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evansbby · 1 month ago

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𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: mean jock!Steve Rogers x naive!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+, minors dni, dark, noncon, dubcon, daddy kink, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, controlling behaviour, cum play, jacking off, lingerie kink, dom/sub dynamic, frat party setting, asshole fratboys, ari levinson mentioned lmao.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you run into steve at another frat party. this time, it's in his territory. (alternate continuation of chapter two of wicked games, but this has ZERO impact on the wicked games story. again, this does not affect the plot of the original wicked games timeline, it's just a fun little detour, a completely separate story if you will. you can read this without having read wicked games).

“Can we leave? I’m not really in a party mood,” you frown, tugging at the hem of your dress and regretting how short it is. It’s deep purple and form fitted, with a hemline that sits right below your butt. You’d thought the sexiness of it would help you get more into the spirit of things since Wanda had insisted on dragging you here tonight, but clearly that hadn’t worked.

“Don’t do this right now, Y/N. We need to be seen at these events if we want to be popular.” Wanda smiles and waves into the distance as if she’s recognised a friend. Despite the fact that this is a St. Jude’s party and you know as well as she does that everyone here is a complete stranger to the both of you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Well, I don’t really care about being popular–”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Wanda’s eyes dart around the very crowded, dimly lit basement of the frat house as if looking for someone.

“But we don’t know anyone at St. Jude’s!” You tug at your dress again, feeling more insecure than ever.

Tonight was originally planned to be a girl’s night – and you’d already picked out a movie, laid out the facemasks and bowls of popcorn, and pulled on your comfiest pyjamas only for Wanda to show up to your dorm in a slink black dress and strappy heels, telling you there was a frat party at the rival college that the two of you just couldn’t miss, and that she was giving you fifteen minutes to get ready.

“Yeah, but this morning I overheard some cheerleaders, and they said Curtis might be here.”

Oh. Of course. Now it all made sense. Ever since the night of the last frat party the two of you had been to, the one where Wanda had slept with Curtis Everett… Well, ever since then she’d become a teensy bit obsessed with him. And that was also the same frat party where you and…

“Wanda! If Curtis is here then Ari will be here too! I don’t wanna see him!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes, “Relax. I also heard the cheerleaders say that Ari went back home for the weekend. Sharon Carter was all upset about it, because apparently he didn’t even bother inviting her and she hasn’t met his parents yet. But anyways, keep an eye out for Curtis, would you?”

“Okay…” Begrudgingly, you scan the room. A part of you is happy that Ari is out of town, because it makes it easier not to think about him, knowing he’s miles and miles away. Out of sight, out of mind - that was going to be your motto when it came to him moving forward.

“Looking for someone?”

The deep voice feels like velvet against your ear, and you inhale sharply at the familiarity of it. Your whole body starts to buzz when you feel a warm hand press against the small of your back, the stranger’s touch brimming with confidence as he easily turns you around.

You’re faced with a chest. A big, muscly, expansive chest covered in a grey shirt that’s deliciously tight against it. Slowly, you peek up at his face. Blue eyes. Cocky smile. Handsome. Angelic.

“Steve!” you breathe, relaxing at the familiar face, “You’re here!”

He chuckles, casually grabbing your hip and squeezing it, “Well, considering this is my frat house, it would be weird if I wasn’t.”

Your eyes widen, “It is?”

“Yep. Thanks for coming over, sweetheart. I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of you after that party.” He winks. And you have to admit - he looks good. All six foot six inches of him, looming above you with that charming smile on his face, that smile being one of the only things you remember from the night you’d last seen him, where he’d been such a gentleman and dropped you home after everything that had happened with Ari.

He’s got a backwards baseball cap on his head, but tufts of his blonde hair peek out from underneath, and his blue eyes sparkle as he watches you, as if he knows you’re checking him out. And unabashedly, he does the same, his pink tongue licking over his lips as he drinks in your body, his hold on your hip tightening.

“I…uh… yeah,” you feel self-conscious, tongue-tied after the embarrassingly long amount of time you’ve just spent checking him out. “Thanks for giving me a lift home, by the way. I was super drunk.”

He nods, the glint still in his eye, “I should be the one thanking you for that cab ride.”

You blink, “Thanking me? Why?”

For a moment, he just stares at you. And oh, he’s so intense! That’s another thing you remember about him. How his eyes felt like they were boring holes into your very soul.

Finally, he smiles. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart. You looked so cute and helpless, I knew I had to step in.”

“Hey! I wasn’t completely helpless…”

He laughs, “A damsel in distress if I’d ever seen one, and…” he pauses, bringing his thumb up to stroke your lip. Oh, he was so forward too! Considering you’d only ever met him once before and there’d been nothing sexual between the two of you. “Do you remember what I told you that night?”

You shake your head, half in a trance by how he’s just touching you so openly. Except you don’t really want him to stop.

“I told you that if you were my girl, you wouldn’t be allowed to step foot inside a party like that one. Or this one, for that matter.”

You purse your lips, “Fine. I’ll leave then.”

Steve chuckles, encircling both his arms around you as if he owns you, “Too late. I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night.”

“B-But I’m here with Wanda…”

“Who’s that?”

“My best friend. She brought me here, and–”

“Doesn’t matter. This is my house and you’re here with me now. Okay, baby?”

He strokes your cheek and says it so sweetly, that the controlling nature of his request doesn’t even sink in for you. No, you’re way too distracted by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the confidence in his smile as he yanks you closer, till your chest is pressed up against his, and an embarrassing squeak escapes your lips.

“I…uh… Steve, I…”

“Say okay,” he commands you, “you don’t have to think so hard when you’re with me, sweet girl. I promise I’ll take care of you just like how I did last time.”

“Uh… I… o-okay…I ju–”

He smirks, “Cute little tongue-tied baby. C’mon, let’s go to my room.”

At that moment, Wanda reappears, a mildly annoyed look on her face.

“Y/N, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye out for Curtis? What do you think you’re doing–?”

She stops short, her eyes widening when she sees you’re not alone.

“Wanda, this is the guy I met the other night–”

“–Steve Rogers,” Wanda cuts you off, beaming up at him, “What are you doing with Y/N?”

Steve blinks, “Why would I not be with Y/N?”

She looks you up and down, and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn her eyes flash and narrow, “Uh, you know she’s with Ari Levinson, right?”

Your jaw drops - why would she say that? She knew you’d vowed never to speak to Ari again!

But Steve looks completely unperturbed, and he lazily throws his arm over your shoulders, yanking you into his hard chest. And you know it’s a display of ownership - he’s been doing it the moment he saw you tonight after all. And it should bother you, but it doesn’t! Oh, it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t!

“You know what, Wilma? I think I saw Curtis outside by the pool.” He flashes her that charming smile that you thought was only reserved for you.

Your best friend’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely there.”

“Thanks, Steve!” She sidles up closer to him, accidentally bumping you out of the way – well, you hope it’s accidental. She strokes his chest, her manicured nails scraping against his shirt, “Would you show me where the pool is please? This place is so big, I couldn’t possibly find it on my own.”

A sudden fire ignites inside you, burning its way up to the surface of your body alongside this weird feeling of… well, you don’t really know. But you stand there, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch their interaction unfold in front of you.

But Steve remains by your side, “Up the stairs and outside the sliding glass door on your first right. You won’t miss it.”

“I’ll come with you, Wanda,” you try to shake off Steve’s heavy arm. You don’t really want to leave him, but it’s only right that you go with your best friend.

“Don’t bother, Y/N. I can see you’re busy.” And she’s off without another glance at you, but she makes sure to brush past Steve as she goes, despite the fact that there’s enough room for her to not have to do that.

Steve snickers, “That’s your best friend?”

“She’s drunk, I think. Usually she’s a lot friendlier…” your voice trails off as you watch her leave the basement in a hurry. “Is…uh… is Curtis really up there? By the pool?”

Steve smirks as he grabs your hand and tugs you to the stairs, “If that bald-headed fuck was anywhere near here, I’d personally kick him out myself. Now come on, let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

Steve’s room is neater than you’d assume a basketball player’s room in a frat house to be. Not that you have anything to compare it to since Ari had never invited you into his room. But this one is muted, grey, minimalistic with some basketball memorabilia scattered around.

He’d wasted no time in getting you alone up there, practically half-carrying you through the crowd of people and up the stairs, his grip on you tight and confident. As if you’d been his girl all your life, as if it was a concrete fact that you belonged to him tonight. And it’s like your body was too entranced to even put up a fight to stop him.

Oh, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Good thing I got you out of there before things got too rowdy,” Steve shuts his bedroom door behind him, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock. And you know you should feel more alarmed than you actually do - but it’s Steve! He wasn’t like Ari Levinson - he was nice! He could’ve taken advantage of you at that last frat party, but he hadn’t! The only person who’d taken advantage of you that night was Ari.

You could trust Steve.

“Do your parties usually get super rowdy?”

“For babies like you, yes.” Again, he unabashedly stares at your body, at your bare legs accentuated by your high heels, your tight dress that hugs your curves, the dip of your cleavage and the way it rises up and down as you breathe shallowly. “As I said before, I don’t want you down there. Not where they can all see you.”

You wrinkle your nose, “No one was looking at me. I’m from a different college, no one here even knows me.”

His muscular arms wrap around your waist with that same charming confidence, as if he’s known you way longer than he actually has. As if he knows you won’t pull away. How does he know that?

“You’re more innocent than I thought, baby girl.” To your shock, his hands press flat against your thighs before moving upwards, straight up under your dress to cup your bare ass cheeks. You gulp, yet remain rooted in place as he gently squeezes the soft flesh. “Skipping into a frat house looking so fucking sexy, and thinking no one’s gonna notice you?”

“Well, I didn’t skip…”

“You may as well have,” He presses his hard crotch against your front, and he’s so much bigger than you that you can feel his boner digging against your midriff, and it sends jolts straight down to your core. There was just something so hot about him being so big, you being so much smaller, him calling you innocent, him being so forward and unpredictable… It actually reminds you a bit of… NO. No, don’t think about him!

“And guess what?” Steve whispers in your ear as he gently walks you backwards to his bed.

“Wh-What?”

“I’ve rescued you from not one, but two parties now. You owe me.”

You squeak as he sits down at the edge of his bed and pulls you on top of him. Till you’re perched on his lap like a baby, your butt on his knee and your legs draped across his beefy thighs.

Steve smirks, “Comfy?”

“I think so,” your mind’s frazzled, and your body is buzzing with heat. When did it get so hot? Now, he’s pressing his lips against the nape of your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your body in a way that has you shaking on his lap. Oh, it was too much, it was–

“Look, you have another varsity jacket!” You blurt out, pointing at the familiar blue and white jacket draped over his desk chair. Exactly the same as the one he’d given you the night of the other party. “I still have to return the one you gave me.”

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You keep it, baby girl. It looked cute on you.”

You duck your head, the compliment making you shy. Somehow, him calling you cute had a way bigger effect on you than him calling you hot, “Really?”

He pushes your chin up with his pointer finger, and it’s all these little touches that he’s administering so casually are getting you so hot and bothered, so worked up on the inside in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you. No one’s ever made you feel like this except for one other person…

He licks the shell of your ear, “Yes. I liked how big it was on you.”

“It wasn’t that big…”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay fine, it was pretty big. But that’s not my fault, you’re literally a giant!” You giggle when he runs his fingers up and down your arm. It’s ticklish but it also feels kind of good.

“You like that I’m so much bigger than you?” Nonchalantly, his finger dips down to hook the hem of your dress..

“Well, uh, I don’t not like it…”

“Answer properly.”

It’s crazy how casual he is, yet at the same time so quietly demanding, so dominating, so in control. How quickly he’s switching from charming and sweet to intensely serious. But it makes you want to do whatever he’s asking of you.

“Yes,” you squeak, too shy to look into his eyes except he has hold of your chin and is able to keep your gaze locked with his. “Yes, I like it.”

Steve relaxes, “Good girl.”

The compliment makes you feel nice, and you sit there in his lap basking in it for a while. You don’t even notice him hiking your dress up higher and higher, till he snaps the elastic band of your thong.

“Cute panties.”

“Hey!” Hastily, you push your dress back down, a part of you snapping out of whatever spell he’d cast on you since the moment he’d dragged you up here, and you shoot him your fiercest look. Which only serves to amuse him, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile.

“Does the bra match?”

“You-You can’t just ask that!”

“I just did. Now answer.”

His brashness should get to you, but for some reason all it’s doing is getting you wet. He was being so inappropriate, and yet it’s like you’re being held prisoner by your own body, which seems to love how he’s touching and petting you right now. How he’s demanding you answer all his questions, how he’s essentially ordering you around.

“Actually, I have a better idea, baby girl. I think you should show me.” He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, running his tongue over his lips. His skin is pale, but his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. And oh, he’s so handsome! It makes you want to listen to whatever he says…

“Show you?”

“Yes. You’ll take your dress off and show me what you’ve got on underneath, won’t you?”

“I will?”

Steve smiles easily, smiles like he’s having the most normal conversation on Earth and you’ve just said something funny. “Of course you will. Because you like listening to me. It makes you feel all small and cute, having someone like me be in charge of you.”

Your jaw drops, and yet… Oh, why does him saying that make your core throb?! And you know you shouldn’t… but maybe it would be okay if you did what he asked just this once? After all, he just wanted to see if your underwear matched. There was nothing untoward about that, was there?

A part of you knows you’re being delusional, but you’re also pressing your thighs together subconsciously. As if just him talking like he’s so in charge is getting you so hot and bothered, so turned on. And a bigger part of you, the hornier part of you, can only focus on how big he is, how in control he is, how small you feel in his lap, like you’re his baby and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants with you, and you’ll just let him.

“Stand up,” Steve orders, “Let me see you properly.”

It’s comical how quickly you scramble to obey him. As if the you who’d arrived at this party feeling bored, irritated and out of place has been replaced by a girl controlled by lust and want, her body betraying her as Steve taps into your most submissive inner desires, and you can’t help but listen to him.

He nods in approval when you stand between his legs.

“Good. You’re so hot, baby girl.”

“I am?” You beam, despite the fact that you knew you looked good the moment you’d put this gorgeous purple dress on earlier tonight. Despite the time crunch Wanda had put you under, you’d still managed to look more than presentable. And now, a part of you wonders what Ari would think if he saw you—NO STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. JUST STOP.

”Yes, you are. Now take your dress off.”

“B-But Steve…”

“Do it.”

Cheeks burning, yet pussy throbbing at the same time, you unzip your dress. Trying to make your breathing sound less laboured, you keep your eyes on his. Only because his gaze is so intense, and you’re afraid he’d object if you looked away.

The dress falls down to pool by your feet, and you stand in front of him in your lacy black set, with high heels to match. Steve inhales deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looks you up and down. And oh, you feel so awkward yet at the same time so turned on when you see that dark look of lust in his eyes.

“Twirl. Slowly.” He grabs a bottle from the side of his bed, unscrewing it and taking a gulp. You catch a glimpse of the Grey Goose label, vaguely wondering why he has a bottle of vodka stored beside his bed, and how you didn’t know anyone to just drink it straight up like that - no mixers or anything.

You twirl for him, concentrating on not tripping in your heels. You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, and yet your movements feel sluggish out of nervousness. But you hear a low whistle behind you, before the feel of his large hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Fuck, look at that cute little baby ass in those panties. Get back on my lap,” he growls. But before you can climb back on, he raises his hand to stop you, “Put my jacket on first.”

“Wh-What–”

He slaps your ass, pushing you in the direction of his desk chair with his varsity jacket draped over it. You gulp, slipping it on carefully. And it’s gigantic on you, the sleeves too long and the hem reaching down to mid-thigh. But Steve only licks his lips, beckoning you over once more.

