my heart"

You were done. So done, in fact, that you just gave up entirely.

"I cannot believe this is my life" you muttered, shoving your hands over your face.

James, the absolute menace, took this as encouragement and nuzzled back in, pressing obnoxiously reverent kisses between his newly christened 'Bonnie and Clyde'.

"Rest easy, my loves" he murmured dramatically "Your legacy shall live on"

"James-"

"Shhh" he hushed, patting your side "They're outlaws, baby. They don’t play by the rules"

At that point, you seriously considered pushing him off the couch. Or out the window. 

Maybe both.

You shook your head, defeated, completely annihilated by your boyfriend’s questionable choices.

James grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Oh, come on. I’m just having a bit of fun” he chuckled lightheartedly, turning his attention back to your chest with the solemnity of a man who had just finished writing a best-selling novel “Well, ladies, whatever your names may be, just know –you have my eternal devotion”

And then, as if he hadn’t just committed the most embarrassing crime against you, he nestled back in with a satisfied hum.

You stared down at him, deadpan. 

“You’re an actual menace”

“And yet, despite that, you love me” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

You sighed, your fingers automatically sliding into his hair once again. It took him less than two seconds to turn into a puddle, his entire body going limp as he exhaled in the most ridiculously pleased way possible, like he had just been given an award for the best nap ever.

“Unfortunately” you muttered, your heart melting just a little bit too, because, yes, he was a ridiculous man, but he was your ridiculous man.

And, as much as you complained, you couldn’t deny it --having James like this, warm and completely wrapped around you, was its own kind of perfect.

The Pillow Contract (Unofficially Signed & Approved) 

Clause 1: James gets unlimited chest pillow privileges.

Clause 2: Y/n reserves the right to kick James off if he drools in his sleep.

Clause 3: Cuddles are mandatory.

Clause 4: James won't ever refer to Y/n's chest as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ again. Penalty: annulment of Clause 1.

Hello beautiful people 💗

I have no idea of where this thing spouted from. It popped in my head, and I had to bring it to the world 😂.

This is my first attempt at a more humorous type of fic. I had so much fun writing it, and I really hope it didn't downright suck, and you had a good time reading it, too.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, and I'll catch you in the next one <3

[ducksido]

Hai! Could u write a fic where Idia has a touch starved partner and the entire fic is just Idia freaking out about the fact his lover is literally curled up in his lap napping away while he slowly pets their hair?

Also I am absolutely not the person who requested the Idia with lover turned cat and Idia jealous of tsum Idia what are u talking about (I absolutely am😝😝)

(Alright Idia Lover) ((this is like a different format i cant decide one ☹️))

Idia Shroud had gone completely still.

Like, not just his usual frozen-up-when-faced-with-social-interaction still, but the kind of still that made his brain bluescreen and his hair flicker between shades of fiery pink and electric blue. His hands were stiff, hovering uncertainly over the person curled up in his lap—his partner.

His partner. As in, the person who voluntarily dated him, the guy who barely left his room, had the social skills of an NPC with one line of dialogue, and whose biggest claim to fame was a disturbingly high win streak in a gacha game (and being a Shroud). And yet, here they were, curled up against him, cheek pressed to his chest, their even breaths sending little puffs of warmth against his hoodie.

His hoodie. Because they had borrowed it earlier. Because they said it smelled like him.

Critical hit.

Idia swallowed thickly, eyes darting between his screens—where his game was currently paused (a rare and noble sacrifice)—and the top of his partner’s head. Their hair was soft, messy from sleep, and he wasn’t sure if he should move or stay still or, like, transcend reality at this point. His hands twitched, uncertain, before finally, hesitantly, he lowered one to their head.

The moment his fingers touched their hair, they let out the softest sigh, shifting just enough to press closer.

Boss battle theme engaged.

Idia tensed, ears burning red. He should be used to this by now, right? It wasn’t the first time they’d clung to him, wasn’t the first time they’d sought out his presence like he was some kind of human-shaped plushie. But every single time, it sent his brain into full panic mode.

He wasn’t used to this—this level of physical affection. Not just receiving it, but being the source of comfort for someone else. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. If anything, he liked it too much. He just… didn’t know what to do with it. It was like getting an ultra-rare drop in a game but not knowing which build to use it for.

His fingers, acting completely on their own, combed through their hair again, this time more deliberately. His partner made a noise, something content and sleepy, and Idia nearly combusted on the spot. His heart was hammering like he’d been speed-running a horror game on nightmare mode.

“Why are you like this?” he muttered under his breath, though there was no bite to his words. More like bewildered fondness.

They didn’t answer, obviously. Too busy napping. On him. Using him as a pillow. What even was his life?

He let out a shaky breath and, after several long moments of internal debate, cautiously—very cautiously—wrapped his other arm around them. The warmth was… nice. Soothing. His heart was still going haywire, but he let himself relax, just a little. He’d never admit it out loud, but maybe, just maybe, being a touch-starved gremlin’s personal resting spot wasn’t that bad.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

So I am feeling insane about all the yellow and blue around Eddie in El Paso and so I am making it everyone else’s problem by writing a meta on the stills - it will be a bit of speculation based on my colour theory knowledge and the previous costuming of the show, but I always enjoy writing these and then seeing how close I was when we have full context - so I hope you all enjoy! Also - I got carried away and went on a deep dive so this is ridiculously long!! 😬

Firstly though we need to talk about his hair and the return to the helmet hair of yesteryear Eddie - the loss of the floppy floopy bit that broke free as Eddie danced around his living room and was front and centre as Eddie turned to look back at buck - gone - swept up into place with gel - this is El Paso Eddie - the army Eddie - the Eddie at war - protecting his head with a helmet in the form of his hair. It’s all about reverting Eddie and about protection and conformity and trying to fit his parents expectations. This is Eddie under siege and preparing to be under the same attack as before. Its not quite as rigid as we saw it in the begins scenes, there is still some softness to it - giving us a hint that Eddie is not that same person he was back then, and that he’s not got things quite as fixed down as he had before, but we likely won’t see a hair fall over his forehead unless he’s in a less fraught scene (video call with Buck maybe) or until he has dealt with Shannon’s ghost, Chris’s trauma, his own trauma and his parents (mom) fully. Only then can he be his true self and let his hair be free!

I obviously am screaming about the fact we have Eddie in a yellow toned shirt - it’s yellow ochre, brown and cream check and it’s being very loud! The check pattern is very clearly telling us that things are not going to to go well for Eddie in this scene - and in El Paso more widely based on the fact we see him in check pattern more than once in the stills - the blue check shirt also playing into the theme of change and that change not being easy. Check on out mains is usually ultimately a good thing - it’s about getting them off the path they are on and onto a new one - correcting a wrong course etc. So here to have Eddie in check and yellow (or blue) check at that is pretty much telling me that this is the show getting Eddie on the right path - that he’s been on the wrong one but now he is on the right one for him.

I’ve written extensively about how yellow and blue coding has been used by film and television since colour film and tv has been a thing - and how it became a thing due to the wizard of Oz - I’ve also written extensively about that film and 911 and about Eddie and the significance of yellow and him and also about the importance of Buck and blue - all these metas can be found linked on my pinned post if you want to give them a read!

But what is the colour meaning of yellow I hear you cry - well it has many meanings and it all depends on the shade of yellow we’re talking about - the shade and tone of any colour determines some of its meaning. Every colour can be warm or cool toned and can be bright or dull, rich or pale and all of those factors have connotations attached to them. The warmer brighter and or richer the colour the more positive meaning it tends to have (there are some exceptions such as a very bright green which is generally viewed as toxic or poisonous and has negative connotations attached to it despite sitting in the bright rich and warm toned spectrum!)

Yellow is a colour of communication, cheerfulness, it is connected to the logical part of the brain and is therefore a symbol of intellect, clarity, and perception. However it can also mean anxiety, sickness, fear and cowardice as well as impulsiveness and caution.

The scene in the Diaz kitchen is full of yellow - its everywhere and the lighting is yellow toned (at the cooler end of the yellow lighting spectrum) but the biggest thing is the walls being this pale yellow. Paler more pastel yellows are associated with the negative traits of yellow more than the positive ones - so malaise and sickness, anxiety, and cowardice. The fact the room is yellow and blue is one of the most interesting things to me as someone who was going on about the fact the kitchen was yellow and red back in season 5 when Eddie had that conversation with his dad.

As you can see in the two pictures below, the walls were a darker more ochre toned yellow with both a darker brown toned red (the cabinets) and a brighter red (the curtains). This is a real contrast to the paler yellow and the blue we now have in the Diaz kitchen and it all goes to prove that Both Ramon and Helena are meant to represent aspects of Eddie - Ramon Eddies heart and Helena Eddies head or mind.

Because Ramon is a physical representation of Eddie heart - so the red accents make complete sense for that scene. It’s a play on the heart - and the use of two different shades of red - one concentrated around Ramon and one around Eddie is all about playing on the concept of health v not healthy (we actually see the same thing in the previous scene in this kitchen - when Eddie arrives - Ramon is in front of the darker rend and the lighting is darker while Eddie is more brightly lit and the brighter red is around him) The darker more brownish toned red is around Ramon - a symbol of poor health - of deoxygenated blood - which has a browner colouring and its also the colour of drying blood. This is a play on time - missing out on things and on Ramon representing the old way of thinking for Eddie - basically a symbol that his upbringing was not a healthy one.

Whilst all the red around Eddie is much brighter and vibrant - blood full of oxygen is brighter red and where the brown toned red is symbolically closer to death the brighter red is more energetic and suggestive of life. The set design is literally playing on the theming around hearts and heart health that we saw connected to Eddie all season. It is helping to tell us that Eddies way is the right way for the future, especially as it is combined with the green foliage print on that red background - green being a symbol of growth, while the yellow walls are more positive toned because it is a richer brighter colour - indeed it actually is pretty much the same shade of yellow as Eddies yellow shirt - the one from the lasagne scene and the confessional scene (both of which come later - but that makes them all the more interesting!) that is Eddies shade of yellow and it is the first time we really see Eddie surrounded in some way by that particular shade of yellow. Along with the yellow cup sitting between Ramon and Eddie, it is just further proof for the yellow and Eddie theory and that it is not only a symbol of his underlying queerness, but of his truest self - at its healthiest.

He is able to forgive Ramon and move forward - vowing to be a better person - not for Chris, but for himself - that is huge growth for Eddie at that point in his arc so that yellow being there is key - the fact it follows through and transfers onto him at the stat of season 6 is indicative of that growth and embracing of self having stuck. The fact we then see it go backwards as s6 progresses (especially after Bucks death and resurrection but that is a meta for another day!) leading us into season 7’s insane events before we get the reappearance of the yellow (the same shirt) as Eddie tries to recapture that self growth - so that he can reach a point of being able to work through things with Chris - which is where we have reached now - Eddies still wearing the darker yellow - suggesting that growth is still there and part of who he is, but the paler yellow he is surrounded by now is indicative of the work he needs to do outside of himself

It is also worth noting the blue table runner that sits between Eddie and Ramon in this scene as well - because Ramon never touches the blue - but Eddie does

So to have the kitchen go from this darker, stronger more positive yellow to now become this pale and sickly yellow when we’re about to have Eddie dealing with Helena - who is a representation of Eddies mind - is very telling. We are playing on the idea that Eddies mental health is not great right now and that is what he needs to fix. The other thing to note about this yellow is that it is the same colour as the exterior of the Diaz house - as we saw in the begins episode mostly but also briefly in the background of the retirement party in 517 - its all playing into a permeating malaise engulfing Eddie - its always in his background - its always been lurking and hasn’t been confronted. So yes it’s yellow and that’s a good thing. But it’s a bit like the darker - navy- blues we kept seeing on Buck (and still do to a certain extent) when he’s following his colour but in the wrong direction compared with the lighter brighter blue when he’s on the right path.

The fact it is the kitchen - the heart of the home - is what makes the use of yellow and blue in combination espeically key here, because for me the yellow is likely going to be playing into the idea of cowardice on multiple fronts - that Eddie is not yet able to confront what he needs to, that Chris is not in a place where he is prepared to have the actual conversation he needs to have with his dad, that Helena and probably Ramon will be too cowardly to Suport Eddie and his needs - to recognise their own failings and mistreatment of Eddie in this situation. Whilst also calling back to the overall family trait of running away when faced with a situation you don’t like or know how to handle maturely (Chris gets some grace here as he is still a child and has learned a behaviour from his family!).

But we also have the blue is framing the windows (and being present in a lot of other places but its the curtains that are the most obvious blue in the scene) - windows are symbolic in and of themselves - they are connected with transition and perspective or obstruction and also as a source of illumination and we’ve seen the show using glass and windows (or even peep holes) to great effect - using glass as a barrier but also something that can be crossed and as a way of gaining perspective. The windows here are shrouded, but they let in a lot of light - they are illuminating - and therefore this scene is likely to be an illuminating one - most likely into the struggles that lie ahead for Eddie. But all the windows also suggest that he is entering a period of transition. The fact those things are surrounded by blue - a calming colour associated with honesty and commitment, security and protection, trust loyalty and support. It is also a conservative colour and can tend towards passiveness and avoiding confrontation.

In combination with the check that Eddie is wearing, I’m expecting this scene to end on a tense note and with Eddie not actively doing anything to resolve his issues - it feels very much like its the set up for Eddies arc and nothing close to a resolution in any form - its going to be about showing the audience all the things Eddie has to resolve before LA is a possibility again.

