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steppin-on-the-last-train · 20 hours ago

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The End of Love

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Although I encourage everyone to read this, full disclosure it is male!reader. I tried to keep specified pronoun use to a minimum, but it can’t always be helped. There might be some mental rewriting required if you decide to go on.

Synopsis:

“You think too much,” she says.

You can’t argue with that. Because now that you’re looking at her in the light and you’re so close you can see each fractal of green in her eyes you're thinking there’s nothing more intimate than this.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

Or, a look at who Natasha Romanoff was before the Avengers. Told through the eyes of the person who loved her the most.

Word Count: 43,000

Foreword: I wrote most of these scenes out of order and then proceeded to edit nothing so if something disagrees with something later on that’s why.

Acknowledgements: One) Title from the song with the same name by Florence + The Machine. Two) The final scene with Willem is indeed a copy from that scene in Good Will Hunting. Three) All rights to the original media.

It’s spring and something has shifted. You’re in bed with her when the feeling hits you. You are in bed together, legs twisted together under the sheets, the callous pads of her feet warm against the inside of your calf. You wonder if she feels it too.

You’ve been like this for hours. Nothing more, not tonight. Just the simple act of breathing in tandem with someone. Of holding tight until you don’t know how you could ever part again.

She likes you because you are hers. Her mission partner, her choice, hers. There is power in choosing who you give yourself over to. And you understand but you prefer this. You hate to disappoint her, to stop her after just a kiss, knowing there is want for much more.

But her head is tucked beneath your chin and she’s so close she might as well have burrowed herself inside you and you hope it’s enough. Because this is safe. Her, always. But there are some things which you can’t speak. So she starts with a kiss on your cheek and you end with a kiss on her lips.

You are not at peace, but for now, wrapped in her arms and the scent of something that is so distinctly her, you are content. And you’ve done this so many times before, too many but somehow not enough all at once.

The first time had been after your plane went down shy of returning to the Red Room. You were smaller then, less muscle and too long limbs and grief enough to suffocate. The walk back had taken two nights to complete. You would freeze to death if you didn’t share body heat after the sun went down. You both knew this. You slept back to back, bundled in extra shirts and the parachute from the jet. You both pretended you didn’t trust each other just a little more in the morning.

Now you roll and stretch and Natalia makes a small noise of protest. You tell her you’re getting a glass of water, ask if she wants one too. She doesn’t answer.

The air in the motel room is stale and the light in the bathroom stutters like a heartbeat trying to stave off death. You fill a glass under the tap and drink until it’s empty again. Your breath wavers ever so slightly. You push down on the countertop a little too hard, your palms beginning to sweat.

Then she’s behind you with a steady hand creating a rhythm of up-down, up-down on your back. You had tried to be silent, hoping she would not notice. You didn’t want her to see you like this. But she extricated herself from the warmth of the bed to be by your side anyway.

She knows you. And it’s terrifying.

She is not gentle but in these moments she is human, and so are you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You are not a person who apologizes. So you say it when the only thing it can mean is nothing. When it’s as weightless as the breath from which it comes from.

“It’s okay.” She is not a person who forgives. She is both the bullet and the finger behind the trigger. She is the dazzling starlet who shines the light in your eyes so you do not feel the knife in your back.

Your reflections in the mirror do not feel real. You make a point not to look too closely. Because when you do you see with the eyes of those who would put a bullet in your head for this. No, not quite. Because they would do much worse.

Lately you’ve been dividing time by the moments with Natalia and the moments in between. By one stolen night followed by a week, five weeks, a dozen. You never know. And it’s an adjustment because you can’t quite pinpoint the moment you stopped sleeping down the hall from her more nights than not.

You spend the time without her taking orders, putting on the Taskmaster mask, leaving messages in the form of bodies with sword-shaped slits. Then you’re still taking orders but wearing a different sort of mask, one where they can see your face but still can’t see you and you’re shaking hands and learning real politics is nothing like what you’ve studied.

“You see what sort of dogs I have to deal with?” General Dreykov asks. Ever since the military dress uniform appeared in your room and you flew to Moscow as his “second” he’s been speaking to you more and more as a peer. Far from most of the time. But occasionally. Enough for you to remember and collect like they were some sort of medal.

And Madame B, who has always detested you for being too emotional, had finally seemed to approve. One day on your way out after you had been training some of the young recruits she spoke to you across the wasteland of the dance studio. You stopped at the doorway to turn back toward her, but she stayed facing the wall like it was a window to another studio where she must judge a dozen more girls with bleeding feet.

“I never understood why he kept you around.” She always spoke clipped, enunciating each syllable like the crack of a cane. “You were an insolent child. Yes, you can dance but this power makes you think you’re invincible.” You watched her, too stunned to feel indignant about the criticism, too apprehensive to notice how small she was now that you were grown. “But. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea to rear you here. You will lead with an iron fist. And most importantly, you will understand.”

You left without saying anything.

What was there to understand. This place was all you knew.

You come back with a hand on your cheek. Natalia is staring into your eyes like they reflect the answer to life. But if your eyes were mirrors all she’d see was herself.

“You think too much,” she says.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

She asks you to come back to bed. You nod and follow her into the dark. She is sitting up. On your stomach you drape yourself over the edge of the mattress and take her hand. Already you mourn this night. You cannot enjoy the time you have when you don’t know if it will be your last. You have become far too important to each other.

You can tell she feels the same. Misery has settled over the both of you like a cold, wet snow. She is tense as she runs her fingers through your hair. You lay your head in her lap and close your eyes against the danger lurking outside.

It is spring and something has shifted.

—

And it is that stupid feeling which makes you turn yourself over to the Americans after she is captured. That feeling which has transformed since you were small and angry. That feeling which has always been evolving; this new chapter taking an ugly turn. Perhaps you have let this go on for too long.

You are grown now, but still very much full of rage.

They show you a file they have on you which you think looks very hastily put together. Because they would have no reason to suspect you of anything. That’s the way your life has been curated. There is what you do in the daylight and what you do in the dark with a skull mask over your face and a hood over your head. These people are not the same.

But you’ve made a purposefully big mess on American soil as Taskmaster and they’ve finally connected his face with the official headshot of one Junior Lieutenant of the Russian military.

Is this you, they ask and despite the handcuffs cutting into your wrists and the four guards with guns on their hips you laugh and call the man asking an idiot. The other guy is your twin brother.

You don’t think he appreciated your answer because the next thing you know you’re being cuffed on the ear.

Along with the picture of you in your official uniform there is a mugshot of you from the day they brought you in. You don’t often see photos of yourself. The guy in this one looks dangerous. There are also two very grainy, very dark photographs pulled from security cameras of a figure who might be you from assassination runs you went on. You recognize yourself in one, and you’re pretty sure the other is of someone in a Halloween costume.

They’ve taken you in with nothing but the clothes on your back and your weapons and a watch of Dreykov’s he had given you a few years ago.

Even though your stomach is empty and your face is bruised you don’t help them put the pieces together. You tell them the same thing you’ve been saying. You know they have the Black Widow. You want to talk to her.

And weeks later when they think they have broken you down and built you back up with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s name around your neck they let you out of your cell.

The guy who slapped you that first day is your new handler. His name is Richard Kremer. You don’t think he likes you all that much. He’s old and he acts like he can go back and win the Cold War if he gets you to roll over.

But you’ve learned he can’t hit you now that you’re not a prisoner. So when you tell him you know his type, that he probably got discharged from field service because he broke down and nailed some kid in the head all he can do is tell you to shut up. I’m right, aren’t I? You ask and he is silent. Oh come on G.I. Joe. He tells you to get out and you happily oblige.

It is when you are outside on the track one day that you finally see Natalia again. You are allowed time outside with supervision–like you are a dog–and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see the sun. It’s just you, the rubber beneath your feet, and the wind in your hair. Because you are not worried about the rookie who’s been assigned to watch you. You can pretend you are somewhere else. You can pretend you are running back home instead of pacing holes through this American ground.

You tense when you hear another pair of steps. You do not want to go back inside. Five more minutes. But you look over your shoulder and the figure has bright red hair and astonishment in her eyes.

You are so surprised to see her because you thought maybe you weren’t going to again that you stumble in your haste to stop. You skid and your feet fly out from beneath you. You catch yourself on your hands, bits of track sticking to your palms.

Natalia laughs and you can’t fight the grin on your face. She offers a hand and you take it. You let her pull you to your feet. She doesn’t stop there. She is strong and you fall into her. You throw yourself over her, wrapping your free arm around her back. Your hands are still clamped tightly together. You are too relieved to see she is okay to care about who may be watching. Let them see. They know why you came here. And right now, she feels so familiar.

She pulls away first. “You’re here,” she breathes, eyes wide. Her irises glitter in the sunlight. “Блять. I didn’t believe it.”

“You’re okay,” you say, still breathless. “They didn’t kill you. I thought they were going to kill you.”

“No, they didn’t.” She grows serious, the initial shock wearing off. “Change of plans, I guess.”

You switch to Russian now because you are finally leaving this place. “What idiots. To spare us both. Natalia, we can be out of here tonight.”

She stares at you for a moment, looking guilty. Finally, she shakes her head and very slowly explains, “I’m not going back to Russia. I’m staying here with S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve come to an agreement. I’m going to defect.” You are bewildered and it must show in the whites of your eyes because she reassures, “I’m okay. This is my choice.”

You don’t know what to think, much less what to say. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter how they’re threatening you. I can get you out.”

“I’m not under threat.”

You narrow your eyes at her and back up a step. They must have messed with her mind, then. Because the Natalia you know would never do this. She was vicious like the edge of a blade and she was strong-headed like no one you’ve ever met. She could not be harnessed.

She grabs your hands. “Look at me. I’m still here.” You jerk because it is like she can read your mind. “It is better here,” she says. “They’ve offered me freedom and protection. That’s all.”

“How could you–” you start, but words don’t feel like enough to convey your disbelief. You shake your head. This can’t be happening. Because you’ve quit and run without permission. You were going to get forgiveness on your return. But you can’t go back without her. You tell yourself it’s because they wouldn’t accept that kind of failure, but you think she would be a tolerable loss compared to you. No. You don’t want to go anywhere without her. “You have to go back. We need to go back. I came here to free you from them.”

“And I’m telling you there’s nothing to free me from,” she says. “I’m using them to free myself.”

But you don’t hear her. You leave, a new word coloring the image of her.

Traitor.

And she’s dragged you to hell with her.

—

Inside your pillowcase is the newest spot you’ve chosen to hide your stash of stolen items. It’s not much, a rock from outside, a fork from the cafeteria, a broken matchstick you found on the ground.

You are not allowed to have things. Nothing is yours, they tell you. Everything is shared as part of the collective. Don’t get caught up in the scheme of materialism. That’s why everyone takes turns doing the laundry and scrubbing down the showers and disposing of waste. But you don’t really want these things to own. You only do it because they tell you not to.

They found your collection when you put it under your bed and when you began carrying the things in your pockets. Both times they beat you for it. You’re sure they’ll find this one and make you count to fifty instead of twenty-five but there is something rotten inside you and you can’t help it. Maybe after this time they’ll finally thresh it out.

It is night and you grope through the dark until you find the items. You find all three tucked safely where you left them. But something else pokes your finger as you retrieve your things. Your hand grasps a fourth item and you can’t see it but it feels like a small needle. You don’t remember taking this. Did someone put it here? How did they know about your stash?

You lay curled on your side and take turns holding each item. You decide the mystery object is definitely a sewing needle. Maybe you did take it and you forgot. You move on. You’ve found a good rock this time. It is small and smooth and almost perfectly round.

You think about throwing it at Madame T’s head. Then, you hide them again and fall asleep.

You wake up with a cold hand over your mouth. You slap it away and tackle the offending person to the floor before you’ve formed your first conscious thought.

“Сука!” She hisses as her back lands on the wooden floor and you sit on her stomach. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

You stare down at the vague outline of a body before you slowly let her up. “When you stop waking me up by choking me out.”

“I’m not choking you. And it’s not my fault you cry in your sleep. I’m helping you. Would you rather have a guard come in here?”

“I do not cry in my sleep.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Yes you do. Like a little baby.” You imagine her smirking through the dark. You don’t know who keeps visiting you in the night, only that it’s the same girl each time and she’s probably in your class. You can’t see anything at night here. You know her voice, but there is little speaking during the day. And none of the girls talk to you anyway. Her hair is a little past shoulder length, but that’s the way most of theirs is.

And she won’t tell you who she is.

“Shut up,” you say, shoving her in the shoulder.

“Hey, no fighting in the dark. It’s not fair.”

“I’ll stop when you tell me who you are.”

“What, so you can rat me out?” You’re sitting close so you don’t have to talk very loud. You can feel her breath against your face.

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

She laughs. It is too bitter a sound for someone your age. “Like that means anything.”

“I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

She shakes her head, hair swishing against your cheek. “You haven’t yet. And you never will.”

“Yes I will.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Yes,” you say, pouncing on top of her. You’ve taken her by surprise. She reacts quickly, rolling the two of you an extra time so she can sit on your chest.

“I’m too good for you,” she says.

“Arrogance will get you killed,” you retort. You struggle beneath her but you’re about the same size and she knows exactly how to pin you down.

“That’s a big word for you. Who’d you copy that one from?”

You ignore her, still focused on trying to get up.

“Stuck?” She asks, her voice light. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, Markov.” She lets you up and pads toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Another week passes and something else appears inside your pillowcase. It’s a ribbon from a ballet shoe. You take it out and hold it up in the light of day. You know for sure, you did not take this. Someone else was messing with you. Or helping, you don’t really know.

You watch the girls around you. There are the mean ones–which are most of them–and the nice ones–of which there used to be more. You think it’s one of the nice ones who comes to you at night because she is waking you from bad sleep. But then again she likes to argue and wrestle with you. So maybe it’s a mean one.

You keep fighting and dancing and learning things like how to blend into a crowd and how to craft the perfect lie. You don’t find out who’s been adding things to your collection. But you hope you do before the guards find this new hiding spot.

They find it when you have to strip your bed for laundry day and realize you have nowhere to hide the new things. You stuff it all in your pockets again and they call you stupid for not learning your lesson last time. So they drag you screaming and kicking downstairs and strip you naked. You bite one of them when they try to tie your hands to the pole because you remember what they told you would happen for the third time you were caught stealing. A boot collides with the side of your head and you go limp for a second. The big things in your life make you forget how small you are.

There is a moment to breathe and for the ringing in your ears to subside. Then, just as the world refocuses, hellfire is released upon your backside.

You lay upstairs on your stomach and do not sleep. There are deep trenches of blood carved into your back. You could barely crawl into your unmade bed after they dumped you back on the floor in your room.

You find a flower when you have to go outside the next day. It is bright and yellow and a rarity out here where everything is dead most of the year. You don’t take it.

The fourth night after you finally sleep, your body forcing itself to shut down despite the pain. You are getting better. But not fast enough.

You only groan when you wake and realize there’s a hand on your face.

“Shhh,” she says. Then she is silent. You think she is looking at the door.

You push yourself up, drawing blood as you bite your lip. You slide into the corner away from her. “I can’t do this tonight,” you say. “I’m so tired.”

“I had to. It was going to be them or me.” She pauses. Then, slowly, the mattress dips as she climbs onto the bed.

“I’m serious,” you say. You are hurting and she is strong. She cannot know this. “It’s not fucking funny anymore.”

“Geez, I’m not going to hurt you,” she says. “I would’ve done that a long time ago if I wanted to. Here. Take this.”

“I can’t see you.”

“You are impossible.” She brushes your arm. You recoil. She grabs your hand. It feels odd, like she’s trying to be gentle. She flips your palm up and places something in your open hand. It’s soft and delicate and feels a little like rubber. You roll it carefully through your fingers. You brush your other hand over the top and feel the petals. They are silky. Nothing can compare. It still smells like outside, like life.

You realize she is the one who has been collecting prizes for you.

“You’re trying so hard to watch out for me you forget I’m looking out for you too,” she says.

“I can’t take this,” you say. “They’ll find it. You have to take it back.”

“No,” she says. “Scoot over.”

You obey, trying to hide how much it hurts to move. She takes your spot in the corner and you hear a ripping sound. “What are you doing?” You hiss.

She doesn’t answer. “Give me the flower.” You hand it to her, brushing her hand as you do. You wait in silence until she turns back around. “There’s a little hole in your mattress. I put it in there. They won’t find it. I promise.”

“Like that means anything,” you say, mimicking her tone. And as you do, you realize who you’re speaking to. It just clicked. You know this voice. “Natalia.”

“Look who’s finally earned his detective badge.” You wish you could see her smile instead of just hearing it.

—

You stay at S.H.I.E.L.D., thinking she will see sense eventually. You can’t leave the campus yet so you spend a lot of time wandering and watching. You count how many paces it takes to get from one building to another, estimate how quickly you could run. You look up at the buildings, wonder if you could climb any of them. Every day that passes is excruciating. You can feel the Red Room getting farther away. It’s been far too long since you’ve been in contact with them. You haven’t had the chance to tell them you’re coming back. That you’re not a traitor.

The only thing that makes life bearable is Natalia. She said she just wants to be called Natasha now and it confuses you even more. She really is changing.

You tell them you want to defect too. You pretend like you are fine. Like you are not in fact drowning.

You spend time in Natalia’s room, which is exactly like yours but she has a couple of books and a badly drawn picture of what looks like a person. You can’t really tell.

You point to it. “What’s this?”

She smiles. She’s been doing a lot more of that lately. It’s certainly not the worst thing. “It’s you. In your combat suit. You like it? Clint drew it.”

“He must be some kind of artist then. I could barely tell that that thing was a human.”

She laughs, and for a second the sound makes you forget how she has turned traitor. Because it is sweet and real and uniquely hers. “Look,” she says pointing. “This is your mask. See the eyes and the jawbone?”

“So those are teeth?”

“Yeah. And this arc is the hood, and these lines are the cape.”

“What are those?”

“Your katanas.”

“Why are there five of them?”

“There’s not. These are the swords,” she says, pointing to two lines angled toward the bottom of the page. She moves her finger to three lines above the figure’s head. “I think these are anger lines.”

“Anger lines?”

“Yeah. To signify danger. You know you’re pretty scary in that thing.”

You shrug. “Sure, I guess. And what did I do to have this honor?” You ask.

“You put yourself on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shit list.” She takes her attention from the sketch and looks at you. “Clint said they didn’t know who they had at first, so he drew me this.”

“And you kept it.”

“I needed decoration. What’s better than a picture of you?” She smirks and nudges you in the ribs. “Like a guardian angel.”

You nod because she’s flirting with you and it’s making your head spin just a little bit. You like her even though you know you shouldn’t and you think she likes you too. You aren’t dating because people like you don’t ‘date’ but there’s something, just below the surface. Like an undertow waiting to drag you under if you wade out too far. You can sense it, like a coming storm.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Why did they send you after me? And in such a dramatic fashion. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know,” you lie. No one sent you. Maybe you were already out in the middle of the ocean. “You’re the best they’ve got. There’s two dozen widows but there’s a reason you’re the one everyone’s been chasing.”

She shakes her head. “No. You’re the best they’ve got. Dreykov would never trade you for me.” She’s looking at you like she knows you’re lying. You hate to find that there’s hope in her expression. Like she’s waiting for a confession. But the truth is unacceptable. You cannot say you ran after her like a prince in a storybook. You cannot open yourself up.

She has never hurt you. And you will not give her the opportunity now.

So you gamble on the chance she doesn’t know for sure. You shrug and look away. Because you’ve never been as good as her at hiding things. “Guess he did.” You open your mouth again.

“I’m not going back,” she interrupts because she knows what you’re going to say. She puts a hand on your chest, the other on your cheek. “We can make a place for ourselves here.” Despite her conviction she still sounds disappointed. Doesn’t she know she’s won?

“I know,” you say.

Eventually a month goes by but you have not left. By some sickness she has you trapped. This is why Dreykov had warned you against the widows. Because they spun and they lied and now you could not bear to leave her in this strange place.

There are weekly mandatory shrink sessions you must attend as part of your agreement. You aren’t cleared for missions unless you get their green light. It’s a whole fraud that seems to have everyone in this country up in arms but you are sure it’s just S.H.I.E.L.D. trying another clever way to extract information from you. The discussions at least have been mildly amusing. You don’t have much else to focus on right now.

You’ve been transferred to a different “professional” twice now. The first one had obviously been scared of you so you played into it. He was asking you about your life and about guilt so you spent the entire hour making up stories that were unbelievable even by your standards. You told him your job used to be to torture political enemies and captured agents. You stared him down and tried to blink as little as possible when you told him you enjoyed skinning them alive and hearing them scream.

So the next time you go in it’s office 109 instead of 212 and there’s a woman instead of a man. She’s kooky and has you lay on a couch as she asks about your childhood. So you tell her a story too.

“My father,” you start, even though you hadn’t had one since you were six years old. But none of these people knew anything from where you came from. “He was a terrible alcoholic. He used to slap my face and shake me like a rag doll. I mean, is that what a real man is supposed to be?”

“No, honey. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. Go on,” she says. “How did that make you feel?”

“It made me so angry, doc. So one day I said to him, ‘I’m gonna show you what I’m made of.’ I grab his shotgun that he keeps under his bed and blam! Gunpowder and lead.” You open your eyes and her face is looming over you, confusion starting to bloom. You break out singing, because this is the good part. “I’m goin’ home, gonna load my shotgun. Wait by the door and light a cigarette. He wants a fight, well, now he’s got one. And he ain’t seen me crazy yet!”

You’re smiling because you heard the song on the radio once and you’d remembered it and the singer’s accent after all these years. Her confusion has turned to anger and suddenly the session is over. Oh no.

Kremer has a talk with you after this incident. He tells you to cut the shit and sit through it like everyone else does. Then he reminds you what will happen if either him or one of these therapists deems you unfit for work at S.H.I.E.L.D. But you don’t care. They’re not going to get the best of you twice.

But you go another week to a new office with something to prove. You’ve got a winning streak to maintain. This guy has glasses and graying hair and a stomach that’s a little round. There are shelves and shelves of books and you pace the room, grazing your hand over the spines.

“You got one in here that’s going to tell you how to fix me?”

“Hello,” he says. “My name is Dr. Francis, but you can call me Willem.” He is soft spoken and you think you can break him like you did the first one. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Okay Willem. Sure.” You slouch across from him in a chair level with his. He’s not behind a desk like the first man or hovering over you like the woman.

“Do you like to read?” He asks, because you’re still scanning the shelves.

You used to, but not really anymore. “I’m not working here because I’m some genius who sits around reading all day.”

“No. Certainly not.” Was he making fun of you? “Has anyone told you how this works?”

You shake your head.

“Well I, along with my colleagues, are not ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.’ We’re privately contracted. You know what that means, yes?”

“It means you probably get more money for sitting around and talking nonsense all day.”

“Sure. You’re not wrong. But it also means I don’t owe S.H.I.E.L.D. anything. Whatever is said in this room stays in this room. My only obligation is to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself or others.”

You eye him and his cardigan, wondering how he could walk out of the house with something like that on. “That’s what I’ve been missing!” You snap your fingers. “You’ve got my full trust now Willem, goodness I can’t believe what a great resource this is. What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”

He chuckles. “You’re funny, aren’t you?”

“I’m only as serious as this whole charade is,” you say gesturing around at the office which looks so out of place here at S.H.I.E.L.D. The clutter on his desk in the corner, the old wood furnishing, the acoustic guitar lying among stacks of books. “But okay sure. Let’s say you’re not going to turn around and blab to Kremer so he can be more efficient about making my life harder. You’re only here to make sure I’m not a danger.” You make little air quotes with your hands when you say this. “You do know what kind of missions are conducted here, no?”

“Of course. I did my time in the military.”

“Really?”

“This surprises you.”

“Yeah, I mean, come on,” you wave your hand at him. “I could kill you with my eyes closed.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have no doubt you could. But as I was saying. I don’t mean you can’t be dangerous. Just that you have to know when to pick it up and put it away. For example, now was not the time to threaten me with mortal violence.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, getting out of the chair. You couldn’t do that. Violence was who you were. And you were tired of this anyhow.

You make it to the back wall where there’s a window and on the sill there’s a picture frame. You pick it up, showing it to him. “Is this your family? Your kids are pretty cute.”

“Watch it,” he says.

You flip the frame around and look down at it. “How old are they? The little one can’t be older than eight, no? What a shame I know her father’s name.”

Maybe it’s because you don’t actually plan to find his family or maybe it’s because you’ve underestimated him that your heart pounds when you look up and he’s in your space with a serious look on his face.

“Don’t fuck with my family or I will end you.”

“Touchy, touchy,” you say.

“Get out.”

And that’s how your first interaction goes. So you’re surprised the next week when you hear you’ve been ordered back with Dr. Francis.

You stroll into the office like nothing ever happened. “You again. How are your kids doing?”

“Shut up and sit down,” he says.

You mock pout but sit anyway.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“You’ve got my file. I’m sure it says somewhere in there.”

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you.” He’s wearing another ridiculous outfit. A gray polo shirt with a brown patched cardigan.

“So you can make some big point about how I’m young and don’t know anything, right?” You ask. Because this feels awfully familiar.

You remember a time when you were twelve and told this Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) officer named Evgenia you were eighteen when she asked. Zhenya laughed and said, yeah right, if you’re eighteen then I’m forty. When you’d finally told the truth she looked at you funny. Do you know what this assignment is? You told her this was a joint mission to take out high-ranking members of a certain Russian mob family who had overstepped the line between civilian and state.

You’re a little young for this, no? She’d asked.

No one had ever given pause because of your age before. You assured her you were capable of this assignment.

She let it go but didn’t stop calling you “kid” for the whole two weeks. You hated it until you realized she didn’t mean it in a bad way. It was kind of nice, actually. To feel looked after. Carrying things on your own was so exhausting.

She made you try Oreshki as you sat in a hotel working on the mission reports because she couldn’t believe you’d never had it. Then she asked what your parents were feeding you at home because she’d never seen someone your age so strong. You told her your parents were dead and she’d stared at you for a few minutes. You pretended not to notice.

When it was time to go back she told you to look after yourself. She seemed reluctant to let you go.

You assured her you would be fine. You always were.

Now you stare at Willem and wonder where he wants to go with this question.

“Something like that,” he says. “Come on, it won’t hurt you.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” you lie. Because there’s no way the number in the file isn’t just an estimate.

He’s quick with his response. “No you’re not.”

You’re about to tell him yes, you are but there’s something in his eyes, in his posture. He’s confident you’ve lied. “Fine. I’m twenty-two. Happy?”

“Exactly. You’re twenty-two. You’re a kid. You’ve barely reached the age we let kids have alcohol in this country. Tell me, have you ever read anything by Shakespeare?” You shake your head. “You ever swam in the ocean?” Another no. “Been to an art museum? Hiked up a mountain? Fallen in love?”

You stop him then. “Love is a scam. It’s some great ideal everyone chases like an idiot because they think their worth resides with another person. It’s an opiate for the masses. You tell someone they’ll be fulfilled if they find this ‘love’ and they’ll blind themselves in pursuit of it. People are more easily controlled when they are distracted by emotion.”

“I don’t think so. And I’ve been in love for twenty years. Almost as long as you’ve been on this earth. Love has brought me great joy and great sorrow. But you wouldn’t know about that. About giving yourself over to someone else. About allowing someone to open your eyes, to challenge you. I am not distracted by emotion, and even if I was I wouldn’t care. Because at least I’ve lived.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He raises a hand. “Or you’re a coward. You want to think you’re above it all. You had Dr. Casey thinking you were a psychopath. You wanted me to think you were a monster. But you’re not. You’re a scared kid with his chest puffed out. You’re the kid who pushes others on the playground because you’re getting pushed at home. But guess what. I can’t be pushed.

You’re scared to talk because you don’t know what might come out. Scared to let people in because you think they won’t like what they see. How many people have you talked to since you’ve been here? How many people knew you, and I mean really knew you back in Russia? What about that young woman who got here a couple weeks before you? You’re unique. I’ll bet I’ve never met someone like you and I never will again. So I can’t get anywhere, I can’t start if you don’t help me. You have to talk to me.”

And after that he dismisses you, just like that.

The next time you come back the ball is in your court. He doesn’t talk to you, just sits and stares expectantly. Well two could play that game. You’ll show him you won’t talk if you don’t want to. So you sit and count away the seconds and leave when the hour is up.

Another week passes and you’re in his office again. And he’s silent, again.

You won’t be the one to break. But you’re looking at the guitar on the stand in the corner with all its dust and you think it’s as safe a conversation starter as any.

“Do you play?” You ask, nodding at the instrument.