“It’s a bit big,” you bite your lip.

Roughly, he yanks you back into his lap, catching your lips between his in a searing kiss. Kissing you like he’s obsessed with you, and your eyes widen as he deepens it, sinking his teeth against your bottom lip carnally. As if he wants to eat you up, and his hands are all over your body, slipping underneath his jacket to touch your bare skin.

“You’re so sexy, baby girl,” he breathes after he’s had his fill of kissing you. But even then, he pecks your lips between words, and you jolt in his lap when his thumb brushes against your erect nipple through the lace of your bra. He smirks against your mouth, “And you know it, don’t you?”

“No,” you lie, because the way he’s looking at you with such dark, almost carnivorous eyes… Oh, it makes you feel like the sexiest girl in the world!

“Of course you do. That’s why you wore this hot little lingerie set.” He snaps the strap of your bra against your skin and you yelp. “It looks so sexy on you, baby.”

“Thanks!” Most of the fancy lingerie you owned had been bought for you by Ari, but this was one you’d treated yourself with. Which was just as well, because there was something unspeakably awkward about sitting in the lap of one man wearing bra and panties bought by another man.

It was also funny how different Ari and Steve’s tastes were. Ari almost exclusively wanted you in pink or white sets, always something super girly and sweet and innocent. Steve seems to be the complete opposite, with how his eyes are glued to your black lingerie now.

Steve takes his baseball cap off, perching it backwards on your head. Another mark of his ownership, and yet your frazzled mind doesn’t have the capacity to think much into it.

He dips his head, licking a stripe down your cleavage. You gasp, automatically gripping a handful of his hair. He grabs your breasts, pushing them together against his face and nuzzling, licking and nipping as if he’s starved. Pushing the cups of your bra down, he latches on to your nipple, sucking on it roughly. You moan, and it eggs him on, he presses you forward, taking your whole breast in his mouth and sucking hard, covering it with his spit like he’s marking you as his property.

“Such pretty tits,” he mutters, flicking your nipple with his tongue, practically bullying it till it’s hard enough to cut glass, and you’re mewling because it’s so sensitive. But that only eggs him on, and he bites down on it like he’s starved. “Want me to fuck your tits, pretty girl?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs devilishly. It was crazy how angelic he looked compared to how filthy he was being right now!

Again, he pushes your breasts together, licking down your cleavage like he’s obsessed, a wicked smile on is face when he finally comes up for air. “Every party I’ve seen you at, you’re always wearing some cute little dress that barely covers anything, like you’re some sort of goddamned tease. Tell me, baby. Are you gonna be a tease tonight?”

Meanly, he pinches your nipple, chuckling when you cry out. Your brain is too fried to answer his question properly, and so you just whimper.

Luckily, he doesn’t push it, doesn’t force an answer out of you like how he’s been doing all night. Perhaps too distracted by your chest, his head dips back down. His hands are ruthless, so big, rough and calloused from basketball. Squeezing your tits like they’re just toys to him, like your body is his to play with, and he knows exactly how to touch you, almost as if he’s done it before.

“S-Steve,” you feel lightheaded with pleasure, amped up at how carnal he’s being. How he’s not holding back at all, how he’s acting like he knows your body despite this being the first ever time the two of you have hooked up. How is he even doing that?

“Is that what you call me?” Steve comes up for air, flashing you a warning look before switching to your other breast, flicking your overly sensitive nipple with his tongue and making your breath hitch.

“Daddy,” you moan, finally letting go of any inhibitions you had left. You rut forward, rubbing your panty-covered crotch against his thigh. And oh, the denim of his jeans feels heavenly, and for a moment, you get a strong sense of dejavu that almost knocks you out of your lust-fuelled haze. Almost.

“That’s right, rub your little pussy against me. Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing. I noticed last time too.”

Huh? Last time?

“Fuck, didn’t expect you to fall into my lap again tonight, baby girl,” He kisses up your neck, holding his varsity jacket against you because it’s so big it’s slipping off. “Can’t believe you just showed up at my house looking like sex on legs with your cute little doe eyes in your tiny little dress. Did you really expect you were gonna walk out of here in one piece, baby?”

“I…uh…nngh!” You moan incoherently, hardly registering what he’s saying as his teeth clamp down on your neck, and he bites and sucks at the sensitive nape, making you squirm in his lap.

“You thought you could stumble into my party looking like a clueless little baby and not expect to end up in my bed?” He bounces you on his lap roughly, and you cry out in unexpected pleasure, the action sending thrills straight to your pussy. You rut against him in response, growing more desperate and delirious by the second.

“D-Didn’t know this was your house,” you pant, breathless from the way he’s kissing and fondling you, playing with your body like you’re just his toy and nothing more.

“Bullshit,” he breathes, “you wanted to see me again, didn’t you? After that night? You couldn’t forget, could you?”

“I–”

Your voice dies in your throat when Steve suddenly grabs your panties and yanks hard. They rip instantly, and you gape at the tattered lace in his hand. He brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like you want to get fucked,” he mutters, his voice deep and thick with lust, his eyes pitch black and intense as ever.

Sure enough, your panties are wet in his fist, and you can smell your own arousal on them even from a distance. Hell, you feel your wetness seeping down your bare thighs, staining his jeans and again you get a fleeting sense of dejavu, like this has happened before. And a hazy, dream-like memory flits through your mind, just for a moment before it’s gone, and you’re snapped back into the present.

Steve, without breaking eye contact for even a second, takes your panties into his mouth, sucking on them while you watch him with wide eyes. He grabs your hand, pressing it on his hard crotch. You squeak, it felt big and almost… alive under his jeans with how it was throbbing under your palm.

“So sweet, baby,” he breathes, “I missed out on tasting your little baby cunt last time. She tastes just as sweet as I imagined.”

Last time? You’ve barely wrapped your head around what he’s just said, but his face is so devastatingly handsome in that moment, so angelic and yet there’s a darkness in his eyes that cuts through it. Makes him look like an angel hell bent on playing his wicked game, and you’re more than happy to be his pawn.

“Steve–daddy, please. I need… I need–”

“Take daddy’s cock out,” he commands, his voice deep and guttural with raw lust. So gruff, so to the point, and it makes him even more attractive in your eyes. Powerful and in control. In charge of you. Using your body for his own pleasure. Fuck. You were so far gone down the haze of lust, there was really no coming back from here.

Steve takes your hand and pushes it past the waistband of his jeans, and presses it against his huge, hard cock. And oh fuck, it feels so fat and throbbing under your dainty palm, so big like it was capable of ripping you apart and you hadn’t even seen it yet. Just touching his hot, rock-hard flesh makes you rub your pussy against his thigh once more, pleasure jolting through your veins in anticipations.

You take it out, a low whimper escaping your throat because of how red and angry and big it looks. Oh fuck.

Steve pushes something into your hand, and it takes you a handful of seconds to register the lace of your black panties. Your pretty, tattered panties that he wraps around your hand before pressing it back on his fat dick.

“Jack me off, princess,” he orders you, his voice all velvety sweet and charming again, and it’s crazy how quickly he’s switched back to that now. “Show daddy what your pretty little hands can do.”

He hisses when you start pumping him, moving your hand up and down and the lace of your panties snagging against his smooth, rock hard cock. And he can’t keep his eyes off it, how your fingers don’t even wrap around half of his fat length.

“I-Is this okay, Stevie?”

SMACK.

“Daddy! Sorry, I meant daddy!” you cry out, your ass blooming with pain after his huge palm cracks down on it warningly.

“Mm, sweet sexy little baby girl,” Steve murmurs, watching intensely while you jack him off with your black lace panties in your hand, running them up and down his thick cock. “Jerking daddy off with your hot little panties that you wore just for me, right?”

“Didn’t-Didn’t know you were gonna be here!” You squeak out, regretting your decision to be truthful immediately when his hand cracks down on your bare thigh in another sharp slap.

“Say you wore your sexy little panties for me.” He bits down on your shoulder, tearing the skin with how hard he does it. As if he can’t help it, and you cry out in pain and yet you’re still feeling so much pleasure from rutting against him, chasing your own high while at the same time serving him and doing what he wants you to.

“Wore them for you,” you whine, bucking your hips with more frenzy now. The way he was speaking to you, oh it was getting you so fucking turned on and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was making your brain melt, only the submissive part of it reigning over every other rational side, and you pant when your clit catches against the denim of his jeans. “Daddy, please. F-Feels…feels…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos at you, voice dripping in condescension. And you feel so small, almost like a delicate little fairy in the domain of a literal God. That’s how powerful and big he looks to you in this very moment, like you’re at his mercy and you’d do anything for him. “You like jacking me off, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, I – I…”

You’re talking gibberish, and desperately chasing your own pleasure as you continue to rub against his leg. And yet you look down at his dick, how fat and thick it is, how it makes your hand look so tiny. How he’s got you jacking him off with your own lacy panties, how he’s watching it so intently and you can feel his cock hardening even more, if that’s even possible.

“You like my cock, princess? Like how big it is?”

“Yes!”

He grins devilishly, “You want it inside you, baby?”

Your jaw drops. He wouldn’t, would he? Oh, would you let him? Right now, your lust-crazed mind can’t find a single reason as to why not.

“I’d fuck you so good,” he whispers beguilingly into your ear, like he’s the devil himself persuading you to do something that you’re sure you shouldn’t be doing. But why not?! It wasn’t like you had a boyfriend! Ari had made that crystal clear! “Bounce your cute little pussy on my big daddy dick till you pass out on top of me. Would you like that?”

You whimper once more as his hand reaches down between your legs, and you gasp when he spreads your sopping folds. Now, you can feel the rough denim of his jeans even better, your engorged clit practically crying as it throbs uncontrollably. The rough pads of his fingers rub against it rhythmically, and you grind back up against his hand, humping it like you’re nothing more than a bitch in heat.

“Answer me,” he slaps your pussy hard, the squelching sound echoing across his bedroom, mingling with your scream of pleasure which only eggs him on. Again, he slaps you down there, and then another time. Till you’re quivering and crying and humping blindly against his palm, spreading your arousal all over him.

“I’d like it!” you cry out, a part of you ashamed with how easily you’ve given in to him.

“Mm, you know you’d have to be carried out of here after I’m through with you,” he says, manhandling you on his lap, dragging you back and forth on his thigh and creating the most delicious friction you’ve ever felt. “Not that I’d ever let you leave, baby girl. I’d keep you under my wing, in my bed because that’s where you belong.” He gives your ass another harsh slap that has you howling, “Say it. Tell daddy where you belong.”

“I-In your bed,” you manage to get out, feeling like you can hardly string a sentence together because all you can really focus on is the intense pleasure that’s building up inside you. “I…I belong in your bed, daddy, I don’t… I can’t… I…oh!”

Your release takes you by complete surprise. You squirt everywhere, on Steve’s cock, his shirt, and some even lands on his face. He smirks, swiping his finger over his cheek and sucking on it, his eyes glinting darkly. So dark and with such hunger, almost like he wants to eat you.

“Sweet little princess pussy,” he murmurs while you melt in his arms, unable to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaking like crazy, and he hugs you tightly against his chest, although one of his hands covers your own, ensuring it stays pumping his dick no matter what state you’re in. “She tastes so sweet, baby girl. How is she so sweet yet so naughty at the same time?”

Despite everything, his dirty talk has you feeling sparks down there again. Oh fuck.

“Steve, I–”

“Nobody told you to stop, princess,” he says darkly, bouncing his leg underneath you and causing you, in turn, to bounce on top of him. Your poor, sensitive pussy, still reeling from the remnants of your strong orgasm, “Get back to it. Hump your little pussy on daddy’s leg until I tell you to stop.”

Knowing you’re weak to the point of almost passing out, he’s got a firm hand clamped on your own, and he starts making you jack him off again. Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, your black lace panties rubbing alongside. The sight alone gets you going again, and once more you feel a spark of pleasure down there.

The party’s going on in full swing downstairs, heavy music blaring and yet all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting and moaning. His sweet voice uttering the dirtiest of things into your ear as you both masturbate each other. And it’s so raw, so primal, how you writhe on top of him like a goddamned animal, how he’s got the most carnal look in his eyes as if he’s a beast and you’re a lamb and he’s about to devour you.

He kisses you, and it’s so sloppy and animalistic, and you’re shocked at how desperately your lips work against his. How his hand wraps around your neck, how your fingers card through his hair. He spits into your mouth, biting and sucking at your lip till you taste the metallicity of your own blood. Or his. You’re not too sure.

The air is hot and thick with sex, and his dick twitches in your hand, so ready to blow and that’s when his fingers squeeze around your throat.

“You ever gonna walk into a party unattended ever again?” Steve grunts, pinching and bullying your throbbing clit like he owns it.

“N-No!”

“Damn right. Where do you belong, baby girl?”

“In-In your bed, daddy – oh-oh my!”

You squirt again, and this time, Steve follows suit. You watch, entranced, as he blows his load. Streaks of hot, white cum land on your hand, your black panties, your stomach, your face, everywhere. And you cum so hard, you can feel your pussy cramping with how intense the pleasure feels, waves of it radiating through your very being, egged on by Steve who keeps rocking you against him, muttering profanity under his breath as his thumb circles your poor, overwhelmed clit.

“Good girl,” he says after a few moments, looking like he’s barely broken a sweat as he pats your cheek. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. I needed that.”

And you watch with wide, glassy, fucked out eyes as he takes your poor, tattered panties, the ones you’d used to jack him off, now drenched in his thick cum. He brings them to your mouth, prodding them against your lips.

“Open, baby,” he commands softly. And you do, and to your shock he places the panties in your mouth, a smirk on his face, “Suck.”

You suck Steve’s cum from your own panties, unable to get over how hot your poor, frazzled, cock-drunk mind is finding this debauchery to be. He tastes salty, manly, and you feel so submissive, so under his mercy as he watches you suck like a good, obedient little baby.

“That’s right, swallow it all,” he murmurs, “You like that, don’t you? You like being a little cumslut baby?”

You whimper out a quiet “y-yeah” and he nods in approval, finally taking the lacy fabric out of your mouth, holding it tight in his fist. “I’d make you put ‘em back on but…” His voice trails off, and he chuckles as he throws your poor, torn panties somewhere on his bed behind him.

All you’re able to do is sit on his lap like a little doll. And he’s not even done with you, still fondling and touching your body, squeezing and hugging you close like you’re a doll and you can’t get enough. He’s particularly enamoured by his cum staining your stomach and chest, and he gathers some of it with a swipe of his finger.

“Does your baby cunt want some?” Steve asks devilishly, and you gasp, again just watching as he puts his hand between your legs again, this time opening your folds and spreading his cum into your poor, sensitive pussy. “Look at that, baby. Your greedy little cunt swallowed it right up.”

“Steve, I…”

“Shhh, baby girl. You don’t need to say anything.”

You’re thankful for that, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. Oh, you hadn’t expected all of this! Hell, you’d been forced to come to this party against your will, and now… Oh gosh, how had things come to this? How did you even feel about it? How–

The bedroom door is thrown open. You yelp, holding the big varsity jacket around you as you turn around to see a burly basketball player standing by the entrance. Steve growls at the intrusion, holding you closer against his chest. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Sorry for interrupting, Cap, but they’re all here. The St. Andrews’ assholes. Everett, Drysdale, Levinson… He’s looking for her, I think he knows she’s here.”

What?! ARI WAS HERE?! Oh, how dare he?!

Steve picks you up and places you on his bed before getting to his feet, muttering profanities under his breath. “He knows better than to fucking come here.”