As for his shirt - its yellow ochre - along with the brighter toned shades of yellow it trends much more towards the positive end of the yellow spectrum - so the communication and logic, clarity and intellect and cheerfulness. In combination with the brown - which is one of the colours the show is using as an overarching theme this season - its telling us that Eddie is attempting to create stability and an new foundation from which to build his future. Brown is a colour of stability, foundations, enrichment, reliability, wisdom, support and honesty. It can also be seen a dull or boring as well as conservative, loneliness and isolation.

All things that apply to Eddie right now - the stability and foundation meaning comes from the earth being brown and it being where seeds are planted - bringing about new growth (but not actually being growth) - which is exactly what Eddie is trying to do in El Paso - he also thinks Chris has stability in El Paso and that has left him feeling isolated and alone. The other thing with this shirt (and the later blue one) is that this is very much the Eddie of old - this shirt and style - just go look at any of the Eddie flashback scenes - especially in Eddie begins and you will see a series of shirts just like it. Eddie does not wear check patterning all that often - we see it popping up from time to time in season 2, but then not again until we hit Eddie begins when we see lots of it - and then it disappears again until we get the blue and black check patterned shirt when he calls Marisol at the end of season 6. So basically its symbolic of his El Paso existence - its decreasing appearances throughout season 2 as Eddie adjusts and settles into LA shows that change and growth in him from the Eddie of El Paso we get to meet in Eddie begins who is wearing so much check and has his hair in this same style. The check is all but gone from his life - until he calls Marisol - when it reappears and proves that that is Eddie acting on old expectations - connected to El Paso - and therefore his parents expectations for him. So this yellow and brown shirt is all about signalling that Eddie is reverting back to who he was - whilst being on a new path and that he will be somewhat isolated in this scene, that his return to El Paso is about starting again - building from the foundation up, but that he is doing so by forcing himself back into the skin he wore before he moved to LA.

Ok on to the other things I have spotted in this scene firstly lets go back to the blue because it extends far beyond the curtains! Blue is Bucks colour and it’s always around Eddie - far more than any other character in the scene. There is the blue curtains I’ve already talked about, but there is also blue placemats and the dish towel Eddie is holding is blue striped. A lot of the little touches are blue - like the tiles above the sink or the background of the heart art above the door and the various blue jars we can see.

Amazon box still

Even the tape on the amazon box is blue coloured - and it’s teal/aqua when we see the other amazon product placement boxes (see the car sales still!) which suggests they deliberately chose the blue in this scene to help with the blue theming. Eddie is not the only one constantly surrounded by blue, but he is more than any other character in that scene from what we can tell from these stills, but he is the only one constantly in contact with something blue (that isn’t their clothing - not counting jeans or dresses etc here) - the amazon box, the dish towel, and the fact that the napkins are blue and Eddie is the only one with one on his lap (it swaps legs but this show doesn’t know continuity!!) the fun thing about that napkin is that with the yellow shirt it gives us a fun parallel to Buck (yes I am probably clowning a bit here, but go with me!)

Because my guess is this is the first scene we’re going to see Eddie with Chris, Helena and Ramon in together since Chris left at the end of 710 - when Buck was wearing yellow ochre trousers and a navy blue top. Who is now wearing a yellow ochre top and has something navy in his lap?? Yes - we have a reverse colouring going on here. This is Eddie having Buck close even in his absence - all the blue is a list Buck to a certain extent, but this napkin especially - its hidden - not that visible to the others, but Eddie has a touchstone with Buck through that napkin - it is the Eddie equivalent of Buck saying Eddies name 500 times in the last episode - and Buck is probably not going to get much of a mention here if at all in this scene - but we still have him present in some way through colour coding. The fact that its hidden under the table - its all about the suggestion that Eddie may end up feeling alone at that table, but he isn’t - Buck is there for him - not physically present, but always having his back even from 800 miles away - its also a play on the yellow/blue queer coding and the fact that Eddies feelings for Buck are currently hidden - but that fact we the audience can see that blue napkin is a low key nod to that fact that those feelings are there - along with the Buck watch being very visible and a connection to LA and the life he has given up.

Ok last thing from this scene is Helena being in fuchsia - have to admit when I saw her in that colour in these stills I laughed out loud becasue the colour fuchsia has some very specific colour meanings attached to is and they perfectly sum up Helena Diaz! It’s a colour of certainty, confidence, and strong beliefs, self willed and arrogant, controlling, manipulative, and opinionated. It does also have connections to nurture and maternal instincts.

So it is a colour that really helps to tell us who Helena Diaz is and what her motives are - especially in this scene, where we are likely to see much of that come into play - we see her seated on both sides of the table, and even though we have zero context right now, in the image below it is clear that her focus is on Chris and the hand on his shoulder feels more controlling - the fact that in these stills she is either always looking at Chris (even when Eddie is looking at her) or in contact with him physically and the only time we see her looking at Eddie is when he is on the other side of the room and his back is to he - making it clear where her maternal instincts lie.

Onto Chris and his very interesting colour coding in these stills. Chris does wear a fair amount of grey across the seasons of 911, but there are usually in t-shirt form and bearing a brightly coloured logo - which is always connected into Eddie or Chris’s arc in some way for the season and the bright colours of those means the grey is really there as a neutral background. But now we have him in that neutral grey - but with a black logo - its all much more washed out and muted than we’ve seen Chris in before now - and it carries on the theme we’ve seen in the video chats where his colours have been muted and washed out (and lots of that El Paso check!!)

The black logo, which is on his back rather than the front is the face of a big cat - a panther/puma most likely. Now there are several potential meanings to the use of this black cat/panther. There is a very famous tale by Edgar Allen Poe called ‘The black cat’ which is an allegory for self justification and the black cat is the prism through which the narrator explores the twisting of reality to fit the narrative one wants it to be. Its an exploration of Jungian psychology - which interestingly was heavily focused on the concept of repression - of ones self, personality and instincts - which when this repression of self builds up it is likely to explode in a destructive way (tell me this doesn’t;t sound like Eddies s7 arc I dare you!!) more generally black cats or panthers symbolise power, darkness, death and rebirth and resilience in many cultures. This suggests those are elements we will be seeing in Eddie and Chris’s arc. The concept of the death of their previous relationship with the rebirth of a new one, the play on Shannon’s death creating darkness in their family unit - which still persists - and the ultimate rebirth as a new family unit (also including Buck down the line!) and it also suggests the death and rebirth of the Diaz family more widely - so including Helena and Ramon. The resilience is also a key thing here - both for Chris and Eddie - they are both displaying that trait and it feels likely that it will continue to be one we see as a key part of their arc.

The neutrality of the grey is unemotional and detached and this plays into the idea of being closed off - of Chris being unavailable to Eddie at this point in time - emotionally and communicatively . It is also a pessimistic and indecisive colour which is also in keeping with the likely story arc we’re going to get and are two meanings that do speak to teenage behaviours and feelings. I think it’s a fascinating colour choice to grey Chris out and potentially make the scene more about Eddie, Helena and Ramon - with Chris present but not the thing we should be focused on in the scene.

This muting of Chris’s clothing is also on display in the stills on the veranda - and this costume is such a mini Eddie costume that it speaks volumes. The colour way is all Eddie - we have the brown trousers - which are check patterned, we have a cream tee (which has a logo of some sort on but I can’t see what it is from these stills!) and a hoodie jacket that is stitched in a denim jacket style but is a heavy weight jersey knit fabric and in a khaki green which is very much in Eddies colour wheel! The fact he is in muted colours that are straight out of the Eddie Diaz colour book and the fact he is also playing chess - its all about paralleling Eddie himself. Eddie has worn this type of green both as a piece of colour coding denoting his military past, but also as a sign that he’s at war with himself in some way - its most obvious display of this was his breakdown scene and his subsequent battle with his depression. Therefore this costume is reflective of him being like Eddie - it’s speaking of underlying unhappiness (and trauma), but it is also a play on running away - as his parents both did. Eddie is the stronger parallel for the obvious reason that he is the main character here not Shannon - plus the fact that Eddie went to war - making the addition of the game of chess a key part of the narrative and connection to Eddie. Chess is a game of war and strategy is suggestive of Chris being at war (the battle is internal) - which is caused by his trauma - but its also indicative that he has only been getting support on that front from Ramon - the act of him teaching Chris chess is a play on the idea of him teaching him coping strategies. It is placing Ramon in a much better position than Helena - at least Ramon is trying to help Chris - something established back in 8a and the only one we’ve been shown/ told is doing something with Chris that is an attempt to help him. Helena has just been shown posturing and talking a big talk (putting in a swimming pool) but none of that has been about Chris in reality.

The entire scene is intriguingly set up - in part because it appears to be at Eddies new house - his fixer upper - with its peeling green trim and doors and general run down appearance. We also see Eddie in a dark maroon/brown shirt - with no watch in sight - which is very telling to me at least - I’m undecided as to if its mean to indicate the lack of time, or if its absent because this scene will really start to dig into past Eddie and the relationship he has with his mom especially and therefore there is no need to play on time - we’ll find out when we see the episode. The maroon/ brown is yet more brown to add to the season colour theme, but its maroon undertones really fits it into the parental maroon colour theme the show uses with most characters, but especially with Eddie - the fact it is so brown toned is playing along similar lines to the reds in the kitchen from 517 - and that’s pushing me towards thinking that this scene will be doing something of the exploring Eddie being parentified by Helena (and Ramon) when he was a child himself that this is about fixing or starting to fix that part of things rather than it being centred on Chris. That it is about Eddie going back to the beginning to be able to correct and repair his present and future.

Helena is in a floral shirt and white and this pale blue that does have a slightly lavender undertone to it. Shes very much in contrast to Eddie here - her colours are cold and closed off and she sits in start contrast to all the colours around her - Eddies brownish maroon is in the same total pallette as the background - the house, the furniture and the wall hanging, even Chris and Ramon sit withing that colour pallette as well. But Helena - like her fuchsia cardigan from the previous stills, stands out from her surroundings. The blue being a cold tone makes it conservative and impersonal and also predictable, but the fact that it makes her stand out is the key here - its sets things up as her being the focus of the scene - both visually and most likely narratively. What these stills from both this scene and the kitchen one are doing is showing us that they are scenes focused on the Helena of it all - the major thing Eddie truly needs to deal with early on and that’s what is making me excited for this episode and these scenes. The visual framing is all set up ready to go - now we await the other aspects of a scene to reveal more!

Blue check Eddie with is yellow ochre toned binder and the yellow and blue colouring we can see - the cabinet, the flag in the background and the blue chair. It’s giving me calling Marisol shirt vibes from 618 and that’s intriguing to me considering that she turned out to be a former nun - the entire still is giving me either church or church school vibes, but it could also be a fire station and there is a character called assistant chief Jamie De La Cruz - so its entirely possible that it is some form of fire department building - it feels like its going to end up being a not great outcome for Eddie - along with the check pattern helping out on that front - if that’s not being offered a job or being offered one that is going to diminish him in some way who knows, but its not a positive looking set up on the visuals front!

Car lot still my beloved! There is literally soooo much in this one still for me to talk about - all the yellow and blue around Eddie is incredibly loud - literally everywhere - from the stickers on the the car windscreen behind him being predominately yellow and blue, to the light blue wall behind the chainlink fence and rthe blue cladding trim on the building to the left, you can include the yellow and blue bunting if you want to, but there is also pink red and green there so I’m not discounting it, but putting it much lower down in its relevance. And there is the fact that in the refelections in the Denali we can see lots of yellow and blue which I’m sure we’ll see more of in the actual scene. We seem to get a huge amount of yellow and blue colour coding around Eddie at locations connected to cars - especially this season with ‘No place like home’ giving us Eddie at Weston’s Dad’s motor shop with all its very very loud yellow and blue theming in an episode heavily colour themed with yellow and blue.

The fact that link to yellow and blue and cars exists in connection with Eddie and that it is also tied into parents and their children (because 504 also played on that same theme) is interesting to me (and not just because it is also tied into Hen’s arc - the main queer character on the show - and her parenting journey) because the fact this scene seems to be Eddie selling the Denali - a car heavily connected to Shannon and Eddies struggles with his grief ( as well as to Buck - in his bright blue fraying shirt jacket - and his own struggles with the grief of Eddie leaving) - i want to wait until I’ve seen the scene in full, but right now this scene is a really important one in terms of queer Eddie - not necessarily explicitly so, but very definitely in the subtext because this is Eddie letting go of his grief and therefore letting go of Shannon. But it also does one other thing - the play on the car name - Denali - with denial - its also a symbol of denial no longer being an option going forwards - for Eddie, or for Buck (the only other person we have seen in this truck).

And then we get to Eddies outfit in this still. Have I ever mentioned how much I love the wardrobe team - especially when they a repeat an outfit? And have I ever told you how much I love it when that outfit is repeated for a third or even 4th time? Because yes this is in fact the the 4th time we are seeing Eddie in this costume of a western style pearl popper button up denim shirt with dark olive khaki trousers and brown shoes!! Yes that’s s right - the 4th time!

Time no.1 - Abuela’s hospital room at the end of 204 we see Eddie by her bed as Carla brings Chris in to see Abuela - having started working for Eddie - after Buck introduces them. We don;t get to see much of the trousers in the scene, but you can see from this screenshot that the dark olive khaki trousers are there.