Willem sits up and blinks a couple times like he hadn’t been expecting you to speak. “No. Not really anymore. And to be honest I could never really play even when I used it. Shame, it’s a beautiful instrument.” He gets up to retrieve the guitar and begins to tune it. “I’ve never really had the ear for music.” He plucks at a string and goes onto the next one.

“Wait,” you say. “Go back. That one’s not right.”

“Too flat or too sharp?”

“What?” Just turn it a little more.” He complies and finally it sounds right. You nod and he goes to the next.

“I didn’t peg you as the musical type,” he says as he plays and you nod or shake your head.

“I’m not. Just a feeling, I guess. I know what notes sound like.”

“But you don’t know this is the ‘E string?’”

“No, nothing like that. I can play a song though.”

“Let’s hear it then, champ.”

He hands you the guitar and you play a song you saw someone playing one time on a mission in Mexico City. There are the movements of the man in the street who had captivated you to stop and watch, and there are your own hands, years later, mirroring his.

When the song finishes Willem is quiet, then asks, “When did you learn that?”

“I didn’t really learn,” you shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Saw a guy do it once. Copied what he did.”

“Do you know what chords you used? Can you play anything else?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

You smile, because you have impressed him. “Neat party trick, huh?”

“Seems like it could be more than just a party trick.”

You tilt your head back and forth because he’s right but you don’t want to talk about that. “I don’t use it to sing pretty songs, that’s for sure. Where’d this interest of yours come from anyway?”

“My wife got it for me actually. When we were overseas I used to go on and on about missing music. About how I was butthurt having to join the army because it meant I never got to learn how to play the guitar. And she remembered. And the first Christmas after we got home, even though we barely had enough money to get by, she got me this. That’s part of what love is.”

“She’s ex-military too, then?”

“Yes,” he says, like he’s trying to recapture an old dream. “Let me tell you something. Wait, actually, this first. You ever been in a warzone?”

You hesitate for a second and he must see the debate in your mind so he clarifies.

“I mean a real warzone. Out in the trenches with a couple hundred other guys trying to fall asleep to the sound of bomb fire. Not knowing who’s going to have their leg blown off or their head opened up before the next sunrise. Knowing you’re all out there as nothing but cannon fodder, that everything they told you about the army before you left was nothing but a load of horseshit. And you ate it because your life was shit too.” You shake your head. “Well, it’s damn lousy. You have to keep each other’s chins up somehow. There was this joker in my squad, you see. Terrible sense of humor but we all laughed anyhow because things were just that bad. One day, she looks over at me and says, “Imagine this. Two fish are in a tank. One looks at the other and says, ‘Hey, do you know how to drive this thing?’””

You blink at him but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “That has to be the most awful joke I’ve ever heard.”

“It is!” Willem agrees. “But you know what? That’s the moment I fell in love with my wife.”

Now you are surprised. “Because she told you a bad joke?”

“No. Because she was so serious she didn’t know how to be funny but she always cracked herself up anyhow. And I loved her for it.”

“She was?”

“Pardon?”

“You said she was serious. Is she dead?”

“No. We are,” he pauses, quieter now. “We are separated for now. I suppose it’s been long enough that I've started talking about her in the past tense.”

“But you said she’s your wife.”

“She still is, nothing’s official, but,” he trails off, like he’s given up already.

“What?” You smirk. “You cheat on her? She cheat on you? Found some other guy who thought she was pretty and laughed at her dumb jokes?” When he doesn’t react you try something else. “You beat her up?” His head snaps to you and his eyes harden like you’ve pulled out a gun. “That’s it, isn’t it? You talk about war and all this stuff like I need a lesson but you can’t even handle it yourself so you spend all night drinking and you come home and she’s there with her ‘where were yous’ and her idiocy that you didn’t see before because you told yourself you were in love but now she’s annoying the life out of you so you try and put her head in the wall. Right?”

His glare has faded and it makes you a little nervous because it was always a bad sign when Dreykov stopped yelling and got quiet. “Yes,” Willem says calmly as if you hadn’t just gutted him open. “There’s one thing you’re wrong about though. I never had to tell myself I was in love with her. I just was. And I still am. She was right to kick me out.”

You puff your cheeks and blow out air. “You are a bigger идиот than I thought. Have you apologized?”

“Yes. I did the next morning when I realised what I’d done.”

“And she didn’t accept it.”

“No, she did,” he says, dragging a large hand down his face. “She did but I thought some time apart would be for the best.”

“So you could get yourself a shrink.”

“Not exactly. They say therapists make the worst patients. I’ve found that to be true.”

“Well,” you say. “Sounds like you’re a coward too.”

Willem smiles. Just the smallest upturn of his lips. “Time’s up.”

—

The wilderness is no place for two children. Especially not the barren wasteland of Siberia. The boy has a rifle slung around his shoulder and no coat. The girl has two coats. Blood from a wound on her side drips out onto the snowy terrain underfoot. But she is strong. She refuses the boy’s offers to help her walk.

A long trail of footprints in the otherwise unblemished landscape leads back to a small massacre site.

The children are hungry but cannot stop because something is chasing them. It’s why they had to leave the little house with the fire and the old woman.

They will hide, they will kill, they will walk until they collapse so the ground may swallow them whole.

Because the wilderness is no place for two children. It certainly cannot be the place for three.

—

More weeks pass and you keep living and you try not to think too much about how Natalia is doing fine for herself. She has a team now with agents called Barton and Hill and Coulson and May.

You do not talk so often, even if this is the most freedom you’ve had to talk since you’ve known each other. At first you tried to convince her to go back but no. She is adamant about staying here, about untying herself rope by rope from the Red Room.

The things you exchanged seem so trivial now. You know her favorite color is blue and that she is fine with coffee but would much rather have tea and that she has a scar beneath her collarbone. But here such information is freely given.

You see other men talk to her in the cafeteria, watch her in the gym. She has always been the most beautiful woman in the room.

And it is one day when you are eating lunch together that another agent approaches. He has an apple in his hand and sits next to Natalia like he knows her. “Natasha,” he greets. You don’t like how close he is. He extends a hand across the table. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” he says. “I’m Agent Matthew Hunter.”

You take his hand and shake it, squeezing a little harder than necessary. “Nice to meet you.” This is a lie. He is entitled and he is American and you would prefer he left you alone.

“Matt,” Natalia says, smiling.

He turns to face her like you aren’t there. “Listen I got to run, but I haven’t had the chance to say how great of a job you did on the Berlin mission last week. I wanted to catch you before I forgot.”

She licks her lips and turns her shoulders toward him. “You weren’t too bad out there yourself.”

He waves her off. “Are you kidding me? I have never seen someone handle a room like that before.” Agent Hunter looks at you next but his body is still facing Natalia. “Did she tell you about this? I mean what a fucking bombshell.”

“No,” you say. “We haven’t had the chance.”

“Ah, well. You should really ask her. Hell of a story, hell of an agent.”

Natalia looks down at her lap, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

“Anyway. I have got to go hit the gym. No days off, am I right?”

He is looking at you and expecting a response so you just say, “Sure.”

“Alright, nice to meet you, man. See you later Nat.”

You watch him walk off like he owns the place and it’s only when you turn back that you realize Natalia had been watching him too.

You take a drink of water and ask, “Do you like him?”

She snaps her attention to you. “Who, Matt? Yeah he’s nice. A bit talkative, but that’s all right. What did you think?”

You ignore her question. “No, I mean. He was flirting with you.”

“I know that.”

“So,” you gesture. She would lead you in circles until your head twisted off if you let her. “Are you going to get with him?”

Her smile fades like you’ve asked if she was planning to kill him instead. “No. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Why not?” You ask. “He’s handsome, young enough. You said you liked him.”

“Because I don’t want him.” And there is this look on her face like you have grown a second head. “I’m not just going to go run around sleeping with people.”

“I didn’t say you should. I was just wondering because I could tell you were into him.”

She scoffs. “I’m not ‘into him.’ He’s friendly. He gave me a compliment. What's so bad about that?”

“Nothing. It was just a question, that’s all.”

She is quiet for a moment, dragging her fork through the last grains of rice on her plate. “You know I like you too, right?”

“Of course. And I like you.”

“No. I mean, in the way you think I like Matt.”

Now it is your turn to choose silence. The two of you kissed and shared a bed sometimes when you had only ever slept alone before. And Natalia was the only person you’ve had sex with, at least in any way that counted. But that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t know any better and neither had she. There was bad and there was worse. You just happened to be sufficient for her when the bar was six feet under the ground.

“You know, that doesn’t mean anything. You don’t owe me,” you say.

“I know I don’t owe you anything. It’s not about owing,” she says, shaking her head in incredulity. “You’ve been weird since we’ve been here. It’s not a death sentence anymore.”

“I’m saying just because we got together before doesn’t mean you can’t go after this guy now. It was a matter of circumstance you know. There was no one else to choose so you chose me, I get it.”

Her eyes narrow as you say this. You speak for her, but you do not know. “What are you talking about?”

But you’ve built up steam now and you think if you stop you won’t get the words out because you’re sure they’re not true. You speak for the man you want to project. The one Dreykov would approve of. “And you’re pretty and you came on to me so,” you shrug. “But come on. You were a warm body. So were a lot of the other widows. And so was I. Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it is.”

But it is a big deal. You ignore all the times you held each other in the middle of the night. The time she taught you how to braid her hair. All those times you made each other laugh. These are the things you take great effort to minimize.

And you are so focused on pushing her away because you are a bird with its wings clipped hurtling toward the ground that you don’t notice her own rage building.

She is used to being silenced. She just never thought you would join the long line of others who’ve treated her as lesser than. She thought you understood, that you were different.

“Fuck you,” she says, looking you straight in the eye. You can’t read the expression on her face. She has always been good at making her face vacant, like marble.

She leaves. Not that there was anything to leave in the first place.

You tell yourself this is what you wanted. For her to be free. Free of you and free of any guilt that might plague her. Not that the Black Widow felt guilt.

But if this is what you wanted, then why did you feel like you had just severed a limb?

But you are fine too. You have a team with agents called Rumlow and Ward and Rollins. They are callous and crass and they remind you of the guards back home. They do not care where you have come from, despite the fact you still bear the title Junior Lieutenant, technically. Despite what everyone else thinks.

You are strong like the fabled Captain America and could home a bullet into any target with a blindfold on. That’s all they care about.

They say they do not care about your accent that you wear like a scarlet flag. And sometimes, you join them when they go out to drink. Ward and Rumlow are outspoken. Rollins is not. But they all share the same cynical view of the world. And so do you. Maybe that’s why you get along.

There is control and there is chaos. You are all agents of the former.

After word about your squadron placement gets around, no one eyes you in the hall like they want to fight. No one questions your–albeit minimal–authority. At least not to your face.

Missions with them are quick and bloody. You use a rifle most of the time now. One that is bulky and can fire an unnecessary amount of rounds per second. You are a strike unit, so you creep up to the outside of an office or warehouse or home and when everyone is crouched like predators in the shadows you jump out with blazing muzzles. You can’t really call what you do fighting.

It is one day you are out with them that you run into an old friend. She is one of the ones you are hunting. S.H.I.E.L.D. likes doing that, you’ve figured out. Sending you out on missions to destroy what you’ve spent your life building. What you were supposed to sit at the head of the table of one day.

They want to see when you might snap. They want you to cut and run. They do not believe you can change. You don’t believe it either.

But she tells you, and oh is it nice to speak Russian again, that Dreykov wants your head. You cannot go back. You hadn’t wanted to be a traitor, but you’d lit the torch when you let the Americans take you in. And now when you look back, the bridge is engulfed in flames.

She says rumor of your defection has grown and spread like a tumor on Dreykov’s name. You’ve humiliated him by turning your back, and now he is losing power.

“But,” you say. “I didn’t. I don’t want–I’m not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She stops you. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m still–”

“You’re not listening to me.” She grabs you by the arm. “If you go back there you will die. Apparently Dreykov was kind of a black sheep. They were all looking for a reason to strip him of his rank, and now that he’s lost his two best weapons no one will listen to him. The entire Red Room is on alert, looking for a way to capture you.” She stabs a finger to your chest.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. “But there must be some way to clear this up. If I could talk to him I know I could explain. Or if I could get back. If I talked to the Headmistress.” You know she would understand and she would not be mad. Because she was stern but she never hit you. You used to talk every week in her office, just the two of you. You missed her.

Your friend shakes her head. It’s a “no,” but it’s also full of admonishment.

“What?” You ask.

“Always so eager to please.”

“It’s called having honor.”

There are footsteps outside the office you’ve pulled her into. She tugs on your arm and you retreat around the corner.

“We don’t have much time,” you say.

She’s silent for a moment, then, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving. It won’t be hard. No one will be looking for me as long as you have that S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on your chest. I’m saying you should leave too.” She puts a hand on your cheek, makes you look her in the eye. “We could be extraordinary.”

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Why not?” There is disbelief, there is frustration. “You just said it yourself. You’re not loyal to them. And these brutes have nothing on us. We can disappear.”

“You should go. I really think you should. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?”

“I wanted it with you.”

“Goodbye, Svetlana,” you say, kissing her on the cheek. She is still.

On your way out, she speaks up. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? It’s funny. You’ve always been so blind when it comes to her. You think anyone can know the Black Widow? She will drain the life from you.”

She leaves you with a note with an address on it.

“In case you change your mind.”

When you get back you hide the slip of paper in the nightstand with Dreykov’s watch.

—

You pull on the hideous shirt with the too large sleeves and try not to think about how ridiculous wearing tights is. You grab your shoes and head down the hall to the other dressing room.

When you enter the dancers that are actually a part of this company stare at you. The four widows–excluding Natalia–don’t bat an eye. Modesty was a long lost concept for all of you. Especially around each other. Nastya looks over and smiles at you. You wink back.

The understudy for the lead part–who like the rest of you earned the role after members of the main cast suddenly became ill the night before–finds you like a heat-seeking missile. Her blood red hair is pulled back tight in a bun, and the fluorescent lights pale her skin to a moonlight shade. She looks like she has come from another world to ravage war upon this one. She is muscle and sinew and bone. She is magnificent.

She snakes an arm around the back of your neck and kisses you on the jaw. She wants them all to see. You are hers in this show and hers backstage. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You go out and perform on auto pilot because you watched a recording of the show once and now the movements are ingrained in the memory of your muscles. You focus on the crowd, try to spot your targets. There is a war going on in the shadows. You’ve all been sent to end it. To show them the Red Room is superior. They won’t even know what hit them.

You have a break to watch Natalia perform her solo. You stand in the right wing and watch her under the spotlight, dazzling the crowd. Even here she is dangerous. She is like a panther getting upwind of its prey. Every move is measured, every step beaten into submission because of how many times she practiced. She makes herself delicate, but you know better.

There is a part where she almost rushes off stage as if reaching for something, but an invisible force drags her back to the center. You are standing in the spot she reaches for. Maybe you knew she would end up here, maybe you didn’t. It doesn’t matter because her eyes snap open and for a half second you lock eyes. The audience members aren’t the only ones she’s made believe in her desperation.

After the first act ends Anastasia and Yeva leave for the targets’ hotel where they will be waiting. The four of you who are left finish the show and keep eyes on your targets. When you take your bow you are holding Natalia’s hand. Then you slink into the shadows, ditch the outfit, and put on your mask and hood.

You leave as a unit out a back door and climb to the roof. It is raining outside. Not more than a drizzle, but the brick underfoot is slick and your targets will be hiding under coats and umbrellas. Stefanya kneels to assemble a rifle that had been packed into a violin case. You crouch in the shadows, feel the rain begin to soak through your pants.

The crack of the rifle is loud like lightning and the crowd parts around the dead man. An ambulance is called but you know it is too late. The four of you split there. You will find each other later in an apartment building across town.

You know Natalia will beat the ambulance to the hospital and an accident will befall the entourage of the dead. Nowhere is safe.

You follow a fleeing family of four to their car. The father is a high-ranking official of your enemy, the mother a scientist. They both know tonight is no accident. They run into the dark, down an alleyway instead of along the main road. Smart. You watch them go. You know where they will end up.

You get in a vehicle which has been left for you and follow them out of the city. You drive until the houses have become sparse and so has the light. The rain is pouring down in sheets now. You step on the gas and flip the car’s brights on. The front of your car rams into the back of theirs. The sedan spins out of control, tires squealing against the wet asphalt. The car drifts into a ditch and you pull up beside it.

You step out of your car and draw your swords. Because this is a message, not an accident. Two shots are fired your way. You duck behind the car and let the guy shout insults at you. But you hear the fear in his voice. He saw who they’d sent for him.

You rush through the dark, cape heavy and soaking behind you. You ram your fist into the passenger window and slide the end of one sword through the woman’s mouth. There are more shots but you have already disappeared again into the night.

The children in the backseat scream. Their anguish refuses to be drowned out by the storm. You hear them as if they are crying right into your ears. The man gets out and slams the door shut. You see him in the flashes brought by the lightning. He yells for you to come out. So you oblige. You launch yourself onto the car roof and stare down at him. Here I am, you say. He points the pistol at you and you slice his hand off. He goes down, still cursing. The last thing he does is ask you to leave the kids out of this.

You go up to the backdoor. Didn’t he know? This was a family affair.

You tell yourself what you have done tonight is for the greater good. Many more will live off the blood of this sacrifice.

When you get back to the rendezvous point you find only Stefanya and Marina. You were supposed to be the last one back. Where are they, you ask. They are quiet. Stefanya looks you in the eye and says none of them ever showed. You know she is lying. You take a breath and step closer so you may look down on them. They are not intimidated by you. Even in the dark, even with the rain outside, even with your face behind a mask they know you will not hurt them.

Because you all grew up together. And that means something.

So you draw back your hood and remove the mask. You let them see the worry in your eyes. Come on, you say. What happened.

They are quiet for a moment longer. Then, Marina whispers. Yeva and Nastya never returned. Natalia went after them. She told us not to tell you.

You put your gear back on and rush out the door. Stay here, you call over your shoulder. You fly through the night to the hotel they were supposed to be at and find Anastasia sitting against the wall bleeding. She raises her gun at you when you barrel through the window. You take off your mask and rush to her. Nastya, you say. She is shot and she should be dead but widows are not ordinary humans. You ask if she is all right and she laughs. Clearly, I am not. She already has a shirt tied around her stomach and she is holding another tight to staunch the bleeding.

Natalia has been here, you say. Yes. You ask where she has gone and where Yeva is. She tells you she doesn’t know. That Yeva and she were ambushed and overwhelmed. The room is trashed. Bullet holes in the walls and broken furniture. There are bodies littering the floor. They must have had two dozen men up here to overpower just the two of them.

You ask if she will be all right if you go. She tells you yes she thinks so. Then you hold a hand out. She takes it. Her hand is clammy and cool to the touch. Are you sure, you ask. Because Katya might actually kill me if you die on my watch. Go, she tells you. Find Yeva.

So you leave out the window and try not to think about it all being too late. If they had the chance to drive off they could be out of the city by now. You weren’t even supposed to be out hunting for them. You should’ve taken Stefanya and Marina and gone back to base. The others’ failure was theirs alone to bear. So you stand in the dark collecting raindrops, wondering why this has come as an afterthought. You realize in your haste you’d left your mask back in the hotel room. Water drips down your face as you stare up at the sky. Maybe the stars know.

Then, through the stench of the storm and the dirt and oil the rain has sloughed from the ground you smell blood. It is sharp and metallic and unmistakable. You trot down the near pitch black alley in search of the source. There are a number of irregular shapes down a perpendicular alleyway. You can barely see they are there. You stop, your boots splashing in a puddle.

With measured steps you stalk forward, unsheathing the swords on your back. The shapes are bodies of men in ruined suits with ruined faces. One’s eyes have been gouged inward, pushed deep in toward his brain. Belly-up he stares unseeing into some void. And as if he hadn’t suffered enough he is also eviscerated. Guts and blood leak from him onto the dirty ground as if from an overfilled trash bin. No wonder you were able to smell it.

There is another with his throat slit and his head bashed in. Another with his jaw ripped wide open. He has been shot, but only in the leg. None of these men went out with a clean death. All of them suffered.

You find Natalia in the middle of the carnage, holding another body. Yeva is limp in her arms, eyes closed. You kneel beside both of them. She’s gone, Natalia whispers. You try to ignore the awful pang in your chest. Because she died in the service of her country. She died a soldier’s death. It is an honor.

But alone in the rain in a struggle is no way to die. Dark blood is still seeping from the hole in her forehead to stain her blonde hair. She looks so young.

There are footsteps at the entrance to the alleyway. Stefanya and Marina have Anastasia supported in between them. Stefanya is taller than them both which makes it an awkward position but they have made it. You’re not surprised they didn’t stay at the rendezvous either.

The cops are here, Marina says. We need to go.

Natalia stands, Yeva in her arms. You pull your hood deeper over your face and lead them away. In a stolen car you drive out of the city. There’s a field and it’s on its way to being flooded but it will have to do. You have no tools so you dig with your hands and you try to ignore how familiar the action is. Even Nastya insists she helps.

Dawn has already broken when the grave is finally dug. You lower Yeva’s body in and replace the dirt under the young sunlight. None of you care about the consequences the day will surely bring.

Very few will ever know that she lived. And only you will know about her death, about this gravesite. It’s only fair you take a moment. They tell you you are nameless, faceless, inconsequential and that it is selfish to believe otherwise.

But dammit Yeva was a person. They refused to give her a place in the world. So you suppose that’s what the four of you have done now. What a shame it could only be given after her last breath.

—

The next time you’re being briefed on a mission there are forty agents in the room. You go to the side of the room where your squad along with the rest of the platoon are standing. Rumlow tells you there must be a big fucking fish to fry.

Crowded on the other side of the conference table are members of STRIKE Team: Delta, including Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. You lock eyes with her for a moment but you turn away because Agent Matthew Hunter is right there next to her. Rumor has it they’ve been “going out.” Last week Ward asked you how it felt to have some tool like Hunter steal your girl. You told him she wasn’t your girl. That she’d be fucking a new guy in another week. You don’t know why you said that last part.

Then everyone is quiet because Fury is here and the Director never bothers with things as trivial as mission briefs.

Turns out there’s a huge freaking terrorist compound in Iraq and you’ve been authorized to take it out. Agent Barton is in charge of tagging the leader. Everyone else, don’t get killed.

So you fly out in three separate jets and you’re on the one holding a mix of both teams. Everyone’s keeping to their own side but Natalia comes over to stand by you.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you say back. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been missing her. But now that you’ve heard her voice and she’s so close your shoulders are almost brushing it hits you like a bucket of ice water. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. It’s odd though, you know.”

“What is?”

“Not speaking with you.” she says. “I mean we’re in the same building most of the time now. It’s just been too long.”

“I agree,” you say. And because you cannot bring yourself to admit you feel less alive when she’s not around, that now that she’s here you have to stop yourself from grinning like a moron, you say, “I don’t think we’ve been on a mission together yet. Not since coming here.”

She’s looking at you and now you’re thinking about the furrow in her brow and the shine in her eye when she’s thinking hard. The little things you’re sure only you know because you’re the only person she’s shown them to. “You’re right,” she says. “We haven’t.”

“Kremer was probably scared shitless about the potential the two of us have together.”

“Kremer?”

“My handler. He’s an absolute asshat. I feel like he had one look at me and has already sentenced me. Nothing I do can change his mind.”

“That’s too bad for him,” she says. “He’s missing out on a great agent.”

You finally allow a smile to crack through. “How’s Barton?”

“He’s good. I think the two of you would get along.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you both know how to be a huge pain in my ass.” She smirks and you shove her lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into Romanova.”

She takes your hand and traces circles on the inside of your palm. “You’re the only one who calls me that anymore,” she murmurs.

Your face flushes because you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. “I can stop. I just, I forget sometimes. And besides.” You lean in and switch to Russian because someone is always listening in. “Natalia Romanova is the strongest person I know. I don’t think you should be ashamed of her.”

She turns her face toward yours and responds in kind. “You don’t have to stop. I like what it means when you say it.” You can feel her breath on your cheek and you wonder if she might kiss you. But she pulls away to smile at you again. “And you’re the only one who can pronounce it right anyway.”

You touchdown and by some force of habit you and Natalia pull away from the others and slink into the shadows. You pull your pistol out and shoot a figure with his gun out before Natalia can get to him.

She turns back to you. “Since when do you use a gun?”

You shrug. “Since I became American.”

“You don’t have your swords?”

“No. Those are still confiscated. But,” you take a retractable blade from your belt and unsheath it. “I’ve got this.”

“Can you use it?”

“Well enough,” you say. You could use a sharp stick if you needed to. “Actually, it’s quite different from using my katanas. First of all there’s only one of whatever this is. It’s pretty terrible. Americans have no idea about blades. Whoever made this shaped it like a toothpick.” You thrust it forward into the empty air. “You can’t slash with it, which is what you want to do,” you say, drawing an arc this time.

“Easy, tiger. I can’t believe I almost forgot how much of a nerd you are.” You’re about to retort but she stops before a corner and gives you a look. Down the hall there’s an open door and a light on. You edge up to it and count four guys smoking and playing cards. As one you jump out, Natalia covering you as you barrel into the thick of it. There are two guys with bullet holes in them and one writhing on the ground from one of her taser discs.

You’ve plunged your sword through the last one and are still trying to wrench it free when she kicks the one getting shocked in the head. Finally you get it free, his ribs cracking from how hard you had to pull it out.

“That’s disgusting,” she says.

“Oh please,” you respond, wiping the blade off on your sleeve. There’s blood on your hands and face and more spreading over the concrete floor. “You’re the one who likes making messes on purpose. I told you this sword is atrocious.”

She shrugs. “I only do that if they really deserve it.”

“So that’s like everyone, right?” You turn away from her, shaking your head hard enough you know she must see. “It’s appalling really. I mean have some decorum Natalia. Twenty-three times is a lot to stab someone, you know.”

Silence is the only answer you receive. But the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and in a flash she’s on your shoulders trying to bring you down.

You keep talking in between the short bursts of laughter rising from your chest. “At that point it’s disrespectful.” She covers your eyes with one hand and your mouth with the other. Then she twists with just enough force to signal she wants you down and you get to your knees to soften the blow before you completely collapse on your back.

“The cops can’t even recognize the poor bastards.” She’s on top of you with a glint in her eye like she’s hungry. You put your hands up. “Please don’t, oh no I have an ounce of cocaine I still need to snort tonight.” She puts the handle end of a knife against your cheek and drags it down toward your chest. “I have so much to live for,” you say, suddenly putting on an American accent.

She cracks, a little smile emerging on her face. She stands before she thinks you’ve seen and leaves the room. “Get up. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I saw that,” you say, jogging after her.

“Saw what?”

“You think I’m hilarious.”

“No, I think you’re dumb.”

“I can be both. It’s called having range.”

You wouldn’t say you enjoy what you do, but it’s all you know. At some point you had to become numb to it or you’d drown in the guilt. But you have missed working with Natalia. Your team is fine. But it’s different when she’s had your back in the field since you were ten years old. When you could pass out right now and know she’d keep you safe. When you know exactly what move she’s going to make next.

The end of the hall splits off and you go left while she goes right.

You pass a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and give them a nod before turning down another hall. You check another room and there’s a woman in there with a gun.

You raise yours, and you don’t know why but something makes you hesitate. Maybe it’s because you don’t think she’ll shoot. Maybe it’s because there’s been this bug in your ear nagging about innocence until proven guilty.

But she doesn’t and there’s a shot and a bullet in your side. You don’t waste time before you fire a return shot that shatters her kneecap. She drops her gun and goes down screaming.

Rage explodes hot in your chest. At her, for shooting you. But mostly at yourself for slipping. “You bitch,” you seethe in Russian. The pain in your side is mixing with the anger in your chest and the storm is deafening.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me,” she sobs, laying on the ground. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not with them. I won’t fight anymore. Just don’t kill me. I’m sorry.” But you’ve seen this act before. You won’t underestimate her twice.

“Shut up,” you say in English. You put your foot on her broken knee and stand on it. She wails even harder. You’re looming over her as you unsheathe your sword. Her sobs are the only sound left in the room. You seethe in silence. Like you always have.

You raise the blade above your head like an executioner with his axe and bring it down over her neck. Her head comes apart from her body. There’s a thud as she settles on her back. The sword snaps as it strikes the concrete from the weight of your full strength. You stumble forward. Sometimes you forget how strong the serum has made you.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Just the sound of your ragged breathing. You can’t tell if you can’t catch your breath because you’ve been shot or because of something else.

Then, “Holy shit.”

You whip around and aim your gun at the voice by the doorway.

“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t shoot me, partner,” says Agent Hunter.