Shakily, you try to get to your feet but to no avail. Your legs are still shaking. “M-Maybe, I should–”

“Stay right here.” Steve says, an air of finality in his tone that indicates he means it as an order with zero objections. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

THE END! guys!! I'm literally so insecure about posting this. Idk, I just feel like lately I've lost my mojo, like my writing has lost it's spark? But I pushed on because I wanted to get something out for you guys. And honestly?? BRO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO END IT bc I wanted this story to continue bc WDYM ARI IS HERE?!?! I wanna see the confrontation lmfao!

But anyways, just to be crystal clear - THIS IS JUST AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DRABBLE! It has nothing to do with the original wicked games story! That's why I wrote Steve here like how he is in chapter two of wicked games, and NOT like how he is in chapter 3 and 4! He's gone through a lot of character change and development in the original fic, but I didn't want to show that here! THAT IS IT'S OWN STORY HEHE. i know yall get it but i'm still reiterating lmao.

ANYWAYS. what did you guys think??? PLEASE PLEASE let me know! feedback genuinely would mean the world to me. I'm so fucking insecure about this fic it's like I've forgotten how to write!!

BUTTT. as usual here are some questions (you don't have to answer them, you can write whatever feedback you want but just in case hehe)

1 - HOW WAS THE SMUTTT??

2 - Do you think they would've gone all the way and had sex had they not been interrupted??

3 - How did Ari even know she was at this party??

4 - Opinions on our fav gal Wanda in this chapter?

ANYWAYS i love you guys, thanks for sticking by me and supporting my writing especially lately when there hasn't been many updates. LOVE YOU. pls lmk what you think!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #ari levinson #wicked games #chris evans

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dcxdpdabbles · 5 days ago

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DCxDP Fanfic Idea: The Contingency plan

Alfred Pennyworth has lived a long life. As a child, he was chosen to train for the Queen's army in exchange for dorms, education, and food. It was a golden ticket to a better life for a young orphan with no connections and no future.

He dug his way out of poverty by gritting his teeth and excelling in whatever task they gave him.

He has seen and done things in the name of his Queen and her country that keep him up at night. When he was free from his services, he started a family with a stranger, then realized he was too weak to raise that family, leaving them and his home country behind.

He found love in a woman promised to another.

He watched her marry a man he loved and hated in equal parts because while he could not have her, he at least lost to one of the kindest, most honorable men he'd ever met.

He raised their son when they were stolen from them too young. Stood by the lad's side as the boy slowly lost himself to his vengeance, edging on the line of madness and wondering if he would one day have to be the one to reunite his love with her son if he ever went over that line.

She would have never forgiven her son for becoming the kind of monster Alfred was raised to hunt. In the darkest, broken part of his heart, he often wondered if he would do it when Bruce wasn't looking—to save him the pain of being killed by the man who raised him as a favor for a lost love.

Alfred could never bring himself to, and when Master Bruce returned from his training, he doubted he could. He was good, but Master Bruce got better. He became dangerous to a near-uncontrollable level.

Alfred watched him set up his tools, prepare for his big reveal, and battle against crime with a passive expression and a hand curved around a hidden gun. He waited a few weeks to make sure Master Bruce wasn't the monster that he so clearly was capable of being.

He never told Master Bruce, never allowed a single hint of doubt to show in his words or actions, but he waited, watched, learned, and searched for an opening.

He was a master spy; an actual spy can wait years before they struck. Alfred had been gathering information since he was seven years old, searching for a way to make the older boys regret every looking in his direction. It became apparent that he would never win if Master Bruce turned his skills on him and went on a murderous spring.

So Alfred contacted the same program that made him a success story. They sent him a child who was more than ready to convince Master Bruce he was nothing more than a poor, unfortunate soul searching for a foster home.

Daniel Fenton. A young boy who appeared in England a few years ago in a swirl of green. He fell from a portal to an unknown world that the English hoarded. He was placed in a deep underground lab, used a lab rat, and slowly trained into a weapon for the crown. He was ready to bring Master Bruce to his knees should the need arise.

Alfred instructed him to only strike if Master Bruce ever stopped being the city's defender. The boy agreed, apparently willing to do anything to get out of the government's hands. Alfred had been counting on that.

He remembers those childhood days. The scars on his body are a gashly reminder of whether he ever dared forget. It helped that Daniel had an American accent- though from where was hard to pinpoint.

It was almost as if the lad was from a state that did not exist—and it was easy to slip him into Gotham's streets, easy to convince him to break into one of Master Bruce's cars to sleep in under the pretense of escaping the cold, and far more straightforward to persuade Master Bruce to offer him a warm bed for the night after his ward found the lad while parking in Wayne Manor's garage.

Alfred Pennyworth has seen many things in his life and has always had a contingency plan. He didn't like using them, but if there was one motto he lived by his entire life, it was this: "A good man can not kill a monster. Only another monster can do so."

It was cruel to place Daniel, who was abused by his countrymen, into this house only to kill the other boy he raised as a son. But it was necessary, as he had long ago accepted.

He just hopes he does not become attached to Daniel. He's seen that look in the younger recruits' eyes before, shining like a soft glint in the far corners of their eyes.

The glint of hope that one day, he would escape. Alfred would hate to have to take out his own contingency plan.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The Contingency Plan #Alfred is morally grey #Danny is a goverment hostage #Bruce is unaware of all of this #Danny as there before Dick #He's 16 #Year 1 of batman #Alfred doesn't want to kill Bruce or Danny but he will if it's for the greater good #Dark fic

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lvlybin · 4 months ago

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what about la perla? let vickie keep her secret

summary ༝༚༝༚ … ZB1 legal line & a girlfriend with small boobs 18+ MINORS DNI

reactions ! ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა ۫ ੭̲ 제비스 𝓵egal 𝓵ine x 𝓯!reader ⊹ ( library )

爱 ࿁ ⠀ ˚⠀ warnings … talk of insecurities / body insecurities, so. much. praise, body worshipping (f!receiving), tit play, nipple play, tit sucking, marking, p in v sex / (implied) unprotected sex, dollification & lingerie, mentions of shibari, mentions of public stuff, matthew's kind of a perv in his part, mirror sex, SIZE KINK >_<, cum play / cum eating, mentions of taking *sexual* pictures

✉️ this is very, very, very self-indlugent. and it goes out to all of my other girls who are a part of the itty-bitty titty committee <3

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓙iwoong ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

Making sure you feel good is Jiwoong’s top priority. You will always know that he loves your body just the way it is (and that you don’t have to change anything to fit whatever standards the world has come up with) because he’s always telling you how beautiful you are. “Boobs are boobs” is the motto you’ve come up with, and Jiwoong agrees. That means he’s always showing you that just because your chest is smaller, it doesn’t mean your tits can’t be played with or taken care of. And he knows that smaller boobs get sore too, especially when they begin to swell a little before your period. So, breast massages have become a staple in your relationship. With the way he’ll lay with you–your back to his chest and your head tilted back onto his shoulder, you feel so loved. Jiwoong knows it feels good when his fingers gently knead the mounds of flesh, not stimulating your nipples to tease you just a little, but when you whine it doesn’t take long for him to give in. Then, he’s squeezing them gently before taking the little buds between his fingers to roll them gently and every now and then running the pads of his fingers over the nerves he’s coaxed into stiff peaks to get you to shiver. He knows how sensitive you are and he uses it to his advantage. By the time he’s done, you feel genuinely relaxed apart from the wetness pooling in your panties. And after that, the massage session usually ends with you sinking down onto his thick cock, his lips all over your tits as he looks up at you.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚

Hao loves spoiling his pretty girl in every way. Whether that be with compliments or soft talks about how he loves your body just the way it is, or by making you feel so so pretty. He adores how soft and dainty you look with the pretty tops you wear, and it just causes him to buy you even more things to wear, which includes lingerie. Yes, he knows you prefer not to wear bras because–well, you don’t really need them, but Hao loves how they look on you. And he knows that while you would never admit it, it makes you feel extra pretty wearing them too. Hao’s favorite are the lace ones with no padding so the fabric is kind of see-through. That way he can still see the natural size of your breasts and at the same time, he can see your cute nipples that are erect against the material. Loves sucking on your boobs over the lingerie, seeing how his saliva leaves damp circles that will cool and only add more pleasure to your already sensitive nipples. I also think that Hao would indulge in a bit of shibari. Maybe not with rope, but with something prettier like ribbons. It would just make him so horny to see the intricate designs over your skin and how it forces your tits to stick out a little. And the process of preparing it all is a turn-on for him too–the way he’ll handle you so gently and build up the tension until he snaps. But what makes everything even better is Hao taking everything off to reveal your adorable body. It’s like unwrapping a present for him >_<

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

He already thinks you’re the most precious thing to ever grace this earth, so the fact that you’re smaller than him only adds to it (DEFINITELY would call your tits adorable every chance he gets). Hanbin doesn’t place all of the value of your relationship into your body, obviously, your emotional connection is much more important, but Hanbin is such a boob guy. Small, big, squishy–whatever, so he could care less about what size your breasts are. He loves how he can cover the entirety of them with just his hands and hold you, the little brushes of his rough palms causing your nipples to harden and he’s obsessed with feeling that reaction. Not to mention how sensitive you are. It’s become a goal of his to get you to an orgasm just by playing with your tits. Absolutely will stick his head under your shirt while you’re cuddling to gently run his tongue over your nipples and then softly suck them. His hands have to hold your wrists down as you twitch and whine at the feeling (“Doing so good for me, baby” / “So sensitive, I know, but you’ll do it for me, right?”), but it’s one of his many ways of worshipping your body. Hanbin just wants you to feel confident in every way, and this form of reassurance means the world to you. Plus, he just loves sucking on your tits.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚

Matthew has an appreciation for your body just because well–it’s you. And anything that has to do with you has his love immediately. Certain perks come with a girlfriend with smaller breasts which Matthew is extra grateful for though. Especially how you practically never wear bras. It’s his favorite when you go out together and you’re wearing a dainty, thin top because then, he can see the small curve of your tits and the swell of your nipples the entire time. Not that he would ever admit it (because it kind of makes him feel like a pervert), but he would end up staring at your boobs every chance he would get. Lowkey would have to fight off the urge to reach over and tug at one of your nipples (he is totally into public stuff, but I’ll get into that another time…) because he knows it would make you mad. That, and he wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Especially since you have so much trust in him. Also, Matthew loves it when you wear oversized shirts because it gives him easy access to slip his hands up to your breasts. He likes to simply hold them sometimes, feeling the weight in his hands and how they fit so perfectly in his palms. When you’re cuddling or when you’re doing something in the kitchen, Matthew will sneak in behind you and gently move his hands under your shirt to hold you. It feels intimate to him and he loves the way you react to it. Bonus points if the oversized shirt you’re wearing is one of his.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚

I know that Taerae is known for how good he is at using his mouth and his tongue, and this applies here too. He loves how it doesn’t take too much for him to get you to react to his lips, and how easy it is to leave large marks on your tits. The love bites he leaves on your skin are always dark and look a little bigger than they do everywhere else. Probably because Taerae loves to see how much of your boob he can fit in his mouth. That and, there isn’t too much space with your size, so it doesn’t take him long to cover your chest in hickies. Highkey has an oral fixation when it comes to you, and whenever he gets bored or if you guys are watching a movie or something, he’s sucking on your tits. He’s obsessed with how he can just rest his chin on your ribs and lap at the mounds, leaving his marks all over them and calming whatever need he feels to show you that you’re his. If you let him near your chest, your nipples are gonna be sore (lowkey bruised) after he’s done with them. And then, the little comments start: “Look so pretty with hickies all over your cute tits” / “Maybe you shouldn’t put your shirt back on so I can see the marks I left. Aren’t your nipples sore anyways? Let me rub them–” This man. And then of course, if you’re ever feeling self-conscious about them, Taerae won’t hesitate to show you how much he loves your natural size and why you should love it just as much too.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚

While each and every one of the legal line would praise you for your smaller chest and try to soothe your insecurities (if you were feeling them) as much as possible, Ricky is just a bit above the rest. You aren’t sure how he makes complimenting your boobs sound romantic, but he manages and the words turn you on almost as much as they make you feel more confident. When you’re getting dressed in the morning, Ricky loves to guide you over to the mirror in your bedroom and have you look at your body as he whispers little affirmations and reassurances in your ear. His hands would move up to cup the soft curve and thumb at your nipples a little, making your knees feel a little weak. God forbid if you say something bad about your tits in front of Ricky because then you’re getting fucked in front of any mirror he can get his hands on (maybe not God forbid then?) so he can show you how gorgeous you are. And it’s not in a punishing way, but in a way where he’s trying to show you how much he loves you. Tells you how perfect you are as he gently fucks you, barely pulling out before sinking back in to feel your warmth clench around him. Overall he’s just a big softie who thinks you deserve the world. Ricky will worship every part of you if given the opportunity, especially the parts of your body you’re worried about because they need as much love as the rest of you and he’s happy to provide.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

SIZE KINK TO THE MAX. Gyuvin is already large compared to the average human, but compared to you? He looks like he could break you in half. So yeah, he loves seeing how small your tits look compared to his hands, but his favorite thing is cumming on them. The sight of his throbbing cock over them only leads to him holding you down to rub himself all over your boobs to help him finish. The drag of your nipples along his length is a sensation he never would’ve expected to feel so amazing and it’s become one of his favorite ways to get off. And his dick is almost as long as your top half, so that’s a huge turn-on for him as well. When he does cum, Gyuvin loves seeing the white ropes cover your chest and since your boobs are so small, they’re practically covered in his release after he’s done. The image is one Gyuvin has definitely taken pictures of too. But then, he’s swiping his cum off of your breasts with his large fingers and feeding it to you :P Apart from that, despite his teasing personality, Gyuvin is always so reassuring about the size of your breasts. And while it might take some time, he makes sure you know how you’re just as desirable with your smaller chest and he never lets you forget it. If you do say something though, he won’t hesitate to remind you (in more ways than one) <3

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚ㅤ

SIZE KINK PART 2 (seriously, him and Gyuvin are just huge). Loves seeing your boobs in his hands, how he can squeeze them and his hands still don’t struggle to hold onto them. How when he pinches your nipples between his fingers, they seem so little and the rush Gunwook gets when he has to remember to not use his full strength because you’re so sensitive is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Maybe he shouldn’t like the idea, but he can’t help it–it makes him feel needed by you and causes his protectiveness to kick in. Showing you love in every form also makes him feel needed, so even if you don’t ask for it, he’s praising every part of you. Gunwook’s absolute favorite though is just watching them. Doesn’t matter if you’re riding him or if his hips are pressed against yours in missionary, he loves seeing how the small mounds bounce with how powerful his thrusts are. Shows him just how good he’s fucking you and clues him into the fact that you’re gonna need his help to get around the next day. Because with the smaller size, it’s easier for him to get reactions out of you that aren’t ones of pain or discomfort. Basically, Gunwook wants to see how easy it is for him to manhandle you and he just likes seeing your cute tits bounce ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Plus, he knows how the movement only adds to your pleasure, so that makes everything even better.