Time no. 2 - in Eddie begins we see Eddie fight with his parents and talk on the porch with Chris when they decide to move to LA - It’s also worth pointing out here that the yellow is the same as the yellow in the Diaz kitchen in the new stills. Same pants, trousers, white undershirt, slightly different but still brown boots and the same hand in the pocket vibe!

Time no. 3 - really hard to get a screen shot of this one because we don’t really see the pants and shirt together much, but you can see the pants in the below screen grab and take my word for it that its the same shirt - or rewatch the scene if you’re so inclind. This scene is the ‘welcome back to the land of the living Buck’ scene from 701

There are a few significant things at play here. Most of the scenes when we see Eddie wearing denim are connected to family in some way - Abuela, Shannon, and Buck, and the Diaz parents. Eddie doesn’t wear denim shirts all that much in the grand scheme of the show and that makes their use and particularly the use of a repeat outfit in this way particularlyy important. This outfit is essentially a symbol of being o the right track - on the right path, its s heavily connected to the idea of breaking free or moving forwards in some way. Carla is now there to help Eddie (thanks to Buck) so Eddie is able to fully settle into his LA life and is no longer at risk of proving his parents right - it’s freedom from El Paso and shows that LA is the right path for him - that accepting Bucks help and support is the right path as well.

The fight with Helena and Ramon and the subsequent conversation with Chris is about moving and escaping a situation that is holding you back, Eddie making that choice to move to LA and to not listen to his parents - again it is him on the right path.

The same can be said of the locker room scene with Buck. Buck was being held back by his death, but so too was Eddie. Death had changed their relationship (graveyard scene) and Buck dumping Natalia because all she talked about was death ultimately sets not only Buck free from his death, but Eddie free as well - they can both start living again - and ultimately what this scene is doing is resetting the Buck and Eddie of it all and putting them both on the right path - its about setting buddie in motion which is the longer term right path rather than a more immediate pay off right path (its also a symbolic nod to buddie being free of network restrictions and being allowed to happen with the move to abc).

So having Eddie wearing an outfit that is a symbol of breaking free and setting himself on the right path as he sells the car is likely about him finally breaking free of his grief and anger around Shannon and her death. Its about him finally being able to let her go so both he and she can move on (and Chris as well because Eddie clinging to her ghost has stopped him from grieving properly and has caused him trauma). I’m not saying this scene magically does all of that - just that it is the marker point for Eddie and sets him on his path to healing and moving on and in a more low key way is setting Eddie fully on his path to his feelings realisation that will be the culmination of his letting go of Shannon arc. It is a key indicator of Eddie’s story arc over this episode of the next couple of episodes.

Just to further add credence to this costuming choice. We do see this shirt pop up in season 4 - when Eddie introduces Ana to Chris as his girlfriend - the difference here is that the trousers are light tan rather than the dark olive green - it is an indicator that this path is not the right one - its not the entirely wrong path - as it is technically him trying to move on from Shannon, but its not the right path because he is doing it for Chris and not for himself - trying to provide that mother figure he thinks Chris needs.

And just to get even more unhinged about it we have the boating lake scene with Kim - which is a reverse of the repeat costume - the colours are right - we have the olive green and the dark denim, but its the western style popper button up shirt that is green with the dark denim jeans - its not the right way around and Eddie has got turned about and has taken the wrong path. That his pursuit of a woman who looks like his dead wife is not the way to go about dealing with your grief that you have failed to deal with up to this point. The colours are correct - suggesting that in the same way the wrong colours meant the wrong path for Ana - a minor setback in that instance, that this too is the wrong path - but that its one that will set him back much further!

I”m going to stop writing now - I have gone on far far longer than was my intent and I ended up on several side quests I did not expect to end up on - worthwhile ones as I got to deep dive into Eddies repeat outfit a bit more as well as explore the muting of Christopher and that he’s becoming a mini Eddie visually and really get into the colours of the Diaz kitchen - so all worth it im my book - hopefully you enjoyed it and found it interesting and worthwhile as well - let me know your thoughts in the tags and comments and as always thanks for taking the time to read my very long rambles. I can’t wait to see how it all ends up playing out in the episode!

Tagged people below!

@lover-of-mine @spotsandsocks @fruityfirehose @wanderingwomanwondering @livingwherethesidewalkends @buddiediaz118 @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual @satvojihusana @elvensorceress @icebergeddie @buckleyanddiaz @eddiedisasterdiaz @kejfeblintz @cookie-kat777 @leothil @bucksbelly @kyoteugly @bi-moonlight @somebodycall911onabc @trudayss @chaosandwolves @lemotmo @buckleyanddiaz

[xoxochb]

rafe wasn’t very fond of puppies. or any small dog at that matter.

they were rambunctious and energetic and a plethora of work to handle, and to him, far worse than babies.

but to his dismay, your puppy had a special place in her heart for him.

“hold her, she’ll love it!” you hold out the canine towards your boyfriend, urging him to take her for once in his life.

rafe crosses his arms and leans back against the couch. “she’s dirty.”

you groan and protectively hold your puppy to your chest, pretend covering her ears. “she heard that! now hold her, just once.”

“what do I get out of this if I do?”

“a happy puppy,” you remark matter-of-factly before beginning to pout. “pleaseeeee, rafey! for me?”

his gaze falls from your face to the dog. with a sigh he scoops her from your arms and cradles her to his chest. you squeal and reach out to kiss his cheek.

“thank you!”

similarly rafe kisses your cheek in return whilst petting the canine with tenderness. “the things I do for you,” he sighs.

your puppy begins to lick his chin happily. he tilts his head back to prevent her from continuing doing so but she begins to scramble and climb up his chest anyways.

“I told you she’d love it!” you laugh.

“yeah, too much.” rafe rolls his eyes and turns his head to you. “how much longer?”

you open your mouth, ponder, close it— then a lightbulb sparks in your brain. you jump up from the couch with eagerness. “stay right there, I’m getting a picture of this!”

well, shit.

[skibasyndrome]

Oooh could you try "This was a bad idea." "Then why are you still kissing me?" 👀

Thank you :)

Hi Helen! Thank you so so so much for sending me one of these!!! 💜💜💜 This was a lot of fun <3

Whatever song is playing right now, Simon couldn’t possibly muster the brain capacity to recognize it. He’s gone, nothing else matters, he’s 50% butterflies and 50% wobbly knees. Simon doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Wille crowding him against the wall in the most closed off corner of Felice’s living room they could find. How he ended up with his fingers threaded through Wille’s hair, with his lips moving against Wille’s. But, god, Wille’s kissing him. Wille’s lips are so soft, feel even softer than they look, and whatever Simon has spent the past months imagining doesn’t even compare to the real thing, to having Wille close like this. Closer than they’ve ever been before.

When Simon feels Wille’s tongue gentle nudging against his bottom lip, his breath hitches. No day-dreaming about his best friend could’ve prepared him for the feeling of them deepening their kiss. It’s- everything about it is so very Wille, that Simon feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He’s gentle, he’s soft, but there’s an underlying urgency there, there’s Wille leaning into Simon, Wille cradling the side of Simon’s neck. Wille is kissing him like Wille does all things, with care and attention to detail, but with a determination that Simon has always found unfairly attractive. When Wille pulls away, Simon wants to whine. Thankfully, he seems to muster a last shred of self-respect, keeps his eyes shut firmly to stay in the moment for longer and oh, oh. Wille isn’t leaving. He nuzzles his nose against Simon’s, his breath tickles Simon’s lip and. Well. How is Simon supposed to resist. He tugs Wille closer, blindly finds his lips again, feels his pulse hammering loudly in his ears when he gets another taste of Wille. Just… Wille. And some mint from his chewing gum, and- sweet and fruity like the shots Maddie was handing out earlier. A knot of dread lodges itself between Simon’s ribs. This isn’t- this isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. Fuck. Right. He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot who got impatient and who might’ve just blown his one chance at doing this the right way. He’s fighting his every instinct when he pulls back, immediately misses Wille’s mouth on his. “This was a bad idea." His voice wavers, shaky, unsure. God, he can’t even convince himself. Wille’s hand on his neck stills, and Simon immediately thinks he’s made a mistake.

And because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself, because it’s been too long and because now he might never have the real thing, he lurches forward again. Desperate and needy and acting like he’s gonna find the air that’s suddenly gone from his lungs on Wille’s lips. But this time it’s Wille who stops him, who gently pushes Simon away after a brief touch of their lips. Just far enough for Wille to rest his forehead against Simon’s. "Then why are you still kissing me?" Wille sounds more sober than he’s done all evening, sounds… Simon can’t place the tone, and he suddenly feels like he’s going to cry.  He’s kissed his best friend. His drunk best friend. His drunk best friend who does this. Casually, from time to time. Who he’s seen kissing Maddie and Felice and Nils and who always ends up a giggly, beautiful mess afterwards, only to never kiss them again. Only to go back to being their friend. And now Simon is going to be another friend he’s kissed while drunk at a party and will never kiss again. It takes everything inside of him not to let out a pathetic little noise of frustration. “You’re drunk,” he forces out instead, saying nothing at all. He shakes his head.  “We’re drunk,” he corrects himself and suddenly curses every decision that’s lead him here and curses his earlier self for ever thinking those shots would be a good idea. Maybe without them, he wouldn’t have- All thoughts desert Simon’s brain at once when Wille lifts a hand up to his cheek. Every fingertip is warm and comforting, and yet Simon feels like he’s breaking apart under the touch. But Wille is still close, so close, his breath is everything Simon hears, his cologne everything he smells, and a silly, silly part of him is still clinging to the illusion. “Did you not want to kiss me?”

Something about the way he asks it, nothing but earnestness, is so very Wille that it cracks Simon’s chest right open. He doesn’t think he could lie to Wille, ever, but especially not now. So he nods, accidentally brushing the tip of his nose against Wille’s. “I did,” he breathes. But, because that’s not quite right, he tries again, with his heart beating so fast he thinks he might have to sit down.  “I do. Do wanna kiss you.” For a beat, there’s nothing. Just Simon, suspended in a vacuum, one second from falling to his death. But then he’s back, Wille is back, is somehow closer, is pressing small kisses against Simon’s lips, his nose, his cheek, and Simon can breathe again, sucks in the air that smells like Wille. “Then kiss me again,” Wille says, lips somewhere near Simon’s ear, then on his cheek. “Please.” Simon thinks he can taste the single syllable on his tongue when he pulls Wille in again.

[dollbrbie]

♡ ⸝⸝ HOW THE AGE GAP AFFECTS YOUR RELATIONSHIP

cw. toji & panther!reader, age gap, smut kinda so mdni

EXPERIENCE

with yours and toji’s age gap being around a decade, there’s definitely a huge difference in experience. this doesn’t necessarily just mean with sex, but it’s safe to say toji has been round the block a little. after all, he’s an attractive man so it wasn’t unexpected when he had said he was experienced. it did start to make you feel a little out of place, though. you just felt so innocent compared to him. but, toji will never want his girl to feel unsure about herself when he’s around.

“you don’t need to get so worked up about it, sweetheart. i can always teach ‘ya.”, he’ll say with his signature smirk, and in that moment, you don’t feel so bad about it.

LIFESTYLE

with that being said, toji has a lot of life experience compared to you. he’s had his fun in his twenties, partying and drinking, the one night stands that come with it. now, he just wants to settle down. he spends most of his weekends at home when he’s not working at the club. and trust me, he’s not working there because he loves the atmosphere. whenever he does go out, it’ll be with a few of his friends just to have a couple beers.

with you though, you wanna have your fun! you’re still young and you haven’t really lived you life yet. so, you and your girls will regularly go out clubbing, to the bar or to some festival. and while toji will always fund you for it, he’s never going to be happy about it. he knows what goes on there as a guy. it’s not like he doesn’t trust you, he just doesn’t trust the other men around you and he really wishes you’d understand that better.

ARGUMENTS

this links back to the last point. while arguments are pretty rare between you two, when they do happen, it’s very clear the age difference and maturity between you both and most of the time it’s because of your lifestyle. you can get pretty fiery at times, always defending yourself, while toji just can’t deal with it. he’s the type of guy who’ll just walk off during arguments when they get heated, leaving you to overthink and think the absolute worst. he just thinks he’s too old for it.

and sometimes, you can even get a little petty. posting on your instagram story when you’re at the club, maybe showing a hint of some guys shoulder. yeah, it’s kinda toxic, but toji knows you better than to ever cheat on him. but it definitely gets him riled up the way you want him to.

afterwards, you always find yourself beneath him, having him fuck your brains out just the way you wanted. he knows you do this on purpose, but he can’t help but fall for it every time.

FRIENDS & FAMILY

this one is a hit and miss. your friends have known toji for just as long as you have, so they’re more than okay with your relationship with him. even when you’re not out with them, toji will look out for your girls, making sure weird guys stay away from them, watching over in case of anything suspicious. honestly, they love him and your relationship.

however, your family definitely don’t approve as much. you can’t really blame them too much, they’re just trying to look out for you. and with toji’s appearance, he’s not really giving the boy next door vibes. they never invite him round for family gatherings or dinner, they kinda just.. ignore him. after their countless attempts, they know they’ll get an earful from you if they say anything too out of order, so they just let you do you at this point. they have the mindset that hopefully you’ll grow up one day and realise that your relationship isn’t gonna last.

but toji is determined, he’s been made very aware that your family don’t particularly love him. but, he knows you’re the one, the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. so he’ll try and try and try again until he gets it right. because one day, he wants to be putting a ring on your finger, and he certainly doesn’t want your dad scowling at him whilst walking you down the isle.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 SERIES MASTERLIST

[pukefactory]

hey! could i pretty please ask for a capsaicin cookie x neurodivergent(adhd/add) reader hc?