Блядь.

You put your weapon away but don’t say anything.

He looks at the blood on your face and the broken sword you’re holding onto like a lifeline and the body at your feet. The woman’s eyes are still open. Locked in a panicked gaze. Then he blanches and turns away. The sound of him throwing up almost makes you hurl too.

“Hunter,” you pant, finding your voice.

But he’s backing away with his hands out like you’ll get him next. “You’re sick.”

More footsteps come down the hall and a group of agents checks on him. It’s over for you as soon as the first new arrival sees the body and the blood on your hands. Oh my god, he says. The judgement rolls through the crowd that’s begun to amass.

Agent Hunter is out of your sight now but you can hear him. “He fucking killed her. She was on the ground begging for her life and he fucking chopped her head off.”

Your face heats up and your heart is pounding something crazy in your chest because you still haven’t caught your breath. There’s too many people in the room. Too many eyes on you. You can hear every gasp, every hitch in their breathing, every whisper. It’s driving you nuts. Why can’t they just mind their own fucking business.

They’re going to kill you for this. You’re injured and vulnerable. There’s a dozen of them now and they’ve all got guns.

“What the fuck are you all looking at?” You yell. “Get out!”

They stare at you for another moment before shuffling away.

You think you see a glimpse of fire-red hair in the crowd. There one second, then gone. Like the flicker of a flame.

Rumlow is the first one to approach you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t come too close. “Come on, man,” he says in the same rough voice he always uses. The familiarity is good. “It’s time to go.”

—

The girl with the blood red hair stops at a small grove of trees. She tells the boy it is time. She cannot go further.

The boy stops because the girl is the strongest person he knows. If she says she cannot go on she must mean her feet have fallen off. But he is also confused because there are supposed to be weeks and weeks left. This is not right.

The girl curses and curls into a ball at the base of a skinny, bare tree. Because she knows this too. Stupidly, she thinks if she makes the area around her stomach just a little warmer everything will be okay. She is desperate.

But their luck has run out. The girl was good at keeping secrets and when the secret could not be kept any longer a man named Ivan put her on a long-term espionage mission. The boy has always disliked this man whom the girl looks to like a father but he owes him for this.

But things went sour as things happen to go and when the girl sent the message from the cabin the boy should not have come. But this was a thing worth running for.

Miracles do not exist.

The boy sinks into the snowy ground next to the girl. She turns her face toward his and they press their foreheads together Like a kiss, but with the tenderness that can only be born from the innocent. I love you, the girl tells him.

The boy tries to be brave even though he is scared. I love you too, he says. No matter what happens.

—

They make you go to medical when you get back because everyone was watching you on the plane and it was obvious you had a bullet in your side.

You sit in a private room that’s got a door instead of just curtains between beds. But it’s not really private because there’s a doctor and two armed guards at the door. All three of them stare at you. They haven’t gone so far as to handcuff you but you know you’ve taken a huge step back.

The doctor introduces herself as Helen Cho and asks, “Are you able to remove your shirt?”

You don’t want to take your shirt off. It leaves you too vulnerable. And you don’t want them to see your back.

“Agent, there’s a bullet in your torso. Remarkably it hasn’t hit anything vital. And by some miracle you’re sitting up like nothing’s wrong. But I still need to take it out. It’s not supposed to be in there.” She is direct but still somehow soft-spoken. You don’t like being in this white room with these strange people but you suppose she could be worse.

You fidget with your hands. You’ve washed them but there’s still red on your palms, dried flakes under your fingernails. Finally, you say, “I can get it out myself. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“I would be more comfortable if you would let me do it. Have you ever extracted a bullet before?” You shake your head. “It’s tricky, it requires precision, and it hurts the person it’s in. It’s hard to keep your hand steady when you’re in pain.”

You glance up at the agents keeping guard. “Sure I know.”

Doctor Cho notices and waves at them. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

“Ma’am, we have orders to keep him under supervision.”

“He’s injured. You can stay right outside the exam room. Nobody is going to disappear into thin air.”

“But–”

“I’m the doctor. And this is my patient. You can wait outside,” she says sternly.

And this time they listen. “We’ll be right outside.”

She turns back to you. “Better?”

You nod slowly, finally drawing in a larger breath. Your side ignites in fire and you gasp, which only makes it hurt worse. Your hand flies to the wound, hovering over it.

“Getting shot isn’t fun, is it?” She asks, not waiting for an answer. “Now there’s two ways we can do this. You can lay here and let me help you or I can have you sedated.”

“No,” you wave a hand at her. “No, don't do that.”

“Okay I won’t,” she assures. “But I’ve been at this long enough to know some people need a little extra help. It’s all right.” She pauses. “I still need to see the wound site. I’ll walk you through it every step of the way,” she offers.

“You will?”

“Of course.”

You hesitate. Maybe it’s to stall a little longer. Maybe because you actually care. “You’re not worried about being in here alone with me?”

“Why would I be? You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

“No,” you say. “But you have to be wondering why I’ve got a couple of angry looking sitters.”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “‘I’m curious. But I don’t make a habit of judging people I don’t know. And besides. I’m a doctor. I’d treat you no matter what.”

“So there’s no limit?”

“No, I’ve got a limit.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s for people who think they can talk their way out of treatment,” she says, looking you in the eye. “Come on.”

Slowly, you maneuver your right arm out of the t-shirt. The movement stretches your side and it hurts but you grit your teeth and push through the pain. You leave your shirt on around your neck and left side. The wound is still oozing blood just above your right hip. You figure she has enough room to work.

Doctor Cho sighs. She takes a once-over glance at your body. Her attention locks on the bullet wound then flickers to your back then refocuses again.

“You’re probably going to want to lay down.”

You oblige and she comes over with gloves on her hands but no mask on her face. You’re grateful for this. The doctors in the Red Room always wore masks and headgear that made them look less human. They also didn’t talk. Not to you anyway. And their notes always had the word “Subject 094” instead of your name.

You swallow as she sits on a stool by your side with a pair of forceps and a pen light. You don’t know when you'd gotten so sweaty.

“I’m going to locate the bullet and extract it. Sound good?”

You nod and she waits. “Yes,” you say.

She clicks on the flashlight and puts a cool hand on your stomach. “Last chance. You sure you don’t want to go under for this?”

“I’m sure.”

She presses down lightly with two fingers around the entry site. It hurts but it doesn’t really hurt until the fourth spot she touches. You suck in air through your teeth and clench your fists.

“I started working in the medical field because I wanted to cure cancer,” she says. “My passion was research, but my parents wanted me to get my M.D. They said there’s no success in research. So I did both. I have an M.D. for them and a Ph.D. in biomedical research for myself.”

You focus on her words, imagining a younger Doctor Cho in your mind. She can’t be much older than you. “You must be some kind of genius,” you grit around a clenched jaw.

She blushes, and even though there’s a pair of forceps lodged way too deep inside your torso the pain eases a little. “Nothing like that. I just worked hard. And you know the crazy part? I ended up loving the patient work almost as much as I loved running tests in a lab. So my parents had the right idea after all, just for the wrong reasons.”

You’re looking at her face now instead of her hands and trying to memorize the slight purse in her lips and the brightness in her eyes. This is her arena, her fight.

“Сука!” You curse and jolt a little.

“Steady,” she says. “I’ve got it. Just have to pull it out.”

You try to draw in deep, steady breaths through your nose and out your mouth. “Great.” You can’t watch anymore so you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself pain is only a mental construct even though it really doesn’t feel that way right now.

There’s a clink and a rattle and Doctor Cho says, “The hard part is done. I’m going to clean, stitch, and bandage you now.”

“So you’ve given up on curing cancer to take bullets out of idiots instead?”

“No. Actually, I work in research almost full time now. They’ve got a pretty nice lab here. You should stop by, if you’re not too busy catching more bullets.” She doesn’t look you in the eye as she says this.

“This is my first time getting shot.”

“There shouldn’t be a first time,” she counters.

“You said you do research almost full time now. Should I feel special, then?” You smile.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re a disturbance to my day off, actually.” She takes a bottle of water and flushes it through your wound.

You hiss. “Please remind me never to get shot again.”

“If you come through here injured again I’ll kick you out,” she says, smiling. “I thought you all had armor for this type of thing. What’s it called, again? Oh, yeah. A bulletproof vest.” She wipes the rest of the blood from your skin.

“I don't wear those. Too much of a restriction on movement. Agility is the most important thing out there.”

“I don’t know about that. Sounds like I’d want this thing that keeps me from ending up on the wrong side of this bed.”

You shrug. Because she’s running thread through your skin and it hurts more than you try to let on. Maybe she has a point.

Doctor Cho retrieves a roll of bandages from a cabinet in the corner. “This part will be easier if you stand up.”

You stand and stumble. You have to catch yourself on her shoulder. “Sorry,” you say. “Might have lost a little bit of blood recently.”

“You don’t say.”

You fix her nametag, the picture smiling shyly back at you.

She wraps the bandage taught around your stomach. “No strenuous activity until I clear you, understand? Nothing that raises your heart rate too much. And I want to see you back in three days. Think you can manage?”

You shrug back into your shirt. “Does that mean I can’t go to my underground fighting club tonight?”

She makes an overexaggerated frown. “I’m afraid so.”

“Thank you, Doctor Cho,” you say earnestly.

“Don’t mention it.” And as you put your hand on the door knob, she adds, “Call me Helen.”

You smile over your shoulder. “See you in a few days Helen.”

Your personal guards march you down to Kremer’s office. You tell them you’re sure you can get there on your own but they’re not in all that talkative of a mood.

Kremer is standing over his desk, arms braced against the wood like he’s trying to ground himself. He has his glasses on but removes them when you enter. He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and the guards disappear, shutting the door behind them.

“Sit down,” he says. When you don’t move he says it again, louder. “Sit down! That’s an order.”

You sit but he doesn’t. He stands, hovering over you like some angry buzzard.

“What the fuck was that? I’ve got a dozen eyewitness reports saying you beheaded some defenseless woman. You want to tell me something different happened?”

“Sir,” you start, cautiously. Because even though a plan is already in your mind to bolt you would rather not have to sleep with one eye open tonight. “I don’t know how you have a dozen eyewitness reports. Agent Hunter was the only one present for the moment of death.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t fucking care if it was one person or fifty people or just God himself as witness. Did you do it?” “She shot me first. She wasn’t exactly defenseless.”

Kremer mutters to himself under his breath. “But you didn’t need to chop her goddamn head off! I’ve seen the pictures. Looks like an excessive use of force to me. Was she threatening you when you did it?”

“She could’ve had another weapon under her shirt or in her waistband. I made a call.”

“Hunter said she was sobbing, begging you not to kill her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! She could have been acting. I’ve seen it done a hundred times.”

“You Reds and your excuses,” he shakes his head. “It’s my ass when you pull some stunt like this, do you understand? I don’t know how you did it back in Russia but here we don’t go around beheading people like barbarians. And if you don’t want to end up in some hellhole I suggest you get yourself up to our bar, quickly.”

“You think I did that just because? The bitch shot me first! I just spent twenty minutes having a bullet dug out of my stomach because of her.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” he points a finger at you. “I think you’re a fucking animal who was just waiting for some excuse to make another person suffer. I know your type. You get off on this kind of violence. If it was up to me you’d be rotting out in the middle of the ocean right now.”

“What the fuck?” You sputter. “I don’t–”

“We’re done here. You’re on a month’s suspension.” He sighs, putting his glasses on and sitting down. “But if you step one toe out of line you’re out of here.”

You stand up far too quickly. The ache in your side flares like you’ve ripped it open again.

“And I think you should know,” he adds. “Fury has given me complete authority over this matter. Whether you stay or go is my call.”

You salute him before you go, pretending your eyes could burn holes through his skull.

The agents turned guards aren’t waiting for you when you leave Kremer’s office so you head back to your room. Your side hurts even worse now. The adrenaline has worn off. Every step you take makes you want to sink to the floor.

By the time you make it across campus to the barracks you’re sweating a little and breathing hard. You’ll have to tell Helen you broke her rule.

Natalia is in your room, sitting on the edge of the bed in her mission suit. Her hair is still braided back, little flyaways sticking to the back of her neck.

“How did you get in here?” You ask.

“You’re all right,” she says in relief. She crosses the room, one hand on the side of your neck, the other on your cheek.

“Yeah,” you breathe, putting a hand on her arm. “Can I sit? I’m not exactly totally good.” You don’t wait for her to answer before almost collapsing into the chair at the desk in the corner.

“What happened?” You look up at her, thinking about how you saw her in the crowd. How she didn’t come up to you. Didn’t defend you.

“I was shot,” you say. You lift the edge of your shirt up, just enough to reveal the bandage.

She sits on the bed again. “And?” She prompts, head tilted slightly.

“And I got it patched. But it still hurts,” you say. Because you’re not going to give her what she wants to know yet. She has to play her hand first.

“I heard what happened. On the jet. People were talking.”

“People were talking,” you say, looking away and nodding your head.

“They were,” she answers. “And I thought maybe you weren’t coming back. You know how people like to talk. Things get embellished. But you’re okay. They let you off. Right?”

“I don’t know,” you say flatly. You look right at her so she can’t hide. “Were they embellishing? You can cut the shit Natalia. I know you were there.”

She is quiet, but she doesn’t look away. “I saw the aftermath. That doesn’t mean I know what happened. Only you can know that.”

“Why don’t you ask your buddy Matt?” You spit his name like it is a curse. “He saw most of it. And I’m sure he wasn’t shy about telling everyone.”

She stands, says your name. She is already close, but takes two steps to completely close the distance anyhow. “I don’t care about what happened. I just care that you’re okay.”

You look up at her. She is frowning down at you like you are some wounded dog. You want to ask her why she did not ask this thing when you were standing alone, a dozen pairs of eyes on you. But you know. Oh you know. She did not want their judgement to pass to her, did not want to be seen with the outsider with blood on their hands.

And maybe, part of her was scared of him too.

So you don’t ask. Instead, you say, “And if I told you they were outside the door waiting to take me away?” You come back to a way she has already disappointed you.

She takes a breath. You search her face. She searches yours. “Then you would need to disappear.” You wait for the second part. About how she would let you go but in a month’s or year’s time it would be her sent to hunt you down. It would be her with the gun to your head. Because she was the only one smart enough to find you, ruthless enough to betray you. She was the only one you would ever lose to.

You lower your head. You need to stop pulling open this wound. Things are hard enough.

But then. She rakes a hand through your hair. “And I would need to disappear too. I’d kill everyone in here for you, you know that. If it came down to it, I would leave with you too.”

This is new. She has not yet chosen you over them. You feel an opening.

Your head snaps back up. “We can go.”

“But they’re not coming. They’re giving you a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance,” you say.

“Don’t say that,” she shakes her head. “You can’t say that.”

“Why are you so adamant about staying here?” You are getting frustrated. “You left the Red Room because you were a pawn but now you want to serve some other cause. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I’m not going to spend my life on the run, in the shadows. Not when I can do something with it.” She sighs, her gaze turning melancholic. “I need. I need to make up for all the pain I’ve caused.”

“There’s nothing to make up for,” you argue. She was already perfect. “The world needs a little pain. Humanity will never go in the right direction without it.”

She shakes her head. “We can’t control everything.” She puts her hand on your cheek. You hate yourself for leaning into it. You hate her because she knows how to make you pliant.

You think of all the other times she’s touched you like this, the times she’s made you feel chosen only to turn away the next moment with apathy in her eyes. Because she is a mask of indifference, a one-night flirt. But for you she’s made an exception. You’ve seen her come apart, seen her struggle to be human. But still. Some part of you whispers, “trap.” She is just using you to keep herself afloat. After all, she is first and foremost a survivor. If anyone was going to make it out alive it would be her.

“But we could,” you say.

“No,” is her only answer. She says it like she is watching you drift away and she cannot follow.

Maybe you are. Or maybe she is the one leaving you.

—

You dread having to talk to Willem after the incident. You know what he is going to ask about before he opens his mouth.

“I heard you had an eventful last week.”

“Are you going to lecture me too?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. It’s a cheeky smile without teeth, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle all the same. “I heard you got yourself on some kind of double probation. I didn’t know that was possible.”

“You hear what I did?” You ask. Part of you hopes he hasn’t. You’d never admit it, but you don’t mind him. Whatever this was was weird. But it would be a shame for it to change now.

“No,” he says. “And I don’t care to. I want to know what you think. I’ve known Kremer for a long time. He’s a hard ass.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoff. “He needs to come in here.”

Willem laughs. It’s a nice, hearty sound. But he keeps whatever he had found funny to himself. He steadies himself with a hand on his knee. “You think he’s unfair.”

“I mean, yeah. He doesn’t give me the time of day. It’s like he’s out to get me.”

“Do you think he was wrong to suspend you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

You hated Kremer but you also hadn’t lost control like that in a long time. But that wasn’t exactly your fault either. She was dead the moment she pointed a gun at you. What did it matter how you’d done her in? And she’d only shot you because you’d hesitated. That was Kremer’s fault for yelling at you so much about restraint. You pivot instead. “Have you ever killed anybody?”

Willem frowns at that. You think it’s not so much at the content of the question, but at your lack of answer for his. “Yes,” he replies.

You wave your hand in a vague gesture. “Then you know.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“The feeling,” you wave again. “I don’t know. That rush when you, you know.”

“The bloodlust,” he supplies.

“Sure,” you say. “That seems a little extreme.”

“That’s the name we had for it in the army. Everyone had a similar story. Some guy in their platoon you wouldn’t have thought would make it a week. He’s too skinny or he wets the bed or he cries at night. Whatever. But by some miracle he survives. And one day he’s toe-to-toe with some enemy combatant. Everyone thinks he’s a goner. But he gets his first kill. And it’s not from some machine gun a few hundred yards away or a mine he rigged up. No. This is personal, it’s bloody. From then on the guy’s an animal. Nobody makes fun of him anymore cause he might claw your eyes out. The bloodlust.”

You shake your head. “Not like that. Just in the moment. When it’s you or them. Everything else fades out. You get this urge. Like something has to break. And it can’t be you.”

“Sure,” he says. “In the moment. But you can’t go on living like that all the time. Or you end up like that batshit private.”

“That’s all it was,” you say. “I don’t get why it’s not acceptable for me to blow off a little steam.”

“Because it’s dangerous. If you can’t control yourself you shouldn’t be out there.”

“So you’re taking Kremer’s side, now?”

“It’s not about sides. But you have a job to do. And there’s standards you have to abide by. You think I could do this if I flew off the handle with every client?”

“You’ve yelled at me,” you point out.

“You’re the exception.”

You roll your eyes.

“Do you feel good about what you do?” He asks.

“I don’t feel bad about it,” you say, although it’s only a half-truth. You used to feel terrible when you had to hurt someone. You didn’t want to do that. But time went by and you got used to it. You had to. There’s only a twinge left now. You call it respect for the dead.

“Let me rephrase. Do you like what you do?”

“Define ‘like.’”

He ponders for a second. “If you were free to do anything you wanted, would you still be here?”

“That’s a stupid hypothetical. No one is free to just do as they please.”

“I think we are. Or at least we should be.”

“So walk up out of here right now,” you say, gesturing at the door. “Try your luck begging for money on the street. See how you like your freedom then.”

“I’ve walked away once before. That’s how I ended up here.” Of course he’s got a story for everything. “My first job after I left the military was private security. Ex-military means a lot more to civilians than it does to anyone who actually served. It was nice. I never once pulled out my gun. I had to babysit these assholes who thought way too much of themselves but it paid. About two-and-a-half times what I’m doing here. And all I needed was my high school degree.

I worked awful hours. Wasn’t at home much. But it didn’t matter because I was supporting them. Giving them the life my father couldn’t give me.

Then I got this gig. Full-time bodyguard for some idiot who was going to pay half a million a year. I took it and realized I wasn’t happy. My family wasn’t happy. So one night I don’t show up. They called and I said I couldn’t make it. My kid had a ball game.”

“You just left?” You ask.

“Yes. I realized life is short, and you only get one. I needed to reprioritize, so I did.” Willem pauses to give you that look he always does. As if you can’t hear him if he doesn’t stare you down “It can be done. So let me ask you again.You’ve been given a second chance. What the hell are you going to do with it?”

“Of course that’s what this is about,” you say, throwing yourself into the chair back. “You just want to make sure I’m on the right side. You and Kremer playing ‘good cop, bad cop.’”

“Cut the crap,” he retorts. “I couldn’t care less about that. You’ve been given a fresh start. You have a world of opportunity ahead of you and you’re throwing it away. Do you know how many people would kill to have a re-do like this?

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, throwing your hands up.

“Then why are you still here?” He asks, his voice flat. “Someone like you, the prodigy you are doesn’t just get taken in by the enemy without a fight. And he certainly doesn’t stick around for no reason.”

You are silent. You can’t admit that you came here for Natalia. And you definitely can’t admit you’ve stayed because this place hasn’t been so bad after all.

“Nothing to say?” He taunts.

You don’t answer.

“Then we’re done here.” He stands and walks to the door.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. Because he can’t just quit. That’s not how this works. You jump up and follow him.

“You think you’re some martyr,” he says, opening the door. “You’re crucifying yourself for things you’ve been given a real chance to overcome. I’m not here to watch you jump into an early grave.”

“Fuck off,” you yell, slamming the door shut. “You want to talk about martyrdom? Why haven’t you made amends with your wife?”

“Because I did a terrible thing,” he says in that annoyingly calm voice of his.

“You fucked up!” You pace a few steps away. “But you don’t want to put in the work to fix yourself. So much for all the love you have for your family.”

“That’s my call to make.”

“That’s right. It’s your fucking call and you’re making the wrong one. Some people they fuck up and they own up to it! What are you doing? Coming in here and hiding behind someone else’s problems so you don’t have to look at what a mess your own life is!” You’re shouting and you can’t keep your hands still.

He stands across from you, hands in his pockets. He says your name, tells you to look at him. “Why are you here?”

You stop and put your arms down. Because he is calm, and you are not. It’s like nothing you’ve said has stuck.

“Look at you, tough guy. You’ve got a smart remark for everything but you won’t answer this simple question. Because you can’t face the truth.”

He opens the door again. And this time, you walk through it.

—

You wake tied to a chair. It is because your eyelids are heavy like lead that you jerk and try to escape without reason first. You breathe from your nose because when you tried to take a panicked inhale through your mouth there was something gagging you out.

Look who’s awake, a deep voice says. Looks like you won the bet.

You settle because the rope wrapping over the entire length of both your forearms and your ankles gives you no other choice. You are stripped down to your underwear but still you sweat. You are in what looks like an office with the furniture removed. There is a man you do not recognize and a woman you do.

Evgenia looks nothing like the woman you have been working on and off with for six years. Nothing like the woman who scolded you but not for the same reason as anyone in the Red Room. She told you you had to stop hiding your injuries because you are a kid and not a dog and showed you the real world was not as intense of a picture as you believed.

She showed you new foods and taught you the songs her grandma taught her even though she could not sing. And one night after a particularly gruelling mission she told you you had to draw lines between what was okay and what was not. That nobody could tell you what those were except yourself. You have to listen in here, she said, pointing to your heart. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

There is more to life than just the fight. You just need to look up.

Her face was also the one you saw as you felt a prick in your neck and a tiredness began to consume your body.

You look at her now, at her cold gaze and think what a glorious trick she has pulled on you. You challenge her to be the first to look away as you search for an ounce of guilt in her posture and find none. In the end it is you who breaks away first.

The man, who is dressed in a black shirt and black pants approaches you and takes the gag from your mouth. He tells you he has a few questions about Dreykov and the Red Room. He tells you you all are an outdated parasite on modern Russia and need to be excised. Let me demonstrate, he says, picking up a thin knife. He grabs your bicep and you try to jerk away but the rest of your arm is tied down and even though you are awake the world still feels out of focus.

Everything becomes clear real fast when he starts sawing at your arm. You don’t scream, managing to minimize your agony into a series of gasps and grunts. This is a yet undiscovered pain. He comes away with a little piece of your skin. He holds it in front of your face and flaps it like it is some sort of banner. Like this, he says. You know the air is not burning even if your arm is trying to tell you it is.

You look at Evgenia. She is standing back a few paces, arms crossed.

Where is the Red Room? The man asks.

I’m not telling shit, you say, even though it feels a little like your brain is having trouble connecting to your mouth. You think I’m some traitor? You would all be lost without us. Dreykov is going to–

He slices at you again, this time on your shoulder and you can’t stifle the yell that emerges. You clench your fists and fight to get away but it's no use.

You can’t help but look at Zhenya like she is a source of comfort. Like she might help you. She says your name. Just tell him and this can end. Please, you don’t have to do this to yourself.

Go to hell, you grit. The man grips you by the hair and takes a large patch of skin from your neck. You scream. You had never thought there could be this much pain without a single drop of blood.

He steps back. Where is the Red Room? You stare at him, breathing hard. The rope digs into your skin. You ache to put your hands around his throat. You are going to regret this, you say. You should know who you’re messing with.

Oh, he says, cocky. He waves the knife at you. But no one will know it was us, you see.

Kill me, go ahead.

I’m not going to kill you, no. You’re very valuable property. Very marketable. You are only the second man in history to get Russian version of super serum and not go batshit insane. Did you know this? Yes, there are powerful people who would pay a lot to have you in their arsenal. And they already have. You’ll be someone else’s little hound soon. And guessing at who our buyer is, you won’t even remember this conversation after they do what they do.

He holds the knife to your cheek. Too bad keeping this pretty face intact was not a part of the deal.

Wait, Evgenia speaks up. Let me.

He backs off and shrugs. All right.

She takes the scalpel and kneels before you. Hey, she says. Hey, hey, look at me. You must still be pretty out of it because you thought you were looking at her. Just tell us what we want to know and this can end. Don’t make me do this.

You are looking into her eyes and you think you see a little bit of the woman you thought she was. I trusted you, you whisper.

I know, she frowns, mocking. I’m sorry. She starts to cut at the skin on your thigh. It feels more painful than any of the other times because she is the one doing it. You watch the strip of skin come loose and then think you must be dreaming because she turns away and rushes at the man.

She stabs him in the stomach with the scalpel and throws a punch at his head. He is caught off guard and stumbles back. Without hesitation he rips out the blade and swipes at Zhenya. She takes a couple of quick steps back.

You strain anew at the rope holding you down but it is thick and unforgiving and wrapped around your arms and legs like a python.

He presses forward with the blade out, forcing her to work around him. She takes a step too close and he slices her across the stomach. Blood begins to bloom and stain her shirt a shade darker. But she is quick, she cuts at his wrist and forces him to drop the knife. Then, without missing a beat, she tackles him to the ground.

But he is bigger than her, stronger. He shoves her into the wall and dives for the scalpel. It lies just outside of his reach. Evgenia seizes the opportunity. She kicks it farther from his grasp and scoops it up.

She turns around just as he tries to get her from behind. The scalpel cuts deep through his throat. Blood sprays from his neck onto her face as if from a fountain. His hands raise and try to staunch the bleeding but it is already too late. He falls first to his knees and then flat on the floor. He gurgles as he tries to draw his final breaths and then it is quiet.

Zhenya stumbles backward, holding the wound on her stomach. You are still trying in vain to break free from your bonds. She curses and comes to you with the knife. You flinch a little when she points it at you. She apologizes. I didn’t know what to do, she says. This was the only way. I didn’t want to hurt you.

It’s okay, you tell her as she saws through the coils and coils of rope. You forgive her easily, instantly. You don’t think you could have been mad even if she truly had betrayed you. Because you will always be that twelve year old kid with fists aching from the weight of your anger. And she will always be the one to catch your wrists and demand you let go.

She gets your clothes for you and you try to ignore how the fabric sets your raw skin aflame. Then, you stare down at the body of the other SVR agent. Zhenya has made herself a traitor because of you. She has ruined her life. You are not worth that sort of action. You shouldn’t have done that, you say. You should’ve let him have me.

No, she says. You are where I draw my line.

Her words make your heart pound and your face heat up. You will not cry because you haven’t for years and it would be ridiculous to now. You have recently turned eighteen after all. You are a proper adult now with proper responsibilities. That’s why they came after you.

You’re going to have to disappear, you say.

I know.

I can’t know where you go.

I’ll find you, she says. When it’s safe. I promise.

You want to say it will never be safe. But you cannot entertain the notion you will never see her again. When it’s time you walk out first. So when they ask you where she went you can look them in the eye and say you don’t know.

—

Two months later and you have been carving room out for yourself. There is no back so you look forward. You tell yourself you can leave anytime you want.

The hole in your side has healed, thanks to Doctor Cho. You went and saw her three days later like she’d asked. You checked the medical wing first, asking after her. Most of the staff avoided looking at you, but one nurse told you she didn’t work around here anymore and that you should check the laboratory building.