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thefugitivesaint · 2 months ago

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"it's the dancing that kept them going" Maintaining joy in your life as an act of resistance is the kind of motto more on the Left should embrace. "...joy serves as a healing balm that sustains both the people and the struggles inherent in revolutionary times." In the words of Audre Lorde from her 1978 piece 'The Uses of the Erotic': "In order to perpetuate itself, every oppression must corrupt or distort those various sources of power within the culture of the oppressed that can provide energy for change.” In other words, fight the good fight but don't omit having fun in the process. That's not being glib. You have to remind yourself what you're fighting for while providing for yourself (and the ones you love) the "energy" necessary "for change." It's a sentiment found in the work of the anarchist Emma Goldman, an expression that has been reduced to a paraphrase, "If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution." She wrote in her autobiography 'Living My Life' about an incident where she was pulled aside and chastised for dancing: "At the dances I was one of the most untiring and gayest. One evening a cousin of Sasha, a young boy, took me aside. With a grave face, as if he was about to announce the death of a dear comrade, he whispered to me that it did not behoove an agitator to dance. Certainly not with such reckless abandon, anyway. It was undignified for one who was on the way to become a force in the anarchist movement. My frivolity would only hurt the cause. I grew furious at the impudent interference of the boy. I told him to mind his own business. I was tired of having the Cause constantly thrown into my face. I did not believe that a Cause which stood for a beautiful ideal, for anarchism, for release and freedom from convention and prejudice, should demand the denial of life and joy. I insisted that our Cause could not expect me to become a nun and that the movement would not be turned into a cloister. If it meant, that I did not want it.

'I want freedom, the right to self-expression, everybody's right to beautiful, radiant things.' Anarchism meant that to me, and I would live it in spite of the whole world - prisons, persecutions, everything. Yes, even in spite of the condemnation of my own closest comrades I would live my beautiful ideal." Back to Lorde, "In the way my body stretches to music and opens into response, hearkening to its deepest rhythms, so every level upon which I sense also opens to the erotically satisfying experience, whether it is dancing, building a bookcase, writing a poem, examining an idea. That self-connection shared is a measure of the joy which I know myself to be capable of feeling, a reminder of my capacity for feeling. And that deep and irreplaceable knowledge of my capacity for joy comes to demand from all of my life that it be lived within the knowledge that such satisfaction is possible, and does not have to be called marriage, nor god, nor an afterlife." .... "In touch with the erotic, I become less willing to accept powerlessness, or those other supplied states of being which are not native to me, such as resignation, despair, self-effacement, depression, self-denial."

#act up #fighting for joy #audre lorde #emma goldman #have fun #and fight the good fight #joy

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prythiansprincess · 1 year ago

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le coup de foudre.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: my love mine all mine by mitski.

author's note: this was a result of me binging dune and call me by your name. whoever fancasted timothee chalamet as regulus deserves a forehead kith cause look at him. he's so boyfriend coded it makes me sick.

Regulus Black did not believe in love at first sight.

It was a foolish notion. One that contradicted his pragmatic beliefs. At his core, Regulus was a realist. In his world, love was not a luxury one could afford. Regulus was raised with the expectation to marry according to class, wealth, and most importantly, blood status. The noble and most ancient house of Black only took the purest of the pure.

After all, toujours pur, always pure, has been his family’s motto for centuries. There has never been any doubt in his mind that he’d marry another member of the sacred twenty eight. It wasn’t a matter of if, only a question of when.

During his sixth year, his mother made her intentions very clear. Walburga Black was adamant that he begin his search for a suitable bride. Leave it to his mother to compose a list of ladies she deemed suitable to become the future Mrs. Black. Regulus was to adhere to the carefully curated roster. They were names that he’d seen a million times before. Greengrass, Prewett, Rosier. Girls he’d grown up with and inadvertently had absolutely no interest in.

Still, his mother was insistent so Regulus complied. He took the girls out on dates. The formula was rather simple: dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town followed by a walk around the city square in which he offered to buy his date a dessert like the proper gentleman his mother raised him to be. Despite the fact that Regulus had the entire process down to a science, the dates were always unsatisfactory.

He was polite, of course. Opened the door, pulled out their chair, asked the appropriate level of questions to get to know his counterpart, but by the time the appetizers arrived, Regulus was on the verge of stabbing himself with the butter knife just to rouse himself from boredom.

Regulus placed no blame on the girls. They were only doing what their families had raised them to do. Sit pretty, chew gracefully, agree with his opinions. All while wearing breakneck heels and a smile to boot. It was all terribly fucked up, but this was the world they lived in.

The more he went on these dates, the more he realized that he didn’t want some pretty, docile wife. What he truly needed was someone who was willing to challenge him, to call him out on his bullshit, to argue with him when his own stubbornness prevented him from seeing reason. Regulus came to the horrible, earth-shattering realization that he probably wouldn’t find a woman like that on his mother’s list.

As he walked back from another mind numbing date, Regulus grappled with this newfound dilemma. He didn’t want to endure another one of these disastrous dates. He didn’t want to sit through an entire meal making small talk. He definitely didn’t want to disappoint another girl by not kissing them at the end of the night.

It wasn’t like any of them liked him anyways. Though they loved the idea of Regulus Black, he was quite certain that they wouldn’t afford the same affections to Reggie—the real and true version of himself. The one that Sirius often said Regulus kept in a neatly locked cage.

He wished he could be more like his brother. Sirius had always been the brave one. It was that infamous Gryffindor boldness that prompted his older brother to rebel against his family’s expectations. Instead of heeding to their mother’s ridiculous list, Sirius chose to date Remus in open defiance to Walburga’s orders. It resulted in him getting kicked out of 12 Grimmauld Place and burned off the family portrait, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind one bit.

In a lot of ways, Regulus envied his brother. Sirius had the guts to stand up for himself. He wasn’t burdened by the crippling pressure of pleasing their mother. In all honesty, Reggie wondered if such a thing was even achievable. As he brooded, Regulus found himself on the shores of the Black Lake. His body had taken him here on autopilot. It was his only place of refuge in the castle.

Regulus paced the rickety wooden dock. His mind was working so fast, so many thoughts spinning in his head, that it felt like he might work himself up to a fit. This has always been his problem. Sirius often said that he lived in his head too much. He frowned, trying and failing to get ahold of himself. For once, he wished he could just shut his brain off entirely.

Just then, Regulus felt a drop of water hit his head. He looked up and found dark, gray clouds hovering over the horizon. The stormcloud broke open and unleashed torrential rain all around him. Fucking fantastic. The world truly couldn’t give him a bloody break, could it?

With a sigh, Regulus began making his way back. The ground was sodden underneath his feet, his boots sinking into the sand and dragging behind his black coat. The waves lapped violently across the shore as the wind lashed against the murky waters. Regulus was almost at the edge of the beach when he spotted you.

A flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Regulus stopped dead in his tracks. There, at the mouth of the Black Lake, in the middle of the pouring rain, stood a girl with the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen.

Regulus was fairly certain that you had History of Magic together. He sat behind you in class, passed by you in the halls, even reached for the same book in the forbidden section of the library once, but Reggie had never once seen that smile. The gravity of it threatened to knock the very breath from his lungs.

There was something carefree about you. The way you spread your arms, tilted your head back, and laughed in the midst of the rain and thunder. Almost like you were welcoming the storm.

It was only when your eyes locked that Regulus realized he was staring. You cocked your head at him, trailing your gaze from the curls plastered against his cheek to the nice button down and freshly pressed trousers that were now soaked from the rain, down to the shiny leather boots that were now digging into the sand. You seemed amused at the sight of him.

Ever the perfect gentleman, Regulus snapped out of his daze and jogged over to you. Without hesitation, he raised his coat over your head to shield you from the rain even though you were already both drenched.

“What are you doing out in the rain?” Regulus asked, his voice full of genuine concern. “You’ll catch a cold.”

You stepped out of the refuge of his expensive looking coat and held your hand out, catching droplets in your palm. “I don’t mind. I just…I just needed to feel the rain on my skin, that’s all.”

You supposed it must’ve seemed strange to him, but the rain always made you feel better. Lately, life had been just a little too overwhelming. There was so much pressure to do well in classes, to hang out with friends while balancing your clubs and sports, as well as making time to write back to your parents. When it all became a bit too much, you tended to come to the Black Lake for some sort of refuge. The rain was just an added bonus.

If Regulus found your behavior bizarre, he didn’t say. Instead, he just smiled softly. “Well, you got your wish. It’s soaked out here.”

“I know,” you responded with an enthusiastic nod. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Standing out in the pouring rain? On a beach where lightning can strike me down at any second? Yes, it’s absolutely splendid.”

Your mouth quirked in amusement. “No one’s telling you to stay out here.” You nodded towards the castle. “You’re more than welcome to take your brooding inside where it’s warm and dry. Not to mention, free of the dangers of lightning strikes, which are extremely rare by the way.”

“With my luck, I might be the poor one in a million git who gets torched while getting insulted by a pretty girl.”

“Did I insult you?’ you quipped back. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You accused me of brooding.”

“I didn’t accuse, I stated. Even the Wizengamot would have to rule that you were, in fact, brooding.”

Regulus raised a brow. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“Unfortunately, the evidence is overwhelming and the verdict is set. You, Regulus Black, have been sentenced for glaring at the Black Lake so menacingly that even the giant squid refuses to come to shore. Off to Azkaban you go.”

“Do you promise to write me letters? Update me of how the world’s progressed without my dazzling presence?”

“It would be my genuine pleasure.”

Regulus chuckled at your dry humor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bantered like this with anyone, much less with a strange not-so-stranger. You sat down on the wet sand and patted the spot beside you with a grin.

“Why don’t you take a seat and tell me all about your troubles.”

Beyond the bleak horizon, the spires of the castle peeked through the gray clouds. Regulus thought of the common room where his housemates would no doubt be gathered around the ornate fireplace for warmth. Knowing his friends, they’d probably be indulging in spiked hot chocolate and playing some childish drinking game. A few minutes ago, nothing appealed to him more, but now Regulus found himself choosing the violent rain and soggy sand. All because of you, his mystery girl.

You leaned back on your elbows and cocked your head at him. “What ails you, Mr. Black?”

“That depends. How much do you bill per hour?”

“Fortunately for you, I’m in a generous mood so I’ll throw in a free session. Consider it my pro-bono work.”

“How kind of you,” Regulus said with a serious expression. “My brother’s been nagging me to see a mind healer for years. All that childhood trauma, you know.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, revealing a set of dimples that he found rather charming. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“My brother is Sirius. I’m Regulus, remember?”

You snorted in a very unladylike manner, which only made Regulus grin. There was something so unapologetically you in your laugh that was absolutely endearing to him. Regulus smiled and knocked his shoulder against yours.

You mimicked the action and smiled back at him. “All sarcasm aside, I was being genuine. If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

"Do you often offer therapy sessions to complete strangers?"

"Only to surly Slytherins with sad eyes and pretty curls," you quipped back. "And we're not strangers. I sit behind you in potions. We're practically best mates."

"You think my curls are pretty?"

"Like a little cherub's. Are you quite sure you haven't escaped from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? You look like one of Michelangelo's angels. Except with way more scowling." Regulus grinned. He got the feeling that you always said whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. It was refreshing. "There's a smile. See? Our session is already progressing."

"I think you might get more than you bargained for with me, I'm afraid."

You met the challenge in his words head on. "Try me."

“You were right. I’m definitely guilty of brooding.”

“What happened?”

Regulus hesitated for a moment. He had never been the type of person to be candid with his feelings, especially not with someone he barely knew. Usually, he just kept his thoughts to himself and ruminated on them in the privacy of his dorm until he drove himself mad by overthinking, but your presence brought him an unexplainable ease. For once in his life, Regulus chose not to question it.

“I’ve had a long night,” he said, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I just got back from a date.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“It was…fine. It’s always fine. But it’s the same thing over and over again, just with a different girl.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a playboy, Regulus Black.”

Regulus chuckled. “I’m not some unscrupulous rake, I assure you.”

“Yes, that much is obvious from your use of the word unscrupulous.” You tucked your legs underneath you. “So why go on all of these dates if you find them so tedious?”

“It’s my mother,” Regulus explained. “She has this list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, a list of girls that I’m to court. Noble, pureblooded, proper ladies of society that my mother has deemed worthy of marriage.”

“You’re seventeen years old. Shouldn’t you be worrying about quidditch games and potions exams?”

Regulus nodded. “Yes, one would think. But my family has always been different. Since my brother left, my parents have been obsessed with grooming me into becoming the perfect heir.”

“How do you feel about that?”

He sighed. “Stifled. Exhausted. Smothered. I can feel the weight of their expectations weighing me down every second of every day.”

“I’m sorry, Regulus. That’s a terrible burden to carry.”

Regulus shrugged. “Others have it worse.”

“It doesn’t mean that your problem is any less heavy.”

To Regulus, the acknowledgement felt oddly validating. Even though you knew nothing of his circumstance, there was wisdom in your words and you delivered it delicately, like you actually cared to hear his troubles. You were devoid of the judgment he'd grown accustomed to and he found that rather freeing.

“It’s just…sometimes I think that I’ll never be the perfect son. My brother, he’s always been the brave one. Classic Gryffindor,” he said with an eye roll. You chuckled, but stayed silent. It was obvious that Regulus had a myriad of thoughts to unpack tonight and you were more than happy to just listen. “Sirius has never cared what anyone thought about him, least of all our parents. I admire that about him, but I just don’t think I’m wired that way. I care too much.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you said softly. “Apathy is so common nowadays, finding someone who can admit that they care is refreshing. Though, I think it’s not without limits. You can’t please everyone. No matter what you do, someone is going to have something to complain about. You might as well be yourself.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Regulus pondered. “All of these girls on my mother's list, I think they like the idea of Regulus Black, but he’s an illusion. It isn’t the real me.”

“Then who is the real you?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m just Reggie. I like playing quidditch and reading depressing literature and memorizing obscure history facts. I hate messy rooms and orange juice and anything that crawls.”

You smiled. “And what kind of girl does Reggie like?”

“Someone witty. Someone funny. Someone who’ll argue with me. Someone who doesn’t just nod and agree with everything I say."

"So what you're saying is that you don't want a nice girl?"

Regulus shook his head. "No, I think I need someone who challenges me. Who sees me for who I am rather than what I represent. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the girls on my mother’s list are lovely, but I don’t think they’d actually like me if they knew who I really am.”

“I don’t know, Reggie seems like a great guy. That Regulus bloke, on the other hand…” you scrunched your nose in disapproval.

“Hey!” Regulus chided, “I’m pouring my heart out to you. That took a lot of courage, you know.”

“You’re very brave, Reggie,” you said with a grin. “But you know what would be even braver?”

Regulus squinted in the rain as you stood to your feet. Lightning crackled over the horizon, illuminating you with an ethereal silver glow. You held out your hand to him. “Come dance with me.”

“Deathly afraid of being struck by lightning, remember?”

“Sorry, what?” You asked as you shimmied around him. It wasn’t graceful by any means. It was the goofiest thing he’d ever seen and yet he’d never been so enthralled. You danced without a care in the world and it made him genuinely laugh. “I can’t hear you over all the fun I’m having.”

"This is ridiculous," he said over the roaring thunder.

You shrugged. "Perhaps. But everyone's allowed to be a little ridiculous sometimes. Besides, I was asking Reggie not Regulus."

“Are you really trying to peer pressure me into dancing with you?”

“That depends,” you replied with a cheeky smile. “Is it working?”

Regulus conceded with a sigh and leapt to his feet. The youngest Black brother bowed like a proper gentleman. “May I have this dance, my lady?"

“You may, good sir.”

You grinned up at him as he took you by the waist and waltzed with you across the sand. Surprisingly, Regulus let you take the lead. He chuckled when you stepped on his toes and laughed even harder when you tried to twirl him. Towering a good foot over you, Regulus had to fully crouch for the maneuver to work.

Finally, you gave up the formality and just spun around in dizzying circles. There was absolutely no rhyme or rhythm to it. Just two idiots dancing in the rain with the biggest smiles on their faces.

Your coordination, or lack thereof, caused you to almost faceplant into the sand. Regulus yelped as you took him down with you. By the time you recovered from the laughing fit, the two of you were red-faced, out of breath, and laying side by side along the shore. He turned over to you and brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“See? There’s more to life than just being moody and melancholic.”