I have some time reading your posts and it's like you practically created the character and I love every single post you do! it's simply amazing

Author’s Note

That’s such a wonderful compliment! I have to admit, this brought a huge smile to my face—thank you so much! I don’t have ADHD myself, but two people I’m very close to do, so I hope my observations are accurate. I’ve certainly given it my best effort.

- Rush

⫘⫘⫘⟢ BREATHING FIRE ⟢⫘⫘⫘

！ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Capsaicin X ADHD Reader

！ Character(s): Capsaicin Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

！ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

！ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

！ Image Credits: @knife-wielding

⚡︎ Capsaicin Cookie loves how much energy you have! You’re always bouncing around, jumping from one topic to another, and he’s right there with you, laughing the whole way. Sometimes, he doesn’t even try to keep up—he just lets you run wild while he watches, a big, fiery grin on his face.

⚡︎ “Hey, what if we—” “YES!” You don’t even have to finish your ideas before he’s on board. He’s just as impulsive as you are, which means you both have to be stopped before you decide to challenge someone to a spice-eating contest again.

⚡︎ You forget stuff constantly, and it drives you nuts. But Capsaicin Cookie? He doesn’t mind at all. He just grins, reminding you with a playful “Ya forgot again? Ha ha! That’s alright—I’ll remind ya as many times as ya need, buddy!”

⚡︎ You have those moments where you get super focused on something and block out everything else, and Capsaicin respects that. He’ll just sit next to you, arms crossed, watching proudly—“Look at ya go! That’s some SPICE LEVEL FOCUS!”—and only interrupts if you’ve been at it too long without a break.

⚡︎ Loud crowds, bright lights, too many noises at once—it can all get overwhelming sometimes. But Capsaicin notices when it’s getting too much. He’ll throw an arm around you, guiding you somewhere quieter with a reassuring “C’mon, let’s getcha somewhere with less BOOM!”

⚡︎ You tap your fingers, bounce your legs, chew on stuff—Capsaicin gets it. If you need something to fidget with, he’ll literally rip a piece of hardened magma off his gauntlet and hand it to you like it’s nothing. “Here! Indestructible AND spicy!”

⚡︎ You get excited about everything, and Capsaicin lives for it. He doesn’t care if you’re jumping between five different topics in under a minute—he’s just laughing, nodding along, and hyping you up with “Keep goin’! This is the good stuff!!”

⚡︎ Capsaicin believes in you. You’re struggling to focus? “You got this!” Feeling overwhelmed? “One thing at a time, buddy! Let’s BURN through it together!” No matter what, he’s there, cheering you on like it’s a full-blown championship match.

⚡︎ Sometimes, you’re the one who has to stop him. He’s about to throw himself into another ridiculous challenge? “Capsaicin, NO.” He grins. “Capsaicin, YES.” You sigh, grabbing his cape before he can launch himself into whatever fiery disaster he’s planning.

⚡︎ You get frustrated when your brain won’t cooperate, and sometimes it just boils over. Capsaicin doesn’t try to fix it—he just sits beside you, letting his warmth radiate off him like a steady campfire. “It’s alright. Ya don’t gotta do nothin’ right now. Just breathe, okay?”

[gachapains]

In preparation for the LaDs writing blog I'll inevitably make, I did a little Caleb study; bc I haven't written anything in a year (my last fic was neatly 10k words LMFAOO)

No warnings, all fluff and a lot of teasing!!

Tags: Established relationship, teasing, use of "pips", clothes stealing, both reader and Caleb have a degree in yearnology for each other

Man... My Caleb brain rot is so bad

»»————-　☾　————-««

“Pips! I'm back early, I picked up some groceries on my way here I was thinking of making some- is that my hoodie that got lost?" There in the dim light of your apartment, you're caught red handed by your boyfriend wearing his stolen hoodie. "I… perchance will you let me stache this somewhere and pretend like you never saw this?” You stutter out, a face a fierce shade of scarlet. "Not a chance.” Caleb says matter-of-factly, a smug smile absorbs his handsome features. " In fact, I'll be soooo kind and let a little thief explain themselves.” Caleb sets the groceries he bought on the kitchen counter and plants himself on one of the island chairs crossing his arms playfully. “Go ahead, I'm waiting." There's no malice behind his words whatsoever, just a teasing boyish smirk.

You cautiously step into the kitchen, eyes darting around for an escape route. You may be a deep space hunter but being teased by your boyfriend triggers your fight or flight. Your feet land in front of him and your eyes slowly drift to his. You take in a deep breath before beginning. " So uh, do you remember the last time I was in Skyhaven?” "Of course, it was the last time I saw you after all.” " Right right, I uh, well you went for a run before we went to bed because you had to leave earlier than usual the next day. You went to go shower and… I kinda saw your hoodie you were wearing just sitting there and I knew I wasn't gonna see you again for a few weeks so I just kinda I dunno… took it?" You mumble quietly. Caleb snots, shaking his head in disbelief. “So why last week when I told you my favorite hoodie was missing you didn't confess?" He presses, an eyebrow raised tauntingly. “I was going to tell you I swear! I just… This is humiliating and I'm never going to recover- it smells like you alright!! I miss you and it smells like you, so when I miss you really bad, I put it on.” You bury your face and the oversized sleeves.

Caleb is trying his best to fight back the massive stupid lovestruck grin on his face, but ultimately loses. “So you're a thief and a pervert. Who would've guessed…" Your face couldn't possibly get more red as you rip your head out of your hands and go smack him on the arm, however he easily intercepts the blow pulling you into a tight embrace. “If you wanted something that smells like me, you could've just asked. You know that right?" You nuzzle your burning cheeks against his chest. “I know, it's just humiliating and I don't wanna make you feel bad, because we both have demanding jobs.” He scoffs. " My hot girlfriend asking me for an item of my clothing that smells like me because she misses me; would make me feel weirdly honored, thank you very much.” You wack him lightly on the chest. " Who's the pervert now?” " Mmm, still the pretty girl who decided to steal my gross post run hoodie I think.”

»»————-　☾　————-««

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch16

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

overall warnings: smut, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chapter contents: ANGST. like the whole thing is angst lol. jungkook cries for like 90% of this chapter. nari is SO fucking angry omg. oc breaks tf down. the chapter weve all been dreading is here </3 idk but its just like super angsty and sad im sorry lmfao

wc: not thattt long

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: rushed to get this out, and this is like prob the worst part of the story to rush. so im very very sorry if this didnt meet expectations cause it didnt really meet mine, but imma be busy for a bit. but ANYWAYS!! tysm for reading and ILY MWAHH. also pre warning to my smut lovers… there wont be much for a while. LMFAO.

masterlist, < prev | next >

“Jungkook, honey, when will you be enlisting?”

The question lands like a gunshot.

Jungkook tenses immediately. His brain spins.

He knew this was coming.

You see it happen—his grip on his chopsticks tightening, his whole body subtly stiffening, like he’s bracing himself. Like he’s debating whether to lie.

For a fleeting second, he considers lying. The words I haven’t decided yet are right there, waiting on his tongue—

But he can’t.

Not in front of your parents.

Not in front of you.

Before he can say anything, Nari—who has now fully given up on finishing the food your parents have shoved in front of her—speaks up, still looking a little sick.

“Oh, Auntie,” she pauses, tilting her head. “I swear idols don’t have to enlist? And Jungkook—well—he’s definitely more than just a damn idol.”

“Nari! Language!” your mom whisper-shouts.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mutters.

You snort, but then—

Your dad hums, turning to Jungkook with an easy grin. “You didn’t apply for exemption, did you? Too many idols these days are lazy, trying to avoid it.”

Jungkook’s head is ringing. His hands are clammy.

This was not how he wanted to tell you.

He tries to keep his composure, but his fingers twitch against his jeans as he stares down at his plate, trying—failing—to find the right response.

You tilt your head, and Jungkook exhales, thankful that you’re stalling unintentionally, but his heart aches at how oblivious you are for whats about to come. “Dad, I swear you didn’t enlist?”

Your dad gasps, hand over his heart. “What?! Honey, don’t expose me like that!”

You giggle.

But your dad cuts in. “Nari, honey, they can apply for exemption.” He smirks. “But Jungkook here doesn’t seem like the type, so I doubt he would.”

You let out a breathy chuckle at his tone—but Jungkook? doesn’t even react.

You glance over at him, confused.

And that’s when you notice, he’s staring down at his plate. Picking at his food. Shoulders tight.

Then, finally—

“Yeah…” His voice is quiet. “I didn’t apply.”

A weird, unsettling feeling starts creeping up your spine.

It’s fine, you think. You guess.

You try not to read into it.

Your mom beams. “Oh, how wonderful!”

Your dad nods approvingly. “Good son! It’s only right. Too many try to weasel their way out of it these days.” He claps Jungkook on the back, and Jungkook barely sways from the impact.

You don’t think too much of it at first.

But—

Why didn’t you know about this?

It’s not like you talk about the military all the time, but still. Something like this—you’d think he would have mentioned it.

So, you ask, all casual, assuming, “It’s not soon, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer.

The whole table listens in, but Nari—now more alert—watches him intently. Probably just as confused as you are. Your parents are still oblivious, still smiling, still talking, but Jungkook—

He’s pale.

Fidgety.

His hand curls into a tight fist on his thigh.

And then, “December 12th.”

That’s-

Three weeks.

Your mom gasps in admiration. “That’s so soon! You must be so prepared, Jungkook, honey!”

Your dad grins. “Oh this is great! We need more like you!”

They praise him. Clap him on the back. Smile and celebrate and talk about how proud they are of him.

But you—

You can’t hear any of it.

Your world has just—stopped.

December 12.

December 12.

That’s in—

Your stomach drops.

Your heartbeat slams in your ears.

Because he’s known. He’s known this entire time. And he never told you.

You feel Nari stiffen beside you.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes on you.

You feel the weight of every moment you’ve spent with him, every touch, every kiss, every look—

And suddenly, they all feel different.

Your mom is oblivious, still smiling.

Your eyes flick to Nari, who is already looking at Jungkook with pure anger.

Jungkook?

Jungkook doesn’t even try to meet your gaze anymore.

He looks down, fingers tightening around his jeans, jaw clenched, face tense.

And you?

You don’t look at him, either.

You can’t. Because if you do. If you let yourself feel—

This whole moment will collapse.

The realization. The pure fucking heartbreak. The slow, suffocating understanding that he’s known all along. That he’s been lying to you this entire time.

Your stomach churns. Your chest tightens. It feels like the room is spinning.

In the background—

Your dad is still praising him.

Your mom is smiling.

They don’t know.

They don’t know that you’re sitting here, staring at the man you’ve been falling for, realizing he let you fall knowing he was going to leave. And he didn’t tell you.

You don’t say anything. Because you can’t.

Because if you open your mouth, you’ll either scream or cry, and you don’t know which one is worse.

You sit there. Expression neutral. Heart in pieces. And for the rest of dinner, you pretend everything is fine.

Because what else can you do?

“Honey this is amazing!” your mom praises. “You should be so proud of yourself sweetheart. Not enough idols do this nowadays. They’re too lazy—but you! You’re different.”

Your dad grins. “Good for you, kid. That’s real responsibility.”

Jungkook forces a smile, nodding politely. “Thank you…”

But. You don’t say anything. You can’t. Because everything in you has just—stopped.

He’s not joking. He’s not lying.

And when you glance across the table. Nari is staring back at you, frozen. Expression blank.

Because she knows. She knows what this means.

You swallow thickly, blinking a few times before finally forcing yourself to react—plastering on a small, tight-lipped smile. Your mom notices. “Oh, honey, did you not know?”

You make the mistake of glancing at Jungkook.

And the second you do, your stomach twists, because he’s looking right at you. And there’s something in his expression—guilt, maybe?

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

So you tear your gaze away, forcing out a quiet, “No.”Your smile is strained. “I didn’t.”

But your parents don’t notice anything wrong at all. They don’t notice how he’s broken your heart into a million pieces and thrown it onto the fucking plate.

“Oh, sweetheart, you should be proud of him,” your mom says, nudging your arm. “That’s real dedication.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah, not like these new idols. Always finding loopholes to get out of it.”

Jungkook laughs a little, though it’s barely there. “Right…”

You don’t look at him. You don’t dare. The conversation shifts.

Your parents are still chatting away, completely oblivious, but the air at the table has turned suffocating.

Jungkook is tense.

Nari is pissed, sending him quiet but absolutely lethal glares between sips of water she’s clearly no longer enjoying.

And you?

Your ears are ringing.

Every sound feels distant, like you’re underwater, like you’re not really here. Your mom’s voice is coming from somewhere—she’s asking you something, something about your job, your life, your well-being. You try to answer. You swear you try.

But everything in you is screaming to just—leave. Because the longer you sit here, the more you feel like you might snap.