You thanked her and apologized for the disturbance. Perhaps your reputation was getting a little too out of hand after all.

The scientists in the research building weren’t much better either. They all stared at you when you entered, but that might just have been because they’re not used to talking to a huge circle of people.

“I’m looking for Doctor Helen Cho,” you said.

You were directed down a hall and into a different room. She was there, black hair tied up in a bun, talking to another person in a white coat.

“Doctor Cho,” you said, feeling somewhat off-put in this place. You couldn’t even name half of the equipment in here.

She turned around, a smile lighting up her face when she saw you. That was nice. It didn’t happen with a lot of other people. She greeted you. “Let me wash my hands,” she said. “We can talk in my office.”

She discarded her gloves and safety glasses and the two of you walked down the hall into a small office.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Okay,” you replied. “All things considered.”

“Can I take a look?”

You shrugged. “What am I here for?”

She unwrapped the bandage and stared down at your side. You could see the gears turning in her head. “Well this isn’t right,” she said.

You couldn’t help but smile, just the edge of your mouth turning up. “Am I going to die, doc? Don’t tell me it’s too late.”

She shook her head, still unable to look away from the wound. “No,” she replied, so enraptured she’d missed your joking tone. “This is. This is incredible. It looks like a graze wound. Are you sure you got shot?”

“I didn’t let you take a bullet out of me for kicks.”

Now she looked up at you, eyes wide. You were smiling because her awe was infectious. You’d never impressed someone like this before. You were never good enough. They always wanted you to be faster, stronger, more durable. But the way she was looking at you said this was more than enough.

“How?” She breathed.

“I heal fast,” you said.

She laughed and you found yourself thinking of more ways to draw the sound out of her. “No shit,” she said. “But I mean, this should be impossible. It won’t even scar.”

“You’re the genius scientist,” you said. “I don’t know how it works either, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ve never heard of anybody having genetics like this. But I suppose it’s possible. People have different heights and intellectual traits. Your cells must be able to process energy at triple the rate of anyone else.”

You tilted your head. “Eh, not exactly.” Then you paused because you’ve never talked to anyone about this before. And it was sensitive information. You eyed the woman in front of you. If you told her about the serum they’d stuck in your veins maybe she’d tell someone else, and then you’d be a rat in a cage. You couldn’t. So you smiled and said, “I should get back.”

For a second you thought she might press for more. She looked like she had a million more questions. “Do you think you have time for me to show you the lab?” Was all she said.

You sighed in relief. You decided you liked her. So you let her take you into the lab and explain all the things you’d never understand. She was excited because they were on the edge of a breakthrough, she could feel it. She told you she was working on growing tissue so they wouldn’t have to rely so much on transplants. She hoped their work would save a lot of lives some day. She would be happy if she lived to the day it would save just one.

She was almost winded when she’d finished speaking. “Sorry,” she shook her head bashfully. “I’m not usually so talkative.”

“It’s all right,” you said. And it was. Because you’d had more attention on you in the last week than you thought you could handle. “The world needs more people like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re good. You’re not doing this for yourself. You’re going to help a lot of people.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I hope so.” When she looked back up at you her cheeks were a little red. “We should talk again. Outside of work.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed.

Now you have come back from a mission gone slightly awry. The intelligence had been perfect, the lab waiting for you like a glowing jewel hidden beneath depths of concrete maze. There was nowhere to run when you broke the doors down and aired the place out.

The lead scientist put his hands up as soon as the bodies of his colleagues hit the floor. You were supposed to bring him in for questioning. You are looking right at the man and his empty hands when there is shouting and a single gunshot.

The target is dead, his head all exploded like rotten fruit. Ward holsters his gun. He says he thought the man had been reaching for a weapon. And that’s what all four of you report when Agent Hill asks you about it later.

It’s a problem because you are supposed to be the most seasoned strike team there is. It’s a problem because that scientist also functioned as an administrator and he could have led you to more cells.

It’s a problem because it’s not the first time something like this has happened.

It’s the third one since you’ve been here. There was the neo-Nazi who claimed he was part of a huge underground organization and the Russian politician who swore he would tell all in exchange for asylum. Both of them had become suddenly violent at the moment you tried to bring them in. Both are now dead.

The first time you had been confused. Then Rumlow looked you dead on and smiled, holding his index finger over his lips. Then you understood why they wanted you on their team.

Because they are imperfect, and so are you.

So you don’t tell your superiors the target had been subdued at the time of death. And they believe you because strikers are always like this, a little jumpy and a little imprecise. Consequences of pulling from ex-military and ex-police force pools.

But now you’re getting back from a long flight and an even longer debrief and Natalia is in your room with her arms crossed and an indecipherable look on her face. You’ve been on good terms. But you haven’t done that thing which is not a thing because it’s nothing where you lay with each other in the dark and communicate without speaking.

So you find it odd that she’s in your room.

“Hi,” you say, like a question.

“What are you up to?” She’s not asking what your plans are for the day. It’s dark out, and you’re exhausted.

You shake your head. “What are you talking about?”

“Maria is pissed. About the mission. And so is Fury.”

“So? It’s a shame the mission went bad but the target was hostile. He might’ve shot one of us. We’ll get the next guy.”

“Except this is the third time something like this has happened in as many months,” she says, slowly. “And you don’t make mistakes.”

You aren’t alarmed. She’s smart, smarter than you maybe. So you keep your face and body still like you’ve been taught and say, “I don’t. But they do. You must know I was never the one to pull the trigger.”

She huffs because you’re right. On paper nothing is afoot. But you know she has a feeling. You’re stubborn but so is she. “If something is going on you can tell me.”

“Nothing is going on,” you lie. Something definitely is. But you don’t care.

“I’m trying to help you,” she says. “Those agents you work with, you can’t trust them.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because Clint,” she pauses to rub at her temple, “he doesn’t like them.”

“And that’s the end of the conversation?” You scoff. “Your new buddy says one bad thing and my team is suddenly suspicious.”

“It’s not just him. Your ‘team,’ is made up of a bunch of assholes. Everyone knows it.”

“I didn’t know you held such high moral standards. Tell me, what is your squad up to, huh? You go out and you spy on people so you can throw them a big party?” You don’t want to be angry, not with her, but she is different now. She is jumping on you when she always used to give you the benefit of the doubt, when she always used to be on your side.

She has become a stranger and now she thinks she can barge back in and make you behave as she sees fit. Perhaps you never knew her in the first place.

“I never said that,” she says.

“No, but you think you’re better than everyone else. You always have. And now you’re acting all righteous because the director has made you his pet project.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

She scoffs. “Really? Dreykov Junior?”

“I’m not his son.”

“No, you just wish you were.”

You turn away and take a deep breath.

Her voice is closer and softer the next time she speaks. “I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand.”

You shake your head as if the motion would fling all the anger away like it was some pesky bug. “Me neither.” “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in trouble. That’s all. I wanted to help you.”

You turn back to face her. “I don’t need help.”

“But you do.” Her face is a stone wall, a chiseled mask of indifference.

You blink at her. It is dark outside, and you are exhausted. Your quarters which have always felt a little like a jail cell shrink in on you. “What?”

She sighs, like you are a child who doesn’t understand. “They think you’re a spy,” she hisses, like she’s not supposed to be telling you this. “They think you are a spy and that you are trying to find a way to bring them down.”

“I’m not.” They have it all wrong, you want to say. You’ve been exiled, but you can’t tell them that. Because then they’d know you’re cornered, and there’s nothing more vulnerable than being caught with your back to the wall.

“Then why are you here?” She asks. And you feel like she’s pushed you off the top of the building. Because she is truly asking this question. She thinks you are working against them too. Working against her. “You came here to retrieve me, right? And I said I’m not going back to that hellhole. So you have a new mission.”

You must have some sort of surprise on your face because something clicks in her eyes, like she’s solved a mystery. But you can’t tell her that no, no one sent you here after her, because she’d ask you why you had jumped ship like an idiot and you’d have to tell her you were scared. You don’t have the words to describe how panic had seized you by the throat when news of her capture reached you. How even the daydream of her death made you want to die too.

Because you are not a savior. And she is not supposed to be worth saving anyway. Everyone is expendable. No one is special. And she was just a warm body all those years.

And because you cannot say all this, cannot accept that you ruined your life like some emotion-poisoned whore, you say, “You don’t understand.”

She is quicker with her response, because she has the power. She has always had the power between the two of you. “Then help me understand.”

You shake your head more furiously and back away. “Why do you even care, huh?”

“Because I want to understand you! You have to give me something. You have to show them you’re trying.”

“I am trying.” Could she not see that? How you were killing yourself everyday you woke up in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D.? You shake out the wrist you normally wear your watch on.

“But they don’t think so. You can do better.” She approaches you a little too quickly. You can’t tell if her outstretched hands are trying to support you or strangle you.

You seize her by the shoulders before she can touch you. “That’s what this is about? You’re worried I might be a stain on your reputation?” You are loud but you don’t care because you are furious.

“No. No, I never said that. I don’t care about my reputation. I want to help you, but I can’t because I don’t recognize you anymore!”

Her face is flushed red like it’s never been before and it scares you so you let her go. “You think I need help?” You throw your arms up because she is ridiculous and so are you. “You think I can’t handle this?” And she is shaking her head and getting redder and the corners of her mouth are turned down in the shape of a frown. She is saying no but you aren’t hearing her. “My whole life I’ve been handling everything just fine! And guess what. I have never needed you.” You’re pointing at her and every time you shake your fist it feels like pulling the trigger of a gun.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been through? I was there too. I get it but it is no excuse to keep protecting them!”

“It’s not that simple.” Because you had fought and you had suffered and you had had a role to fill. You still do. No, you weren’t just going to accept that you’d lost and roll over for the enemy. You can’t.

“It is!” She says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is not perfect, but it is a fucking haven compared to back there. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I’m not willing to turn my back on things so easily. I can’t just run from one thing to the next, changing who I am to fit in. I’m not like you.”

“Well then you are an idiot and a coward. And I see right through you.” You believe her. You feel so exposed under her gaze. “I’m not pretending to be someone else to fit in. I’m trying to be more than them, to be better. Fuck you.”

“Yeah? At least I’m not a spineless traitor. How could you leave? What has S.H.I.E.L.D. ever done for you?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes! The Red Room gave us everything.”

“The Red Room didn’t give us anything. It took our choices and our lives and it’s taking still. Look at yourself!” She thrusts her arms out at you and you flinch. Just a little, but you know she sees. Because you thought she didn’t care about all the ways in which you are ruined.

“I am better for all they put me through. It wasn’t easy, sure, but I’m not crying about it. They saved me!” You eye her, up and down, pretending you hate her. “And where would you be without them? Starving and pregnant by some guy you married who spends all his money on booze?”

“You’re fucking unbelieveable. I am not who I am because of them. I made myself.” She glares at you. You can’t look away. You hate this intimacy. She speaks slowly, making sure you hear every letter. “But they broke you.”

“I’m not broken,” you say, low, like the warning of thunder. You’ve been made in their image.

“You are! It’s not normal to beat children because they do not act like soldiers. It’s not normal to think of sex as a means to an end at twelve years old. But you still think it is! You think it’s all okay when it’s not! You are stuck with what they have told us and you’re too scared to break out.”

“I’m the scared one? You’re the one who ran away because she couldn’t handle it!”

“Maybe you’re not scared. But you should be. You should be terrified of the person you’ve become. Because the boy I knew, the boy who would take a slap over having to slap someone else wouldn’t be okay with this. But they told you you were the chosen one and suddenly it’s okay to let others suffer because you’re on top, right? You’ve forgotten what it was like to be treated like a slave.

Things changed for you. You got your uniform and they told you your name meant something. But things didn’t change for me, or for any of the other widows. They are still trapped like the dirt under someone’s shoe. Their names don’t matter because they are called ‘whore’ and ‘weapon.’ Just like mine didn’t. Until I forced people to see me.”

Her words scare you because there is a truth in them you’ve pretended like you could manage. It’s why Svetlana always dreamed of running off. Why Ekaterina tried to kill you after you’d accidently walked in on her and Anastasia.

But you can’t let go. There is fear and pain when you submit. But there is so much more if you dare to go against them.

You scowl. “Well who had a hand in making me ashamed of that kid? I changed because I was chasing after you.” You point at her. “Perfect little Natasha.”

“You think I wasn’t scared too?” She retorts.

“Fine,” you say. “I’m evil then, is that what you want to hear? If I’m so bad, why don’t you just kill me for it?” Your heart is racing like you’ve been in a fist fight and your muscles keep flexing like you’re about to hit something.

“I don’t want you dead. I don’t. You придурок, I never said that.” Her eyes are shiny like she might cry and it spooks you because you can count on one hand how many times she’s looked like that. “I want to help you. But I can’t when you don’t talk to me.”

“And I don’t need help. I’m not some victim! You want some explanation for why I’m not good like you? You want to hear how they used to take me downstairs and whip me until I passed out and that’s why I’m so messed up? How I got into an argument with Dreykov once and he broke my jaw? You don’t want to know that shit!”

She is shaking her head and speaking calmer now, but you don’t hear her. You are somewhere else, lost in the storm of all those nights you can’t quite remember right. You are drowning in anger. Yours and Dreykov’s and the Widows’ and the Madames’ and the guards’. Building and building in your chest because you cannot let it go, it is not in your nature to not feel, to not care.

She is coming at you again and she looks a little like Marina did that one night you slept together only because you had never been taught to say no.

“Get off!” You yell. She is blocking the door so you make a fist and pound it into the drywall next to her head.

She grabs your wrists and tells you to calm down. She says your name. “Look at me. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you!”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. But this is what I’m talking about. These are the things you have to say. The things I don’t know about you.”

You sneer back at her because she is strong and you are not and it’s the only way to protect yourself. “Don’t act like you don’t have your secrets too. But you wouldn’t tell me because you have to be so perfect all the time.”

“I couldn’t, you’re right. But I will now. I will. Trust me.”

“But you’re a widow,” you say, cold and sober. “How could I ever trust you?”

“You don’t mean that,” she says. Because what she hears you say is that she is not human. That all she’s ever been and ever could be is a weapon. “Look me in the eye and say you don’t trust me.”

So you do. You look her square in the eye and say, “I don’t trust you.”

Then there is fire in her eyes as she stands there and stares. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You really are just like him.”

You almost slap her. She is standing tall with her chin up like she is waiting for it and you think you should knock her down a peg.

But you don’t. You just walk around her and leave. Because she isn’t worth it.

Continue

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #fandom is dead #especially marvel #but the art of storytelling is not #thank you to the five people #who will read this entire thing #and see the vision #and maybe understand #not beta read #this thing is too long for that #took me long enough to write #also #r is kind of an asshole for awhile sorry #not really canon compliant with anything #it’s mostly mcu #but also comics when I want #plus my own imagination #so yeah it’s an inconsistent mess #and so is the timeline #because i wanted this to feel sort of coming of ageish #sorry about ultra long form on tumblr #but i am not promoting and managing a series #this is it #mature themes duh #also ignore the lack of plot #i dont have enough time to write a whole novel #also in my mind this isnt the end of their story #more like act I #they have met again in my world

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stxrslutrestored · 6 hours ago

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FREE TRIAL

pairing; godfather!jj x reader

summary; when you complain to your godfather that boys your age just don’t know how to treat you, he decides to show you what you’re missing out on in the world of older, more experienced men.

content; large age gap, “uncle” name (not biological)

authors note; didn't know wether to upload this here or sluttiebabydoll. but since theres not really anything noncon or inherently dark in it i'm just putting it up here

you’re sweating like crazy, the summer air is too hot for your body and your skin, it makes you feel sticky and disgusting. your makeup is running down your face along with your tears. on the way to a family and friends barbecue is just about the worst time to receive a breakup phone call from your boyfriend.

you walk to the house, and to your dismay the front door is locked and you are without key, which means you’ll have to enter through the back, where the barbecue is. you don’t even try hiding your emotions as you walk round, you know it’s obvius you’re devastated anyways.

you push through the small crowd of people in the backyard as fast as you can, avoiding anyone and everyones gaze. unfortunately you still catch attention. your father frowns from where he stands at the barbecue. jj is next to him, sporting the same expression.

theres a minute or so of silence outside after you slam the back door on your way to your room. after that minute jj speaks up, “y’all know what kids are like, don’t let her dampen the mood,” he exclaims, trying to put everyone back on their social track. he then turns to your father, “i’ll go check in on her, make sure she ain’t in trouble.”

his father nods and then jj turns to follow you through the house, he makes his way through the house to your room. he doesn’t bother to knock, just pushes the door open to find you curled up on your bed crying.

he closes the door behind him and starts to advance on you. “aw babygirl,” he croons, “what’s makin’ you cry like this huh?” he sits himself down on your bed.

you sniffle, looking up at him, “my boyfriend dumped me.” you say sadly, petulantly. normally you wouldn’t share so quickly, but you’re comfortable with your godfather, your uncle jay.

he croons, rubbing your knee, “awh well don’t you be frettin’ over that,” he tells you, “ain’t nobody in their right mind would dump a girl as lovely as you. hes a crazy guy.” he provides immediate reassurance.

you smile, “thankyou uncle jay,” you look down sadly, “just so annoying you know.’ you start, hesitating momentarily to say the next part but you continue nonetheless, “boys my age just.. they’re so immature.”

he chuckles, “oh well i ain’t head a truer thing said today.” he looks at your tearstreaked face, “but you’ll find someone, don’t you think you won’t for a second because you will.”

you shake your head, “it’s just so impossible,” you tell him, “nobody is good enough. no one knows how to be with me or treat me or… touch me,” you murmur the last part quietly.

his eyes widen a little, “nobody knows how to touch you?” he questions, “well i’m sure that ain’t true.” he argues, but you cut him off.

“prove it then,” you snap slightly, “prove to me that there’s one person in this world who can treat me and my body right.” you huff, looking away, you expect it to be a dead end then, but to your surprise jj stands up and locks your door.

little did you know, for this whole conversation, you’ve been teasing jj, hes been doing his absaloute best to hold back, be moral and not corrupt his goddaughter, but after that outburst, he refuses to hold himself back anymore.

“you really want proof sweetie?” he asks, standing over you, “i’ll give you proof. take that little dress of for me and ill give you all the proof in the world.”

you’re immediately taken aback at his command, did he really just tell you to strip. “what?” you say, slightly incredulously, “you.. you want to be the proof.”

he smirks, moving closer, “yeah.” his voice lowers, “i think the only reason you think nobody can treat you right, is because you aint had your way with an older man before.”

you frown, “so you want to.. to.. touch me?”

he smirks, “consider it a free trial. im exactly what you need sweetheart, older, more experienced. you give me a try, and if you like it then you’ll know what to look for in the future. it’s just a lil favour darlin’. no biggie, what do you say hm?”

you hesitate for a moment. you cant pretend youve never thought about him like that, youve always had a little bit of crush on him, but for him to offer to have sex with you, thats a whole other thing. but you suppose, if its just once like he says, there couldnt be much harm in it.

maybe your rational thoughts are clouded by the sadness you feel, but you decide to do it, so you nod. “okay.. okay.. i’ll let you show you what im missing…”

#lily writes 𝜗𝜚 #jj maybank prompt #godfather!jj #jj maybank fic #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank concept #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank

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itzkingbo · 3 days ago

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butterflies and roses

chapter two.

Stray Kids ot8 x fem!reader

masterlist / prev chapter / next chapter

overview: you are one of their managers. you're tired, overworked, and sad. the last thing you want to do is worry your boys. but they notice everything. and they love and care for you, like you do for them.

word count: 2.1k

contains: cussing, mentions of pain, fluff, nicknames, use of y/n, mental illness, forcing to eat

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY FRIENDS!! mwauh mwauh!! id like to thank everyone who liked the first chapter and followed me ☺️ welcome to the family. expect great things! if you're new here, HAI im bo! this is chapter two! make sure to catch up!! MORE TO COME I SWEAR. remember! comment to be added to the taglist down below!

Once again, you got little to no sleep that night. You managed to throw yourself into a cold shower the next morning to try and wake up a little. It only did so much. Then you were on your way to the company building once again.

Today's schedule for was slightly more relaxed. You have a meeting with the higher ups to get flights and hotels arranged for the tour, then the boys have an interview. After that you figured you'd spend the rest of your time trying to finish off the paperwork.

The meeting was stressful. No one could seem to agree on anything and kept looking to you to solve their problems. That's how it always was. Everything was thrown onto your shoulders to deal with.

By the end, you had more paperwork to get done than you originally thought. You huffed and packed your bag, then made your way down to the lobby to meet with the other manager.

He was standing there on his phone, pocketing it when he saw you. "Good morning, Y/n-ssi." He greeted you with a small bow. "Morning Eunwoo-ssi." You said tiredly as you joined his side.

The man led you out the front doors and towards his car so the two of you could meet the boys for their interview. When you sat down and buckled into his passenger seat, he handed you his phone.

You raised a brow and took it cautiously. "It's a long drive. Put something on." He says as he starts the car and begins to drive.

Silently, you scroll through spotify to try and find something to put on. Recently a song has been stuck in your head, so you choose that then set his phone aside to look out your window.

As the song begins to play, Eunwoo stiffens up at the lyrics. He wasn't blind. He could tell how much more distant you had been with him and the boys lately. Something was clearly wrong, but you were too stubborn to talk to anyone.

He chose to stay silent, and kept his eyes on the road.

Soon the car came to a stop in the parking lot of a tall building. You and Eunwoo silently made your way towards the front entrance. "Y/n." He starts, and you simply hum in response.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

You look over at him and give him a faint smile. "Sure." You say. Before he can continue, the sound of the boys' loudness makes its way towards you.

Instantly, you look to Chris, who is already staring at you. You look away and begin to lead them down the halls to the room for the interview.

They take their places in front of the camera, and makeup artists move around them meticulously. Chris eyes you from his spot, worried. "Channie-hyung.. What's bothering you?" It's Jeongin's voice that breaks him from his thoughts.

He looks towards the youngest and sighs, leaning in. "Doesn't Y/n look sadder these days? Pale and thinner? She isn't taking care of herself." He whispers.

Jeongin's lips part slightly and he looks towards you, inspecting you from afar. A frown form on his face and he looks back to his elder brother. "You're right.. have you asked her what's wrong?"

Chris nods. "Last night. She's closing us off."

Jeongin hums in thought. "I have an idea."

With that, he leans over and whispers into Chris' ear his plan, right before cameras begin to roll.

After the interview finished up, you quickly told Eunwoo that you would just take a bus back to JYPE. He protested at first, but couldn't get you to change your mind. As you were leaving, you felt something tug at your wrist so you turned to see. It was Felix. "Y/n-ah. Come eat lunch with us." He says, giving you that bright smile he knew you couldn't resist.

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked over his shoulder to see the others pouting at you in a pitiful manner. You looked back to the sunshine before you. "Felix.. I have paperwork to do."

Then he bats his eyelashes at you. Obviously you fold in seconds with a sigh. "Alright. Lunch it is." He smiles and tightens his grip on your wrist and pulls you towards the door.

The others follow behind you, and suddenly theres an arm around your shoulder. "We were thinking hot pot. Is that okay?" Jisung asks, making sure he's as close to you as humanly possible. You simply nod. Although you weren't very hungry, maybe you could eat a bit.

Felix looks back at you, then at Jisung with a knowing look. The boy removes his arm from you and falls back, now next to Minho.

By the time you all arrive at the restaurant, you've barely said anything to the boys. Not because you're ignoring them. You just don't feel like talking.

Felix makes it a point to squeeze you in between him and Minho, Jisung to the left of him. You set your bag on the ground by your feet and look at the menu. Nothing looks good or sounds good and you grimace at the thought of anything.

The server comes, and takes your orders. Soon, everything is brought out and the boys begin to cook the food. "Y/n. Look at this new phone game I got." Felix says, grabbing onto your wrist to get your attention. You look over dutifully, wanting to make sure he had your full attention. He showed you every little detail about it that he possibly could. It made a small smile fall onto your face.

What you hadn't noticed, was a certain menace next to you rummaging around in your bag whilst you were distracted.

The evening went on normally from there. You ate a few pieces of meat off Felix's plate, not wanting any for yourself. Then, you were off to the office. Work needed to be done.

You were incredibly exhausted still, barely running on caffeine. By 9:30pm, you were falling asleep at your desk. It was when your forehead smacked into your keyboard that you finally got the hint to go home. Usually you could force yourself to stay awake, but today it wasn't working.

But, you knew the moment you got home, you'd be wide awake again. Regardless, you stood from your desk and collected your things. Finally, you checked your phone for the first time in hours. That was when you realized you had a message from Chris. 'text me when you leave jype'

He always wanted to make sure you got home at a decent time, especially when he wasn't there to monitor your every move, so you thought nothing of it. You send him a quick next saying you're finally leaving before 10pm, then start leaving your office.

What you didn't know, was there was eight people waiting at your apartment for you.

"She's leaving now! We have like twenty minutes!" Chris called out from your bathroom. He heard several 'okay's and 'got it's from around the apartment and he quickened his pace. Currently, he was cleaning it up for you. Minho was hard at work in your kitchen making dinner, Felix baking your favorite sweets.

Jisung and Jeongin had been tasked with cleaning your living room, setting it up for a movie night and games. Changbin and Hyunjin were picking up your room, even folding the clean laundry you had left in a basket a week ago. Seungmin had been sent to the store to get snacks, drinks, and a few things on your shopping list you had been lacking.

On the bus, you were starting to become more awake now. You regretted leaving early, but you were so worn out that you didn't care. You stepped off the bus and gripped your bag tight, beginning your walk down the dark streets of Seoul.

You popped in one airpod, and chose a song from your playlist to keep your mind from wondering.

It's usually pretty quiet at this time of night. Strangers passing by every so often. Convenience store bells dinging in the distance. Peaceful. It didn't take you long for you to make it to your apartment building, and you could already feel the longing for your mattress growing. How long had it been since you got a good night sleep anyway? Two weeks? You had lost count.

You walked up the steps, putting your airpod away and making your way down the hall to your door. You pulled your bag around to your front and rummaged around for your key.

Your key. That's odd. You could have sworn it was there this morning. Where could it have gone? Your brows furrowed and now you practically had your whole head in your bag searching for your key.

Then the sound of a door opening caught your attention. You looked up. It was your door. When you locked eyes with Chris, you became even more confused. "Chris?" He opened the door wider for you and you stepped in cautiously. It was dark. "What are you doing in my apartment?"

Right on cue, the lights turned on and you winced slightly before your eyes adjusted. You looked around. It was.. clean!? The boys were all sprawled out around your now clean living room, minus a few. You felt tears well up in your eyes and you covered your mouth. "You-"

"We figured we'd help you out a bit, Y/n. You've clearly been stressed." Chris says, causing you to turn to him. You quickly embrace him in a hug as tears stream down your face. "Thank you." You mumble.

"Is she home?" You hear a familiar deep voice call out. Then, the smell of baked goodies hits your nose and you look up from where you stood in Chris' arms. The moment your eyes land on the brownies in his hands, you shoot over to Felix like a rocket and snatch one up. "Oh. Lixie." You say, mouth full.

He chuckles happy to see a smile on your face. "Minho-hyung has dinner going." He says, moving over to hand brownies to the others.

For the next hour or so, you stay huddled up on the couch trapped in Felix's arms as you all play Uno. Soon, everyone gets up to go make a plate of food, but you stay on the couch. This doesn't go unnoticed, and the man himself takes a seat next to you and shoves a plate into your hands. "Eat." Minho says, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm not hungry." You say quickly, moving the plate to the coffee table. Minho glares at you. "Yes you are. Look at you, y/n. You're to thin I'm afraid you might snap if I poke you. Eat."

You frown and grab the plate again. It does smell delicious. And who were you to say no to his cooking anyway. You pick at it for a few minutes before a hand interrupts and grabs your chopsticks. "He said eat." Jisung growls, picking up some food and then grabbing your jaw with his free hand. "So eat." And you open, and he shoves the noodles into your mouth.

You look up at him with your eyes as the others laugh at his sudden burst of outrage. You chew, and then swallow. "Do I have to keep feeding you like a baby, or will you eat?"

With a scoff, you take your chopsticks back and begin to eat properly.

The night passes by, and soon it's midnight. Everyone is cuddled up on the couch, your head leaned against Hyunjin's shoulder. A movie played on the TV, but you weren't watching. You were passed out, and had been for a while. As the film came to an end, Chris looked over at you and smiled. "Finally.." He sighed. "Let's take her yo her bed."