“So this mystery girl of mine keeps reminding me,” Regulus said with a smile. “You never told me your name, by the way.”

“Wow, you don’t even know my name? I’m offended, Reggie. We’ve only been in classes together since fifth year.”

“I—we’ve never been introduced—”

You broke out into a smile and giggled. You thought it was cute that Reggie was so easily flustered. “I’m just kidding, Reggie.”

He sighed in relief as you stuck out your hand. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

Regulus slipped his hand into yours. He cocked his head, studying your eyes and your smile and those cute little dimples.

Y/N. The last name on his mother’s list. The one he saved for last because he didn’t know who she was.

The French had a saying—le coup de foudre. The infamous phrase translated to a bolt of lightning or love at first sight. Regulus had long dismissed it as flowery prose, but thanks to his mystery girl, he started to think that maybe the Parisians were onto something because meeting you tonight felt preordained. A date with fate. Like a bolt of lightning streaking through his dark, endless skies.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Reggie.”

Regulus smiled and laced your fingers together. He was frozen, it was raining, and he was fairly certain that you were both probably going to catch a cold, but he didn’t care. In that moment, as he stared up at the sky, blinking back the rain, and intertwining his fingers with yours, Regulus had never felt more content.

So no, Regulus did not believe in love at first sight, but love at second, third, and even fourth glance? He smiled a little as he gazed back at you, letting his gaze linger as he drank in that infectious laugh and sunny grin.

You made him think that maybe, just maybe, a girl like you could convert a skeptic like him into a devout believer.

#ok but when can i run my fingers through reggie's curls hm? when is it my turn to be happy?#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black fic #the marauders #the marauders era

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makeitmakesomesense · 3 months ago

Text

The Competition

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Day 8: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 8th of January, which is 'daylight'.

There is no point trying to be second best.

You’ve lived by that motto your whole life. You know it’s served you well because your life has been going exactly like you hoped. You’ve been recruited into the latest Shield training class.

This is just another opportunity for you to excel in. You don’t let yourself consider another option. You stand in the training room with the other agents, waiting for your first lesson to start. You can’t help sizing up the others. You watch their movements and try to assess their fitness, their likely agility. You listen to their conversations and try to assess their intelligence too.

You are smarter. You are fitter. You are faster. You stretch your arms in anticipation. Someone will be the best recruit and it will be you.

A final trainee enters.

You try to figure her out immediately. Her eyes are roaming the room, not quite nervous but not confident either. She’s not that tall. Her red hair is tied back in perfect dutch braids. It makes her look like a child.

You dismiss her readily. Your focus returns to another recruit, whose muscles are flexing obviously with the smallest movement. You bite your lip trying to determine if their muscle density will affect their agility.

Your eyes glance briefly back to the new girl. She is staring at the same recruit. Her fingers tap thoughtfully against her thigh.

She is the only one other than you not engaging in small talk. Instead, her gaze scans the sea of people, just like you.

You take another more considered look at her. She’s fit, much more than you’d noticed at first. The kind of fitness that’s built for agility as much as strength.

Her eyes turn to you. The sudden, sharp green stare makes you certain that she’s intelligent too. You can feel her reading you, as her eyes shamelessly roam over your body.

After a moment, the girl’s lips draw back over her teeth and she smiles. There’s a feral confidence to it. It puts you on edge. You smirk back and pretend not to be intimidated.

The trainer enters at last and the group of recruits become eager and pathetic in front of a clear leader. You hang back, listening quietly. You make sure to keep the other girl in your sights.

The trainer asks you all to introduce yourselves.

‘First names for now.’ She directs with a smile. ‘We’re not agents yet.’

The girl is called Natasha R.

There are two Natashas in this group of recruits. You almost feel bad for Natasha M. You can already predict that she will be known as ‘the other Natasha’ after today.

The trainer begins with a speech about comradery, about finding your people. You watch Natasha’s expression shift to boredom. She taps impatiently against her thigh. You try not to smirk obviously.

The trainer suggests that everyone partners up. You’ve all had basic sparring training before today. This is a chance to see how you compare to your peers.

Your eyes meet Natasha’s before the trainer has finished speaking. She flashes the feral smile back at you. Adrenaline begins to flood your body as you move to the nearest training mat and try to ready yourself.

Natasha slams you against the mat before you’ve had time to think about reacting. The air is thrown from your chest. You try not to look as disoriented as you feel, as you roll back to your feet.

‘Excellent work, Natasha’ The trainer shouts from the other side of the room. You watch Natasha M. look up hopefully, before her face caves with disappointment. You let yourself prickle with the indignity of being second best.

You huff a breath and ready yourself for another sparring round. You are back on the floor before you’ve had a chance to blink.

Natasha slams you against the training mat for the thousandth time.

You glare at her, chest heaving desperately. Your face is sticky with heat and sweat. Natasha grins smugly. Her dutch braids are still perfect. She doesn’t offer you a hand up.

You hate her. You actually loathe her.

You are seething with bitter fury by the time you get to the cafeteria. You stand in the line for lunch food thinking about the first person to ever stand between you and being the best at something. You try to recall each brief moment before she knocked you to the ground. You try to assess her fighting style. What you could have done differently.

You lift your plastic tray and walk to the communal table that is almost entirely populated by the other recruits from your class. You sit at one end and take an angry bite of your apple.

Natasha is sitting at the other end. She’s surrounded by the eager recruits. They’re asking her questions, unphased by her cool tone and indirect answers. It’s pathetic. You crunch your apple again. They always cling to a new leader. Natasha’s calm gaze meets yours. She smirks and you know she can tell that you’re jealous. You clench your jaw and glare angrily back. You hope she can hear the Fuck You echoing in your mind.

The amusement in her eyes tells you that she can.

You spend a month getting your ass kicked.

That isn’t strictly true.

You are excelling in some areas.

Noone is more loyal to the fitness regime. Noone is more committed to learning how to fight better. Noone is putting more time in at weapons practice.

You are doing very well at trying hard.

Natasha is barely trying and she is easily better than you. She makes the class look like complete amateurs.

You do the only thing you know how to do; you try harder.

What stings more than the rest, is the special treatment that Natasha seems to get.

The first time you see her and Hawkeye interact, you don’t actually believe your own eyes. She’s a new recruit. Agent Barton is calling her ‘Tasha!’ and giving her a half hug as he walks past your table with his own tray of food.

Natasha M. looks so despondent when she hears the nickname that you wonder if she’s going to drop out soon.

Natasha only rolls her eyes and makes a biting comment about his choice of lunchtime food. The other recruits tense up for a moment until Agent Barton’s barking laugh catches them all off guard again.

You watch Natasha from your usual place at the far end of the table. It is the first time you have ever seen her uncertain.

You decide she is probably dating Agent Barton. It must be a secret they’re trying to keep. He’s not a direct superior so there’s nothing officially wrong with it. It just doesn’t look good. Not for a new recruit.

Natasha tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes glance back over to Agent Barton’s table on the other side of the room.

You pretend you don’t feel jealous.

In the earliest hours of the morning, you go to the gym.

You do this sometimes, it’s a good time to know you’ll be alone. To put in some earphones and forget everything except your heart pounding and your limbs aching.

You are not alone.

Natasha is already in the large room. She’s wearing a black sports bra and shorts. She is running like a gazelle on a treadmill, her back is to you.

You let the heavy door slam itself shut, just to watch her flinch.

She switches the machine off as she turns around, her glare already fixed in place.

Your chest seizes when you realise that she has obviously been crying. You stare at her stupidly.

‘What do you want?’ Natasha spits through clenched teeth. Her cheeks are flushed red. You can’t tell if it’s the exertion or something else.

You feel like you’ve caught an apex predator in a moment of weakness. You can tell she feels cornered, vulnerable. The urge to win tempers into something different. You don’t want to see Natasha’s weakness, you just want to be better than her best.

‘I bet I can run faster than you.’ You gloat loudly and begin to walk towards her.

Natasha’s expression shutters with sharp relief, then she gives you her most savage smile. She nods to the treadmill beside her.

You have never run faster or farther. You will not let yourself lose this race. You have been training too hard. By the time the first rays of daylight are streaming into the room, you are still neck and neck with Natasha.

She is the first to quit. She switches off her machine without a word and turns to leave. She gives you the middle finger as you breathlessly huff a victorious laugh.

That day, on the training mats, you sense Natasha moving more obviously as you begin to spar. She wins every time, of course. But later, when you stand in the line for the cafeteria, you realise that you have begun to understand her fighting technique.

They have run out of apples today in the cafeteria and you barely notice, too lost in your own thoughts.

You sit down at your usual end of the table. Your gaze snaps up when someone whistles.

Natasha’s smirk is tiny. Everything about her seems playful. She takes an extra apple from her tray and throws it gracefully. You feel the eyes of the other recruits follow its arcing trajectory, right into your hands.

After weapons training that afternoon, Natasha catches your arm in the hallway.

‘Do you spend every night running your ass off, just to keep up with me?’ She teases snarkily.

You roll your eyes, hating the way you have started to like her.

‘No. Not every night.’ You answer deadpan.

‘Good, so you’ll be free tonight.’ Natasha says simply. She tells you the number of her room. Then, she gives you a pleased smile. With her perfect braids, she becomes the picture of innocence.

‘Those braids make you look like a child.’ You snap at her, pulling your arm out of her hold.

You hear her laugh behind you and smile to yourself.

You arrive at her door that night. You knock twice before the door swings open.

Natasha is not the girl you have known before.

Her loose red hair holds the obvious kinks from her recent braids. She looks tired, the simple fatigue of surviving a busy day on very little sleep. She’s wearing an oversized tourist t-shirt that you presume is covering shorts.

‘Wow.’ You tell her bitingly. ‘You look like shit.’

Natasha laughs loudly and lets you in.

She offers you a beer and you take it as you sit on the edge of her bed. She sits beside you, clinks her bottle with yours and takes an absentminded swig. You marvel silently as you realise that she is still drinking alcohol regularly and outperforming all of you so easily.

Her shoulder bumps yours uncaringly as she brings one leg up to her chest and casually hugs her knee. Your eyes skim the perfectly toned muscles without meaning to. Natasha’s gaze flicks to you and she smirks knowingly.

‘Keep it together.’ She chastises teasingly. You grin back.

‘I will.’ You promise readily. ‘I’m here to find out all your secrets.’

Natasha’s mouth presses together and for a moment she looks deadly serious. Then she raises her eyebrow and grins back.

‘What do you want to know?’

She tells you a lot of things. Raised in a competitive household, with no allowance for failure. She talks about sisters, plural. She’d always naturally excelled but she also never stopped pushing herself. Her words skim lightly over concepts like discipline and punishment. You understand the implication.

You don’t feel pity, only respect. She did everything to be the best.

You tell her the words that you’ve lived by since childhood.

There is no point trying to be second best.

Natasha’s sudden gaze burns with the recognition that you might really understand what she means.

‘Exactly.’ She breathes, and then she laughs again. She looks down and her fingers brush over your forever-calloused knuckles.

‘Exactly.’ She whispers again.

After that, the world is hung on a different axis.

You are the final convert to the Natasha fan club. You think you might be the only member she cares about. The competitive edge is always there between you, but now it’s decidedly friendly. Every smile between you is playful. Every sharp comment is teasing.

You go back to her room again a few nights later.

She tells you a little about Clint, nothing more than a friend of a friend who’d recommended her to the Shield training programme. But mainly, she asks a lot about you. You find yourself admitting things you’ve never said aloud before.

When the night ends, she leans forward and kisses your cheek. She plays it like it’s a natural end to the night and you don’t let yourself react. Not until you’re back in your own room, touching your warm cheek and wondering if it could mean the things you have begun to hope for.

There is an inevitable rule about trying to keep a secret in an espionage organization. Either no-one knows or everyone does.

Natasha M is the one who tells you. She has that red flush on her cheeks that reveals how pleased she is with her secret. She whispers it excitedly to a group of you as you make your way to the training room.

‘Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. Mysterious and Lethal Assassin. Product of the Red Room. Missing, Presumed Dead.’

She pauses as she hammers home her point.

‘It’s her.’

Your world implodes.

You stand in the training room with the rest of the recruits. Your skin is prickling with a feeling that you don’t recognise. A betrayal unlike anything you could have imagined. The others are nervous and chattering. You can feel them looking in anticipation at you. Natasha’s undeniable favourite.

Some of them clearly thought you might have known her secret. They don’t anymore.

Natasha walks into the training room. She is flanked on her left by Agent Barton.

You realise that he is not an old friend. He is the agent that captured her.

You feel a sudden rage like you have never felt before.

You pull away from the crowd, ready for a fight that you know you can’t win.

You start spitting insults before you reach her. You call her a traitor and a liar. You only feel angrier when you watch her purposefully neutral gaze brush over you.

You rush forward and are stopped by Agent Barton’s arm as it catches you by the waist and pulls you resolutely towards the door.

‘Don’t do this.’ He warns quietly as you shout things you never thought you’d say. ‘We’re her family.’

‘Oh please.’ You yell back, hurling your final words at Natasha, as you fight his grip. ‘She has a family. She’s a widow.’

You are excused from training. Agent Barton leaves you in disgust, sitting in an empty classroom where they occasionally teach the theory behind different fighting styles.

You go to the cafeteria at the usual time and take your usual tray over to your usual group. They welcome you with a support that you’ve never felt before. You realise suddenly that your enraged episode earlier has only impressed the other recruits.

You don’t need to guess who is missing from the table, you follow their pointed glares easily. Natasha sits alone at another table. Her face is perfectly neutral. She crunches on an apple. Your jaw tightens.

You take a seat with the usual group and try not to think about the way your gut is twisting. The other recruits tell you all the latest rumours. About what the Red Room does to create their monsters. The famous crimes against Shield operatives committed by the Black Widow. A haphazard list of her likely kills that is growing by the hour.

You think about their stories. You think about the things Natasha told you that first night in her room. Competition, discipline, punishment.

Agent Barton’s words about family get caught in your head.

Natasha stands and leaves the cafeteria. She doesn’t falter at the muttered insults that she must be able to hear. Her face is schooled into a perfect facade of calm. At last, her eyes meet yours, and you see the smallest crack.

You push away the tray with your half-eaten meal.

A person beside you snickers and you catch the end of a snide comment. You grip the edge of the plastic tray and feel a familiar anger inside you. You look around the table. Natasha M smiles eagerly back. She leans forward with another joke to share.

You push away from the table and get to your feet. They are eager and they are pathetic. You don’t want to be their next leader.

You knock once on Natasha’s door. She doesn’t open it.

You knock again. There is only silence.

You go to the gym.

She’s there, of course, running so fast that her legs are blurred. You wonder if they’ve checked her speed against the land mammal record.

You let the heavy door slam behind you, just so she’ll know you’re there.

Natasha turns off the treadmill and comes to a stop. She doesn’t turn around. You can tell that she knows it’s you.

You walk over and watch the tension rolling out of her. She is gripping the bar on the treadmill. You look at her knuckles, calloused from a lifetime of effort.

You are just like her.

Her shoulders curve as she leans forward, crying silently.

Your jaw tightens.

You hate seeing Natasha’s weakness. You cannot tolerate a world where she is not the best.

Carefully, you reach out and press your hand to her back. You can feel the bumps of her spine against your palm. Her chest heaves with silent sobs.

Wordlessly, Natasha turns around. She buries herself against your front. You hug her tightly. You can feel her crying harder. Unthinkingly, your fingers trace her perfect braids.

You lead her back to her room when she is no longer crying. Your tight hold of her hand leaves no room for misunderstanding.

She sits stiffly on her bed and you bring her over a glass of water. She takes it and sips quietly. You can see the hesitation in her side glances.