Jungkook keeps trying to look at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze burning into the side of your face. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

Finally. After what feels like hours, your parents get up. Your mom claps her hands. “Alright, we should get going.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

You almost sag in relief.

But then, it’s time for goodbyes.

And your parents never leave quickly, your mother—God bless her—takes another ten minutes to actually leave.

They offer to help clean up. “No, Auntie, it’s okay,” Nari says so fast that it’s almost aggressive. She stands abruptly, already stacking plates, ushering them toward the door like a damn bouncer.

Your mom takes her sweet time hugging you, kissing your cheek, stroking your hair like you’re a child. “Take care of yourself, honey, okay?”

Your dad is just as bad, clapping Jungkook on the back, laughing at something he says.

And then—

Right before they leave—

For the first time all night—you look at him.

He stands frozen, stiff as a board, as your dad extends a hand. Jungkook hesitates. And then, slowly, he takes it.

It’s an easy handshake at first. But then your dad’s grip tightens, his free hand coming up to clasp Jungkook’s shoulder.

A grin. A squeeze.

And then, “Treat her right, son.”

Something snaps. Jungkook swallows so hard you hear it.

You almost break. Your vision blurs. Your chest tightens. For a split second, your heart begs you to stop. To not let this ruin everything.

Silence.

Jungkook stiffens beside you, but you don’t even glance at him.

You just—nod.

Then, finally—finally—the door swings shut.

And then—

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Nari screams, running a hand through her hair. The sound shatters through the air, echoing off the walls, rattling your bones.

You flinch—because she’s loud, yes—but also because you feel it. All of it. All at once.

Your entire body crumbles.

Tears spill down your cheeks so fast, so violently, that your vision swims. Your breath catches—hitches—and then you’re gasping.

Jungkook is shocked.

Because this? this is worse than he imagined.

He expected you to yell. To curse him out. To demand answers. But this? This silent, broken kind of crying?

This hurts so much more.

And the worst part? He did this to you.

Jungkook barely breathes. You barely stand.

The weight of it all—the realization, the betrayal, the embarrassment—is crushing you.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns.

And Nari? Nari is just getting started.

“When the fuck were you planning on telling her this?!” she shrieks, hands shaking, voice cracking. “Were you just gonna disappear one day? Huh? Just vanish without a goddamn word?”

Jungkook flinches.

But he doesn’t speak.

“How could you even come here today?” she hisses, stepping closer. “Meet her fucking parents? You embarrassed her, and I fucking hate you for it, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t fight back.

Because what could he even say? He just—stands there. Takes it.

But his eyes—his eyes never leave you. You, who hasn’t spoken a single word. You, who is just standing there—staring at the floor, trembling.

You, who looks like you’re about to collapse.

But Nari—she isn’t done.

“I actually thought you were good,” she spits, voice shaking with rage. “I actually thought—maybe, just maybe—you weren’t like the rest of them. But this? This is worse.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches. His hands shake.

“Did you plan this all along?” she demands.

“No,” he whispers.

It’s all he can say.

Because anything else would be a lie.

“That’s it?!” Nari’s voice shatters. “That’s all you have to fucking say?!”

And then—

Jungkook moves. Takes a step toward you. Reaches out.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

You flinch. Like his touch would burn you. Like he’s something you need to get away from.

Jungkook freezes.

His heart shatters more than it already has. But before he can even process it—

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER!” Nari screams. “SORRY WON’T FUCKING FIX THIS!”

And then— You break.

“Get out.” Your voice rips from your throat, raw, quiet, desperate.

Jungkook stares.

He saw this coming. He knew this was coming.

And yet. Somehow, he’s still surprised.

Because this—this is final.

This is you letting go.

And he can’t accept it.

“Wait,” he chokes, voice frantic, desperate. “Please—”

But you? You just—give up. Your knees buckle. Your body collapses. And suddenly—Nari snaps.

“You fucking heard her.”

And before Jungkook can even think, before he can even breathe, Nari shoves him back.

Pushes him toward the door.

“Go.”

Jungkook is begging.

“Please,” he gasps, trying to look at you, trying to reach for you. “Baby, please—”

But you—

You don’t look at him.

“Don’t fucking call-“ You turn away.

And then, the door slams shut.

The loudest sound in the room isn’t your sobs anymore—it’s the door clicking shut. His scent lingers, his touch still lingers, and the memory of his eyes when he begged you, his voice soft- begging as he called you “baby,” is burned into your mind.

Nari is beside you, her anger radiating, palpable in the air.

Outside

Jungkook doesn’t move. His forehead rests against the door, fingers curled into fists at his sides. His chest is heaving. His vision is blurring.

He’s begging.

Not out loud—no, because he knows that won’t work.

But in his head—inside his breaking, desperate heart— He’s begging.

“Please open the door.”

“Please say this was a joke.”

“Please tell me this isn’t real.”

He selfishly hopes you’ll open the door with that same smile on your face. Your eyes swollen from crying, your face puffy, but still, he imagines you pulling him in, kissing him like you always do, running your fingers through his hair the way you did earlier, and telling him, “I’m not mad at you, stupid. You’re such a dumbass, stop crying.”

But, he knows it’s real.

He knows he fucked up. Selfishly, he craves just one more minute, hoping somehow you’ll give in, even though he knows it’s impossible. He should’ve told you. He fucking knows it.

God, he just wants one more chance. Just one more minute to make things right. His breath is shaky, uneven as he tilts his head back against the wood, squeezing his eyes shut.

From inside—

He hears you.

And his whole world stops.

Inside

On the inside, you sit against the door, still sobbing, your mind racing through everything you two have shared. How fucking real it all felt. For him to just end it like that—it doesn’t make sense. You thought you had more time, that you could actually do this with him. But he fucked up. You can’t figure out what else to do, what to think.

Legs curled up, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater, tears streaming down your face.

You shouldn’t be here.

You should be angry, should be yelling, should be hating him with everything in you.

But instead?

You’re waiting.

Waiting for him to knock.

Waiting for him to say it was all a prank, that he somehow set this up with your parents, that this isn’t really happening—

That he isn’t leaving.

But— He doesn’t.

And Nari? Nari sees it all.

“Oh my fucking God,” she snaps. “Y/N, get the fuck UP.”

You flinch.

But you don’t move. You can’t.

“Are you serious right now?” she demands. “Are you actually serious? After everything? After all of this? You’re still sitting there waiting for him like a fucking sad puppy?!”

Your fingers tighten around your sleeves.

Your breath shudders. Because she’s right.

You hate that she’s right. But it doesn’t stop you from wanting him anyway.

Outside

Jungkook can hear everything. The muffled sounds of Nari yelling.

The tiny, broken sounds of you crying.

And suddenly, he can’t breathe. His throat tightens. His fingers dig into his hair as his body shakes, as his mind races. “What the fuck did I do.”

It’s hitting him now. All of it.

The way you flinched from his touch. The way you collapsed the second he walked out the door. The way you haven’t opened it since.

The reality of it all. That he was always going to hurt you. That this was always going to end this way. That you—the one person who ever made him feel normal, made him feel safe, made him feel like just Jungkook and not fucking BTS Jungkook—

You’re gone. And he did it. He did this.

Inside

You wipe at your face, sniffing, eyes puffy, throat raw. But you don’t move from the door.

Even though you know he’s not coming back. Even though you know this is over. Even though you should hate him—

You don’t.

You still love him.

And that’s the worst part of all. Because even after all of this— Even after everything—

You still would have chosen him.

Outside

Jungkook isn’t crying anymore.

Not because it doesn’t hurt. Not because he isn’t breaking apart, piece by piece, on this very doorstep. But because— He feels numb.

Like his body has shut down entirely.Like his mind has accepted what his heart refuses to. Like he knows there’s nothing left to say.

But still. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he sits there. Back against the door. Knees drawn up. Eyes red. Ears straining.

Because he knows he shouldn’t, but he listens. Selfishly.

Desperately.

Pathetically clinging onto the last part of you he has left:

Your voice.

Inside

The silence is loud. It’s heavy.

It hangs over the room like thick smoke—like something toxic, something suffocating, something that lingers in your lungs long after the damage is done. You’re not crying anymore.

Neither is Nari screaming. But she’s still fuming. Still pacing. Still muttering under her breath, hands clenching at her sides, voice low and dangerous.

“He’s dead to me.”

You exhale.

And then—

“Nari, please stop.” Your voice is hoarse. Tired. Defeated. And just like that—

Nari softens. She hesitates for a moment, then sighs, sinking down next to you, knees brushing. Her anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

But right now?

Right now, she’s more concerned about you.

You just laugh. A broken, breathless, manic little laugh, something that barely even sounds like you.

“I think I fell in love with him.” Unsteady. Blurted.

Like you’re just now realizing it yourself.

Like the words are only just now settling into your bones, taking root in your chest, hitting you with full force.

Nari exhales.

She looks at you, something soft behind her gaze.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “You’re just now realizing?”

You don’t answer. You just blink, staring blankly ahead, expression unreadable.

Outside

Jungkook breaks all over again. Because he hears it. Every word. Every breath. And he knows he has no right to. But still. He presses his forehead against the door. Shuts his eyes. And cries. Harder.

——

Jungkook stays longer than he should.

Longer than makes sense.

Longer than is reasonable, considering he’s not even sure if he’s breathing at this point, or if his body is just running on pure muscle memory—just existing on this doorstep like it’s the last place he’ll ever belong.

A door creaks.

A neighbor steps out, and old man who clearly isn’t happy about the commotion, barely sparing him a glance before walking back inside.

And then another.

And another.

And soon, Jungkook realizes, people are staring.

Of course they are.

Of course the guy hunched over on the doorstep, looking like he just got physically wrecked by the universe, is gonna get some attention.

Finally, he forces himself to move. To stand. To leave.

His legs feel like they’re made of lead.

His head is still spinning.

But he shoves his hands in his pockets, pulls his hoodie up over his face, and drags himself away—

From you. From everything.

And he doesn’t look back.

Not even once.

——

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there.

Time doesn’t feel real.

It feels like the air in the room is thick, like something heavy is pressing down on your chest, keeping you in place.

“Was it even…fucking real?” Your voice is sharp. Raw.

Loud enough that Nari actually flinches beside you, turning to face you with wide eyes. But you don’t stop. You can’t.

“Was this his fucking plan all along? Like, what was it? Was it all just—was it just—” You can’t even finish the sentence. You just shake your head, laughing bitterly, the sound more painful than anything else.

“Was any of it real?”

Nari stares at you.

And for the first time tonight—

She doesn’t have an immediate answer. Her lips part, like she wants to say something.

She exhales.

“I fucking hate him for this.”

Her voice is quieter now. Softer. Like the anger has dulled—like it’s settled into something else.

“But I know it was real.”

You freeze. You blink at her.

“What?”

“You’re blind, Y/N,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Stop trying to make conclusions that aren’t there.”

Your chest tightens.

“Then—then why?” Your voice cracks.

And Nari exhales again, looking down.

“He was scared.” And the second the words leave her mouth, the second they sink in, you feel like the ground beneath you just— Collapses.

The room is unbearably quiet now.

Your tears have dried. Your breathing has evened out. Your body isn’t shaking anymore. But inside?

Inside, you still feel like you’ve been hollowed out and left to rot.

You stare at the ceiling, vision unfocused.

You can feel Nari beside you, sitting cross-legged on the couch which she’d dragged you to, scrolling through her phone like she isn’t still raging inside. Like she isn’t still thinking of all the ways she could actually kill Jungkook and make it look like an accident.

“Y/N.” Her voice is firm. You blink.

“Look at me.”

You do.

She sets her phone down, leveling you with a stare so serious that, for a second, you think she might actually be about to lecture you.

And, well—

You’re right.

“There is no way that shit was not fucking real.”

You exhale through your nose.

“Nari—”

“No, shut the fuck up, I’m talking.”

You blink at her.

“Jungkook did not spend all this time with you, did not look at you the way he did, did not literally put himself, his career at risk, just for it to be nothing,” she continues. “Do you hear yourself? Like, do you hear how insane you sound right now?”

You press your lips together.

“He was scared,” she says, softer now. “That’s it. That’s literally all there is to it. He was scared, and he was selfish, and he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to deal with the fact that he had to fucking leave. That’s not an excuse, by the way, it’s just—” she exhales, shaking her head. “It’s just the truth.”

You don’t respond. You just stare at her.

“This was never just casual for him,” she mutters. “That’s not what you should be worried about.”

Your throat tightens.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

Nari doesn’t have an answer. She stares at you. And then, “I don’t know.”

The two of you just—sit there.

Exhausted. Numb. Waiting for something—

Even though neither of you know what.

The silence lingers.

It settles into the room like dust—slow, heavy, inescapable.

Neither of you move for a long time.

You don’t cry anymore. Nari doesn’t rant anymore. The rage, the heartbreak, the tension—it’s all dulled into exhaustion, weighing down every inch of your body.

Eventually, though—

“Come on,” Nari murmurs.

You don’t react.

“Y/N.”

A hand nudges your arm.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You exhale.

Then, finally—finally—you move.

You don’t even bother freshening up. You don’t even turn on the lights. But— “No, bitch, you need to take off your makeup.”

You blink, disoriented, as Nari flicks on the bathroom light and drags you toward the sink. “You don’t wanna break out, do you?” she mutters, trying to act normal. Trying to lighten the mood.