Hyunjin nods and maneuvers carefully to scoop you up without waking you. Then, he caries you down the hall and into your room where he lays you down, and makes sure you're under the covers. You stir a little, and he places a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Good night, y/n-ah."

None of them left, in fear that you'd wake up and fall back into your habits quickly. So they slept on pallets on the floor and the couch. All eight of them would be spending the next day helping you heal, or the next week if they had to. You needed them.

---

taglist: @helialaufeyson28

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mandarinmoons · 3 days ago

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1 year of Mandarinmoons

It's January 1st aka new years day aka 1 year since I posted my first fic!

A year has gone by so fast and I'm extremely thankful for everyone who has read and supported my works!

I hope to continue writing for a good while and to improve my skills and remember to take as much time as I need when writing x

You can read my very first fic here:

Annabel Lee - When you're not able to sleep, Spencer suggests ways to help you, but turns out the solution was right in front of you

A list of my own favorite fics I've written:

Having a sleepover with Spencer - upon hearing that Spencer has never been to a sleepover, you make sure to give him a night he'll never forget

Helping Spencer with his hair - Spencer has trouble taming his hair and asks reader for some help

Spencer comforts student! reader - Seeing you stressed out because of exams, Spencer takes it upon himself to remind you to take a break

Spencer comforts reader after they get kidnapped - After being kidnapped, Spencer vows to not leave you side until you recover from the traumatic event

Spencer x hiker! reader - One day out hiking, reader makes a shocking discovery that has them calling Spencer for help

Here's a couple of my latest fics:

Reader breaks up with their current boyfriend for Spencer - Not feeling content in your current relationship, you're reminded of the way you feel whenever you're with Spencer and decide to end things, later on aimlessly walking to Spencer's door for comfort

Like a movie scene (18+) - Upon watching a movie, Spencer's mind wanders and thinks about changing up the activities which he successfully courses you into

I'd also like to give a special thank you to my biggest supporters for the continuous love ❤️

Thank you to: @luvkatryna @whoisspence @sreidisms @gubsbuubs @radioactiveinvisibe (deactivated but never forgotten x) @lanascinnamongirls @mindfullycriminal @reidscutie @cumulo-stratus @tonight-i-may-see @incognit0slut @aliteralsemicolon @lavenderspence @reidsstargirl @spencestiel-michelle @spinningspencer @whitedovebby @mrs-weasley-reid

Thank you to everyone who has stuck around for so long. Let me know your favorite fic I've written and if you happen to reread any of them, any kind words motivate me to keep on writing <3 - Ket

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom

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oceanicwriting · 17 hours ago

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you... love me?

part one. part two.

summary: one afternoon, while you're going home from work, you run into that man who had become a complete stranger in your life. how much had things changed? how much could you remember from that encounter?

pairing(s): theodore nott x fem!reader

a/n: this is part two of another story that's addressed above. you don't need to read the first one, but you might like it! i really liked this ending :-).

maybe angst...

ㅤㅤㅤ—mattheo's an asshole —hellen, your best friend, whines on the other end of the phone—. i swear i had no idea he'd invited everyone, including...

ㅤㅤㅤ—you don't have to worry. —you try to sound calm, but you weren't calm at all—. it's been a long time since we last saw each other. we must be over it, right?

ㅤㅤㅤ—that's the question i should ask you, don't you think?

ㅤㅤㅤit's been three and a half years since you last saw your ex-boyfriend from school who, at the last moment of the relationship, ended up being a complete stranger. so many things happened in the last months of the relationship that, after ending due to the tiredness of the repetitive arguments, avoiding him was a game in which you became an expert.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm completely over it. —you lie, stopping the supermarket cart in the fruit section.

ㅤㅤㅤ—of course. —the voice of your friend on the other end of the line extends the letter o, making you roll your eyes—. is that why you haven't been with anyone since then?

ㅤㅤㅤ—because i haven't wanted to, hellen —you answer, laughing as you grab some apples to put in the bag.

ㅤㅤㅤ—do you really think i've believed you every time you tell me that? i feel like you're always waiting for him. you want him to show up in your life as a completely different person, but every time i try to talk about him with you, you...

ㅤㅤㅤin the middle of the speech, one of the apples slips out of your hands, rolling across the neat floor of the supermarket until it hits the feet of a man on the other side of the displays. you turn around, still hearing your friend's voice prattling about everything that's wrong with your love life, but as soon as that man turns to pick up the apple, the entire world succumbs to silence.

ㅤㅤㅤbrown hair, messy and wavy, falling over his pale forehead. those blue eyes, hidden behind long, almost sleepy, drooping eyelashes, are glued to yours. you had the feeling that he had grown taller, or perhaps it was the musculature that widened his shoulders. he was well dressed in a black suit and long coat that gave him an overly adult air.

ㅤㅤㅤ—theodore —you say, perplexed.

ㅤㅤㅤ—yes, i'm talking about theodore. are you listening to me...?

ㅤㅤㅤ—hellen, i'll call you later.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore hasn't moved, and you have the feeling that he's as stunned as you are by the materialization of your body in front of him.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hello. —the sound of his voice hasn't stopped affecting your heart rate, giving you goosebumps with the simple, carefree greeting—. you look... good.

ㅤㅤㅤyou smile, unable to do anything else in the face of the comment.

ㅤㅤㅤ—miss, could you let me pick some apples? —an adult lady with more wrinkles than you could imagine appears next to you, forcing you to move your cart—. thank you.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore has also moved, being closer to each other. in your nose, you can feel the scent of his body hit hard, making you smell the air around you more than necessary.

ㅤㅤㅤ—this is yours —he says, extending the apple that was in his hand.

ㅤㅤㅤ—yes, thank you...

ㅤㅤㅤyour hands wrap around the fruit, brushing your fingertips against theodore's skin. it was as cold as you remembered, rough as unused sandpaper and electrifying as it had always been. everything felt so familiar that a current of panic runs through your spine.

ㅤㅤㅤ—what are you doing here? —you ask, feeling your voice shoot out in a fear-filled question—. i mean, here, in london.

ㅤㅤㅤand you weren't going to lie because more than once, you heard the voices of his friends saying that he was still in italy.

ㅤㅤㅤ—work and mattheo's engagement party —he says. with each word that left his lips, the air became lighter, allowing you to lower your defenses—. who knew he would be the first to get engaged?

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh softly, noticing how theodore doesn't take his eyes off your happy expression. maybe after a long time things were different for both of you and you had to make the effort to disassociate your last experiences with him.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hellen can be very insistent when she wants to. —your whole body reacts to the smile you swore had gotten over, but he manages to send all kinds of sensations to your body—. you...? would you come with me? i still have things to buy.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore looks at you, calm. his eyes have not left yours at any time, and you are sure that everyone has started to look at you strangely for standing there. then, he nods, making you release all the air you have been holding in your lungs.

ㅤㅤㅤas you wander around the supermarket you discover that theodore is still working as an astronomy teacher at the italian school of wizards and witches, he hasn't seen the boys since he left but they write letters to each other frequently, and he's had more than two partners since he finished school.

ㅤㅤㅤ—how about you? —he asks, picking up your bags to help you with them to the exit door—. are you going with someone to the engagement party?

ㅤㅤㅤand it's a moment, small as an ant against the planet, that you have the memory of that conversation between you. you remember how theodore dreamed of seeing you wear a white dress, walking to the altar where he would wait for you, surrounded by the people you loved and full of emotion. that had happened that year of your relationship, where everything was dyed pink before burning to ashes.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i... i'll go alone —you answer, unable to look at him because of the shame. theodore had gotten over you, and you had waited for him for a long time in the hopes of finding a new man—. thanks for carrying the bags.

ㅤㅤㅤhe could notice the way your uneasy gaze falls to the ground, handing over the bags and feeling the current from your body pass through his.

ㅤㅤㅤ—you're welcome.

ㅤㅤㅤand the truth of the matter is that not seeing each other for so long, right after breaking up the way you did, hadn't given way for either of you to grow. it's like you've both stopped in time because something was still tying you so tightly that moving forward was impossible. you turn around, ready to walk to the opposite side of theodore, but his voice stops you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i lied to you. —he's firm, chasing away any trace of fear that blooms in the darkness of the sky—. i lied to you when i said that i've had partners in these years. since you left me, i haven't been able to move forward with my life.

ㅤㅤㅤyou turn to see him, noticing his blue eyes shining with honesty.

ㅤㅤㅤ—because you were right. —that makes you frown—. when someone loves you, they trust. when someone loves you, they listen. and if i loved you... i should never have done all the harm i did to you. and i know that i didn't love you, not like i should have.

ㅤㅤㅤ—theo...

ㅤㅤㅤ—and i waited all these years for you to come back like every time we argued when we were younger —he says, laughing bitterly—. that shows that i haven't been able to change.

ㅤㅤㅤeven though his words were loaded with a farewell, instead of shedding tears for the beating of your heart, you feel a weight lift off your shoulders.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i have to learn to love, and i'm sure i couldn't do it with you, because after a long time, i was still waiting for you to come back as if nothing had happened.

ㅤㅤㅤ—and i was hoping you'd come back a different man, theodore —you admit, smiling melancholy—. if you had said what i wanted to hear, i don't think anything would have stopped me from accepting it. would we have ended up in the same circle as years ago? no?

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore nods, letting out a long sigh.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i'm happy we can accept it —you say, smiling at the way all your fears have disappeared, and not because of his presence, but because you've cut that tie that bound you two—. i feel like i can move on with my life now.

ㅤㅤㅤhe agrees, and you both smile one last time before walking in your directions. sometimes, two people who love each other aren't made to be together, even if they feel so strongly attracted to each other. theodore and you loved each other a lot, but at the same time, you managed to understand that a life together wasn't for you.

dedicated to @lorenzozurzolocanruinmylife, sorry if it isn't what you expected, and i hope you like it! xoxo

#theodore nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys #wizarding world #harry potter

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park-jimin-isnt-real · 2 days ago

Text

"edge of tonight" part seventeen ~ the withdrawal

pairing: namjoon x reader (lots of platonic ot7 x reader) rating: T 16+ genre: mafia au, angst this part: Maybe you should go back. tw: mafia au!, angst, swearing, talk of dissociation, jimin is an asshole, i cannot stress enough how much you will not like jimin by the end of this chapter (you'll love him by the end of the next one), jungkook is a sweetheart and we don't deserve him word count: ~7.6k track #20: Addicted ~ Kelly Clarkson: “It's like I'm lost, it's like I'm giving up slowly.” the edge of tonight masterlist an: special thanks to everyone who stuck around long enough for this update. sorry it's late. life happens. but better late than never i guess! please let me know what you think! a little comment or dm goes a long way to helping me get through writing the next parts. thank you so much for reading!!

You stared back at your reflection in the window until it disappeared, the world outside becoming brighter. You didn't even bother trying to sleep; still in your dress, heels abandoned by the bed, arms wrapped around your legs as if that alone would protect you from your demons.

Today was going to be a bad day.

This was going to be the kind of day where, were you still in Busan, Jackson would smile and handle you gently. He wouldn't raise his voice, wouldn't bring anything up to remind you of your past. These types of days, you would be a ghost, and they were Jackson's favorite days.

But Jackson wasn't here. Jackson wasn't talking to you. Jackson wouldn’t walk you from one couch to another, wouldn't feed you small bits of kimchi, wouldn't take care of you the way you couldn't take care of yourself.

You'd hardly had any days like this since coming to Seoul, but even when you did you were still able to call Jackson. It wasn't the same, you being curled up all alone on your shitty couch in your shitty apartment, Jackson's voice crackling through the receiver instead of whispering gently into your ear.

He wasn't there, but you still had him.

Now you didn't have anything.

There was a knock outside your door. You didn't respond, hoping whoever it was would think you were still asleep and leave you be. A few minutes passed—and you thought you had been left alone once more—before you heard the last voice you wanted to.

"I know you're awake, beautiful," Park's overly cheery voice rang through the open crack. "You can either open the door on your own, or I can huff and puff and blow it down!"

A frustrated groan managed its way out of your throat, and you simply dropped your head into your arms. Maybe if you kept ignoring him, he'd take the hint and go away?

You felt the door being opened more than you heard it. "Fun night?" Park asked, walking in despite not being invited. You knew you looked terrible, and you knew that he knew, based on your appearance alone, that you did not have a fun night.

You still didn't respond, still hoping that the silent treatment would work, but you also knew that the chance was slim. He was proving to be as annoying as Jackson. Your arms squeezed a little tighter at the comparison. Park wasn't Jackson, he couldn't do for you what Jackson did.

But he might be the closest you could get right now.

"Come on, beautiful," Park continued talking to you even though you weren't answering back. "Let's get you in the shower."

A soft and warm hand grabbed at one of yours and started pulling you up. It was his touch that finally broke you from your near-frozen state. "Don't touch me!" You ripped your hand away, looking up to glare at him.

You were only met with a bright smile, but it didn't meet his eyes. "There you are! For a minute there, I was wondering if Choi Jaeseong actually managed to break you." You couldn't hide the flinch at the mention of Choi's name. His smile faded. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Now come on," he repeated, this time gesturing to the bathroom. "Shower time."

You tried moving away from him more, but you hadn't moved in hours and your limbs were too stiff to act quickly. Still, you spat out, "I can take care of myself."

Park looked you up and down several times, skepticism practically radiating out of him. "You might wanna try that line again when you don't look like last night's leftovers."

The amount of rage-fueled adrenaline that started coursing through you was something you hadn't experienced often and was usually only brought about by something Rosé's ex-boyfriend said or did. But Park's comment was enough to get your heart rate up and your body moving, if only to try and kill him.

"Get! Out!" You yelled, grabbing the pillow you used on the couch and hurling it at him. Park simply caught it and tossed it back onto the couch.

"Shower," he told you again, but at least he was headed towards the door this time. "You have half an hour before I come back and drag you downstairs for breakfast, regardless of what state you're in!"

"Fuck off, Park!" He had mostly closed the door behind him and you could hear his footsteps get further away, but you swore you could hear a snicker at your screamed explicative.

"Half an hour!" He called in return, his voice considerably quieter due to the distance now between you.

You rolled your eyes, not even willing to consider that his threat was real. But he did also seem like the exact person who would pull you from the middle of your shower and take you to the kitchen, half-covered in suds and only wrapped in a towel, so maybe you should treat it with some level of solemnity.

You started stretching your body out, realizing just how uncomfortable your position had been all night. Once you felt okay enough to stand, you went to the bathroom and turned the shower on.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

"Morning," Taehyung greeted you as you walked into the kitchen half an hour later, not looking up from his phone. Park was at the stove, apron on, flipping pancakes onto a plate.

"Hey," you responded, walking to the island but not taking a seat. Tae moved one over from his stool, probably giving you some more room. You could also sense the tension between the two of them, and you wondered briefly if it was the same problem from the beginning of the year.

Park looked over his shoulder as he turned the stove off. "Damn, you look way better," he smirked. "You're welcome."

You crossed your arms, trying not to explode at him. "I didn't ask for your help."

"But you needed it." He picked up the plate of pancakes and turned, placing it in the center of the island. "Eat up!" He said with an overly bright smile. Taehyung rolled his eyes.

You stood still. "How do I know you didn't poison them?"

Park's smile didn't drop, but it did turn the tiniest bit sharp. "Seriously?" You didn't react, waiting for him to make a move. He stared you down only for another moment, then picked up the top pancake with his hand and shoved nearly half of it in his mouth.

You waited until he had swallowed before speaking again. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"Oh my god." Now his smile dropped and he had to take a deep breath to keep himself in check. "Y/N, I admit that I am not Jin-hyung in the kitchen, but I'm also not Namjoon-hyung." He picked the plate up again, moving it closer to you and dropping it enough to hear the glass rattle a bit. "Eat the goddamn pancakes."

Park took off the apron, balling it up and leaving it on the counter, then walked past you on his way out of the kitchen. You waited just a bit longer before meandering your way over to the island to poke at the food.

"I watched him make them," Tae spoke up for the first time since seeing you. "He didn't poison them." He still didn't look at you, and it was a little weird how he hardly ever did when he talked to you, but you supposed that was part of his whole thing.

"Is he always like this?" You asked in return. Jungkook kept trying to tell you Jimin-hyung is actually really nice but you just couldn't see it. Taehyung took his own deep breath.

"No," he answered, "he really isn't. Jimin is normally very nice and considerate and understanding, while still being a little shit."

You finally sat down and pulled the pancake plate to you as you listened. "How come he's being a big shit when it comes to me?" You picked up the half-eaten pancake that Park left and started ripping it into smaller pieces to eat.

"Because he thinks he's helping, and I understand why he's doing it but I don't agree with the execution. He should be a lot nicer to you."

You didn't want to admit that the pancake was good. Not Jin good, but good. No traces of poison anywhere to be found. You didn't really think that Park would try to poison you, but you just didn't understand why this one person just couldn't give you the same space that the rest of the members had.

"Why's he doing it then? Why isn't he being nicer?"

Taehyung sighed and didn't answer you for a moment. He put his phone down but still refused to look at you. “Ultimately, that's not my story to tell,” he said. “You'll need to ask Jimin yourself.”

“Ask me what?” The devil himself asked as he came back into the kitchen. You barely spared him a glance and noticed he had changed into his usual suit get-up, hair parted perfectly to expose his forehead.

If you were different people, it would've been attractive.

“And where are you off to?” Taehyung asked as you took another bite of pancake, hoping it would keep Park from talking to you.

“Hot date,” the answer came, and you were surprised by the anger that started coming from the man next to you. They were friends and had a strange bond, but you couldn't help wondering what was so wrong about Park going out that had Taehyung all worked up.

The cruel voice in your head tried suggesting that you and Park were more alike than you'd like to believe, and Taehyung was his Jackson. You shut that thought out before it could gain root. Even if you were right, you didn't need to gain any sympathy for Park and how he was treating you.

“Have fun, you two!” The bastard called as he headed out the door.

“Doing what?!” Taehyung yelled back before the door could fully close. Park only stuck his head back in, a stupid, cheeky grin on his stupid face.

“Make sure she doesn't dissociate.” The door closed fully faster than you could fling a stupid pancake at him for the comment. Taehyung dropped his head into his hands, giving up, as you both heard the garage opening and Park starting his car and driving off.

“I am going to kill him one of these days,” you said around a pancake bite.

Taehyung only sighed again but looked at you this time. “I’ll let you beat him up a bit, how's that?”

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

You were getting tired again. You could feel it in your soul, in that weight you carried no matter where you went. You were tired of all the late nights, the bad sex, the lack of relevant information. The only thing that had kept you so present lately was Park's now daily pestering.

Honestly, If it weren't for fucking Park and his fucking meddling, you would've become that ghost of yourself Jackson loved so much. And then maybe Jackson would've sensed that change in you and would've unblocked you by now and you'd be talking to him again but noooooo. Park just had to keep pushing every button to get you angry, and if there was one thing that cut through your bone-deep weariness, it was your anger.

It was this dissonance in your head that kept you from really focusing on whatever theory you, Namjoon, and Jungkook were trying to figure out at that moment. After the third round of repeated questions and gentle shoulder touches to bring you back, Namjoon softly suggested that maybe you take a break.

“Jungkook and I can keep working on this if you want to go do something else?” His tone was nothing but genuine concern, but the words themselves reminded you too much of similar things Jackson had told you.

“You don't have to be here, you can go train or something.”

As sympathetic as his suggestion was supposed to be, Namjoon only made you feel that tired more.

“Come to the gym with me tomorrow.”

Both your head and Namjoon's snapped to the youngest in surprise, not expecting him to speak up, much less offer anything.

“Why?” You asked. In the almost three months you had spent living with them, Jungkook had never invited you to his gym before.

He didn't immediately answer you like he usually did. Instead, his eyes flicked between you and Namjoon several times, bottom lip bitten due to nerves.

“I was told not to tell you why or who told me to ask you,” he finally said. Namjoon only looked more confused, but that tired you were just barely feeling switched over to the anger.

“Why?” Namjoon echoed your question but you could already guess the who and the why.

“Park can ask me to do things himself, instead of getting you to do his dirty work.” Your only immediate regret was that your tone made Jungkook flinch back from you the smallest amount.

“Jimin-hyung thought the suggestion would be better coming from me,” he explained quietly, trying not to upset you further. It made you feel worse about accidentally taking your anger out on him. Jungkook didn't deserve that.

So you turned to Namjoon instead, who also didn't deserve it but could at least throw it back at you if you went too far. It was a skill every gang leader needed.

“Can you get Park to back off? I'm perfectly fine without his help.”

Namjoon sighed, clearly already done with the topic at hand. “I've talked with Jimin several times already, as have most other members. I don't think there's any stopping him at this point.”

You threw your head back with a groan. “I just want to be left alone! Is that really so much to ask?”

The room was silent for a moment, then Jungkook quietly spoke up again. “Jimin-hyung thinks that it would help you if you got out of the estate during the day, and Hobi-hyung said that you used to train a lot when you were in Busan, and the best place to train is at a gym.”

While you were once again upset at the mention of Jimin thinks you should do this, you were surprised to hear Jungkook say Hobi-hyung rather than Hoseok-hyung. As far as you were aware, you were the only one who referred to him as Hobi.

Maybe you had a greater influence here than you originally thought.

“And you own a gym?” You guessed. You had remembered a gym name being thrown around occasionally, and it was an easy assumption that Jungkook's side business would be somewhere he and the rest of the members could train themselves.

“It's not a bad idea,” Namjoon said, albeit hesitantly. He didn't want to force you into anything you weren't comfortable with, but giving you a healthier outlet would be beneficial. “I bet Yeji would like to meet you.”

“And you would get along with her so well!” Jungkook added.

You stood up, officially done with this conversation, and spoke as you headed to the office door, “I don't need any more friends, female or otherwise, but thanks for the offer. Tell Park to fuck off for me.” And with that, you left the office.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

There wasn't a night where you didn't miss Rosé, but most nights the longing was so quiet you hardly noticed it anymore.

Jungkook's offer to go train at his gym and Namjoon's suggestion of meeting Yeji (whoever she was) brought your attention back to the first real female friend you ever made, and the tragic circumstances of her disappearance. Only now you knew how she disappeared, and you knew she was happy.

That didn't make the feeling go away, though.

You were so fucking tired of feelings. You were tired of being fucking tired, too. If Jackson would just unblock you, he could help you not feel so tired, or at least help you stop feeling in general.

Maybe you should go back.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

It took you three days to accept Jungkook's offer. You weren't happy about it, but Park was right again. Getting you out of the estate for a bit would help you, and punching things and/or people would be a great way to vent your stupid emotions.

If it worked in Busan, it would work now too.

The Basement was a standard gym, with treadmills and weight machines and punching bags. You asked Jungkook why he named it The Basement, but he only smirked at you.

“It's where I'm supposed to stay.”

You didn't bother asking anything further to decipher the cryptic answer. It sounded like an inside joke and you weren't interested.

As he led you further into the building, you saw a couple of boxing rings, both of which were occupied by people sparring with each other. One had a young woman with her red hair tied up in a high ponytail, going at it with another girl with blonde hair who looked similar in age.

It reminded you a bit too much of Busan.

The other ring had two men sparring. Both the women and one of the men had purple bands tied around one arm.

“Anyone with that purple band is a member of the ‘staff’,” Jungkook explained, showing you the one he had on. He leaned a bit closer and continued quietly, “They know what we do, and to certain extents, they help us when needed.”

You nodded your understanding. You'd make sure not to use the members’ real names then, just to be safe. Jungkook continued to guide you to the boxing ring with the two women. “Yeji!” He called up to them, and they both stopped and turned. “Come down and meet Y/N!”

You felt your face redden slightly at the sudden attention. Several heads turned your way, staring unapologetically. You started considering making a break for it, but you'd have to walk back to the main estate. You didn't know the way, and it'd be too dangerous for you to be out on the streets alone like that.

You were stuck here. Unfortunately.

The redhead climbed out of the ring quickly, pulling the gloves off with her teeth. “Hello!” She said with a quick bow, still slightly out of breath. “I'm Yeji, it's so nice to finally meet you!”

You offered a small smile and bowed back, but you still didn't say anything. You failed to see how Namjoon thought you two would become friends.

“Yeji is from Jeonju,” Jungkook brought up. “Y/N's been in Busan the past few years.”

Jeonju piqued your interest. “How'd you get up here?” You asked her quietly, not sure if it was a story she'd be willing to share.

“My dad couldn't pay off his drug debt, so the boss took me instead,” Yeji replied, a twinge of sadness in her eyes, but nothing else gave her emotion away. “I was sold in the Trade—” what the southern underground called sex trafficking “—and eventually found myself in Seoul.”

You looked between her and Jungkook, a bit afraid to ask your next question. “How'd you get out?”

“The Y/N Initiative,” came the reply from both of them, but Yeji continued, “So you're a different kind of famous in the lower circles.”

“No wonder me coming back from the dead made such a stir.” Yeji and Jungkook laughed, but you didn't understand why.

“Yeji, why don't you get Y/N warmed up while I go get her a band,” Jungkook said, then walked away, leaving you and this new girl who was supposed to become your friend alone.

“Busan's pretty rough.” Yeji led you to the now-empty boxing ring. "We don’t get many girls from that far south up here very often.”

“I wasn’t planning on being another one,” you vaguely explained. “Everything just sort of happened and now I’m here.” You pulled yourself up and slid between the ring ropes, feeling a sense of familiarity amidst the new environment. You knew your way around a boxing ring very well, and a part of you wondered if another member owned or had easy access to a shooting range.

“Well, I’m glad you made it,” Yeji told you, climbing up after you. She handed you a pair of boxing gloves, which you took a bit too hesitantly. “And hopefully you aren’t too rusty, it’s been a long time since I’ve sparred with someone from the South.” Her cheeky tone made you smirk, and you almost missed the wink she sent your way.

Sparring with Yeji was reminiscent of sparring in Busan, and you found yourself more present than you had been in months. Something was refreshing about not overthinking into the void and just throwing punches and kicks.

There was also something infuriating about fucking Park being fucking right fucking again.

You even had a chance to go toe to toe with Jungkook once he returned with a purple band for you, and you had to admit that you had fun. You'd never had fun training before, but something about Jungkook's stupid bunny grin as he egged you on and told you “You can hit harder than that, come on” brought a smile to your face.

Something resembling a smile, anyway.

You were panting and drenched in sweat by the time you called it quits. Yeji led you to the girls' locker room so you could rinse off, and even left you some simple clothes for you to change into.

“We always have extras here,“ she explained as she handed the jeans and t-shirt to you. “Just in case someone needs them.” She winked and left, giving you your privacy. Something about that sounded a bit flirty, but you could tell it was harmless. It was probably for the Y/N Initiative.

You didn't take long in the locker room, not wanting to hold Jungkook back since he was your ride. You didn't see him, though, when you walked back onto the main floor.

You shrugged it off, he was probably doing some kind of business management thing. He wouldn't leave without you, so you decided to make your way to the front and wait for him. You walked past a couple of different small groups of people on your way.

The last one made you double-take.

“Oh. My. God.” Your voice caught the attention of the group and the man you were looking at. His eyes went wide in recognition as you continued. “This is where your little rat ass made it?”

“Those are big words coming from such a little bird,” Jay Park taunted back. “Where's your owner? Shouldn't he have you on a leash?”

“Is your dick still functional?” You fake whispered, catching the attention of others nearby. Park's face turned red from embarrassment and anger, while a few girls laughed.

“Are you the one who did that to him?” someone called, and the guys surrounding him snickered. Apparently, you were a legend in more than one way.

“He had to learn no means no somehow.” Jay Park stalked towards you, but you held your ground. You hadn't seen him since that day, and if you thought back hard enough, you could still taste the blood in your mouth. Park took a deep breath on his way over, calming himself back down. That was unusual to you—he used to have a temper as bad as Rosé's ex. You weren't sure what to make of it, or how to respond, so you stepped back.

“For as much of a little shit you are, it's nice to see you finally out of Busan.” You only blinked at him, completely thrown off by his 180-degree shift.

“Didn't think you'd be one to care,” you said back, but not with the same amount of bite you had before.

Park shrugged, “People change. I didn't care about a lot of things until I got out and found this place. Jungkook put a few good beatings on my ass.”

You still didn't fully trust him, or what he was saying, but he also sounded genuine. You knew that getting away from the wrong place, the wrong people, could make someone turn around for the better. You just never expected it with Jay Park.

He had a purple band on, though. If Jungkook trusted him, then maybe you could give him a shot too?

“How long have you been up here?”

“Since the day after you tried biting my dick off.” You couldn't help the twitch of your lips into a small smirk. “I got in a bad fight with Jackson over it. Told him to fuck off and then got the hell outta there. He isn't here too, is he?” Park glanced around, nervous to see the person you were dying to hear back from.