There is something unfixable now. Some part of the illusion that is gone forever.

You reach over to Natasha and undo the ends of her braids. Slowly, you unwind them until you can run your fingers easily through her wavy hair. Your fingertips brush her skin and you hear her sigh.

You move her hair to the side and press a kiss to her bare shoulder.

You feel the shudder run through her at the touch of your lips.

She takes your hand and slowly directs it to her breast. You squeeze it automatically and Natasha moans. The glass of water moves to a side table and Natasha’s hand comes to cover your own. She squeezes her own breast harder and then moans louder.

You smirk as you realise you will have to work harder if you want to be as good as her.

You kiss along her neck, your teeth nipping at her soft skin. Natasha’s hips shift needily on top of the bed and your breath catches.

Natasha hesitates then. You hear her take a deep breath. Her thumb brushes your calloused knuckles. She doesn’t look at you.

‘Even now?’ She breathes at last.

You close your eyes. Her back is pressing against you. You can smell the sweat on her skin. She is warmth and you are wrapped around her.

‘There was never any competition.’ You tell her with your lips on her skin.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow #natasha romanov fic #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 year ago

Text

Did I Make You Proud?

Character: Spy!Bucky x Rogue!Spy Female Reader

Summary: Imagine being a rogue agent, relentlessly pursued by your irresistibly attractive former mentor, Bucky, who is determined to track you down.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky P.O.V

Bucky's gaze flicked up to the intercom as the voice crackled through, laden with stress. "Did you see her?"

He sighed, the weight of the crowded train station bearing down on him. "Too many people here," he muttered, his frustration evident in the terse response.

"I never thought she would betray us. We have to find her before they do," came the voice from the intercom, laden with frustration.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration mirroring the tone on the intercom.

It was understandable why tensions ran high in the spy agency; one of their own had gone rogue, becoming a fugitive and leaving chaos in their wake.

And to make matters worse, the rogue agent is you.

The senior agent, Bucky received a direct order to apprehend the rogue agent. He was the one who had trained and guided you.

The situation's urgency hit him like a wave as he grasped the gravity of the rogue agent's actions. You had obtained sensitive data from a secret base and were planning to sell it to another country, triggering a potential international crisis.

"BANG."

The explosion erupted from the toilet, sending shockwaves through the crowded area.

"KYAA!!!" Panic spread like wildfire as people scrambled everywhere except for Bucky.

He remained calm amidst the chaos, a knowing look in his eyes as he recognized the familiar tactic. He had taught you well – create a distraction but ensure no civilians get hurt. It was a motto they lived by.

As his colleagues and the soldiers mobilized to locate the source of the explosion, Bucky's focus was unwavering. His gaze swept over the frantic crowd until, finally, he spotted you.

There you were, a smirk playing on your lips as you sat inside the cafe directly across from him.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Bucky – relief at finally finding you, the rogue agent, mingled with disappointment and a touch of regret.

Despite the agencies hot on your trail, you exuded an air of confidence, leisurely sipping your coffee as if you hadn't a care in the world. Bucky's jaw clenched with determination as he observed you from afar, his fist tightening as he made his way towards your location.

As he anticipated, you had vanished from the cafe, but your signature perfume lingered in the air, serving as a tantalizing clue. Trusting his instincts, Bucky followed the scent until he spotted you boarding a train.

With a quickened pace, he hurried to catch up, his steps purposeful as he entered the same carriage as you. The doors closed behind them, sealing their fate within the confines of the train.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" the intercom crackled with concern.

Bucky's hand moved swiftly to remove the device from his ear, slipping it into his pocket as he met your gaze with steely resolve. "I found her," he declared, his voice firm as he prepared to confront the rogue agent face to face.

Bucky quickened his pace, determination driving his strides as he reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to the quiet area of the train.

"Stop what you're doing. Do you want to get caught and be a prisoner in another country?" he pleaded, his voice laced with urgency and concern.

You shrugged nonchalantly, seeming unfazed by the consequences. "As long as I get paid," you replied, a hint of indifference in your tone.

Bucky's grip tightened as he looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of recognition. "This isn't you," he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation.

Pushing away his hand, you retorted, "What happened to 'no strings attached'?"

Bucky grumbled in frustration, feeling the weight of his own words haunting him. Perhaps you were right; he shouldn't have let himself worry about you.

But memories flooded his mind – the nights spent together, sharing warmth on cold evenings, and when you pretended to be husband and wife. Those days held a special place in his heart, now overshadowed by your betrayal.

"You... you were different," he muttered, struggling to reconcile the person he once knew with the rogue agent before him.

With a smirk, you met his gaze defiantly. "Because of you and the agency pushing my limits, I've learned my true value," you declared, your confidence unwavering.

"I'm a good spy."

Bucky couldn't deny the truth in your words. Despite the circumstances, there was no denying your skill as a spy. You had learned from the best – him.

As tension crackled between them, a mixture of frustration, longing, and unresolved emotions hung in the air, a testament to the complex relationship they once shared.

Bucky's voice was stern as he demanded, "Where's the data?"

You met his gaze with defiance, a smirk playing on your lips. "Too late. Before you guys found me at the train station, I already handed it over to the buyer."

The weight of your words hung heavily in the air as Bucky processed the gravity of the situation. "Do you even realize what you've done?" he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

You shrugged casually, a flicker of intensity in your eyes. "Can't you see the big picture? If there's only peace, people like us won't exist. I'm just here to keep it alive," you retorted, your confidence palpable, starkly contrasting to the timid and quiet persona he once knew.

Bucky fell silent, taken aback by the transformation before him. You had evolved into someone both confident and alluring, your newfound demeanor leaving him both impressed and unsettled.

You sensed his internal struggle and couldn't resist teasing him further. "Did I make you proud?" you inquired, tilting your head provocatively and adding a coy "Sir?" to the end of your question.

A mischievous glint danced in your eyes as you continued, "Or perhaps you'd rather catch me and handcuff me to your bed?"

Bucky's patience wore thin as he reached out, his fingers pinching your chin to meet his gaze. Leaning in closer, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss filled with unspoken tension.

The kiss spoke volumes, a collision of conflicting emotions – desire, frustration, and longing – all wrapped up in a single moment of intimacy.

As Bucky pulled away, his voice was low and authoritative. "Don't test my patience," he warned, his eyes burning with a mixture of warning and undeniable desire.

You let out a low, almost amused hum. "Hmm... I know."

The train whisked them away, racing across the bridge with breathtaking scenery flashing by. In a different circumstance, perhaps they could have appreciated the view together. But now, they were locked in a tense standoff.

"We should meet again," you remarked, breaking the silence.

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You offered no explanation, but a sense of unease prickled at Bucky's senses. He tensed, feeling a presence behind him, and his suspicions were confirmed when he turned to find seven men poised for a fight.

"Really?" Bucky shot you a disbelieving look as you shrugged nonchalantly.

"I need something to stall the time. I'll see you again, Sir." You turned and bolted with that, leaving Bucky to face the onslaught alone. He braced himself, ready to take on the challenge.

The fight was fierce, a whirlwind of punches and kicks as Bucky engaged in a battle of wits and strength. Despite being outnumbered, his training and skill allowed him to emerge victorious.

As he dealt the final blow, the sound of a helicopter overhead drew his attention. Bucky sighed, realizing that this was your escape plan unfolding.

When the train finally came to a halt, Bucky found himself surrounded by his agency colleagues, their expressions a mix of disappointment and frustration.

"She got away?" one of them asked, voicing the collective sentiment.

Bucky could only nod grimly. "Yup."

"Shit."

The frustration simmered within Bucky as he slid his hand into his jacket pocket, feeling something unexpected. With a quick glance, he pulled out a small item, his cheeks flushing crimson as he recognized it. It was undoubtedly your doing, a teasing reminder of your audacity.

Despite his frustration, Bucky couldn't deny the thrill of the chase, the challenge you presented only fueling his determination to catch you.

With a silent vow, Bucky steeled himself for the subsequent encounter. He would find you; this time, you wouldn't slip through his fingers so easily.

🚁

As you reached the top of the stairs, panting slightly from the exhilarating climb from the moving train, thrill and nervousness danced in your veins.

Clara, your partner in crime and the helicopter pilot shook her head in disbelief. "I knew you wanted to make a cool exit for your hot former mentor, but this has to stop," she chided a hint of exasperation in her tone.

"Climbing up from a moving train? You might as well have signed your own death warrant," Clara continued, her eyes wide with concern.

You flashed her a mischievous grin, trying to brush off the seriousness of the situation. "I just wanted to impress him," you admitted, your voice laced with a hint of sheepishness.

Clara sighed, knowing all too well how to handle your impulsive tendencies. "Maybe next time, just kidnap him and live on a private island. Then you two can live happily ever after," she suggested with a playful wink.

You chuckled at the absurdity of her suggestion but couldn't help but entertain the thought. "That's not a bad idea. I should save money to buy an island," you mused, already picturing the two of you lounging on a tropical beach, far away from the chaos of the spy world.

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zepskies · 7 months ago

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hi zep!! do you have a fic rec list for soldier boy or any fave soldier boy fics/writers in general?

Hey there!

Ah, I should've known this question was coming lol. The answer is, I do now! 💚

Stories are Soldier Boy x Reader unless otherwise specified. This is 18+ only content!

@waynes-multiverse -

Bad Reputation Summary: In a world full of careless supes, powerful people, and corruption on all levels, Y/N’s the typical millennial, trying to make the world a better place one good deed at a time. As a civil rights lawyer in New York City, justice, kindness, and selflessness are her motto. Her patience is tested, however, when none other than America’s ass himself shows up on her doorstep and needs help. [series complete]

Time After Time Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

He Comes in Colors Reader request: Can I put in the request for Ben to “support the fine arts?”

Soldier Boy Masterlist - Recommending everything she writes, because I've read and loved it all.~

@venus-haze -

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Watch Honey Drip, Can't Keep Away Summary: America’s golden son can't keep his eyes off of you, almost like he wants to devour you whole...or something like that.

Power Play Summary: So, you lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship. It happens all the time. Maybe not quite like this.

@luci-in-trenchcoats -

The Boys Masterlist (I'm about to read Thunder in Our Hearts in particular.)

@rizlowwritessortof -

Gladiator Reborn

Gladiator Reborn Part 2

Say It Summary: Ben has a jealous streak, and you have a stubborn streak - but only one of you can win.

@kaleldobrev

Soldier Boy Masterlist

@lamentationsofalonelypotato -

Take a Chance on Me Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think?

I'll keep adding to this list as I read more of this (charming) asshole.

Soldier Boy Masterlist || Main Masterlist

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bakukags · 5 months ago

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hiii i luv your blog!! honestly the 'more then enough' fanfic had my crying lol :)) so i saw your requests were open and was wondering if you could do a bakugou x reader were y/n is bakugou's and deku's childhood friend and they have a lot of trauma bc of their dad who is an ex pro hero becoming a villian when shes in ua and bakugou has always had feelings for her and comforts her when class 1-a sees it on the news. make any changes youd like :))

the 3 things bakugou taught you (bakugou x reader)

summary: As a childhood friend of Bakugou and Deku, you had always dreamed of attending U.A. to train and become heroes together. However, everything turns upside down when Class 1-A discovers that your father, once a former Pro-Hero, has now become a Villain. In the chaos of it all, you find that Bakugou is full of surprises and that there may be more to him than what meets the eye.

pairing: bakugou x female! reader

genre: fluffy angst

warnings: slight swearing

word count: 4,176

a/n: thank you so much for all of your kindness and support <3 my request box is open!! please let me know if y'all would be interested in a part 2 or how I can improve my writing :)

Growing up with Bakugou Katsuki had taught you three things:

Bakugou Katsuki had a temper like a firework - explosive, loud, and colorful.

His bark was somehow worse than his bite.

No matter how grumpy he was, you couldn’t stop smiling around him.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Bakugou grimaced, as you jogged to catch up, an extra bounce in your step. However, he slowed down slightly, allowing you to fall into step with him.

“My dad’s coming home today.” Your grin widened. “I’m going to visit home later today to see him.”

Your father was the pro-hero Aeris, who was known for his air-like attibutes and unique speed. You had also inherited his abilities, and his day-to-day heroism was what first motivated you to enroll into UA alongside Bakugou. Growing up, he had encouraged you to become a hero that not only helps the world, but changes the world for the better.

“Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready to pay the price to make them come true.” Whenever he came home from work, he always reminded you of his life motto with a warm smile lighting up his face. “And you my dear, have the most beautiful dream. But you must also be ready to have the strength to pay the price when it comes to fruition.”

From then on, you had resolved that you would do anything to become a hero. You father’s words had inspired you to become someone who would willingly sacrifice yourself in order to fulfill your dreams of saving the world; just like your father. As he rarely came home, you were especially elated on the days he did, today being one of those days.

Bakugou grunted in response, eyeing your chipper expression with thinly veiled annoyance.

“Well stop it. It makes you look stupider than normal.” He grumbled, looking away from your bright smile.

“Mhmm,” You hummed noncommittally, not really listening. The walk back from class had become your guys’ unspoken routine. Ever since the two of you had moved into the dorms, Bakugou always waited after class for you to pack your bag so that the two of you could walk back together. Of course, he’d rather die than admit to you that he was waiting, often making up excuses such as finishing up an assignment or perfectly timing the speed at which he placed his books back into his bag.

“I’ll go with you. To see your father." His tone indicated that it was a non-negotiable statement. You tilted your head, slightly confused. He had never accompanied you before.

“I can’t have an idiot like you wandering around at night.” He clarified, clearing his throat. “You’d be too easy of a target for Villains. It’s almost like you want to get attacked.”

You opened your mouth to point out that you were one of the top 5 students of Class 1-A and that you could handle yourself, thank you very much. However, the words died on your tongue when you caught sight of how his fingers twitched restlessly at his side, at how he was intentionally looking everywhere but at you. Many people wouldn’t pick up on it, but you knew him better than anyone. The signs were were clear - Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, was worried. For you. Your smile widened.

“If you wanted to spend more time with me Katsu, you could’ve just asked.” You teased, laughter bubbling in your voice.

“That’s not, I don’t- stop making things up crazy woman!” He spluttered in response, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Much to Bakugou’s dismay, you continued laughing, causing you to almost miss Izuku falling into step alongside you.

“Hey guys! Good training today, huh?” Izuku exclaimed, smiling at you. You grinned back, nodding excitedly in agreement. Your spirits were still high from your previous conversation with Bakugou. However, upon spotting the freckled boy, Bakugou’s face immediately morphed into a deep scowl. His eyebrows furrowed irritably, but he remained silent.

“Izu!” You grabbed onto his arm, just like you had growing up. “Training was amazing! Did you get a chance to see my practice match? I could hardly believe it - Shoto and I tied!” You chattered incessantly, easily falling into natural conversation with him. The three of you used to always hang out together and you found yourself suddenly missing the green-haired boy’s presence.

“It’s been a while since we’ve hung out!” You continued. “You should join us more often - it’ll be just like old times!"

A pink flush spread across Izuku’s cheeks, trailing down his neck.

“Of-of course, I’d love to!” Izuku stuttered, eyes glancing down at your arms that were still wrapped around his. A faint crackling popping sound, along with the smell of smoked caramel filled the air, causing the both of you to glance at Bakugou. He now had his hands curled into fists, jaw tightly clenched.

“He’s not invited.” Bakugou spat out, eyeing the two of you murderously. Growing up with Bakugou however, made you immune to his violent tendencies. You smiled sweetly in return, letting go of Izuku in favor of placatingly rubbing Bakugou’s arm.