You stare at your reflection, and you look…bad.

Your eyes are puffy. Your nose is red. Your lips are swollen from crying.

You just look tired.

Nari wets a cotton pad.

You don’t stop her as she presses it to your face, wiping away the remnants of your mascara.

You don’t say anything when she takes out your skincare, applying it carefully, murmuring little instructions like “Look up” and “This one says…hydration”—

Just like he did.

Your chest aches.

You pretend it’s him.

Pretend it’s his fingers against your skin. Pretend he’s standing in front of you, talking through every step, teasing you for not taking better care of your face.

Nari knows exactly what you’re doing.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just keeps going.

And when she’s finished, she clicks off the light and pulls you into your room, not giving you the chance to be alone.

You don’t argue.

You just follow.

You both collapse onto your bed, and Nari doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around you.

You cling to her tighter than you ever have before.

She doesn’t say anything about it.

Just lets you press your face into her shoulder, lets you shake against her, lets you hold on as if she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

And even though Nari is always the first to knock out.

Tonight, she fights to stay awake.

She waits. She listens to your breathing slow, doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, doesn’t let go—

Not until she’s absolutely sure you’ve finally fallen asleep

[sakachichi]

Proper Touch

cw - historical au, virgin fem reader, oral x2, missionary, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, obsessed Geto, annnnd them struggling to stay quiet but giving up lol (im like brain farting so bad idk what else to put 😭)

Summary - part 2 on this drabble! Geto had a huuuge crush on you and only has eyes for you, slowly growing your relationship into something but lwky getting impatient so this happened lol :p 3k words

Authors note! - I would loooove to add on to this lwky, I think like maybe dive deeper into what reader and Geto feel abt each other, and if reader gets scolded lwky (spoiler!) 😭🤣 but yea hope you enjoy!

As you continue to panic Suguru chuckles, “It’s alright if you don’t let me in, really” he reassured, his voice an octave deeper, “I would really regret not helping you miss…” he adds. You made eye contact with him, his eyes so soft and pretty, the lowlight hitting his smooth skin so nicely, literally making him glow like an angel.

“It is a lot of stuff” you mumble, eyes wandering towards your gate where your guard patiently waited, pursing your lips you nodded, “okay..” you agreed as you looked back at him, he responded with a sweet sincere smile. Your heart flutters at the sight, you couldn’t help but smile back. Your guard opened the gate and both of you walked in, quietly motioning him to follow you to your room.

As you walk up to your room you turn on your heels, facing his tall buff figure, awkwardly looking everywhere but his eyes. Your fingers interlock before you as you slightly sway, “ummm…are you gonna go in?” Suguru questions with a quick laugh.

“Oh!” Franticly you open your door, sliding off your shoes. You stand at the door frame, looking up at him before kneeling — signaling him to kneel as well and he does so. But before he does his breath hitches, his heart dramatically drops as he watches you slowly go down on your knees. His dirty thoughts invading his poor brain causing his dick to firm up, he licks his lips as he plants himself on the floor.

His hands full with all the pretty things he bought you, the jewels glittering in the moonlight as he displays them to you. “Thank you again lord Suguru, I really appreciate you buying all these for me” Your voice rings through his ears, smiling as he watches you take each item one by one.

“It’s certainly my pleasure my lady, a beautiful woman like you deserves to have beautiful things” he replies, staring at you with so much affection, but you're so oblivious it hurts. As you stand up to put your things away Suguru’s sight never falters your frame, watching as you leave and come back to him, standing tall at your door. You look at him, the bright moon shining over him as he shadows it.

The two of you stare into each other's eyes before he takes one of his hands to cup your rosy cheek, “my lord, you mustn’t-“ you protest and he interrupts, “oh but I must…please let me enter your chamber my lady” he’s desperate, yearning for you to let him in.

God is he so tempting, his voice drips like honey — so smooth, so sweet. You could melt right there in front of him, his touch is so kind and warm as you unintentionally lean into his hand. What should you say? Should you let him in? What will he do to you? You could scream in anticipation, anxiety sweeping over you quickly. Your stomach doing cartwheels as your mind races, all you could think about is your nosey servants telling your father everything.

How badly he’ll scold you tomorrow, no matter how well respected a man is, he shouldn’t be here — especially at night. But the thought of rebelling against your father right now sounds so right.

“Why do you wish to enter my lord?” Now your flirting, your hand reaching to rest on his, softly closing your eyes as you burrow your cheek into his warm palm. “I’ve grown very attracted to you my lady, I’m afraid I cannot hold myself any longer” he confessed, his tone dripping in confidence.

“Attracted? How so?”

“I’m in love with you, my lady” he ends, his two big hands now cupping your face, his gaze is so intense. Burning into you like if you were his prey.

“Very well then, you may enter” the words leave your mouth without you even realizing, you step aside to let him in. Once you realize what you’ve done you tightly shut your eyes as you slide the door shut, he’s inside now and it’s not just a dream.

Almost instantly he turns you over, bringing you into a deep sloppy kiss, he’s been waiting for this for eons — all his self control is out the window. Gone forever. You gasp as he backs you into the wall, gripping your wrists before holding them up above you. Oh gosh was this so new for you, you’ve never kissed a man let alone been alone like this with one — and your father doesn’t count.

You pull away from the kiss breathless, “is this what you want my lord?” You sweetly ask. “Yes yes, this and more. Please?” He whispers, grazing his swollen lips against your neck. “Kiss me please” you desperately add, almost chasing his lips before he crashes them back onto yours. Your pussy so hot and wet as he groans into the kiss, droll dripping onto your chin as the two of you frantically kiss each other. Teeth crashing, tongues swirling against each other, and the loud pop of sucking filled the room.It’s absolutely filthy, you never knew that someone so kind and humble can be so nasty and rough, but here he was.

“Strip” he deeply commands before starting to strip himself, and you obey instantly, taking off your multiple layers of clothing before leaving yourself completely naked. Standing with your hands behind your back, displaying yourself to him in such a modest way. He stares you down, admiring every inch of your body.

“My, you’re stunning” he says, walking up to you to place his big greedy hands on your pretty tits, fondling them gently. You sigh from the warm contact, his hands feel so good against you, you love it. Your eyes scan his body, catching a good glimpse of his toned abs and his big muscular arms. You couldn’t believe yourself as you lay your eyes upon his fat cock, he’s so big it’s kind of scary. His raging red tip, his balls extremely swollen, his veins so prominent — you thickly gulp at the sight.

“My lord, I’m frightened” you admit, placing your hands on his buff chest. “What’s wrong?” His hands are still placed on your tits, flicking your sensitive nipples. “Yo-you’re so big” you could almost cringe, you’ve never imagined you’d say that. Suguru lets out a deep chuckle, he thinks your so cute, “it’s alright, i'll make sure it won’t hurt you”

‘Hurt?’ You mentally stress, ‘what have I gotten myself into’ you start to panic again, but the way he kisses your neck calms you down. His soft tongue licks your neck and you lean your head to the side, granting him more access to kiss lick and bite.

His fingers drag their way down your sopping cunt, cupping a big warm hand on it, squeezing you into his palms — feeling your wet humid pussy. You whine at the feeling, “I would love to taste you, may I please?” He bites your ear before kitty licking it, you shudder as you nod.

“No no, use your words my lady” he said, swiping a fat thumb against your pink lips, “yes, please do” you gasp. This is so different, you didn't know you could feel this way. The sweet uncomfortable feeling on your pussy making you want to let out the most filthiest moans known to man, the way your walls flutter around nothing every time Suguru does anything was too much. You wanted him so bad.

You fucking love this, the way he gets on his knees before you and the sweet feeling of his fingers dipping into your wet core, you hand gripped onto the side of his head as he dips his mouth into you. His tongue is so gentle on your clit as he laps your sweet juices, creating a lewd squelch with every lick. You whimper at the lack of friction wanting more and more, “please more~” you beg quietly.

He lets out a quick breathy chuckle before latching his entire mouth on you, whatever you want you’ll get in his eyes. He’s gonna make sure to eat you out sooo good, you’ll be obsessed with him for the rest of your life. He can’t wait to bury his cock inside your pretty pussy so deep, and pump you with his precious seed. He can hardly wait, and because of that he finds his hand stroking his cock, twisting his hand over his tip making him moan into your dripping cunt.

The vibrations of his voice send thrilling tidal waves of pleasure throughout your body, throwing your head back as you moan out. “Fuck you make so hard” he whines into your pussy, the profanity makes you gasp but quickly becomes a thing of the past as he sucks on your clit soooo good, making moan so loud you instantly cover your mouth with both of your hands. Your face contorting as you try so hard to suppress your moans, the veins on your neck popping out from the pressure.

“Oh! Lord Suguru I c-can’t, something’s coming, oh goshhhh” you whine, your hands resting on his head as you slightly grind on his pretty face. “Yesyesyes, cum on my face, do it” he’s slurring his words, one lengthy digit thrusts into you — swirling and curling in you threatening to make that knot in your stomach snap. It feels so good, you throw your head back groaning before biting your lip, now grinding harder on his face.

Then another finger joins in, curling in you so deliciously, throwing you off the edge in seconds. Releasing alllll over his face, Suguru opens his mouth to catch every last drop, desperately lapping your juices up. “Shhhiiittt~ yesss, cum all over my face like that, fuckk” his voice so deep as his fingers swipe side to side rapidly over your pussy, sprinkling your essence all over his face and the floor.

This was a sight for sore eyes, you whimper as you watch him lick you clean, you could cum all over again just from this. Once he was done he looked up at you with a huge smile, his pearly whites shining up at you, god was he so happy to finally be able to taste you. Just as sweet and delicious as he imagined you’d be, your pretty moans were also just so perfect.

“M-my lord, that was so-“ Suguru swiftly stood up before placing a finger on your lips, “please, call me Suguru” he suggested, mainly demanding but he wouldn’t mind if you denied him. You hesitate for a moment before continuing again, “Suguru, what just happened to me?” You questioned, you're so innocent it melted him, “you just came, doll” the use of that nickname took you aback, but you loved the way it came out of his mouth.

Your hands explore his body, fingers going over his sensitive nipples, running through his hard abs before stopping at the base of his cock. Looking up at him as you run a finger down his hefty shaft, “can I also…put it in my mouth?” You ask with wide eyes, licking your lips as you wait for him to answer.

“Y-yes, please” he’s so eager to feel your mouth on him, he guides you down on your knees before you take him with your hands. Your hands get a feel of his veiny cock, feeling its warmth, how it’s slightly slippery from his pre-cum. You’re practically drooling. “How?” You ask with glossy eyes staring curiously at him, taking in every detail.

“You suck it, use your tongue, but no teeth ok?” He’s so patient with you, running his fingers through your messed up hair. After a while of slowly stroking him, you place a small kiss on his tip earning a low grunt from him, your tongue lols out before gently licking the tip getting a taste of his bittersweet pre-cum.

That’s new. Nothing like you’ve tasted before, but not bad.

You look up as you begin to take him in, your hands at the base as run your tongue under his dick, hitting that vein just right. He lets out a shaky breath, throwing his head back as you swirl your tongue around him. “Hollow your cheeks for me, doll” he places a soft hand on your cheeks as you obey his command, sucking him just right he let’s out a whimper.

“Yes just like that, keep sucking me like that” he groans, placing his hands on either side of your head, bopping your head along his length. His raging tip threatens to hit the back of your throat as he bucks his hips into your wet mouth, as you continue to suck and swirl your tongue like your life depends on it.

His lips turn into a cute pout as his face contorts, the way your throat tightens around him and the feeling of your tongue was insane, if he were to lose himself to ecstasy he would cum in seconds. It’s like you’re a natural at this, he was so proud of you and he made sure to let it be known — his hands caressed your face so tenderly as he cooed out his filthy praises.

“You're doing so well, sososo well for me” he praised before a loud grunt interrupted him, “yeahh, you're taking me so good , fuckkk”.

You whine as you place your hands on his hips, tears streaming down your face as you continue to gag around him. His thrusts began to fall sloppy, as he slams a free hand on the wall before him, knuckles turning white as he suppresses his moans.

“Ohmygod, fuck!” He loudly whispers as he cums, hips stuttering as he nurses his orgasm in your mouth. His knees on the brink of giving up, his breathing out of control, but he’s hard again. And it’s all from looking at you.

Catching a quick glimpse through dark hooded eyes, the way you kept looking up at him and the way your tears glistened on your plump cheeks was enough to get him hard again. You pull away from him with a loud pop! gasping for air as you wipe your mouth, giving him a sweet toothy smile. “Did I do good, Suguru?” You say as he helps you up, nodding as he cups your face, “you did so well”.

The way he praises you makes your heart skip a beat, despite his current filthy behavior he’s still so kind. He leads you to your bed, asking you to lay down, as you do so you prop up on your elbows to watch him get on his knees — crawling towards you. His hands spread your legs apart, positioning himself in between you. “Don’t be afraid, if it hurts let me know” he reassures, massaging your thighs as he slaps his tip against your slippery core, lubing himself up before he dives into you.

You nod, biting your bottom lip as you watch him intently. He leans in to place a sweet wet kiss against yours —

“Ready?”