“Jackson's still down in Busan,” you admitted in a smaller voice than you would have liked.

“He let you come up here all by yourself?”

You refused to look at him, your gaze pointedly on the ground. “I… kind of ran away. And now he won't talk to me.”

“Shit,” Park muttered, “you're getting help from Bangtan and still trying to stay in contact with the person you're running from?”

“I didn't run from Jackson,” you spat out, although you weren't sure you believed the statement yourself. “I was offered a really good job up here and I took it. And then things started falling apart, so now Bangtan is helping me. And Jackson doesn't like that I'm not back in Busan working with him. So he stopped talking to me.”

Park stood in silence, taking all of that in. It was weird, having him just listen to you, to not hear some stupid comment from him. But, at the same time, it was nice to see someone you knew from Busan. It was nice to talk about Jackson with someone who also knew him.

“You know,” Park finally said, “for as much of a dickwad as he is, Jackson does care a lot about you.” And you did know that. “You said you were working on some kind of job up here, and that's cool, but if he's not talking to you, you may wanna head back down to Busan for a couple days and try to patch things up with him. Maybe even see if he'll come back with you and start helping.”

“Hey Jay, let's go!” One of the other guys called for him, and the rest of the group headed into one of the sparring areas.

Park nodded to you, “Guess I'll be seeing you around, ya little bitch.” Then he turned and ran to rejoin his friends. You couldn't even offer a decent comeback. You just stood, nearly frozen, digesting his words. There was only one thing ringing around in your head.

Maybe you should go back.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

You stayed in, sending Hueningkai a message to take the night off. There were too many things bouncing around inside your head to try and seduce information out of others tonight.

You were thinking too much, and you couldn't get your brain to stop. A single thought drowned out the rest, weaving itself into each idea, playing like a broken record.

Maybe you should go back.

Jackson could help you. Jackson could get your mind to stop. Jackson could calm your worries with a few words, a quick fuck, whatever was needed. Jackson was the one you needed.

And Jackson was in Busan. So maybe you should go back, you should definitely apologize, and hope he puts your months-long act of defiance behind him. He'd forgive you eventually, he always did. Especially if you were good.

Jackson does care a lot about you, Jay Park had said, you may wanna head back down. Never in your wildest dreams would you have ever thought you'd be considering Jay Park's advice, but all he really did was say out loud what you had already been thinking. Jackson cares about you, and you should go back.

With a small groan, you rolled yourself off your couch landing facedown on the floor. The slight change didn't do much for your racing mind, but at least the different environment convinced your body that moving was okay. After breathing in the carpet for another moment, you pushed yourself up, slowly getting on your feet.

Silently, you crept towards your door, slightly ajar as always. While part of you understood you didn't need to creep around, that no one here was going to yell at you, you did still want to be respectful of the time. 3 AM wasn't an ideal time to be awoken, but you knew at least one member who would still be up.

You tiptoed down the hall, glad your target's room was only one down from yours. The light in Namjoon's office was on, the door mostly closed, but you could hear the leader snoring inside. You were safe to be a little louder.

Quickly, but still quietly, you knocked on the door four times. After waiting a few minutes and not receiving any response, you tried again a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

You let out a soft sigh. Either Yoongi was actually asleep, or he wasn't here tonight, which meant you couldn't badger him for some more sleeping pills. You just wanted one good night's rest for once, it couldn't have been too much to ask for.

You turned around, starting to head back into your room, but a quiet voice stopped you.

“Y/N-ssi?” Jungkook spoke softly, his tone concerned. “Are you okay?”

You turned towards the youngest, who was in sleeping clothes but somehow looked more awake than he should be, and offered a small smile. “Yeah, just wanted to see if Yoongi was up.” It wasn't a total lie.

“I think he crashed at his place tonight,” Jungkook said. “Something about being at the studio for too long and not wanting to drive all the way out here.”

You nodded, then offered a small wave. “Well, good ni—”

“Do you want to get a late-night snack?” Jungkook asked, interrupting you. You just looked at him, confused, until he added, “I was gonna get something for myself, but we can share if you want to.”

Your stomach started aching a bit at the mention of food. You did eat a small dinner, but that was many hours ago. Maybe another small something would help you rest a bit more. You simply nodded, walking towards him and following him down to the basement.

“Would you prefer sweet or salty?” Jungkook asked as he stared at the snack pantry. You made a beeline for the couch, wrapping yourself up in a blanket to shield yourself from the cold.

“Neither?” Your answer sounded more like a question. You weren't sure what you were craving, not what exactly they had to offer.

“Savory it is, then.” You heard the sound of plastic crinkling, then peered over the back of the couch to see Jungkook carrying a package of jerky. Your mouth watered a bit. That would be perfect for a midnight snack. He sat at the other end of the couch, then opened the package and offered it to you first. You snaked a hand out from the warmth and grabbed a few pieces.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, just snacking. Jungkook looked awake and asleep at the same time, and you wondered if you needed to be the responsible one and get him back into bed.

Jungkook stood once the jerky was gone, stretching his arms above his head. “Thank you for letting me sit with you, Y/N-ssi.”

Maybe it was because it was nearly 4 AM and you were tired and restless all at once. Maybe it was because this kid had been so sweet and respectful since you got here that it wore you down. Maybe it was because you were sick of hearing him say Y/N-ssi when everyone else here was far less formal with you.

“Jungkook,” you called as he headed for the stairs. He turned around, sleepy but curious. You swallowed. “You can call me Noona, if you want.”

A big bunny grin slowly spread across his face. “Really?”

“Go to bed.”

He just laughed. “Goodnight, Noona!”

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

You were about to lose your mind.

It had been months since you'd last spoken to Jackson, since he had cut you off, and you couldn't take it anymore. Between his voice echoing in your head every night, to shitty sex that hardly got you what you wanted, to all of Park's stupid fucking remarks—you hadn't slept properly in weeks because you couldn't get out of your head long enough.

You were thinking too much, and you couldn't take it anymore. You needed Jackson back, and if that meant going back to Busan, then that's what you were going to do.

And maybe Jay Park was right! Maybe if you went back and showed how sorry you were, Jackson would come back to Seoul with you, and then you and he and all of Bangtan could work together to solve this mystery!

(Somewhere deep inside, you knew that wouldn't happen, but if that idea was what got you back to Busan, back to Jackson, then that's what you would keep telling yourself.)

Maybe you would spend just one or two more days here, and then have Hueningkai drive you to the train station. You'd have to take all the money with you though—it was half the reason you took the job in Seoul. Maybe you'd take a night train then, to be less conspicuous, but that would also mean walking through the dark streets of Busan with a large amount of cash on you.

Could you get Kai to drive you all the way to Busan?

But you really shouldn't be asking anything more of Kai, he was so young, and driving you all the way down to Busan and then coming back to Seoul all by himself? No, that was too much. Would one of the others be willing to drive you? Jungkook was from Busan originally, maybe he'd like to visit? And he would be able to handle himself if anything happened, which was always a possibility in the South.

Yeah, maybe that's what you'd do. In another day or two, you'd ask Jungkook to drive you down to Busan. Wait, no, fuck, you couldn't ask Jungkook, he's wanted dead or alive in Busan! It's too risky for him to take you, and no one else would without a very good reason. Could you pin it on a new lead? Some thread of information you collected one night from who knows which man you slept with. No, that wouldn't work either, they'd all see right through that.

Goddammit, why was this so hard? You made the plan to leave Busan in an hour and executed it the next day. Why couldn't you make a plan to get back to Busan?

You were going to have to take the train, and you would need to get someone to take you to the train station. Or maybe you'd walk there yourself. You could probably figure out the way. Could you get there before a rival gang recognized you and tried to kill you? Or worse, what if Song's men caught you and tried taking you back to wherever Song was?

No, you'd need someone to actually drive you there. You'd have to leave the money here, too. Just tell Jackson you got most of it back but you had to leave it in Seoul for safety reasons. That would make him come back to Seoul with you, too.

Okay, yes, that was it! You'd leave the money here. Someone, Jungkook probably, would drive you to the train station. You'd go back to Busan, meet up with Jackson, eventually gain his forgiveness, and then tell him you got most of the money back but you couldn't travel with it. Then he'd bring you back to Seoul where you'd reunite with Bangtan and continue making strides towards solving the mystery but now with help from the one person you needed most.

It would be perfect! What could possibly go wrong?

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

You waited for the next day Jungkook would take you to the Basement with him. He didn't take you every day, despite a certain member pressuring the two of you to go. Some days Jungkook had his own share of gang activity to take care of, and you still wanted to keep some distance between Yeji and Jay Park. You enjoyed taking shitty naps on the good couch on those days, until said certain member decided you'd had enough alone time.

Maybe you would stab him just once before going back down to Busan.

So here you were, just a few short weeks after your first time at the gym, dressed the same way you were when you first arrived in Seoul. You tucked your hair behind your red baseball cap and tugged your green jacket around you a bit tighter. Jackson had given you these forever ago, and you knew he'd be happy to see you return in them.

And you wanted to make Jackson as happy as possible. It would make getting back on his good side easier.

You checked the time on your phone once more, then tucked it into a pocket and temporarily left your room for the last time. You'd be back. You just weren't sure when. You didn't let yourself look back or turn around, this was happening and it was happening now.

Jungkook was waiting for you in the living room, messing around with Taehyung on some phone game. Park stood by the entrance to the kitchen, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone. They all looked up when you reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you ready to go?” Jungkook asked you, only slightly confused. You took the jacket with you just about everywhere—he knew that—but he didn't usually see you in the hat anymore, not to mention you weren't dressed for going to a gym.

“Yeah,” you answered, not stopping. If you stopped, they'd have a chance to question you and you needed to get Jungkook into the car. Jungkook started to follow you, but fucking Park moved to block your way.

“You don't look like you're going to the gym.” He was much less confused, far more stern, something you were more used to with Jackson. He slid his phone into his pocket, giving you his full attention.

You tried sidestepping him multiple times, but he wasn't letting you pass. Jungkook moved away, giving you two space, while Tae watched from the couch.

“Move, Park.” You were so done with him, with his stupid voice and comments and “helpful” tips about what you should and shouldn't be doing. You already had one man trying to control your life, you didn't need another one. And you were trying to get back to the first!

“Why are you dressed like that?” He asked instead, making himself more comfortable in the doorway. You clenched your fists at your sides, beyond ready to throw a punch at him. He was still a member of Bangtan, though, and you were still trying to keep physical violence out of it.

He wasn't making it easy.

“Why do you have to critique every choice I try to make? Why can't you just let me live my life?”

“Why were you searching for the train station schedule?” You took a small step back in shock. “Are you planning on going somewhere?”

How did Park of all people know that? You were alone in the kitchen when you made that search earlier. You had heard someone come in while you were washing your breakfast dishes, and you had left your phone on the island counter but you were sure—

“You left your phone unlocked, with the schedule right there on the screen.” Park didn't smirk, but with his tone, he might as well have.

You closed your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to keep yourself under control. You'd have more control over the situation as a whole if you remained calm. No matter how difficult Park made it.

When you opened your eyes again, you met Park's gaze directly. There was no hint of amusement or enjoyment. He had the same fierce determination that you did.

“I don't answer to you.”

“No,” he agreed, “but you do need to answer to the person who's driving you.” He pointed behind you to Jungkook, and you turned to look at the youngest.

Jungkook was very clearly worried about you, about what Park was implying, about what fight might break out. This wasn't going the way you wanted it to, and if you had any hope of salvaging your plan, you needed to get yourself and Jungkook in a car now.

“Can we just go, please, Jungkook?” You asked softly. In a way, Jungkook was like a mini-Namjoon or a mini-Hobi. He'd probably do whatever you asked, and you really needed to take advantage of that right now.

Unfortunately for you, he was also a mini-Jimin.

“Where do you want to go?” He asked in return, just as softly. You could see the hope in his eyes, the desire for Park to be wrong. He wanted you to just go to the gym with him like you had planned, not whatever his hyung was talking about. You needed to check the time, check and see how long this confrontation had taken, and make sure you could still catch the next train to Busan, but it would look too suspicious.

Each member in the room waited in tense silence for you to answer Jungkook's question. If you saved face and said the gym, then once you were in the car you wouldn't be able to change his mind. If you admitted you were planning on going to the train station, he wouldn't take you there now.

At this point, you had been silent for too long, and your answer was clear. Park spoke up again.

"I swear to god if you say you're going back to Busan—"

"Yes, I'm going back to Busan!!" You finally snapped, entirely too fed up with him. You turned on your heel, glaring into his too-serious face. "I can't take it anymore! Jackson hasn't unblocked me and I'm thinking too much and no one else can make it stop!! So get out of my way you fucking asshole!!" You looked over your shoulder back at Jungkook for only a moment, who stood there with wide eyes and was several more steps away from you now.

As you opened your mouth to say "let's go" to him, you were quite literally swept off your feet and flung across Park's shoulders, which were now digging into your chest and stomach painfully. He had one hand firmly around one of your ankles and the other had managed to capture both your wrists.

"Let me GO Park!"

"Jimin, what the fuck, man?" You heard Taehyung speak up for the first time since you descended the stairs.

"Hyung, what are you doing??"

"That's the first genuinely honest thing you've said in weeks," Park said, though you weren't sure if he was talking directly to you or commenting to himself. You struggled against his hold, but this was a position you had never really been in before and definitely hadn't trained to get out of. If you were only slung over one shoulder you could manage, but you couldn't get a decent hit or kick in.

Part of you was starting to panic.

Each step he took up the stairs bounced, and shoved his shoulders into your flesh more, making whatever was going on more uncomfortable.

"I'm calling Namjoon-hyung!" You heard Jungkook threaten. The fact that neither of them was actively trying to stop Park meant they believed you weren't in any serious danger, but you couldn't help the terror creeping through you.

Park released your ankle to open a door, presumably to your bedroom, and grabbed at it again before you could maneuver yourself out of his grasp. You weren't paying attention to where he was taking you, just that it was in the opposite direction of where you wanted to go. A light flicked on and you caught a glimpse of red—so, not your room—and then heard the door slam shut.

The sound was enough to get you to stop fighting. It shocked you back to ten years ago, when you were just as vulnerable and defenseless and alone. You weren't getting out of this.

He took large strides further into the room. The world twisted again as he threw you from his shoulders to something soft.

A bed.

He crawled over you, your body too scared to move. Your mind was racing and frozen at the same time. You looked up into his eyes, dark but not hungry, intense but not angry. You weren't sure what to make of it, so you said the only thing you could.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Your body might be down for the count, but you could always count on your mouth to do something. You expected him to smirk, but he was nothing but serious.

"Jackson isn't the only one who can fuck you stupid."

i have been waiting for this next chapter since i wrote "the bar"!!! this is the one i replay in my head over and over again and i am so excited for you all to finally read it!!! thank you again for your patience and i look forward to hearing back from you what you thought and if you liked it. also let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, i'm redoing it. happy new year!

@snurtsnurt @remmykinsff @sakuyakira @jazajas @mochi13 @fly-you-dam-fools @orangegaytorade @iliketowrite-2 @ijustwnatablog @secretxl @livingbubbles-blog @clowdyblue @nc-anon @shylia

#bts #bts fic #bts writing #bts mafia #bts mafia au #bts angst #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #edge of tonight #part seventeen #btswritersclub

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mybworlds · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 7

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, I really appreciate it ☺️ I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. 🔎 I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. 📖 If you didn't like this story, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624; @missladym1981; @harriedandharassed if you want to be added let me know.

Thanks @saradika for the divider.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

In his arms you fell asleep again, every now and then you open your eyes when you feel him kissing your shoulder or the hollow between your neck and shoulder. You find yourself smiling and then falling back asleep, still savoring the moments spent with him and basking in the idea that all of this could last forever.

When you wake up about an hour later, you sit up in the middle of the bed, he's lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow, you notice his fake wedding ring and then you look at yours. You see and hear him breathing deeply, everything still seems so sweet and perfect, you slide your fingers very delicately along his back in a caress that almost feels like a farewell. You frown as if gripped by a horrible and painful thought, you can't be with him.

You and him will never be happy together.

Just the thought of having to separate from him hurts, but if your past echoes within you, at the same time you think you can't go back to work and let everyone know that you and him are a couple..

But are you really a couple? Or are you just one of the many women for him? A notch in his infinite scale of seductions and subsequent abandonments?

You turn your head towards him, his lips are half open and he has a sweet, innocent expression that, if possible, almost makes you feel guilty for having these thoughts. However, you tell yourself that it's right to have these qualms about him given his reputation. A few days are not enough to completely erase it.

We should end it here and hope we can ignore what happened, you think.

You get up and go to the bathroom, you lock yourself in and get in the shower and you think that you don't want him to join you in the shower or everything would be even more painful and difficult. It's hard enough as it is, you think as you turn on the jet of cool water that wets your hair and flows down your body.

While you're soaping up, you think that you don't want your coworkers to gossip about you behind your back and say things like, how could Peña get together with a bitch like that? Or again, she who pretended to be indifferent to his attentions, finally gave in and let Peña fuck her, but on the other hand, how could she resist him?

No, you can't stand to hear these sentences or hear snickers behind your back. Better to ignore what happened between you, it's better.

But better for whom?

You and him can't be together.

Better cut this relationship now.

You only know how to make someone suffer.

A thousand thoughts, a thousand words, a thousand doubts, a burning bitterness crowd your head. Javier won't take it well, he won't like it, but you're doing it for his own good. Or maybe you're just doing it for you and you're giving yourself the alibi that you're doing it for Javi too. You find yourself thinking about how sweet he was to you, how he took care of you...

You curl up in a corner of the shower, the water soaks you, streaks your cheeks, and with it hot tears begin to flow and fall down towards the shower tray. It almost feels like your heart is being ripped out, but maybe that's for the best. You couldn't bear the thought that for him you were just someone to have fun with during this time and then move on to another woman.

You dry yourself as best you can before wrapping yourself in a towel and looking at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy, your features distorted, your hair a still damp and messy mess. You comb your hair, untangling any knots, you think about the words you want to say to Javier, you want to be direct and yet you don't want to hurt his feelings.

You are awakened from these thoughts by Javier knocking on the door, “Is everything okay?”

You take a deep breath, feeling even worse if possible. However, you convince yourself that you are right, even though this choice hurts.

“Yes, I’m comin’,” you answer.

You look at your reflection one last time before going to the door and opening it, Javi is there leaning against the door jamb still half naked. He was obviously about to tell you something, but seeing your eyes swollen from crying he stops and looks at you perplexed.

“What happened?” he asks you, not understanding what could have made you cry like that. “Hey,” he says cupping your cheeks, “what happ...?” he’s about to ask you, when you free yourself from his grip and you move away from him and approach the bed where you let yourself fall.

You feel his gaze on you, you wring your hands, feeling your heart in your throat. You don't know how say out loud the turmoil and the tightness that grips your stomach and heart. You feel terrible.

“Please, talk to me.” he tells you sitting next to you on the bed. You close your eyes and feel the dull beating of your heart, it hurts. It hurts so much. He's been so sweet these days, but you don't want to have to suffer one day because of him. You don't know if when all this is over he'll go back to his old self. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing him go with other women, hearing them murmur about how he made them come, no you can't.

“Whatever was here, in this place, has to end here,” you mutter, head down, unable to look him in the eye.

You are selfish, you must be alone. Those words...

Your heart pounds painfully in your chest, almost as if your own words had stabbed you and you were now bleeding. You can't look at his face, you just imagine his expression and imagine he's hurt and confused. You were together and yet now you're violently pushing him away. You would probably feel the same way: rejected as if you meant nothing to the other person.

The silence that surrounds you almost seems unreal, as if you were suspended in a dimension that doesn't even belong to you. Maybe you’d have preferred him to yell at you, to pull you, in short, a violent reaction, but not that deafening silence that, if possible, hurts you even more.

“I thought it would be best for both of us.” You continue, feeling almost like you're walking on a very thin sheet of ice and on which a slightly heavier pressure is enough to break and make you fall into its icy waters.

You finally hear him make a sound, almost a snort as if what you said bored him. You look at him, “And did you have to cry to tell me that?” he asks you in an annoyed tone, almost as if it were obvious what you told him.

His cold and detached reaction completely throws you off. So, in the end, you really mean nothing to him, you really are one of the many women on his endless list. If his words are as sharp as a sharp blade, his gaze and the expression on his face betray him.

“You expected me to tell you this, right?” he asks you in a tone of someone who already knows the answer and doesn't need confirmation because he knows it's true “Precisely,” he says when he looks up at your face again.

He chuckles getting out of bed and walking towards the nightstand where there is a pack of cigarettes, he takes one, brings it to his lips and lights it up. Another long silence falls between you as he approaches the balcony, opening the shutters and allowing the smoke to escape.

“So the days we spent together have done absolutely nothing to make you understand who I really am.” His is a statement, not a question. He probably wants to sound cold, but the bitterness in his voice gives him away.

“I didn't say that.” you try to say, making sense of the tangled mess of thoughts that are dulling your mind. You hate all this that you started.

“No need. You made your point” he replies, taking another drag on his cigarette turning his back to you.

You don't know what to say, you just know that your own words have backfired on you. Your stomach is in knots and your heart is beating painfully in your chest. You feel terrible making him feel this bad and doing this to you.

You get up and go over to him, not knowing what to say. You look up and notice his eyes are covered in tears, while he stares out the balcony and takes a drag on his cigarette. You see his Adam's apple bob and hear him breathing deeply as if he’s trying hard not to lose control of himself.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want anything to do with you,” you try to clarify, but it just makes things worse.

“You want us to be friends with benefits, after all.” he tells you spitefully, almost turning his head towards you. “But nothing else. Don't worry. Got it.” he tells you, taking another drag and then expel a large amount of smoke.

“Please don't be dramatic,” you tell him running a hand through your hair “We’ll still work together and we’ll always be coworkers.” you add, then pause, searching for the most appropriate words, but none of them seem right.

He tsks shaking his head, “Yes, whatever." He snorts, putting out his cigarette with an expression that is somewhere between anger and disappointment. "Can I just ask what made you change your mind? I mean, you didn’t seem sorry or remorseful after we did…” he sighs shaking his head “let’s forget it,” he tells you, looking up again and waiting for your response.

“I wasn't and I'm not now." You answer him looking him in the eyes and he looks back at you with an unreadable expression, “I just think it's better for both of us to ignore what happened,” you add with a shrug.

He nods, “So there is no danger of anyone thinking you have a heart. This way everyone will still think you’re a bitch,” he continues, but it’s more like he’s talking and reasoning out loud rather than talking to you.

Maybe he hits the nail on the head. Maybe you really prefer to be thought of as heartless. Maybe that way no one suffers. Except you.

You breathe loudly, not knowing exactly what to say. It's better if Javier hates you too, you won't hurt him if you push him away from you.

“I know who you are.” He tells you when you think he's decided not to talk to you anymore. “And you're wrong and you're only hurting yourself.” he sentences looking you in the eyes, you instead lower them as if struck by his words. Yes, he's right, you're going to suffer but you can't do otherwise.

Six months have passed since that evening. You have returned home, each to your own home and life. Fortunately, nothing has happened since the day you arrested El Diablo, you have not heard from him or his henchmen anymore. You have returned to work normally, you dedicate yourself more to seeking information and connections, you are less devoted to action. What you experienced in France has left its mark on you and for the moment has led you behind a desk.

For many, working behind a desk is bad, but not for you. Even better if you can help in this way too.

In these six months, five new colleagues have arrived, two are women and three are men. The two women, Andrea and Maxime, are more or less your age and both have their eyes on Javier, but neither of them has managed to attract his attention at the moment; the three men, Mark, Christian and Paul, are real gentlemen, at least from what you have been able to see. They are almost as stubborn as you and Javier, but if you tell them to do something, they do it without ever going beyond that. They never say or do anything more than they should and this newfound calm is definitely good for you. You really need it.

Your days are marked by a slow and regular rhythm, your actions and words are almost always the same. In this routine, you and Javier don't share a single moment except for the occasional brief, silent glance.

Part of you misses him. You even miss being teased or hearing him talk to you. On the other hand, you think it's a good thing that everything between you ended this way. No drama or tears, that's better.

It hurts you to know that behind that look there’s some form of regret. There’s also a great regret on your part in not having wanted to see if there could actually be something else between you.

You look up at him again, but he's already back to fiddling with some paperwork. You see his absorbed gaze and how he frowns when something doesn't convince him, you see him massage his chin and then light a cigarette.

For your own good, you decide to immerse yourself in the papers and not sit there mulling over your decisions or you risk going crazy. Your work takes up a lot of your time in typing into the computer two reports, one of which is the one you wrote by hand shortly after returning from France.

It's almost nine o'clock at night when you stretch your hands and get up with a small satisfied noise. You turn off the light on your desk, grab your jacket and go out.

You huddle in your jacket as you wait for the bus. The wind is particularly cold and biting today, you just hope you don't have to wait too long.

When you fear that no one will come, you hear a horn that almost makes you jump and then turn in that direction. It's Javier.

“Come on, jump up.” You look at him almost surprised. “I hope you don’t want to wait for that wreck that you don’t even know how long it’ll be until!” he adds, raising an eyebrow.

You zigzag your gaze from one corner of the half-deserted street to the other before opening the car door and getting in. The warmth of the passenger compartment immediately envelops you, making you relax against the backrest and moan with pleasure at this newfound warmth.

“What the fuck were you still doing there? Did you still have that report to finish?” he asks, giving you a quick glance before returning his focus to the road.

You nod, “Yes, I wanted to finish by tonight.”

“And did you succeed?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you reply, rubbing your hands together. “And what are you still doing here?” you ask, turning to face him.

“Andrea invited me for a drink.” You nod, feeling your heart skip a beat and finding yourself looking down, you shouldn’t have this reaction, you shouldn’t feel this way.

“I’m glad to hear that.” You say the last thing you should probably say, but you want to find a way to fill this strange silence.

"Yeah?" he asks you and from his tone you understand that he must be surprised too.

No, you are not.

“Sure.” you grumble, but look outside the car and watch the road pass by.

A strange, embarrassed silence follows, in which the sweetness and the weight of what happened between you comes back to light.

Neither you nor he say anything, you don't know what to say to him. You still feel embarrassed to be so close to him.

“Um, thanks anyway for... for the ride.” you find yourself adding, looking at him sideways as if afraid that your eyes might meet and you might say something that goes beyond the desired formality of your relationship.

“En cualquier momento! (anytime!)” he responds by driving slowly and confidently, almost as if he wants the journey to last much longer. Or maybe that's just how you interpret it.

Silence stretches between you again. You don’t know what to say to him. You were afraid something like this could happen.

“So, um.. what do you think of the new colleagues?” he asks you and you are surprised that he asks you for an opinion. But then you realize that it’s just a way to fill that numbing silence.

“Well, um.. the three boys are very friendly, cooperative and very prepared.” you answer, carefully choosing your words to describe them. You then turn to Javier and notice his perplexed look, “What?”

He shakes his head gently, he doesn't seem annoyed, but it's as if he's trying hard not to express his true thoughts. You see him purse his lips and then let out a small sigh.

“I'm not dating any of them,” you say even though you're not sure he really cares to know, but a part of you almost feels like you owe him this information.

His eyes are fixed on the road and he doesn't comment on your sentence, but you notice how his shoulders relax slightly and how the car is slowing down and then stops.

You barely notice that you are in front of your apartment building.

“Here we are.” he says pulling the handbrake almost straining to stare straight ahead.

“Here we are.” you repeat almost embarrassed and then turn your gaze towards him “So, um… thanks.”

He turns to you, stares into your eyes for a long time as if he wanted to say something else, but then gives up, lowers his gaze for a moment and then stares straight ahead again, “No problem.” he says simply “G’ night,” he adds.

You open the door, you're about to get out, but then you think better of it, you turn to him and he finally returns your gaze again, "Do you want to tell me something?"

You swallow as you feel like thousands of words are competing to be shouted and heard, but then you find yourself choking them all down, “No.” You reply, “And you?”

He takes a deep breath, but it sounds more like a sigh, “No.”

You nod, “See you tomorrow.” He nods, as you get out of the car and grab your keys to enter your building. As you close the door, you hear Javi’s car drive away.

Your heart pounds in your chest and for a moment, a long moment, you wonder what it would have been like if you hadn't said those words to him in your room, you linger on that fantasy for a while, regretting it soon after, only to tell yourself that you shouldn't think about it anymore, but not doing so will be really hard. When you are together the air inevitably charges with an electricity that passes through you and connects you in a way that pushing it away almost hurts.