“You’re always invited,” You said to Izuku before raising an eyebrow at Bakugou, daring him to argue. He hissed like a cat baring his teeth, but didn’t protest.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind!” Izuku nodded, eyes flickering between you and Bakugou hesitantly. “You guys must be pretty close now - almost inseperable huh?”

“We’re not.” Bakugou snarled at the same time you chirped “Yup!” The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you let out a laugh, shrugging nonchalantly.

“It’s funny because you guys are total… opposites.” Izuku spoke carefully, glancing at Bakugou as if he was a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any moment. The green-haired boy’s words were true - Bakugou oozed aggression and abrasiveness, while you were all cheerfulness and tact. While Bakugou burned intensely like the sun, you were constant like the moon. Just as bright, but in a different way. After the blonde boy had been kidnapped by Villains, he had refused to talk about the situation to anyone. Everyone had pestered him with countless opinions and questions - except for you. He didn’t need to speak in order for you to know how he felt or understand what he needed. You had spent your whole life learning him, and now, all you had to do was merely stay by his side as an unwavering source of support. The two of you had been attached by the hip ever since.

“His grumpiness adds to the appeal.” You giggled. “Right?” You turned to look up at Bakugou, ready for a classic snarky remark, but your eyes met molten embers instead. Taken by surprise, you tripped, stumbling over your own foot. Two hands immediately reached out to steady you: one belonging to Izuku and the other belonging to Bakugou. The blonde boy let go of you just as quickly as he had touched you, as if your skin had scorched him. However, Izuku’s hand remained, steadying you. You shot him a grateful look.

“Thanks.” You regained your balance with a sheepish smile.

Bakugou’s face darkened as his gaze shifted from yours to Izuku’s hand, which still lingered on your arm. A low growl left his lips as his eyes burned holes into Izuku, who instantly let go.

“So-Sorry! I’m glad you’re okay! I mean-are you okay?” He sputtered, eyes wide.

“She’ll be fine once you leave.” Bakugou spat venomously, a vein bulging out of his forehead. Izuku chuckled uncomfortably while your gaze darted nervously between the two boys, unsettled by the sudden escalation of emotions. The air suddenly felt a little too warm, too tense. In a second Bakugou was moving, stopping only when he stood between you and Izuku, effectively separating the two of you.

“What kind of idiot can’t even get back to the dorms without falling?” Bakugou sharply retorted, nostrils flaring. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.” He stalked away, leaving you to direct an apologetic glance at Izuku before following close behind.

“That was rude.” You glanced towards the blonde boy as you struggled to catch up to him.

“Not my fault Deku pissed me off.” He grunted in response.

“And it’s not his fault that you have a short fuse.” You rolled your eyes in annoyance.

If those words had come out of anyone else, you probably would be slammed against the wall and blasted into oblivion. But you were always the exception. He growled, the sound low and dangerous.

“Not right now, sunshine.” He barked your nickname out like it was a curse, but you knew better than to take him seriously. Your words had struck a little too close to home, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He angrily slammed the door to the dorms open, uncharacteristically propping it open for you.

“Move it. I don’t have all day.” He practically yelled in your ear, causing you to wince. He at least had the decency to look back at you half-apologetically, before lowering his voice to a more suitable volume. “Well? Why aren’t you walking idiot?”

“Thanks, I think?” You shrugged, hesitantly walking through the door. “But you really got to tone it down Katsu, I me-”

The words caught in your throat. You froze, causing Bakugou to ram right into you.

“What the hell sunshine? What kind of idiot stands in the middle of the doorway?” He barked, but you didn’t respond. Your eyes were glued to the television, trained on the newscaster Miyagi who imparted the breaking headlines for today.

“Breaking news - A Pro-Hero has turned out to be a Villain? You heard it here folks, Ex Pro-Hero Aeris was found injuring several innocent children just this afternoon. It appears he has been secretly working alongside the League of Villains as an undercover agent.”

The screen cut, and suddenly, footage of a man filled the TV screen. His grin looked borderline crazed, an unknown murderous glint flooding his eyes. Two heros held him down as he struggled against them, handcuffs digging into his wrists.

Your legs gave out, and you stumbled backwards. Somebody immediately caught you, muttering something into your ear, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from the screen. All you could see was your father’s deranged expression flooding the screen.

“No.” You whispered, eyes peeled on the TV, arms trembling. “No. This can’t be real.”

"How could you do this?” A civilian yelled at the ex Pro-hero, angry tears blurring her features. “Don’t you have a child too? A daughter?”

All eyes turned to you, the dorm falling impossibly silent. This couldn’t be happening. Your whole world was collapsing, right in front of your eyes. Your arm reached outwards in attempts to grab onto something, anything, that could ground you. A warm hand enveloped yours immediately. You latched onto it, squeezing tightly. Something deep inside of you knew that you should look tear your eyes from the screen, but you for some twisted reason, you couldn’t. You needed to know more. You needed to know why.

Your father stopped struggling, finally allowing the heros to usher him into a police car.

“So?” Your father shrugged. His posture suddenly looked eerily calm and nonchalant, but his eyes remained dark. Frenzied, yet disturbedly content. He looked stared right into the camera. At you. “Why would I care? I never considered her to be my daughter anyways.”

Those words were all it took to send you spiraling. The walls closed in on you, trapping you, until suddenly, it was impossible to breathe. Your whole life was a lie. The person you had always looked up to in life, the person responsible for your existence, had just revealed that he never truly cared if you existed. You thought back to your childhood. He had taught you how to ride a bike, how to cook chicken marsala, how to use your powers for good. He had been your sole role model, had shaped you into the person you were today, and now he was-

Happy are those who dream dreams and are ready to pay the price to make them come true.

Your dad’s life motto rang in your mind unbidden, yet it no longer sounded like encouragement. It sounded like a threat.

Are you happy? You wanted to ask him. Was the price worth it? Was betaying me, betraying the world worth it? Even though the questions screamed inside your head, you knew you didn’t want to hear their answers. A part of you knew what his response would be and hated it.

“It’s a trick.” You whispered, still in denial. A tear tricked down your cheek; you barely felt it. Your voice grew louder, more insistent.

“They’re lying. They have to be lying!” The words rang in the room, sharp and empty. A gust of wind rushed surrounded you as your face twisted with fury. Your classmates stared back at you, speechless. You had always been the calm and collected one, the one to rein Bakugou in whenever he exploded. But the roles had suddenly reversed, and suddenly you were the one bubbling over, about to explode. They had never seen you like this before - all seething, abrasive, aggressive. Even you had never felt this way before.

“It’s really a shame,” Mineta was the first to speak up. “that your father is a criminal. I mean, you’d think even criminals love their daughters-”

Before anyone could even blink, you were across the room, slamming Mineta hard against the wall.

“Say it again.” You growled dangerously, hands wrapped around his throat. A couple classmates tried to intervene, only to be blown back by a harsh gust of wind.

“It’s a pity. You’re so pretty, but I guess even you have violent tendencies.” Mineta sneered, wheezing when you tightened your grip around his neck. “It makes sense though. Like father, like daughter. ”

His words crawled along your skin and you instantly dropped him. He spluttered, leering as you backed away. All your life, you had been proud to be called your father’s daughter. But now, you felt nothing but a wave of shame and disgust. You looked up at your classmates. They all stared back with stiff postures and raised defenses. As if they too, thought that you would become a Villain. Blinking back tears, you did the only thing you could do. You ran.

You ran until your lungs nearly gave out, until nausea overwhelmed you. Gripping the edges of a nearby trash can, you emptied out all of the contents of today’s lunch. Your body trembled as you fell to the floor, pulling your knees in. The sound of stomping echoed in the halls, loud and harsh. Bakugou. Your stomach churned; he was the last person you wanted to see.

“Go away.” You growled, torn between wanting to be left alone and being too drained to run away. He ignored you, like he usually did, but this time it made you furious. Why couldn’t he just listen to you, just take you seriously for once?

“I told you to go away Bakugou Katsuki!” The words were icy cold and you heard the stomping pause for a moment. All your life, even when you both got into disagreements, you had never once called him by his full name before. Yet for some reason, you couldn’t let him see you like this - embarassingly weak and pathetic.

“What are you, my mother?” He retorted. The footsteps continued again, until he was soon towering over you. “Don’t call me that - shit’s weird.”

“I mean it.” Your words were coated with venom. You refused to look at him. “Leave me alone.”

Bakugou ignored you again, choosing instead to take a seat next to you.

“When have I ever listened to you?” He scoffed. “Don’t expect me to start now.”

You didn’t reply, curling deeper into a ball instead. The two of you sat in silence for several moments. The longer you sat, the more it all sank in. Your whole life had been a sick and twisted lie - how could you even start to separate the fiction from reality? Your breathing started to grow more ragged as you spiraled further, your throat tightening. You watched as your vision grew more and more blurry, until a choked sob ripped free from your chest. Hiding your head in your knees, you finally let the tears pour down your cheeks, let your shoulders shake from the sobs.

You felt a hand grab yours, the same hand that had wrapped around yours earlier in the dorms. Bakugou silently pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders in a tentative hug. Immediately you burrowed yourself into his broad chest, finding comfort in the way he held you closer to him, as if his arms could protect you from reality.

“I don’t even know,” You murmured, breath hitching. “what to believe anymore. If he raised me to be like him, then maybe I’m-” A villain too. You swallowed the words back into your throat, but they still hung in the air, unspoken. Another sob wracked through your chest, causing Bakugou’s grip on you to tighten. You stayed like that for a while, seconds passing into minutes. As the blonde boy tentatively rubbed soothing circles into your back, you couldn’t help the incredulous laugh bubbling alongside your sobs - Bakugou being calm and soothing? Your life was definitely falling apart.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re obviously not a villain.” He spoke with absolute certainty, as if he was merely stating a fact, like how the sky was blue or the grass green.

“You can’t know that.” You murmured, remembering the way you had nearly strangled Mineta, the way your classmates had all stared at you afterwards. “Mineta-”

“Is taken care of.” Bakugou’s chest rumbled as he cut you off, tone menacing. “He’ll no longer have the audacity to look at you, let alone even speak to you. Neither will the others. I’ve made damn sure of it myself.”

Warmth spread throughout your stomach, rising up into your chest and onto your cheeks. You hid your flushed face further into his shirt. You opened your mouth to protest-

“Don’t even start sunshine.” Bakugou interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You were upset and Mineta had a shitty attitude. If anything, he deserved it.”

You let out a watery chuckle. Only Bakugou would justify nearly strangling someone. As if sensing your upcoming retort, he spoke again.

“You didn’t hurt anyone. And you never will because…” He paused, eyes trained at the wall above your head. The following words sounded like they were being ripped from him against his will. “you’re one of the good ones, alright? Why else would I spend so much time with you? It’d be embarassing, ya know?”

You understood what he was trying to say. Bakugou always needed the best of the best, in every aspect. Which meant that whatever he chose to do or whoever he chose to spend time with, all of it had to be good. The best, in every sense of the word. After all, it’d be embarassing to him if it wasn’t. He’d view it as an unforgiveable slight towards his perfectionistic tendencies.

“Thank you Katsu.” You breathed in deeply, his signature smell of ashy caramel and fresh pine filling your nose, relaxing your limbs. You weren’t quite sure how you had gotten here, how you had somehow managed to slip in between the cracks of his impossibly high standards. You certainly didn’t feel like the best and you weren’t even sure if you believed his words, but they somehow still brought you comfort. At least you knew that someone in your life was raw and real. It had always been that way with Bakugou - what you saw was what you got.

"It’s nothing.” He huffed, but you caught a hint of a smile on his lips. Moving his hands upwards, he started playing with your hair, his touch oddly gentle.

It wasn’t nothing, but you didn’t have the strength to argue. Instead, you silently accepted the bottle of water he was offering to you. After muttering a soft thanks, you allowed the liquid to coat your dry tongue while matching the sounds of his even breathing with your own. And as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, you felt something in the air shift. For the first time, you noticed the fluttering in your stomach; the racing of your heart. You wondered if Bakugou felt it too.

The blonde boy eyed the window, watching as the rain started to pour down, droplets splattering across the glass. The sound was soothing, melding perfectly with the melody of our matched breaths.

“I like the rain.” You said, tilting your face slightly toward the window.

He snorted. “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like everything.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s annoying.”

“Not everything.” You protested, shifting your body.

“Well, you like me.” He joked, all bravado. You stilled. One moment passed, then two.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Bakugou paused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flustered. A faint crackling pop echoed in the hallway. “I only meant who wouldn’t like m-”

“I do.” The confession blurts out of your mouth before you can even think. “Like you I mean.”

Maybe your defenses were lowered because of the constant crying. Or maybe it was because of the way he was gazing at you now - like you were something precious, something so beautiful that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even for a second.

“Took you long enough to catch on.” He swallowed, nonchalance forced into his voice. Another pop echoed in the hall. You stifled a grin as he forcefully stuffed his sparking palms into his pockets to hide them. A moment passed before your eyes widened as you connected the dots.

“For how long?” You breathed, voice catching in your throat.

“Too long.” He said gruffly, keeping it vague. “A snail moves at a faster pace than you.”

A laugh made it’s way out of your throat. “You could’ve said something!”

“That’s lame,” He huffed. “and you know it. But since we’re already on this topic, Deku better stay the hell away from you now that-”

You kissed the edge of his lips, partly to shut him up and partly because you could. He instantly froze, a shade of red rising up his neck.

“If you’re gonna do that.” He whispered, the sound deep and husky. “Then do it right.”

He yanked you towards him, the move rugged and harsh, pulling your mouths together. Kissing him was like a smoldering fire - hot, burning, and intense. His arms pulled you closer, and you wanted more of this, more of him. He kissed you like a starving man tasting bread for the first time, and when you pulled away, he groaned reluctantly, chest gasping for air. You caught his gaze and held it, a brief moment of understanding passing between the two of you. And for the first time, you knew that despite everything, you were going to be okay.

A smile crept it’s way onto your face, the way it always tended to whenever Bakugou was present. In your head, you found yourself unconsciously amending the list of things you had learned about Bakugou over the years:

Bakugou Katsuki had a temper like a firework - explosive, loud, and colorful. But when the time called for it, he could also be gentle, quiet, and fiercely protective.

Although his bark was somehow worse than his bite, when it came to you, he had no problems following through with his bite. After all, he was an excellent kisser.

No matter how grumpy he was, you couldn’t stop smiling around him. You still weren’t quite sure why yet, but you did know one thing for certain.

Through thick and thin, through the lies and the villains, Bakugou Katuski would always be there for you. He might be abrasive and biting. He might be aggressive and impulsive. But he was also solid and real. He was true to his word and below all those layers, he was inconceivably, irrevocably good. And of course, most importantly - he was most definitely all yours.

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Text

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings.

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles.

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms.

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks.

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests

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lady-djarin · 7 months ago

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home

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: sickening fluff, established relationship, no outbreak, sarah’s alive and well, some touching and kissing between reader and joel, still adult content but no p in v. mdni

word count: 2.6k

a/n: not edited much (that’s my motto) but i just kinda dumped this out in one go so it could be bad. who knows.

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Dad!”

Ever since Sarah entered middle school she has become quite loud.

“Dad, there you are,” she barreled into the living room where you and Joel sat on the couch. “I need you to sign this.”

She pushes a piece of paper into his face along with a pen. He quints at it to read the small print. You grab it out of his hands when he tries to locate his glasses that are nowhere in sight.

“Oh the dance! How fun,” you handed it back to him and made sure he signed it as you shot Sarah a wink as she bounced happily on her toes.

You have been dating the single dad for around six months and you have grown quite close with Sarah. Joel has expressed how nervous he is about his baby girl getting older and all the things that come along with it. More than anything else he hates the idea of her dating. He signs the paper with his usual grumpy frown but does it nonetheless and in turn Sarah squeals and jumps up and down in excitement.