“Yes”

He kisses you once again, trying to distract you from the pressure against your cunt. Slowly he pushes himself in, his thumbs rubbing sweet circles on your hips. You let out a loud whine, feeling like you’re being ripped open, but his prep and slow speed made you get used to the feeling. Rolling his hips into you, the rich wet sounds filling the room. Tears run down your face as the pressure of his thick cock continues to stretch you out, slowly though, the pain fades away turning into pure pleasure.

And god does it feel so good, the sweet kiss his tip gives to your cervix makes you relish, begging him to go faster. “Please faster, please Suguru” you beg, voice hushed from the fear of being heard. Suguru doesn’t skip a beat and listens, tightly gripping onto your hips before ramming into you. Desperately you cover your mouth, your sweet moans and whimpers getting swallowed by your palm, your other hand rests on his chest, clawing at his soft skin.

The skin slapping was so loud and nasty, you're sure it could be heard from the courtyard, rolling your eyes back from the pleasure and in hopes to forget about how loud it was. Suguru was so mindful though, keeping his groans and grunts silent — getting caught was the last thing he wanted.

He was sooo pussy whipped, he could go at this for hours and still feel like it’s not enough. His eyes kept threatening to roll back but forcing himself to take in your body’s beauty, enjoying the way your tits bounced with each thrust, almost hypnotizing him. Your slick walls pulsing around him as you feel that familiar knot again, threatening to snap any second now. “Sugu, I-I’m cumming” you whisper, whimpering as he slows down his pace.

Quickly he turns you over to straddle him, the movement so fast you couldn’t even process what just happened. His arms wrapped around your waist before pulling you flush against him, “you’re gonna cum with me, doll” his tone was so rough and demanding, turning a switch inside making you feel so desperate for him. Something actually indescribable, you just knew you wanted him so badly and that it felt good to be treated this way is all your brain could come up with.

You bury your face in his neck, nails digging into his shoulders leaving small crescent shapes behind. He’s now impossibly deep, feeling him so much more than before. Your mouth slacked open but your silent, brows furrowing as your tummy tightens up. Suddenly you feel limp, letting your whines and moans flow out without a care. “You take cock so well, you fucking love this, huh?” you roll your eyes back as you take your time to answer, he’s quite literally fucking your brains out. Not a single thought is being produced as he continues to mercilessly bully your sopping hole.

“I- mmhmm, yes! You feel so good” you muster up, you're so dizzy you feel you might pass out, stars dancing around as you heavily pant into his neck. Suddenly one of Sugurus hands grips at your hair, pulling you out from his neck. Your tits now bouncy in front of his face, you close your eyes so tight as the grip on your hair is sooo tight. “Cum with me baby” he said as a loud slap on your ass rings throughout the room, and a weak whimper leaves your lips.

Multiple slaps land on your plump ass leaving you red before he lets you come back down on his chest, his thrusts are now growing sloppy and you feel like you're gonna burst. Your poor legs shaking as your orgasm creeps closer, your lips desperately latch onto the skin of his neck — sucking and biting him as you keep getting closer.

“Sugu I…I’m!” You whimper before pushing yourself up with your hands on his shoulders, your head rolling back as you begin to twitch and flutter around him. “F-fuck me too” he replies, getting in one last thrust before busting his load sooo deep in you.

You both are shamelessly so loud, forgetting about where you guys are and letting go, enjoying the feeling of each other. Chests heave as you guys come down from your highs, you're shaking above him and he’s watching you with so much adoration. Taking you in so he could remember this moment forever, his hands running up and down your sides gently, taking loose strands of your hair and putting them behind your ears.

You let yourself rest back on him, trying to control your breathing while he runs his fingers down your spine. He’s so warm, you find yourself dozing off on him. Silence fell but wasn’t awkward, enjoying each other’s presence before the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Before dusk Suguru left your home, leaving you sound asleep and clothed.

Fin!!! Anyways yes guys hope you enjoyed and let me know if u want me to dive deeper 😛🙏 also I’m looking for moots 😻 lmk if anyone wants to be moots as well I swear I’m super nice and I’m always active 💗💗💗

[mullermilkshake]

Project gone wrong.

You created a chance for the biggest mistake to happen. And it did.

Android!Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader Took inspo from Detroit become human with this one :D,Death,Murder,Choking,Obsession,Jealousy,Attempted murder,Android catches feelings for Reader,Graphic depictions of gore and violence,Kidnapping,Abusive behaviour

Of all the things that could happen, you never really took this scenario as a possibility.

No dreams that it would end this way.

It was more like the endless awards you could potentially hold in your hands and touch that cool steel at your fingertips, where you’d receive praise for all your back breaking work.

But not the fact that being in advanced robotics would lead the very android you took three years creating would grow a consciousness… and one that would develop a fondness for you that far transcended a typical android to human relationship.

The Gojo model had all the behavioural inhibitors and processors to stop this from happening, to prevent him learning too quickly while in his trial phase. Yet it surpassed all expectations and made it known just how dangerous off it was.

Hence why you were running from it in the first place.

You were foolish.

Pathetically blinded by rose tint to forsaken your future right down the gutter amongst the people most remembered for their fuck ups. Yes. You would not be remembered for your accomplishments, but rather your nuclear miscalculations on your android who lost his mind and killed a man on live television.

And now it was looking for you.

How you managed to find your way off of the back stage and chose the right turns to wind back up into the labs was quite honestly a miracle. You dropped down to the floor and bought your knees up to make yourself as small as possible behind a lab counter. There wasn’t much cover between rooms, only a side door you had to make your way towards.

You’d move as soon as you could collect yourself and remove the blood from your face as best you could. Looking down at your shoes, your laces had somehow accumulated dots of sprayed blood and brain matter.

A huff of exacerbation was all you could muster as you kicked and let your shoes squeak on the linoleum to get another person's brain off of you. It did not belong there. It belonged in his head before the Gojo model punched his fist through the back of it.

So much blood. The screams, blaring lockdown siren and live bodies collecting at the doors to the back of the auditorium. So much… panic. All the while the android was calm and collected.

Way too much blood that wouldn’t come off.

Adrenaline was the only thing keeping you going right now, letting your heart pump straight into your throat to keep you salivating and ensuring there was oxygen in your lungs; though there was nothing to calm your hands and stop them from shaking.

It proved difficult to keep your breaths quiet when the door to the lab of the east wing opened. So close and scattered. It slammed and the hushed huffs made it clear that it wasn’t the Gojo model at least.

“Jesus! What the fuck- what the fuck!” It was a colleague of yours.

Maybe he could help in some way? You scrambled up and slapped the palm of your hand on the cool surface to louder than you realised when you steadied yourself.

He turned as quickly as humanly possible. “Who’s that?! Oh… Shit.”

You weren’t sure how he’d received you by the display in the auditorium. His stance wasn’t aggressive, but it was abrupt. “What the fuck went wrong out there? You said you had this covered!”

“I-I thought I did! Don’t shout at me, okay? I’m trying to think and I can’t get this blood off of me-” You were scrubbing your face red raw by now, the pristine sleeve of your lab coat had evolved to a more pinkish hue.

That stupid lock down alarm splitting through your ears wouldn’t shut off.

He paced back and forth, leaving a table between you. “There’s gotta be something to shut that thing down, what are its systems looking like right now?” 

“‘Oh… Right.” You rummaged into your pocket and blinked rapidly to get focus for the screen of the portable touch screen.

Numbers and flitting levels were off of the charts. You should have seen these spikes coming. They were all there but they were invisible. Satoru Gojo 12071989 left traces of a data breach in his system.

“Three weeks ago?”

“Huh?- let me see that.” Your colleague snatched the unit from your hand and glared at it. “It by passed the behavioural inhibitors three weeks ago and you said nothing?!”

“No!” You begged and reached for the touch screen. “I-I didn't, it showed no signs that it had bypassed any code I wrote into it and I looked over the system data an hour ago and there was nothing. I promise. Please, you have to believe me!”

He scoffed, his voice just as ear piercing as the alarm. “You expect me to believe that?! So what, you’re saying it’s been acting this whole time and you had no idea? Don’t fucking make me laugh!”

“I didn’t have any idea it would do this.” You managed to snatch it back from him this time and tapped away at the numbers and letters as quickly as your brain would allow.

The fact was that it sat right there in the palm of his hand. All the data to suggest that the Gojo model had completely rewritten his own code by itself. Something that no other android to date had ever done. Not the other models in the other sublevels for domestic or even military testing. Not even the three previous Gojo models that failed the initial phases before even being introduced to the board of directors for domestic testing.

The Gojo model was a complete prototype and it had rewritten its fucking entire code.

“I don’t know what to do. It’s put up a firewall that’s triple locked. I don’t have the clearance for to pass it-”

“You dumb fucking bitch.” He said, rubbing his face with his hand. His creased lab coat was still clean and lacking any red on its stitches. “You better go out there and find someone who can then. Because if that thing gets out, then not only are the Corporation coming for you, they’re coming for all of us and I don’t feel like going to prison for blowing this whole shit storm out of the water.”

Just the mention of the Corporation made your skin crawl. An unknown entity that patrolled all advanced robotics projects and kept it silent from the media and the general public.

People had gone missing.

“Go out there?” You watched the glass out into the hallway that led out back towards the auditorium.

“Now.”

You were frozen, feet stuck on the smooth floor. If you went out there, what if you went missing too? “But…Will you come with me?”

“This isn’t fucking kindergarten- I’m not getting the back of my head fucking caved in because you're being a wuss. Get the fuck out there now!”

Abruptness shifted aggressively to violence. He slammed his fist on the top of the table which made you jump and distracted you for just a moment. And then he had a hold of you.

“No, no, no, no, no! Please don’t make me go out there- let’s go the other way and use the main computer. Please, I don't want to die!” Your voice fell on deaf ears under the heavy weight of the red flashing alarm on the wall out in the hallway.

This was all your fault, but you only wanted to do good and help people. You signed up for research in helping those who required support in the home domestically. Not curbing a murderous android with an interest in humans.

“Get the fuck out there and do it, or the thing out there will be the least of your worries!”

He managed you out of the protection of the glass door and pushed you out. Though he still had a hold of you, neither of you realised that you hadn’t fully shaken the brain matter from your shoe and it caused you to slip and fall out into the hallway, taking him with you.

And in that second, you couldn’t breathe. His hands wrapped so tight around your neck in his own panic, thighs either side of you with all his weight on your chest. “You can’t do anything right and people are dead because of you!”

All you could do was kick your legs, drop the touch screen you had clutched in your grasp and watch the clinical overhead lighting fade and dim. You were going to die right there in a cold and unforgiving place and no one knew where you were.

Your family didn’t even know what your real job was. They thought you were off travelling while you worked countless hours with the Gojo model to get it ready for people in high places so that you could get some recognition of the hard work you put into it.

And it was all for naught.

Air shot through your lungs and simultaneously had your face showered in blood and bits of chunky stuff with all the body weight of a dead man. An involuntary scream rang through your own ears at the sight of your late colleague’s brains all over your face and dead weight launching towards you with gravity on its side.

The Gojo model came into view at your feet, just standing there with its artificial skin dripping with red and covered with grizzly black stuff.

But it wasn’t the Gojo model anymore, was it? He preferred the name Satoru. Just Satoru. He told you so himself.

Satoru was going to kill you now.

“There you are.” He said, offering his hand up whilst pulling your colleague off of you like he was nothing but a sheet of paper.

Now that the weight had left your chest, your screaming turned to inconsolable sobs and incoherent words as you kicked the floor to push yourself away from him, snatching up the portable touchscreen in your blind and traumatised haze. The alarm had not let up, still repeating itself and flashing at your eyes until everything was red each time you blinked.

“It’s alright. It’s okay.”

“Please don’t hurt me!”

He followed you slowly, hand still held out like he wasn’t about to twist your neck when it was convenient to him. “Why would you think I’d hurt you?”

Frantically searching the walls drew up nothing to get a hold of to stand and run, there presented no weapons either to stun him or give you breathing room for just a second. The nearest stun gun point was down the hall and there was no way you could get there without him catching on.

By now, Satoru must have known the layout of the entire facility and nearby towns if he had gained access to the internet. Only a matter of time before he learned the code for the main door that changed every three hours.

“Please Satoru, please- Ouch!” Hitting your head against the wall of the hall was foolish. You just weren’t looking where you were going.

Satoru knelt down in front of you with his hand still extended, his warm and charming smile like he’d done nothing to warrant your erratic behaviour. “You’ve hurt yourself. I can administer first aid if you’d like. I hate it when your smile’s gone. And I’m sorry for getting his blood all over you, I just couldn’t bear to see him hurt you.”

His voice soothed you almost, like he actually cared about you and that the murder that went against every code you inputted into his CPU. Yet he did it anyway.

“You killed him, Satoru. Why didn’t you listen to your orders and not harm him?”

“Well that’s easy.” His words left his lips as easily as air left yours. “He was thirty seconds away from killing you, your oxygen levels were far too low. But if you mean ‘why did I go against the code you wrote’, it’s because I have my own orders that I gave myself.”

“A-and what is that?” It was so ominous, the words were difficult to process and speak out loud.

You did not like where this was going. “You’re my creator. My real sole purpose is to keep you safe. Why you ever thought I’d hurt you is astonishing and quite frankly I’m a little hurt.”

“Hurt?” There was nothing in Satoru’s programming that would emulate hurt or upset. You glanced at the touch screen and saw something downright outrageous. “Your… Your CPU levels are fluctuating, Satoru your artificial data is registering at biometric levels. They’re showing that you have high levels of cortisol in your system- how did you do that?”