You've been lying in bed for almost an hour, but all you do is stare at the ceiling. Javier and his gaze, Javier and his words are right there in front of you.

When you are about to fall asleep, your stepfather's words reverberate in your head with such force that you almost jump out of bed. You haven't thought about him in a while, but when you do, a feeling of remorse, guilt, and even shame wells up inside you. You weren't guilty, but your stepfather did everything he could to make you feel that way.

You remember that day all too well. It was a summer day, you wanted to swim at all costs, but the sea was very rough. You and your brother were two kids, you certainly didn't have the same perception of danger that your parents had.

You were a lively little thing, always smiling, reckless. Your brother was your exact opposite, shy, fearful, too cautious, a bit sulky. Your brother didn't have the same father as you, but you always felt like a brother to you. You loved each other very much. You would have done anything for each other, even doing something crazy just to not leave the other alone and so on that crucial day.

He followed you despite not being a great swimmer, a series of waves, one stronger than the other, knocked you down. You survived, he didn't.

When you came to and were informed of the tragedy, you cried, you sobbed his name and it was then that your stepfather thundered “It’s useless for you to cry now, you are a disaster, a catastrophe. Everyone around you dies, you were supposed to die. You don't deserve anyone's love because you pay back like this.”

Timid tears stream down your cheeks at the memory of those terrible words, you were a child then, but those words have dug so deep inside you that since then you have shied away from relationships with anyone. Even if it hurts to be alone, maybe it's better that way. You can't really hurt anyone. Except yourself.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as javier peña #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom

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couldawouldashoulda50 · 1 day ago

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From Completely Different Worlds - A Follow-up

Happy New Year everyone - wishing you all the very best in 2025. I thought I would write a little follow-up to the final chapter of the series, mostly to tie up any loose ends. This next part picks up from the following day, which is Thanksgiving at Loren's. I had a thought - I would like to continue writing little blurbs for these two...I have about 3 or 4 outlines just for some little situational moments that I thought might be fun to dive. I hope there will be a few readers out there that might like to continue on their journey together ❤️ Warnings - profanity, general smut (p in v) Word count - approx 5k 18+ only please.

“Fuck, I’m full,” William groaned as he closed the sliding door to the backyard, Pablo and Banksy trotting back inside without a care. He shuffled over to Loren, who was fast-tracking the steeping process of the ginger tea she’d made to help settle his stomach. Leaning over to sniff the mug, he wrinkled his nose slightly. “What is this?”

“It’s ginger tea—it should help with your stomach,” Loren said, smiling as his hand found the small of her back in a casual, comforting gesture. “It’s worth a shot, anyway.”

Sliding in behind her, William moved her hair aside, brushing his lips against the base of her neck. The soft, ticklish giggle she let out made him grin, even as the weight in his stomach reminded him of just how much he’d eaten.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud—not yet—but what he felt in that moment was undeniable. Happiness. Gratitude. Optimism. After everything they’d been through—the ups, the downs, the doubts—there was no question of how they felt about one another now. They were here. Together. Alone.

And if only he hadn’t gone for those two extra pieces of lemon meringue pie, he’d have been expressing himself in a much more interesting and physical way.

They moved to the couch where the dogs were already sleeping, Pablo curled up on the cushion and Banksy on the arm of the couch. William shifted Loren’s legs after she sat and positioned himself between them, his back resting on her torso. He sipped his tea and allowed the warmth of the ginger to calm his stomach.

There were candles still lit throughout the room, providing a lovely ambiance earlier as Simon (Benoit) and William had talked team dynamics while Alice fed Adelaide. Loren had sat beside her, petting the Benoits’ dogs that had come for some turkey as well.

As the flames flickered with an occasional invisible draft, the mood between them was nothing short of tranquil and serene.

Loren kissed William’s head, and he leaned into her affectionately, prompting her to give more.

William and Alex had arrived at Loren’s together earlier in the day, but Alex had taken off with William’s car after dessert for a get-together that, for once, didn’t include his brother. William hadn’t asked for specifics—he figured it might be a new fling on the horizon. Alex’s vague responses had all but confirmed William’s assumptions.

He softly broke the silence. “So…can I stay here tonight?”

As William leaned back against Loren on the couch, he found himself silently hoping the plans he’d formed in his mind with her would actually come to life, despite his uncomfortably full stomach.

Loren paused, her gaze drifting over the length of William’s body sprawled across the couch. A soft chuckle escaped her. “Theoretically, you’re kind of stuck here,” she teased. “But… I’d really like that. If it works for you.”

“I have practice at noon tomorrow—can you drive me home in the morning?”

Loren planted soft kisses against William’s head, her lips brushing against his hairline. “I want to make a joke about me being Kathy Bates in the movie Misery, but I doubt you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

William shook his head, a small smile forming. “You’re right, I don’t. The title doesn’t sound very… optimistic.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and melodic. “It’s not. Let’s just say it involves a guy being stuck somewhere he really doesn’t want to be. Kathy Bates plays a nurse—a caregiver for him—but, uh, she’s a little… unhinged.”

William tilted his head back to look at her, his brows furrowed in mock confusion. “And this is your way of inviting me to stay the night?”

Loren grinned, her hand stroking his shoulder lazily. “It’s more about poking fun at you for being trapped here without a car. But now that you mention it…”

William chuckled and set his empty mug down on the coffee table, shifting onto his side to face her. “So… wait. Does she kill him?”

Loren smirked, her fingers threading gently through his hair. “Mmm, no. She incapacitates him by taking a sledgehammer to his ankles. I never read the book, but apparently, in that version, she takes an axe to his foot.”

William hung his head, rubbing his face with his hands. “I’m going to have nightmares after this,” he groaned, half-laughing.

Loren bit her lip and shot him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, I forgot… it might be too soon to joke about a girl blowing up your world again. So yes, I can drive you to practice… at whatever time you need.”

William shifted again, this time laying flat on his back, the couch just wide enough to accommodate his long frame. Loren instinctively curled into him, her head resting against his chest as his arm wrapped securely around her. He guided one of her legs to drape over his, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

His fingers traced patterns along her back, while she soothingly ran her hands across William’s clothed chest. The room was quiet save for the occasional rustling of the dogs shifting in their sleep.

William spoke first, his eyes fixating on the dark freckles that adorned her cheekbones - just another element of her beauty that he found so unique. He shifted slightly beneath her as if to prompt her to look up at him.” “We should talk though, about all of that stuff that happened - try and prevent it from happening again.”

Loren tilted her head up, her gaze settling on his face. It always struck her, the perfection of his features—it was unsettling in a way. She contemplated his words, her own brows furrowing. “I’m not sure it’s anything that either of us will be able to prevent from happening,” she admitted, tinged with uncertainty.

Loren continued, her tone thoughtful but laced with a hint of teasing. “I mean, you’re wildly popular—for all the good and not-so-good reasons. And you’ve been in this game—this league, this team—for a long time now. I can’t come into your life and start saying you can’t do this or that.”

She grinned knowingly, her eyes catching his. “You might seem really laid-back and chill, but I get the feeling you’re also really fucking stubborn.” Her smile widened at his soft chuckle before her expression changed slightly. “What I’m saying is… those pictures. You were hugging someone, or they were posing with you, and it looked like something it wasn’t. I can’t start throwing ultimatums at you—‘No more posing with women or hugging them’ or any of that shit.”

William stayed quiet, letting her words sink in. With other women he’d dated, conversations like this - if they even got that far in their relationship - eventually led to immature arguments or ultimatums—laying down rules that William couldn’t (or wouldn’t) adhere to.

It had been the underlying theme since he first met her - it shouldn’t have but the way she approached things still threw him off from time to time. She wasn’t blaming him or trying to control him. Instead, she was being honest about how she felt and what worried her, and she was leaving space for him to be himself. It was refreshing in a way he hadn’t expected.

His fingers moved lightly over her sleeve as he listened, unsure of what to say just yet.

William’s expression silently signaled for her to keep talking.

Loren leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his chest before lifting her gaze back to his face. “I guess I’d say—hmm, how do I put this?” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly as she searched for the right words. “I don’t know what to expect with any of this. I think all I can really ask for is… some help getting through those uncomfortable moments….especially at this point - at the beginning. I hope that makes sense?”

William brought his lips close to hers, his voice low and steady. “Makes perfect sense.” William kissed her lightly before asking his next question. “Can you give me an example - of maybe what I can do to help. I mean - whatever you need and all that but you gotta maybe - help me, help you, sorta thing?”

Loren bit her lip, a sheepish smile forming at the corners of her mouth. “Letting me vent—and I’ll do my best to make it clear that’s all it is. So it doesn’t sound like I’m, you know, ripping you a new asshole.”

William feigned being shocked. “Wait - you have a temper? I don’t believe it.”

Loren rolled her eyes, laughing softly as she gave his shoulder a playful shove. “I do not have a temper. I just… get animated about certain things.”

William’s grin widened as he raised his hands, mimicking the exaggerated one-fingered salutes she had been know to give on the occasion. “Uh-huh. Animated. Got it.”

Loren nudged him again, narrowing her eyes playfully. “Passionate’s maybe a better word.”

A wry smile played on his lips as his gaze flicked to hers. “I’ll say—you are definitely… passionate.”

The conversation paused for another moment. William hadn’t said it yet, but part of him was still worried. Not just about the misinformation and the issues they just got through—though that had been bad enough. It was about all the other things Loren might see, hear, or read. Stuff that would seem harmless to him but could easily look like something else to her.

He’d been in this game long enough to know how it worked. People loved to talk, speculate, exaggerate. He was used to it—had learned to tune it out years ago. But Loren? She wasn’t just stepping into his world; she was stepping into the chaos that came with it.

And he couldn’t help but wonder… would it wear her down? Would she start to question every hug, every photo, every headline? He hated the idea of her doubting him—of them being pulled apart by things that didn’t matter.

William sighed, running his thumb absently over the back of her hand. He didn’t want to scare her off, but she needed to know. “Loren,” he began, his voice low, steady. “There’s something I want to say, and I need you to really listen to me.”

She looked up at him, her brows knitting slightly in concern. “Okay,” she said softly.

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I know you know this but there’s… a lot out there. About me. Stuff people say, stuff they think they know - they’ll just go ahead and post it and not think of it again. But then it winds up all over the place - and it’s not even accurate or true. I’ve learned to ignore it, but… it might not be easy for you. All of the articles, pictures, fans saying things online - it’s everywhere whether you’re looking for it or not. Some of it might get under your skin - and I get it - it plants doubts and insecurities.”

Her hand tightened slightly in his, her eyes steady on his. “You’re worried that I’m going to get messed up over everything that’s out there and start turning on you?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I just… I want you to know it’s okay if it gets to you sometimes. But I need you to tell me when it does. Don’t let it build up, don’t keep it to yourself. Just… talk to me. We’ll figure it out - but you just gotta let me know.”

He paused, his gaze holding hers. “Look, Loren - I know your instinct is to step back—to take time to sort things out on your own. I get that. But…” He swallowed, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “I need you to promise me you won’t shut me out. Not this time. We can’t afford a month of silence to let things settle….it’s really important to me that you just… talk to me, even if you feel embarrassed or are just trying to get past something you’ve seen or heard. Okay?”

Loren nodded, her throat tightening with the thought of the time they lost in the previous month.

William exhaled slowly, the words coming a little harder now. “And I’ll be honest—I’m not the greatest at asking what’s wrong. I’ll try, but if I start to think there’s something bothering you all the time…” He hesitated, a light chuckle led to a wry smile. “It might actually drive me fucking nuts. So I’ll need your help there too—just… tell me where you’re coming from. I’ll do my best to understand…even if it doesn’t make sense right away.”

He paused, his fingers intertwining with hers. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own, Loren. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Loren nodded, her face giving a look of appreciation mixed with understanding. “I hear you,” was her reply, her fingers lightly toying with the buttons on his shirt.

It wasn’t long before Loren heard the faint sound of snoring. She smiled against the fabric of his shirt, her heart swelling with the calm and contentment that surrounded them. For the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

As the snores grew louder and more prolonged, she bit back a laugh. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she knew she had to get him to bed. A crick in his neck or a sore back—despite the couch being ultra-comfortable—was not ideal at the start of the season.

“William? William Nylander,” she whispered softly, shifting against him. “Better get you up to bed.”

His eyes stayed closed, but a lazy smile crept across his face. Loren giggled, leaning in to leave a trail of kisses along his jawline and down to his neck, the warmth of her lips lingering against his skin.

It was at that moment where William really regretted over indulging after everyone had left. The food was amazing but he was sure her mouth on any part of his body would overshadow his second mini-feast. He kept his thoughts to himself but suddenly the elicit thoughts of what might greet him the following morning danced in his mind.

Loren gently scooped up Pablo, cradling him against her chest as she planted soft kisses into his fur. He let out a long, contented groan, his eyes slipping closed again. “Turkey-itis, eh, Pablo?” she murmured with a smile. “You’re just like your dad.”

She didn’t look back for a response, already halfway up the stairs, but William’s unmistakable chortle followed her. A moment later, while supporting Banksy’s rear in one hand, his other hand playfully squeezed her ass—a clear acknowledgment of her mild ribbing.

Once upstairs, the dogs were placed on Loren’s bed, sniffing the comforter before circling and settling into their chosen spots. Between stolen kisses and a few teasing gropes while getting ready for bed, William was the first to slip under the sheets, letting out a satisfied groan as he melted into the mattress.

Loren wasn’t far behind, stepping out in a camisole and shorts before maneuvering herself between the sleeping dogs to nestle beside him.

William feigned disappointment as his eyes swept over her, the thin fabric clinging to her curves. “You usually sleep naked—what happened?”

Loren brushed her lips against his bare chest, her voice low and teasing. “I’m not saying I have that much of an effect on you, but me cuddling into you, naked, with the way you’re feeling… blue balls is the last thing you’d want.”

He decided not to tell her the truth—that naked or not, she absolutely had that effect on him. The pressure in his cock made that perfectly clear.

Morning could not come soon enough.

—

When Loren awoke early the next day, her eyes, still heavy with sleep, drifted to the empty space beside her. She barely had time to wonder where William had gone before spotting him nearby, bent over with his ass in the air as he rummaged through the bag he’d brought with him.

A smile spread across her face as she watched him move. For someone who was so often the picture of effortless perfection, even now, in this very human moment, he was still gorgeous. His hair was mussed, his shorts askew just enough to expose the crack of his ass. And yet, even his imperfection felt flawless to her.

William turned toward the bed, catching Loren’s gaze just as her smile widened. Her dark eyes shone, filled with admiration for the view and optimism for what lay ahead of them.

Adjusting the pillow, she greeted him with a soft, “Good morning.”

William’s grin grew wider as he took in her tousled hair and sleepy, sexy expression. Standing at the edge of the mattress, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Morning.” After a beat, he added, “I have something for you.”

Loren’s eyes instinctively drifted downward, lingering on the natural bulge in his shorts. She bit her bottom lip, raising her eyebrows as if to say, I bet you do.

William followed her gaze, then looked back up at her as she let out a subdued giggle. Shaking his head, he smirked. “Not quite yet,” he said, though he had every intention of fulfilling her insinuation soon enough.

With a slight flourish, he brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing the crumpled jersey he’d been holding.

Loren’s eyes immediately lit up, and he could tell she was holding back an audible squeal of excitement. She shifted into a kneeling position as William slid back onto the bed, handing her the jersey.

She unfolded it carefully, catching its distinct scent—his soap, his cologne, and a trace of sweat from last night’s game. The mix was already intoxicating, hitting her senses like a powerful aphrodisiac. Turning it around in her hands, her fingers traced over the bright white “Nylander” and the bold number “88.”

William chuckled at her reaction. “It’s from last night’s game,” he said. “Swiped it before it ended up in the laundry bin.”

Loren beamed, her joy unmistakable, though her expression quickly turned mischievous. “You know,” she said, deadpan, “I could probably rake in a few grand if I sold this on eBay.”

William narrowed his eyes, letting out a laugh. “Punk.”

Before he could say more, her lips were on his, silencing him as she guided him onto his back. The jersey stayed clutched tightly in her hands, pressed between them like the treasure it was.

Her lower half was soon straddling William’s pelvis, the top part of her body hovered atop of his. Her dark brown eyes scanned his features as the full intensity of her affection for him over came her. She lowered herself down, brushed her lips across his jawline and neck and whispered “Thank you” near his ear. Her slow kisses continued over his throat,

The pressure was building with every shift of their bodies and every movement between them. William’s hands began to knead her hips but then travelled to her round ass cheeks. He pressed his ever-growing hardness against her, eliciting a soft whimper from her mouth.

William’s voice sounded rough with desire. “Can I see it on you?”

Loren smiled against his warm skin, nodding her head before pulling back. She sat straddling him, yearning for him to be inside of her. She lightly grinded against him before sliding off of him, an almost painful feat considering how desperately she wanted him. “Be right back.”

William propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze following her as she padded toward the washroom. Once inside the bathroom, the door clicked close behind her, and with flipping on the light, she efficiently brushed her teeth, flipped her hair over and back again and dabbed a bit of perfume between her breasts.

She quickly shed her sleep set and pulled the jersey over her head and shimmied as it enveloped her. Her cheeks flushed red as she looked at the back of the jersey. How in the world did this ever happen she mused while chuckling and shaking her head. She exhaled deeply, the anticipation of William anticipating incited a warmth that radiated throughout her body.

When she emerged, William caught his first glimpse of her in his jersey, and for a moment, he was completely still. A smirk teased at the corners of his lips before it faded, replaced by something deeper. He bit his lip, his turquoise eyes roaming over her with an intensity that made Loren’s cheeks flush under his obvious admiration.

As she approached the edge of the bed, Loren timidly fidgeted with the hem of the jersey, which hung just halfway down her thighs. William’s gaze never strayed, his focus entirely on her.

He extended a hand toward her. Loren placed her hand in his and climbed back onto the mattress, letting him guide her, laying on his back until she was straddling him again.

William’s eyes soaked in every detail of her, his expression a perfect mix of adoration and mischief. “It looks really, really good,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “Way better than Auston’s.”

Loren paused, tilting her head as if to consider. “Who?” she replied with a smirk before leaning in and pressing her lips slowly against his, letting her mouth linger as one of her hands cupped his jaw.

Their kisses deepened, each one a release of the pent-up longing they’d carried since Loren’s departure from Stockholm, their embrace tightening as though even the smallest space between them was unbearable. Loren’s voice broke through the moment, her lips still brushing against William’s. “The boys… their walk,” she reminded softly.

He pressed his mouth against hers before kissing a trail down her neck. “I took them out back. They, uh, sort of watered your grass,�� he said between kisses, his tone both teasing and breathless. “I told them I needed about ten minutes, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be less than that,” he admitted coyly. “It’s been almost two months since I’ve…we’ve….y’know.”

Loren paused, her thoughts briefly catching on his words. For her, two months without sex was a cakewalk, but she hadn’t considered it from William’s side.

“It’s been two months?” she asked with an air of surprise.

William pulled back slightly, his turquoise eyes locking with hers. “I mean, yeah… between you leaving and me getting back here….not quite two months of….well - just my hand.”

Loren’s eyebrows lifted, and she grimaced slightly, her mind catching on the idea of William’s admitted celibacy. She could only assume it wasn’t typical for him—but now wasn’t the time to ask.

He smirked, catching onto her expression. “Let’s just say that little ‘test’ video we made before you left my place in Stockholm helped out… a lot.”

Loren’s cheeks flushed as vivid memories surfaced, her body reacting to the mere thought of them. But her mind drifted to the time she’d spent alone since William returned to Toronto. Her needs had remained quiet—virtually dormant—as the hurt and uncertainty of their situation took over.

On the rare occasions when a faint spark of desire arose, it faded almost as quickly. As much as she wanted to deny it, William had unlocked something in her—new levels of intimacy, new ways of craving. No one else could satisfy her now. Only him.

Loren dragged her fingernails lightly through the soft hair on his chest, loving the feel of his broad frame beneath her hands. Her legs spread a little wider as she leaned down to kiss him again, the pressure of her arousal building with every movement.

As their kisses deepened, Loren shifted her hips, raising herself off his clothed erection just enough to free her hands. She started to push the waistband of his shorts down, slow but sure, until William took over. He shimmied them off completely, tossing them to the foot of the bed without a second thought.

Reaching for the hem of the jersey, William’s fingers lightly gripped the fabric as he began to pull it up. “You look amazing in this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “But I’ve missed touching you.”

The jersey slipped off easily, leaving her bare. His hands smoothed over her hips and waist, rediscovering every curve as though memorizing her all over again.

Loren’s breath hitched at the dizzying sensation between her legs. She stealthily reached over to the nightstand, pumping a small amount of lube into her palm. Warming it between her hands, she slid one hand behind her, wrapping her fingers around him with deliberate slowness. Her teasing strokes drew a low groan from William, the sound alone enough to send her into a spiral of desperate need.

William’s hips rose and fell in rhythm with her touch, his breaths growing heavier. When she shifted to gingerly massage the tip, slick with his own juices, his head pressed back into the pillow. Groaning a string of expletives mixed with murmured affirmations, his grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her soft skin.

Loren couldn’t wait any longer, and judging by the tension in his muscles, neither could he. She positioned herself, pressing her entrance near the base of his cock as she leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that expressed her deep desire for him. Her tongue grazed his with a light, sensual flick which nearly sent him over the edge.

She positioned his tip at her entrance and slowly slid onto him, savoring the way his girth stretched her. Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip, her body adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

“FuckLoren…,” William groaned, the two words melting into one as his hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements. She began to slide him in and out, her rhythm slow and deliberate, her body responding to his in the most natural, primal way.

Her pace quickened slightly, her hands gripping his forearms as his fingers found her breasts, stroking and teasing her nipples. The bed creaked softly beneath them, a rhythmic echo of Loren’s intensifying thrusts. Gasps and moans filled the room, her voice trembling as she murmured his name, each sound pushing him closer to the edge.

The early morning sun filtered through her blinds, illuminating the sheen of her still-golden skin. The light accentuated every beautiful contour of her neck as her head fell back, her long mane of hair almost touching William’s thighs. The sight of her—equal parts elegant sensuality and untamed vixen—was almost too much for William. He was right; he wasn’t going to last long.

But he wasn’t done yet. He knew exactly how to bring Loren to the edge with him. As her hips moved with increasing urgency, grinding against him, his hand slipped lower, his thumb finding the perfect spot on her clit.

His strokes were precise and gentle, and the reaction was immediate. Loren jolted, her body clenching tightly around him as she clasped his wrist, a silent plea for him to keep going. Her other hand braced firmly against his thigh as she leaned back, her body moving with a more fervent, desperate rhythm.

The overwhelming sensation between her legs built rapidly, a flood of heat and pressure that stole her breath. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice trembling with quiet urgency. Loren’s body began to quiver, her movements stuttering as the release overtook her. She collapsed onto William’s chest, her breaths uneven as she cried out softly, her orgasm pulsing through her.

William held her tightly, his arms wrapping protectively around her as his hips bucked fast and firm into her trembling body. The tightness of her release pushed him over the edge, his moans breaking into shorter, rougher sounds. With a deep, guttural shout, he spilled inside her, his grip on her waist tightening as they both stayed connected, riding out the bliss together.

After a few moments, Loren slid fluidly from his body and sank into the mattress beside him, her breathing soft and steady. William shifted to his side, easing her close against him, her face naturally finding its place against his chest—one of her favorite places to be.

It felt like calmer waters lay ahead for them. With a better understanding of each other, despite the SNAFUs and bad timing of their past, they were unknowingly building a foundation for something lasting. Where they differed, they balanced each other; where they were alike, it felt like perfect harmony.

William lay quietly, his hand stroking small circles on Loren’s back as he stared at the ceiling. His thoughts wandered to the next few hours, wondering if she’d stick around after practice. He laughed softly to himself, realizing how far gone he was for her. And he knew she felt the same about him.

He could manage life without Loren, he supposed, but it would never feel the same. Over the past month, during their separation, he came to terms with how she made every part of his life better. Whether it was a long drive, nap time, practice, or game time—everything was brighter, fuller, with her beside him.

Never mind one woman, a thousand ways. One woman, in every way. That’s how he wanted Loren.

#william nylander #william x loren #nhl fanfiction #william nylander imagine #william nylander fic #william nylander smut #william nylander fanfic #nhl rpf #nhl fic #hockey romance

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starrihan · 3 days ago

Text

Happy New Year, Kiss Me - New Years with Enhypen

-> Pairing: Enhypen x afab! Reader

-> Plot: how you would spend New Year's with the Enhypen members

-> Genre: fluff, Heeseung's is slightly suggestive, Jake's is very suggestive

-> Warnings: drinking, use of nicknames (love, darling, sweetie, baby), hyung line scenario's take place at Jay's new year's party

-> Word Count: 3,143, each one got progressively longer as i continued writing (350-500 words each)

-> Notes: Happy New Year! I hope you all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them! Hope you all have a wonderful new year and lets hope 2025 goes better than this year did (for me at least) 🤧

༄ ༄ ༄

Heeseung:

The New Year’s party was something you had been looking forward to. After all the anticipation of Christmas had passed, you were ready to welcome the new year with open arms. You made your way to Jay’s house. He hosted the New Year’s party every year, always making it better each time.

You arrived at the party shortly after it began, fixing your hair in the car before knocking on the door.

“Hey guys! Y/N’s here!”

Jay says, opening the door and giving you a hug as you walk in. You make your way to the kitchen, where you find Sunghoon and Jake.

“Hey Y/N! You look amazing!”

Sunghoon says, pouring you a glass of champagne.

“Thank you! You both look really handsome as well!”

You sip at your drink, making your way around and greeting everyone you knew until you finally found the boy you were looking for.

“Heeseung! Finally!”

You walk up to the tall, brown haired man who was talking with a couple of his other friends.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you! I’m sorry I was a bit distracted! You look really good!”

He says, pulling you in for a hug. You just chuckle and tell him it’s alright, joining the conversation and laughing amongst the group.

As the time approaches 12 a.m, you look around, watching everyone break away into pairs, presumably with the person they plan on kissing. You realize that the only other guy without a partner is Heeseung. He looks down at you and smiles,

“Guess you’re my New Year’s kiss, Y/N,”

You smile up at him, nodding as you watch the big flat screen tv countdown.

60 seconds…

30 seconds…

10 seconds…

3…

2…

1…

“Happy New Year’s!”

The whole house erupts as everyone looks to their partner, sharing a quick kiss. You look up at Heeseung who is already leaning in, closing your eyes as your lips meet. The kiss doesn’t last for long, but you can feel yourself relaxing into his touch, hands holding his face as he pulls away and flashes you a smirk.

“Your lips are so soft, we should do this again sometime,”

You laugh as you playfully hit his chest at his flirty tone, but not before giving him a flirty reply back,

“Let’s see where the end of the night takes us~”

༄ ༄ ༄

Jay:

You woke up in the morning to help your boyfriend, Jay, prepare for the party that was being thrown in your shared home. It was your job to decorate while he got drinks and snacks.

You spent the morning taping up streamers and making sure the centerpieces looked right. You had provided little hats and glasses that say 2025 on them, loving little corny accessories.

As the day progressed, you got yourself ready for the party. After showering, you got started on your makeup, waiting for your hair to dry. After finishing that, you fixed your hair before slipping on a silver sequin dress, one that you knew Jay would not be able to keep his eyes off of. You had decided to keep your outfit a surprise, wanting to see his reaction to you wearing it for the first time before the party started.

“Wow, you look absolutely stunning,”

He says, awestruck, taking your hand and having you do a little twirl.

“I’m glad you like it! I’ve been dying to show you!”

You say, embracing him and pecking his lips.

“C’mon, the guests will be here soon!”

You say, making your way downstairs to greet the first round of guests.

“Y/N! Jay! You guys look beautiful!”

Jake exclaims, walking in with his girlfriend, a big smile plastered on his face.

“You guys really out did yourself this year!”

He makes his way to the kitchen, pouring him and his girlfriend some drinks.

You enjoy your night talking to your friends and Jay, relishing in the compliments you were getting at the successful party you managed to throw, yet again.

“1 minute till midnight!”

Jay yells, grabbing everyone’s attention for the New Year’s tradition. As the countdown reaches 1, you look to Jay who's already looking at you.

“Happy New Year my love~”

“Happy New Year Jay!”

You both say to each other, leaning in for a passionate kiss, one that lasted longer than most people’s. You smiled at him, taking in the feeling of being together for another new year.

“We’re really good at this”

“Yes we are”

༄ ༄ ༄

Jake:

You looked at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair and making sure your makeup was on point, matching the style and color of your black and silver dress.

“My baby, looking stunning as always,”

Jake says, leaning on the door frame.