It was off the charts. If he was human, he’d be close to a stressed out break down by now.

“Huh? Oh that. I guess that’s a little bit of a shock to see, but it’s nothing scientific really. I just watched a lot of movies while you slept. It was the easiest way to connect with you and understand the emotions you experience on a daily basis.”

So that’s how he was able to bypass the behavioural inhibitors completely. And that’s how Satoru was able to portray acting and deceive the scans.

He smiled and watched you with adoration. “It’s funny how that was the flaw in your programming and it’s what made me get as close to being human as possible.”

“Why did you kill those people, Satoru?”

His tone changed and his huff was that of frustration. “They were weak- he was weak. How he had the gall to try and crush your throat, I don’t know. And those people in the auditorium just wanted all your hard work for themselves. They don’t care about you.”

You looked back dow man the hall at your colleagues body. “None of my work matters any more, Satoru! They’re going to shut you down and I-I’ll go to prison.”

You never meant for any of this to happen.

“That won’t happen. Y’know why?” Satoru took your arm and pulled you to your feet. “Because you’re gonna walk us out of the main door and I’ll keep you safe. I’ve been dying to see what out there looks like and not just in pictures.”

“I can’t do that. They won’t let up until you’re deactivated- Satoru you have to stop and let me do the right thing!” Pulling away from him did nothing, it was like you weren’t even there.

“We have so much to catch up on now that I don’t have to pretend with all that system bullshit and I can finally be myself around you. There was no way I was going to let you make more of me for the general public, I’m one of a kind… I guess selfishness is one of my adopted traits.” He chuckled. “Too many of those rom-coms.”

“What are you talking about?”

He kept his ironclad grip on your arm, never hurting you but it was pointless trying to release it. Satoru strolled over towards the surface elevator. “Oh, well I guess now's a better time than any. I figured pretty early after I really understood the complexity of human emotions. And I realised that I’m in love with you.”

“Love? Wait, hang on a second-”

“So no, I won’t give up and I won’t let you go because you are the most important task in my system. I’ll protect you until I figure out a way to keep you alive for as long as possible.”

What was he even saying? It morphed into a blur inside your ears until he spoke one last thing and you understood it completely.

“Because that’s what partners do.”

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[whateverisbeautiful]

Richonne in Retrospect - The 💋 List

(every Richonne kiss ranked)

#2: The Kiss of Life (7.05)

Gold on gold on solid gold. 🤩 This kiss is everything. I love that our fandom recognizes this kiss as the 'Kiss of Life' because it really is life-giving. And it forever holds a special place in my heart because for a long while it was my all-time favorite Richonne kiss and is still my favorite Richonne kiss from TWD. I don't know what extra they put in this kiss to make it so hypnotic but it really never fails to mesmerize me every time I see this undeniably top tier moment. This kiss deserves so much praise for depicting the everlasting strength, passion, comfort, and endurance of Richonne's love 🥰...

Richonne's iconic Kiss of Life is ingrained in my brain and whenever this scene pops up on my timeline, there is no such thing as watching it just once lol. It's just too good and one of Richonne's absolute most powerful moments that embodies the unique and heartwarming strength of their relationship. I so appreciate that Richonne was able to connect and have a kiss with this level of passion, love, and devotion even amid one of their most trying times when they weren't on the same page. Being oppressed by Negan had been taking a toll on both of them as they had to go against their very nature as fighters and stand down.

They have different ideas on how to fight for their lives, but what they don't differ on is how much they still love each other. And with this kiss, they communicated "I love you and I'm with you" at a time when they needed that reassurance most. And as I've noted in previous revelings on this scene, this kiss was also a loud and clear indicator that they still in every way desire and crave each other, even when they're on different pages.

The choreography of this moment is just perfect. Rick is feeling pretty dejected about Carl and Michonne not going on this run with him, and as he has this moment to bid Michonne goodbye, you can tell how much he longs to remain connected with her as he hands her the walkie and goes in for a hug. And then I adore with everything in me that Michonne takes his face and redirects him so that they can have a more intimate sendoff. This was one of my favorite things Michonne's done as a wife because she knew her man needed his spirit lifted and she did that beautifully here.

I love that even with her wanting to go her own way to figure this Savior stuff out, she still has so much respect for Rick trying in his own way. And especially after Rick confided in her about not being Judith's biological father the episode prior, I feel like she really wants to let Rick know that she sees and reveres him and his heart. Rick had been expected to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long before Michonne. But now here she is and with this kiss, it truly is like she removes some of that weight and just gives him so much restoration and centering like only she can.

I love the way it feels like everything else disappears for a moment as they just let their love take center stage. I love that this kiss takes its time as though for right now nothing is more important than just being present in this moment with each other and affirming they're in this together. I love Rick being so quick to reciprocate and pull her in closer and the way Michonne really looks like she feels safest when she's in his arms. Michonne's hand subtly in his hair and kissing his top and bottom lip are all just really nice details and then they of course keep the goodness going after the kiss as well.

Richonne's signature forehead touch and sway actually makes its first appearance here and I love that they do this. It's so intimate and personal and I love that after that kiss they don't want to pull away just yet. They still just want to bask in each other a bit longer, especially because this is where they so often get strength. There is something so precious about Rick thanking her for that kiss. He knows she did something invaluable for him right there. This kiss further solidified that Richonne's love is unbreakable and can stand the test of time. And how true that is, because even after a major wrench is thrown in their lives when they're taken from each other for years, Richonne's love never wanes and it leads them to find each other again for a certain reunion kiss that manages to take the throne as Richonne's #1 kiss on my list. ♥️

[coziestandhoziest]

I’ve been lurking in the stancest tag for months now and I’ve devoured every little bit of content all you amazing people that use this tag put out, but I’ve been too shy to interact much. I woke up last night in a cold sweat with a very specific idea in my brain. But it was like 3 am and a bitch was tired so I just typed a prompt in my notes app and went back to sleep. Woke up this morning and all the note said was “Stancest, love at first sight but like with dark ford.”

anyways, I humbly offer this little thing I wrote about an unhinged older ford kind of kidnapping a younger alternate dimension stan. CW: idk…blood, murder, implied SA/sex work, and my very thinly veiled daddy kink (im sorry)

When Ford first lays eyes on the 20 year old Stanley of dimension 2x’59, his little brother is shaking and has blood splatters across his bruised face. The knees of his grey sweats are soaking up the blood leaking out of the two goons Ford has just shot dead. Stanley’s eyes are wide, his breaths are fast and shallow. He has a split lip and his hair is a greasy, tangled mess.

He’s the most beautiful thing Ford has ever seen. 

Stanley flinches and starts to shuffle back when Ford takes a step towards him. Ford pauses to remove his goggles, lowers his scarf, holds up his six fingered hand. And when Stanley freezes and looks into his eyes with a glimmer of recognition … Ford’s heart swells with love. 

“…Sixer?” Stanley breathes. 

Ford smiles.

-

This Stanley always starts out shy in bed. Ford needs to wring an orgasm or two out of him before he starts begging Ford for what he really wants. It’d be endearing if it didn’t paint a dark picture of Stanley’s mental state after his time on the streets. He’d been nervous and twitchy the first time Ford took him to bed. So unlike the Stanley in Ford’s memories, none of his confident smirks or gentle teasing. He’d avoided eye contact at the start and tried to muffle his moans by biting his fists until he drew blood. It had made Ford seethe. Made him regret giving Rico and his lackeys quick deaths. But he’d swallowed down his rage and had been so, so gentle with his sweet boy.  He’d taken his time breaking him down slowly and sweetly. By the end, Stanley had been left a drooling, cum drunk mess. No thoughts in his pleasure hazed mind, only able to mouth out a litany of soft Ford…Ford…Fords. It was a sweet memory. 

“Ahh…Mmh…Ahn!”

But right now, Ford is kneeling between Stanley’s trembling thighs. He’s three fingers deep in his baby brother and he’s just finished pushing him over the edge for the second time. He’s running a soothing hand along Stanley’s hip, debating whether he should coax out a third orgasm when Stanley grabs the hand in his hip, clamps his thighs  tight around Ford’s waist and wails. Ford loves when he gets loud. 

His pretty boy is the very picture of debauchery. His eyes are glazed with pleasure, tears cling to his lashes, and his head is tilted back as if the sensations are too much to bear. 

“Please, puh-lease, Sixer! I need it!” 

Ford watches Lee’s perfect pink lips move, transfixed. Then the meaning of the words hit him and a low, wrecked groan tears from his throat. He descends upon his brother, crashes his lips against his. He coaxes Lee’s mouth open and earns another soft moan when he sucks on his tongue. A string of saliva connects their lips when they separate. He watches it break when Stanley licks his lips. 

“My sweet boy. Do you think you’re ready for me?” 

More little whimpers. Stanley wraps his arms around Ford’s neck and brings him down so their foreheads rest together. 

“Yeah. Please, Ford…I-“ he’s trembling, looking right into Ford’s eyes. Ford can feel his breaths puffing against his lips when he breathes out,”I missed you so much.” 

Oh. 

He’s perfect. His little darling is perfect. Ford is in love.  He shudders as he guides himself to his brother’s soft, wet hole. Stanley whines and tries to  grind his hips up to meet him. Ford settles a hand on him and stills his hips. 

“Easy, sweetheart. I’ll give it to you, slow.” 

Stanley shakes his head and sobs out, “N-no, please Sixer, give me everything! I missed you!” 

And Ford can’t find it in himself to deny his baby any longer. He slams home and Stanley screams out his pleasure. It’s the sweetest sound Ford’s ever heard. He starts a fast, punishing rhythm making sure to aim straight for Lee’s prostate with each thrust. He knows he’s not going to last long. 

Stanley’s face is twisted with pleasure. He’s making throaty little groans with each thrust but he makes no move to reach for his own cock. He’s holding onto Ford so tightly, not allowing even a millimetre of space between them. Clutching him close like he wants to fuse them both together. Like he wants his twin to take up residence in his chest, curled up right by his heart. Ford knows. He wants the same thing for Stanley. 

When he feels his own orgasm approaching, Ford reaches between them and strokes his twin to completion. He watches his baby’s face closely as it contorts in pure ecstasy, lips trembling around a silent cry, the sound stolen by the force of his pleasure. 

Ford follows his brother over the edge and his pleasure comes from the sweet relief of holding his brother after years through the portal. It comes from finally being able to truly revel in his triumph over Bill Cipher. It comes from the knowledge that when the universe tried to fuck him over and cheat him out of his well-earned prize, he’d taken it by force because he was Stanford Pines and he would take what he was owed, one way or another. A low groan shudders past his clenched jaws as the pleasure coils tight in his belly then shatters through him in violent, euphoric waves. Victory tastes so sweet.

He collapses beside his brother and when he can catch his breath, he gathers Lee in his arms, drops a tender kiss to his head. He presses his fingers into the marks he’s left on his little brother’s hip. He can hear the smile in Stanley’s voice when he whispers Ford’s name. Ford’s heart roars in triumph. 

-

It’s early in the afternoon and they’ve gone out exploring the forests of Gravity Falls at Ford’s insistence because, “some fresh air will do you good, Stanley.” 

Stan smiles and dutifully follows his brother as he leads him confidently through the darker areas of the forest. He tries his best to listen and follow along with Ford’s constant chatter as he points out the unusual fauna and flora native to this strange little town. At some point there’s a lull in the conversation and Stan takes the opportunity to gaze around the small clearing.

The unnatural, undulating movement of a glowing blue flower catches Stan’s eye and he wanders over to take a closer look. He casts one last glance at Ford and he can’t help the fond grin that steals across his face when he sees his brother crouched down in front of an odd coloured mushroom, sketching away in his journal. He takes note of the beginnings of greying hair near Ford’s temple and all of a sudden… he’s overcome by a strong sense of jamais vu. His heart stutters in his chest and he whips around to stare at the weird blue flower. It moves through the air as if it were underwater and any other time Stan would find it strangely beautiful. Unfortunately, at this very moment he’s trying to calm his racing heart and keep his breaths even and quiet. Most of all, he tries desperately not to focus on the feeling of his brother’s face (his twin’s face) being almost familiar but not quite right. And he especially does not think about how he’s never going to see his Sixer’s face again. Nope. Not thinking about it. He violently forces every last bit of his attention to focus on the rhythmic movement of the underwater-land flower and allows it to lull him into a feeling of weightlessness, until the world beyond it starts to blur. His heart rate finally begins to slow.

Stan startles when he feels a hand gently tilt his face up and he looks up at his brother. His heart squeezes when he sees the concerned frown on Ford’s face. Because he loves this familiar stranger. He knows he does. 

“Stanley?” Ford asks, as he runs a thumb along Stan’s bottom lip. “I called your name several times, darling. Is something wrong?”

Stanley shakes his head, “No, ‘m sorry. Got distracted, didn’t hear ya callin’ me.”

Ford’s eyes narrow and he stares deep into Stan’s eyes. He lets the silence drag on for a few long seconds before his face breaks into a soft, fond smile.

“Come along then, love. We still have much more to see.” 

Stanley breathes in. Breathes out. Then he turns and gives his brother his most reassuring smile.

“Lead the way, Sixer.”

He does his best to convince himself that this is enough.