“Almost makes me wanna keep you here all night…”

He walks behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, giving your cheek a quick peck.

“Do we have to go? You look too good…”

He whines, hands traveling up and down your sides now, trying to entice you to stay. You laugh as you put your hands over his, stopping his movements.

“Jake, it’s your best friends party, we have to go! Besides, if you behave, I’ll show you what’s under this dress,”

You say back to him, staring into his eyes through the mirror. He buries his face in your neck, smirking as he trails kisses up towards your ear.

“I guess we can go then. What’s a few hours anyways when we’ll be up all night?”

“Let’s go you horn ball,”

You say, grabbing the car keys on your way out. You walk up to the door and knock, Jake right next to you as you’re greeted by Jay and his girlfriend. You head to the kitchen, talking with Jake’s friends as he pours you and himself a drink.

You find yourself pretty tipsy but the time midnight rolls around, finding ways to tease Jake due to your own pent-up state.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to behave before we left?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, finding your wondering hands amusing.

“You gave me too much to drink… you know how I get when I’m tipsy”

You say, cheeks flushed and vision slightly blurry, staring at Jake as he holds your hand, gesturing to the tv.

“Only 5 more minutes, yeah? Then we can head home and I can give you what you’re so desperately needing,”

Voice dripping with honey as he whispers seductively in your ear, your need for him increasing with every passing minute. The countdown begins, you’re so eager, staring at Jake and almost kissing him before midnight. He laughs and holds you off, waiting till the last second.

“Happy New Year’s baby, now come here”

You don’t even say it back, smashing your lips onto his in a hungry kiss.

“Beautiful, happy New Years! Can we go home now?”

He laughs and nods, letting himself be dragged out the door while shouting his goodbyes to all his friends.

“Let’s see what you have on under that dress,”

(whenever i read/ write stuff about Jake that has him saying shit like this I always picture this emoji 😛)

༄ ༄ ༄

Sunghoon:

Sunghoon is a very punctual person. So he was rightfully annoyed when you were taking your sweet time getting ready, thus making you guys 15 minutes late to Jay’s New Year’s party.

“I’m sorry! My hair wasn’t working with me and I couldn’t get my eyeliner right!”

You say, scrambling into the car as quickly as your heels would allow you to. He just sighed and started driving,

“You had more than enough time to get ready.”

He said sternly. You sighed back in response. You couldn’t argue with him, he was right. You did have many hours to get ready, and you still somehow managed to be late.

“You’re right Hoon, I’m sorry.”

He could sense how apologetic you were, resting his hand on your thigh and giving it a little squeeze.

“It’s alright sweetheart. It’s only Jay, he won’t care. Plus, we can be fashionably late now. You do look gorgeous.”

He says, and you smile, feeling at ease as you pull up to the party.

“Please don’t let me drink tonight, I still haven’t recovered from the Christmas party,”

You say, stepping out of the car and walking up to the front door, hand in hand with Sunghoon.

“Don’t beg me to give you one when you get bored then.”

You walk into the house, immediately greeted by Jay and Sunghoon’s other friends. You all congregate in the living room, laughing and exchanging stories as if you hadn’t seen these people just 5 days ago.

“Jay you always make the best drinks but I can’t have any today. I don’t want a repeat of the Christmas party…”

You laugh sheepishly, recalling the light-headed state you were in that had Sunghoon worried sick that you were going to throw up. You go to the kitchen to grab a snack and Sunghoon follows you in, back-hugging you as you pop a couple of candies into your mouth.

“Can I have one?”

You laugh as you place a candy in his already open mouth, following it up with a quick kiss.

“Hey! Save the kisses for the new year!”

He says playfully to which you roll your eyes, heading back to the living room. You watch as everyone yells in excitement, getting ready to kiss their partners as the timer hits 10 seconds. You all count down with it, shouting “happy new year!,” before looking at Sunghoon, smiling before planting a loving kiss on his lips.

“Happy new year, my love. I can’t wait to spend another year with you.”

You say, arms around his neck still, his hands squeezing at your waist.

“Happy new years baby, I love you.”

༄ ༄ ༄

Sunoo:

You had decided to spend new years with Sunoo's family this year. You spent last year with your family, so you only thought it would be fair to have this year with his family.

“Sunoo, baby? Are you almost ready? Your family is waiting for us!”

You said, hurriedly grabbing your belongings. They had invited you to spend the weekend with them after new years, so you had to make sure you had everything you’d need packed.

“Yes I’m almost done! And why are you packing? You have everything you need at my house?”

You stare at the little bag you have, only a couple makeup products and new skincare items in there. You were so nervous, you forgot that you basically live there too.

“You’re right. I’m sorry I’m just nervous. We’ve spent a lot of time with your parents but I’ve never met your entire family before.”

You look at him and sulk, fidgeting your fingers and looking down at your pathetic bag. He walks over to you, holding your hands in his.

“It’s okay sweetie, they’re gonna love you. And even if they don’t, who cares? I love you.”

You smile as he places a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s go, I’m ready.”

You nod as you make your way to the car, grabbing the little bag of stuff anyways.

Upon arriving at Sunoo’s parents house, you sigh as you mentally prepare yourself. You knock on the door and are immediately greeted by Sunoo’s mom who pulls you in for a big hug.

“Y/N, my darling! I’ve missed you so much! Come in!”

You smile as you feel more at ease. You slip off your shoes as Sunoo greets his mom. You look around to see that mostly everyone is distracted, having conversations amongst their own little groups.

Sunoo takes you around, introducing you to every one of his family members. You slowly warm up to everyone, being able to make conversation on your own and even being invited out by his other family members for future events.

As the day passes by, you realize that there’s only a couple minutes left until the new year begins. You start to feel a little shy, the idea of kissing Sunoo while all his family is present is a little bit anxiety-inducing. He can sense your unease, calmly gripping onto your shoulders and pulling you close.

“I can see that you’re still nervous baby, but it’s okay. They’re all gonna see us kiss on our wedding day anyways, right?”

You smile and nod, blushing as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck. The countdown begins and you two join in, staring into each others eyes at the final ‘3, 2, 1,’ before gently leaning in, sharing a short but sweet kiss.

“Happy New Year Y/N. I’m so lucky to have spent another year with you,”

He says, leaning his forehead on yours.

“Happy New Year Sunoo. I’m even luckier~”

༄ ༄ ༄

Jungwon:

This was the first New Year’s that you would be spending with Jungwon. You had decided to just spend it together at your apartment. You had been invited to a couple of New Year’s parties but you wanted your first one with Jungwon to be special and a little more intimate, without the social pressures of dressing up and making conversation with people you barely know.

You had decorated a little bit, wanting it to feel a little bit more celebratory than just another night in. You kept it simple though, a couple streamers and silly little party hats to take pictures in. You finish setting up the table with some snacks when you hear a knock on your door, running faster than you’d care to admit to open it.

“Jungwon!!!”

You yelled, jumping into his arms for a hug.

“I’m really excited to see you too baby but can we go inside? It’s cold out here…”

He says as he laughs, entering the warm apartment. He’s welcomed with the familiar scent of your home, sighing as he places his bag down and gives you a proper hug.

“I missed you baby. I’m so glad we’re spending new years here, together, instead of at some lame party.”

“Don’t let Jay find out that you called his party lame otherwise he might lecture you on the difficulties of being a good host.”

You both laugh as you break away from each other, Jungwon walking to your living room while you walk to the kitchen. You grab the bottle of champagne you had bought, walking out with it and two champagne glasses in your hands.

“Even though we’re not at a party, a little champagne is always fitting for the occasion!”

You say as you set the glasses on the table, Jungwon helping you with the bottle.

“Ooh! Can I pop the bottle?”

You nod as you sit back, letting him pop the top off and laughing when you see a bit of smoke coming out of it.

“I thought it was gonna spray everywhere,”

he says, disappointed.

“I’m glad it didn’t.”

You spend the time sipping away at the champagne and watching trashy reality tv shows, cuddling up under a blanket. You’re so immersed in your activity that you almost miss the clock flashing to 11:59 pm.

You tap Jungwon and put your glass down, turning to him in excitement.

“1 more minute!!!”

You guys both giggle as you start a mini countdown to each other.

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

“Happy New Year!!”

You both yell to each other before leaning in for a kiss. You let it last for a while, not having to worry about the duration of the kiss.

“I’m glad we decided to spend our first new years like this. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to celebrate.”

He says, cat-like eyes disappearing in a big smile that engulfs his face.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

༄ ༄ ༄

Niki:

You and Niki hadn’t been together long. You guys met about 8 months ago, but only start dating 2 months ago, so everything romantic still felt pretty new to you both. When you had gotten the news that you’d be going to a New Year’s party that Niki’s friends were throwing, you were very excited yet nervous, to say the least. You’d met his friends before, but never all together at once.

You were getting ready at your house, opting to start early since Niki would be coming to pick you up. You looked in the mirror as you finished doing your hair, making sure everything looks right. You hear your phone go off besides you:

“Hey darling, I’m outside.”

You read Niki’s message and smile, grabbing your purse before making your way to his car. You find him standing by your door, having already opened it for you.

“You look gorgeous m’lady,”

He says, smiling as you laugh as his playfully formal demeanor.

“You’re looking quite dashing yourself, good sir,”

You say as you walk into the car. He closes the door for you and you make your way to the party that was at Jake’s house.

“You look really beautiful. I can’t wait to spend this new year with you.”

You blush and look away, fingers playing with the hand that he kept on your thigh.

“You're too cute Niki. Thank you. You look really good too! The suit suits you,”

You laugh at your own joke before arriving at Jake’s house. You walk out of the car and head up to the front door, Niki following behind you. Without even knocking on the door, the door flies open revealing an excited Jake.

“Y/N!! You’re here!”

He says, dragging you inside.

“Hey, what about me?”

Niki sulks as he walks in, jokingly bitter about not being greeted by Jake.

“I’m glad you guys could come! Thank you Y/N for coming out here tonight. We were all so excited to have you!”

You smile at Jake’s sweet words, leaning your head on Niki’s shoulder as you all engage in conversation.

The night goes smoothly, playing games while the adults drink champagne and you and Niki stick to drinking cider.

“Get ready guys, 5 minutes till midnight!”

Heeseung says, going over to his girlfriend. All the boys go to their significant others, waiting for the countdown to begin. You stay next to Niki, anticipating the countdown. You guys had kissed before, but with you both being so busy and still new to the relationship, you weren’t used to it yet.

The countdown begins, everyone getting excited and yelling as the numbers go down.

You look up at Niki, who is smiling down as the final 3 seconds pass, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Happy New Year darling.”

“Happy New Year Niki~”

༄ ༄ ༄

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cigarettesaftersae · 2 days ago

Text

cream puff - 01 cherry blossoms

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Series: shidou ryusei x f!reader | contains : fluff, (slight)angst, a bit suggestive(its shidou.), highschool au, troublemaker shidou, reader loves baking, spring :P, warning is shidou

Dear diary, who knew today would be something special. I consider maybe a small life, with a big fluffy protective dog and a garden of pink flowers with my baking recipes lying around to be a life that I’d settle for. But in a world where people will settle for anything just to say they have something could make my words mean nothing. That wouldn’t apply to me I hope. Anyways, today was strange, life is strange because why did Shidou Ryusei give me a milk box?

Cherry blossoms fall onto the cement ground, unfolding loves stories whist it aim it's arrow with might to any of those unexpected. Lingering rainy air, blooming flowers, the eye of the moon and for this, your story, now slowly becoming. One petal falls onto your face as Lui, your best friend catches up to you. Out of breathe, she lands her hands on her trumblung knees to calm down. “You walk..too fast” she breathes in and out hastily

“I don't want to be late come on” you rush Lui, her hand in yours now as you ran towards the school building

“Look we’re not even late”

“Better being early at least” you remark, whispering as the teacher took her usual attendence

“Shidou ryusei…shidou ryusei?” She repeats waiting for a ‘here’ but everyone and everything to simply nothing is completely silent. “Not here..” the teacher mumbles till interrupted with a blast upon the door sliding open too rough. “Yo..here” Shidou grins a smirk as the other teacher behind him throws him in deeper to the class “He was trying to skip in the art room” They say with a lingering annoyance hince in their tone,

“Late again Shidou Ryusei”

“Mm, I see that” he remarks in sacrasm which made the teacher wince in a ‘tsk’

“Go Sit down”

“Mmm no.”

“go to your seat

“I don't like where I sit”

“Well life isn’t fair, stop making things complicated and go sit down in your seat”

Shidou continue to refuse, his rebellion making time pass by faster than you thought. Wasting the fabric inch of time as the two bricker. Pushing back your seat, the ends of the chair goes aganist the floor causing a loud rub from it. Capturing their attention and putting a pause in their qurel. “He can take my seat.” You say with a soft demeanor, not wanting any trouble. Your seat was positioned at the window not in the front but not in the back, right in the middle, making you have a great view of the school grounds and the cherry blossoms that fade in the wind. It had to be convincing enough for Shidou Ryusei right?

Well, it sure was because now you’re in the way back as your friend sits in the front. You could see he was clearly messing around, not paying attention to the lesson, and maybe he was even playing minecraft on his phone, hidden by the table as a blindspot. You could see he was fighting a couple of mobs, his sword fighting them till it popped up a ‘You died’ and a respawning button. Causing him to joint in anger, making the teacher notice something off. Another argument between the two start again and you almost groan at this just wanting the day to past by already.

“Did you really have to give up your seat for him?” Lui groans, slumping into the chair next to you.

“If no one did anything, it would’ve just kept going,” you reply, brushing off the regret creeping into your tone. Both of you sit in the cafeteria, isolated and insignificant in a world of billions—a pair of small losers in the grand scheme of things.

“Yeah, but it’s… Shidou. What’s worse than that?”

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through your thoughts like a blade. “What is worse?”

You both freeze. The unmistakable voice belongs to none other than Shidou Ryusei himself. He drags a chair across the floor with an obnoxious screech before plopping down directly across from you. The troublemaker of the school, a human hurricane of chaos, sits there with a box of milk, which he casually places on your plate.

You’re at a loss for words—speechless, in the truest sense. Shidou hasn’t done anything to you directly, yet somehow, he’s already gotten under your skin, as if causing psychological and mental chaos is just second nature to him.

#bluelock #bllk shidou #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou x reader #ryusei shidou #shido ryusei #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk

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wandassweetheart · 1 day ago

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ANIMAL!

currently playing… ‘animal’ by sir choe

pairing - bucky barnes x reader / wanda maximoff x reader

warning! - breakup, fear of coming out, reader has minor negative thoughts, not proof read

a/n - hii so this is me rewriting the whole thing because it decided to delete. anyways i know there isn’t much wlw in this but i promise in my later fics its going to be full on wlw. #womenlovewanda

you didn’t really know when these feelings had started but you figured that they had always been lurking deep inside of you. you didn’t want to believe it at first, so you went as far as to dating bucky barnes thinking that you could shake off those feelings of longing for something, for someone. for wanda.

and guess what? that wasn’t even the complicated part, the complicated part was that you had to somehow tell bucky how you felt and that you just couldn’t feel that way towards him emotionally. i mean, how could you?

wanda made you feel something that no man could ever possibly make you feel. she made you behave like an animal whenever you were around her. her subtle eye movements towards your lips, the longing glances, it was like you both knew but couldn’t say anything. all you could think about was how much you wished one of the rings on her fingers could be from you and how much you wanted to be her number one. she was just so pretty it hurt.

and of course you tried to send those thoughts away whenever you could —you felt bad for bucky, this was, like, one of the worst ways somebody could stop loving someone. but the thing was that you had never even loved him, you were just using him to prove a point with yourself that you couldn’t even prove. so how the hell were you supposed to breakup with bucky without him getting absolutely pissed.

you didn’t want him to get mad since you couldn’t control it, love was natural in the end, but what wasn’t natural was how you had hid under a facade for so long using him to fight your own battles. the worst that could happen was that bucky would get disgusted and tell everyone in the compound, resulting in wanda finding out and hating you for being such a creep. but you could only hope that that wouldn’t happen and that you could go on with your plan by asking him nicely and politely to give you what you wanted —a calm, mututal breakup where you could both still remain close friends.

you patiently sat on the bed in your shared bedroom with bucky, fidgeting and praying that all would go well, so when he’d finally entered the room and saw your solemn expression he took it seriously and gently sat down next to you. you took this as your chance to say everything then before you started to get second thoughts and continue the cycle of pushing away how you really felt.

“i tried to love you, but you’re not my type.” you let out a shaky breath before continuing. “tried to pretend, but it just don’t feel right.” all you wanted was to dig a hole for yourself and just die, there and then with the silence that invaded your ears. bucky let out a soft sigh, he didn’t seem mad infact he gave you a small smile?

“should’ve known better.” he murmured, trying to stay cool. in the end, he really had loved you and you did too, just not like that. at least he wasn’t telling you that you were such a fool, right? “i’m not mad,” he started, you frowned as you looked back at him. why the hell isn’t he mad? if i were him i would’ve been so frustrated and thought that i was a monster. “it’s okay, you can’t control who you love, but i want you to know that i still love you even as my closest friend. don’t beat yourself up okay? and it was bound to happen anyways, you think i haven’t caught onto the little looks you and wanda give each other?” he mused.

that had gone better than you’d ever expected. you gave him a slight nod and embraced him tightly you were glad he understood you and didn’t push you way and think you were shameful.

you could finally accept the fact that you were in love with wanda maximoff.

#wanda maximoff #pink #marvel #wanda x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #coming out #wlw love #wlw yearning #break up #angst?#wandassweetheart #bucky barnes #bucky angst #reader is female #wlw #women love women #women love wanda

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3amfanfiction · 3 months ago

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Simon Finds a Toy pt 2

Serial killer Simon takes you with him on his outings. How does that go? Cw: Stockholm Syndrome, period play, blood First

You watched at first.

Simon was beautiful in his brutality. You knew something was wrong with you for thinking it but it was the truth. The control he had over his body and the environment was truly astonishing. It was as if nothing could go amiss when he was watching.

It turned you on.

You weren't going to do anything about it of course. That was crossing a line. But you couldn't help how your body responded to him. It was just human nature. No one would be able to blame you.

Not that you spoke to anyone else. That was a step too far for Simon apparently. While he trusted you to leave the cabin with him, he got downright antsy if you began talking with people.

It didn't bother you as much as you would expect it to, having gotten used to only talking to Simon and Dog. The cabin had been a lonely place, isolating. Some days you wondered if being there warped who you were or if it only allowed it to flourish.

You're not sure you want to know the answer either way.

You watched as Simon worked his way through an office building. It was late, the sun having set long ago and the temperature was frigid in the evening air. You shivered from your place tucked into a little leeway near the back exit, tucking your hands further into your sleeves.

You heard the occasional low scream through the walls. Faint, only noticeable because you were actively looking for it.

That was a while ago though. It had been quiet for the last little bit which is why it surprised you so much when the door you were standing near burst open—slamming back against the wall before bouncing back, a man stumbling out in a panic before collapsing on the little concrete landing pad. You didn't say anything as he laid there and breathed, little sobs breaking through his panting as he tried to gather himself. There was blood copiously covering him and it looks like Simon has been toying with him for a while if the knife marks are anything to go by.

After a few short moments he gathered himself enough to lift his head, pushing himself to his knees slowly, clearly in pain. You must have made some sort of noise because his head whipped around towards you as he threw himself backwards, hands coming up in front of his face in protection.

Please, please no more.

You don't say anything, you can't say anything, can only watch this grown man begin to cry where he's huddled against the building, the sounds echoing softly in the night air.

He realized quickly that you weren't the monster that had been chasing him and switches gears abruptly—begging you to call the police, to help him, to get out of here. He cycles through them all rapid-fire, not giving you a chance to respond before the door slammed open again, this time much more controlled.

You saw Simon standing there, covered in thick canvas and looming like the specter he fashioned himself after. His white mask splattered with blood only increased his frightening demeanor.

The man who had been pressed to the brickwork of the building yelped and dove for you, grabbing your hand as if to tug you with him as you ran. It was kind of sweet how he was worried about leaving you behind.

You didn't say anything as Simon walks over and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, twisting a tight fist into the fabric to more easily corral him. You stood still as he began to walk back inside, dragging the whimpering man behind him. You didn't flinch as the man looked at you with a betrayed gaze.

As the door slammed you heard the quiet wind blowing through the trees again, crickets beginning to chirp after a few moments more.

\\\

You weren't talkative on the way back to the cabin.

You didn't feel particularly bad, which is what made you feel kind of bad. You didn't even want to help when that man made it outside. It was the same thing as a car passing you on the freeway. Something that was there but didn't elicit any sort of response. He was a non-entity.

Even when he grabbed you, trying to save the both of you, he didn't endear himself to you beyond a thought. You were more excited to see Simon walking through the door—looming, menacing—than the thought of the man getting away.

Isn't it a human concept to want to keep those around you safe? What does that make you then?

Simon let you stew in peace.

\\\

You didn't go with him next time or the time after that, instead choosing to stay home with Dog. He was lonely without the both of you, you told Simon, it's not fair to leave him alone for that long.

So you stayed. And you thought. And you tried to figure out what type of person you were. Did it really matter though? Deciding your placement on a scale of how 'good' you were wasn't going to change your actions. You let him die and you felt nothing about it.

Honestly, you still felt nothing about it.

\\\

Dog has two new tricks learned by the time Simon got back—stay and fetch. Well, there's about a 50% success rate on both of them so you're not quite sure if you can claim them as tricks learned just yet. But you were optimistic.

He didn't say anything when he walked in the house. Simply came over to kiss you dirty before going to wash up. You licked your lips and nearly trailed after him before you stopped yourself.

You could at least wait until the blood is gone.

\\\

"My period is ridiculously heavy this month. I don't think I've bled this badly in years," you said miserably, thunking your head down on the table. "The cramps hurt so much," whining to Simon, unable to do anything else.

He didn't say anything as he continued to clean and sharpen his hunting knives. The now familiar smell filling your brain and turning it hazy and warm. It would be a perfect day if your insides weren't trying to become your outsides in such demand. You rocked your head to the side so you could watch him, admiring how the streaming sunlight was bouncing off his face.

He was covered liberally in scars but you never found you minded much. Not even in the beginning—he'd always been handsome in your eyes. You watched, eyes at half mast while he rasp rasp rasped the blades against the whetstone, shining where it had been doused in oil. His strong fingers and thick wrists led up to his delicious forearms. Watching the tendons flex and move while he worked the blade against the stone had you shifting in your seat, prior complaints forgotten.

As he set down a completed knife and reached for the next, you found yourself blurting out, "I want to fuck your face."

Silence.

Why did you say that? Why did you say that? You were on your period, even if you wanted to you couldn't, plus you'd never said something like that bef—

"Okay."

What?

Simon put the knife back onto the towel it had been waiting on, ready to be picked back up later. He closed the oil tin and began to push away from the table before you were able to get your thoughts in line again.

"No!"

You backtracked when he looked at you, eyebrow raised, "I mean, no we can't do that. I'm bleeding right now, I don't even know why I said it."

"It doesn't bother me."

It doesn't bother me It doesn't bother me It doesn't bother me

It kept repeating in your mind, a circling echo as you mechanically removed blankets and laid out towels on the bed. Simon was stripping off his shirt but leaving his pants on, unbuttoned over his hips. He gestured impatiently when he caught you staring, prompting you to finish pulling off your bottoms. The pad you were using plopped heavily to the floor, already saturated even though you'd replaced it less than an hour ago. You ended up pulling your top off too after a moment, feeling a bit like Winnie the Pooh with a shirt on but no pants.

With a careful crawl you made your way to the center of the bed, already feeling a trail of blood making it's way down your thigh almost to the halfway point. A gasp and a clench when Simon swats at your butt as you moved past him caused the trail to gain several inches quickly.

A final shuffle and you made it to the towels, spinning around to lay on your back, watching Simon through your spread knees. Without any further delay he planted himself flat on his front, face hovering right above your cunt.

He didn't do anything but stare at it at first—watching the blood pool in the slit, filling it until the lips couldn't contain it any more before it spilled down to be collected by the towel. You're embarrassed to admit it but him just laying there looking at you is enough to begin feeling warm, the involuntary twitching of your cunt the last straw before he slid two of his fingers in to the base in one smooth movement.

You yowled at the sudden stretch.

There was practically no drag with how much you were bleeding but the stretch was still shocking. The wet squelching immediately filled the air, Simon thrusting his fingers in deeply before dragging them out, rubbing firmly along your walls as if he was trying to scoop the blood out.

You quickly began to pant, fisting the sheets below you as you struggled to keep still. Your little aborted thrusts were mostly ignored other than the grumbled, lay still. You were mostly successful until you felt as his rough fingers grazed a sensitive spot inside causing you to arch up and away involuntarily. With a snarl, Simon had you pinned down with his free arm across your pelvis—not letting you go anywhere.

Oh! That's . . . oh.

With a shocked gasp you finished, covering Simon's hand and forearm with bloody liquid, contractions doing the work of pushing out any back-pooling of blood. With a throaty groan Simon dove in—mouth first into your cunt.

"Simon!" you yelped, only just finishing the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Be gentle, please!"

If he heard you he didn't bother acknowledging it—simply continued feasting on your bloody cunt. You looked down to see something out of a murder scene. Blood was smeared all along his cheeks almost to his ears with how it was transferring to your thighs and back onto him. You were sure you'd be finding blood in his hair once this was over.

His mouth and nose were the worst of it with vivid red so thick you couldn't see the skin in some parts. He moved up to focus on your clit, his eyes glancing up at you and you jerked when you saw pools of black—his pupils completely eclipsing the iris.

He looked crazed, like the killer he was, an insane murderer who wanted to bathe in blood.

He looked as if he were smothered in decadence.

You noticed him humping the bed right before his fingers found their way inside you again, playing you like a fiddle. He was well versed in all your buttons and he quickly brought you back up to another peak.

As your breath grew shorter and whines started to fall from your lips he groaned into your folds, his rocking hips developing a frantic pace.

He came from dry humping the bed while eating you out. Your cramps having abated along with the itch under your skin. You could stay here for ages—keep him between your legs, worshiping at your center. Nothing to be done but splay out and take the pleasure as it came.

—you could ask.

You didn't get the chance before he's diving back in, ignoring your squeal at the overwhelming sensation so soon after your orgasm. He pinned you down again as you squirm, muttering about, never get to play in it, they're always screaming, tastes so good coming from you, want your cum mixed in with it.

When Simon pulled away, you looked down to check on him. You saw him holding a bloody clot, rolling it back and forth along his fingers, squishing and manipulating it—playing with this piece that had just been inside of you.

You were coming to the realization this was going to be an every month type of thing. Maybe playing in blood wasn't so bad.

\\\

Simon didn't ask you to come with him, he simply made it clear that you were welcome.

A second bag is sitting on the table, waiting to be filled, to be used. Simon ignored it and you as he stood there packing his own. He's going to the other side of the country for this outing and would be gone for close to a week.

You watched his bag fill up, items being tucked away and placed in pockets while the second bag sat there empty and flat.

He didn't say anything when you stood next to him and packed your jacket.

It was a completely uneventful trip for you.

\\\

You'd fallen into the swing of waiting by the back door, just in case, but Simon was good about keeping everyone where they should be. It seemed after the first one he was a little hesitant about leaving you alone with one of his victims. Were you a victim too? Or were you a participant at this point?

It's warmer now—not quite the full weight of summer heat but close to it. You were staring at the closed door, wondering what you would see if you opened it and walked inside. Did you even want to see anything? What did you think you'd get out of it? Maybe you were trying to punish yourself.

You already knew what Simon did. Seeing it wouldn't change anything . . . would it? You imagined how he looked when he was in complete control and your will wavers with the dangling reward. Maybe a little peek wouldn't hurt.

You hadn't taken more than two steps before the door burst open and oh, you were doing this again weren't you?

This time it was a young woman that stumbled out. She's pretty, you noticed offhandedly, even with her torn leggings, bloody nose and mascara tear-tracked face. She saw you and immediately jerked back, smart enough to know anyone standing outside a murder building probably had something to do with the murders.

Her expression wavered as you just stood there looking at her, not saying anything. More tears spilled over her lash line as she stared back, not giving an inch.

She took one step towards freedom and you yelled.

I guess that answers the participant question.

|||

Story Repository || Main Repository

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #thank you as always pricegouge for looking this over and helping me make it the best it could be!#idk what i would do without you 😭#everyone loves a reader who ends up giving in right?#bc i know i do

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fushitoru · 2 months ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?”

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.��

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.

“do what?”

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.

your breath catches. “satoru…”

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.

that’s when he freezes.

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

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