“Can you take me shopping tomorrow, I only have a week to shop for a dress,” Sarah put on her best puppy dog face that usually works on her father.

“I’m sorry angel I’ve got a job tomorrow,” he did look genuinely upset that he couldn’t spend the time with his daughter.

“I’ll take you, we can have a girls day,” you had been wanting to spend some one on one time with Sarah and this was the perfect opportunity.

“Oh my god, thank you!” She squealed again and jumped on you and wrapped you in a tight hug. She ran up the stairs talking mostly to herself about what kind of dress and makeup she was planning for her first dance.

“Thank you darlin’, you didn’t have to do that.” He rubbed your leg with his large warm hand and the other came up to hold your face as he kissed you tenderly.

“Oh please, I love that kid. Plus, I don’t think shopping is your forte,” you both laughed at how true that was.

Even though you’ve only been seeing Joel for a few months, you have never felt so at home. He and Sarah have welcomed you in like you were always meant to fit in their little family. You knew you were never one to have kids of your own but the young girl makes you feel more maternal than you ever have in your life.

You and Sarah spend the day in the mall finding stores to invade and try on every dress possible. She finally settled on a beautiful deep purple shimmery one that made her look way older than she needed to, but it was appropriate. Afterwards you found the food court and dug into some pizza and garlic knots.

“So… since your dad will never bring this up… are you going with anyone to the dance? Like maybe a boy? or girl, I don't judge.”

You knew she probably didn’t want to talk about it as pre-teens never do but you wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Her cheeks blushed a deep shade of crimson but she giggled slightly, telling you there was someone.

“I mean… I’m not going with anyone but my friends but…”

She was avoiding telling you the truth, maybe because she thought you’d rat her out to her dad.

“Look Sarah… I'm not asking to be a snitch, I just want to make sure you’re being safe and smart, that's all.”

She looked up at you with shyness but trust in her deep brown eyes.

“There is this boy… Ben,” she had the most radiant smile on her face telling you about her crush. He’s a little older than her but in the same grade and apparently very sweet and has blue eyes and dark blonde hair. You can imagine her sitting in class staring at him instead of listening to the teacher.

“So, are you going to meet him at the dance?”

“I mean we haven’t made plans but… I told him I’d see him there, and he followed me on instagram!”

It all reminded you of the days before adult pressure and complicated feelings. You smiled as she continued to tell you about him and the things she found endearing.

“Ok now, I have to ask and be the annoying adult but have you, you know… done anything with boys before?”

While she was only just under thirteen you still had to make sure, kids do anything these days.

“Like what?” She gave you a scrunched confused face then slowly realized what you were asking. “Like kissing?! Oh no that’s gross, boys smell anyway…,” she seemed to maintain her innocence for a while longer.

Thank god.

“Well that’s fair, but just remember, if a boy ever tries to do anything you don’t like, you can always say no. Don’t ever feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

She looked a little confused at your instruction but nodded anyway. She’s a very smart kid and strong willed, you have full faith in her.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around the mall and you both finally decided to end up getting your nails done.

Joel came home to find you both cooking dinner, a hoard of shopping bags littered the house.

“There’s my girls,” he ruffled his daughter's hair and covered her eyes jokingly as he kissed you deeply. “How was shopping? Successful it seems like.”

“Very…,” Joel’s eyes kept flicking down to your lips, as they often did when he got home from work.

“Dad, look! We got our nails done!” She splayed her fingers out so he could inspect her manicure. You let her get some slightly ‘grownup’ nails, small extensions with french tips. She said she’ll be the talk of the dance.

“Oh look at that… my little girl is all grown up…,” he looked a little queasy and you both laughed at his reluctance to let her grow up.

“Sarah, why don’t you put these bags away and I'll finish dinner, ok?”

She hugged you tight around your middle and mumbled about a million ‘thank you’s into the fabric of your shirt before grabbing her bags and darting up the stairs.

As soon as she disappeared Joel grabbed your hips as he stood behind you and pulled you into his hard chest. He attached his lips to your neck and ran his hands over your curves.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” His voice was low and gravely in your ear.

“Mmm, not today…”

He pulled you impossibly closer and nuzzled his mouth against your neck. “Well I do, I love you so damn much,” he continued kissing down your neck and any skin he could reach. “Sarah loves you too you know, she’s always talking about you…”

It felt like he wanted to talk about something else, something more. Your relationship has been going so well and it kind of feels like it’s time to take the next step. While you both know that this is it, there’s no one else for either of you, it might not be exactly time yet to tie the knot. However you have talked about sharing a space, the idea of living together is exciting to both of you.

“Well I love her, she’s a great kid, because you’re a great dad.” You turned in his arms and returned the kisses along his jaw. Just as you slid your hands into his back pockets, loud very teen sounding footsteps came racing down the stairs. You pulled away from each other but Sarah was too busy looking at her nails to notice. The timer on the oven beeped and as Joel and his daughter set the table you gathered the rest of dinner.

You sat around the table like you always did on Saturday nights and talked about the plans for the next week and the dance. You really did love your little found family.

The following Saturday you sat in Sarah’s room with her and a couple friends of hers, helping do their hair and makeup. Joel happened to have a poker game tonight with Tommy so he said bye just before the teen girl screaming got too loud. So here you were, a fully grown woman essentially playing dress up with a few 13 year olds. But you couldn’t be happier.

After the girls were ready and a lengthy photoshoot ensued, you were off. Four screaming voices all trying to harmonize to some pop song over the radio made your ears ring but seeing Sarah so happy made it worth it.

The plan was to pick her up around 10pm when it ended.

So you were super confused when you got a call from Sarah around 8:30pm.

“Hey girl, what’s going on? You ok?”

All you heard at first was a sniffle, then a deep breath before her wobbly voice came over the speaker. “N-no, not really…”

Your heart stopped for a second but you tried to stay calm.

“What’s wrong?” You tried to hide the urgency in your voice.

“Ben… he—“ hiccup “He was a… a total jerk!” Her voice was strained and scratchy like she had been crying for some time.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry… You know what, you stay in the office, ok? I'm going to come get you.”

She only mumbled a quiet ‘ok, bye’ before you slammed the phone down on the receiver and grabbed your keys. You shaved off probably five to ten whole minutes speeding through the streets to the school.

You quickly make your way to the office and find her with mascara running down her cheeks. She hiccuped and sniffled when she saw you before sluggishly standing and wrapping her arms around you. She sobbed slightly into your sweatshirt and you wrapped the one you brought her around her shoulders. After the teacher who waited with her waved you out, you gathered her into your car and made your way home.

But before reaching the familiar street you had an idea. Sarah had been slumped in her seat with the sweatshirt wrapped tight to her form until she saw the neon lights. You swore you saw her eyes light up when she saw the ‘Dairy Queen’ sign and it warmed your heart.

She got her usual birthday cake flavor of course, and you got your favorite. Before now you tried to let her have a few breathing moments but as you settled in the parking lot you tried to get some information from her.

“Are you ok?”

“Boys are so stupid…,” another tear slipped out of her eye.

“I know… I hate to say it but they don’t get much better.” You managed to get a laugh out of her which was an improvement. “What did Ben do?”

She spooned the thick ice cream into her mouth and tried to talk around it. “H-he was with that girl Rebecca all night and I tried to say ‘hi’ but he ignored me and pretended I wasn’t there. They were laughing at me…,” She resolved into sobs again and you rubbed her shoulder to try and comfort as best as you could.

“Oh god I’m sorry that’s so… shitty.” You never really cursed around her as she’s still young but this felt appropriate. It also helped draw out a laugh again, which made you both smile. “Look, boys like that are not worth your time. He’s playing games and you don’t want a boy who plays games. If anyone ever talks to you like that, it means they don’t respect you. You should only be friends, or more, with someone who respects you. Does that make sense?”

She looked at you with her red-rimmed and puffy eyes and you knew she got it. Of course she got it, she’s a smart kid.

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you… I'm sorry I freaked you out.” The light returned to her eyes as she giggled at her own words.

“You didn’t freak me out… too bad.” You were both laughing now, recalling the way you sped over to the school. “Look we can talk more if you want but I think you need some ‘you’ time tonight. Let’s get you some of my nice bath stuff and we can do a little spa night?”

“That sounds nice… thank you.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around your neck. On the way home you told her stories of things boys had done to you in the past. You did make sure to let her know that her dad was not one of them, he was the best kind of guy. Once you arrived home you gave her some bath stuff and gave her a clean towel and told her you’d wait downstairs for her.

You made some tea in the meantime and shortly after, Joel got home. Before he said anything he looked towards the stairs and heard the shower running. He gave you a quizzical look and you sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to like it.

“So Sarah had me pick her up early…”

He already looked concerned.

“She’s fine… it was boy drama. We talked and she’s still upset but she’ll live.”

He breathed out a dramatic sigh and you welcomed him into your arms.

“This is what I was worried about,” he sounded so defeated.

“Joel, it’s bound to happen. Every girl gets her heart broken, it’s inevitable unfortunately.” You rubbed your palm over his stubble and looked over his tired features. “She’s smart and strong willed. Boys will be intimidated by her when she realizes it.”

He softened at that. “Thank you for helping her so much, she really has opened up since knowing you.”

“She’s really something, just like her dad. He’s not too shabby,” you giggled as he pinched your waist.

“I’m not too shabby? That’s sweet.”

You mirrored his smile as he boxed you between himself and the kitchen counter. He kissed you deeply, pushing his tongue between your lips, tasting every inch of you. Your hum reverberated through your chest into his and your skin lit on fire from the inside out. Desire instantly pooled in your lower stomach and you ground your hips into his. This only resulted in his hard, jean clad thigh slipping between yours and pushing against your clothed sex. You moaned into his mouth and just as you felt like you were going to lose it, Joel pulls away and then you hear descending footsteps.

Sarah reaches the bottom but doesn’t come down, “I’m going to go to bed, I’m really tired. Sorry dad.”

“That’s ok angel, you sleep good. Love you.”

“Love you guys,” then she’s gone.

“‘Love you guys’?” you look at Joel with surprise. “Did she just say she loves me?”

He just stares down at you with this tender look, unresponsive for a few moments.

“Move in with me.”

It wasn’t a question but a plea. Like he couldn’t imagine you’d say no. Because why would you?

“Really?” Your heart raced.

“Yes really, we both want you here. More than anything.”

“Of course, I’d love to!” You squealed like Sarah did earlier tonight and launched yourself at him. He caught you around the middle and pulled you up, sounding giddy as you did while he spun you around.

You spent the first night in your now full time shared bed after Joel showed you all the ways he truly, passionately loved you.

You knew you were finally home.

#fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #the last of us #lady djarin

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butterli5 · 6 days ago

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The whispers start the moment Regulus Black steps off the private jet at Heathrow.

After a decade of self-imposed exile, designing for avant-garde houses in Tokyo, living in obscurity in Berlin and then in New York. Dressed head-to-toe in matte black, signature silver rings gleaming on his fingers, the new head of La Maison Black has arrived to claim his legacy. The fashion world holds its breath as everyone wonders if the heir will keep up with the signature classic elegance that has been known for generations as the house of Black's motto, sharp lines and silhouettes.

Enter Remus Lupin.

Soft-mouthed, sharp-eyed, golden-skinned Remus Lupin, the modeling world’s newest obsession. Walked for Saint Laurent in Paris. Closed for Dior. Photographed by every major house. He’s got that particular kind of beauty that looks like it shouldn’t belong to this world, and yet here he is. A little rough around the edges. A little quiet. A little wolfish.

He meets him backstage after the after-party of a Valentino show for the first time, Shirt barely holding itself together, linen clinging damp to golden skin, only one stubborn button fastened like even he didn’t care enough to finish dressing properly. Loose black jeans hanging low on sharp hips. Barefoot, for god's sake. There’s a pale silver scar slashing his abdomen. His head is thrown back in laughter at something a beautiful redhead whispers in his ears from where she is draped over him like a cat, his fingers skimming across her bare pale thighs.

Mine, Regulus' first thought is at seeing him. That's how Remus lupin wakes up booked to close the show for La Maison Black's comeback show at Paris fashion week.

Remus shows up late for his first fitting, hair damp from the rain, sweater far too oversized, book tucked under one arm like this is some library appointment and not the House of Black fitting room where entire careers are made or destroyed.

And Regulus, seated like a king in black-on-black tailoring, hands steepled, eyes razor-sharp, should be irritated, but instead he's watching the slow, lazy way Remus peels that awful jumper off, dragging it over his head, all long arms and rumpled hair and golden skin underneath. The faint shadow of a scar just below his ribs. A line Regulus wants, irrationally, to trace with reverent fingers. As he opens the button for his oversized jeans and slides them down in a flash, the way models are used to do in a room full of people as the atelier assistant hands over the look, a sheer black shirt and silk trousers, all sharp angles and floating fabric, ethereal in the way it should float over the body.

Regulus sends out the assistant, because no one has the right to see him like that, and it is Regulus’ hands, not anyone else's that adjust the collar. Lets those cool, silver-ringed fingers brush the bare line of his throat. The hollow of his collarbone.

"Arms up," Regulus says, low.

The shirt slides over him like a second skin.

Remus obeys, slow, without breaking eye contact. Regulus steps in closer. Too close. Tugs at the hem. Adjusts the drape of the fabric across Remus' narrow waist.

It is also Regulus who rips the offending fabric after the end of the show, Remus sprawled on his bed, pupils blown wide as he waits for Regulus' instructions.

Regulus peels him apart like a secret. Like he’s waited years to see him like this.

"You will wear what I make," Regulus says, rough, reverent, "mine." Dragging silk and lace from Remus’ skin like it's just another barrier to destroy.

Remus looks up at him, flushed, wrecked, so goddamn gone for him, and smiles, all teeth.

"Then you'd better keep making more."

It's no one's business if Remus Lupin becomes the face of La Maison Black six months afterwards.

#Moonwater #romantic moonwater #remus lupin #regulus black #romantic moonseeker

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lavenderdaisychain · 10 days ago

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Honey and Jack Rabbits

Summary: Jack Abbot helps you cope with losing your first patient, and you realize you two aren’t very different

I want to start with a very big content warning- this story largely surrounds a pregnant patient who does not survive, if that’s something you cannot read please take care of yourself and find a different story

other cws: PTSD, medical gore, character death, PTSD, suicidal ideation, cursing

Jack Abbot/Fem!resident!reader

*this is a prequel to the relationship between you and Dr. Abbot in Calm before the storm*

wc: 2.8k

—

You were on day shift rotation, a R2 who’d just started at PTMC a few weeks ago. So why were you rolling into the ER on a gurney at 3 in the morning?

—

After fighting nightmares off and on, you decided to get up and go for a run. Sure being a woman running at 3am probably wasn’t smart but you lived on the safer side of Pittsburg, and always ran with a switchblade.

You jogged through the quiet streets. Normally you’d wear headphones but not tonight. The cold air prickled your bare shoulders, beads of sweat rolled down your face. Push harder. Run faster. Be better.

Be better.

That has been your motto since med school, be the very best, but be better. You were top of your class and the best med student in your rotation, now you’d been a resident for 2 years with incredible marks and no patients lost. But it was never good enough for you, you always had to find ways to do better. Be the best doctor you can be. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

The sound of yelling snaps you out of your thoughts, you look across the street to see a group of people standing around a woman laying on the ground.

“Is she hurt?” You yell across the street.

“She needs a doctor! She’s pregnant and just passed out. I can't wake her up!” A woman yells back, pain and desperation clear in her tone. You bolt across the street, missing getting hit by a hair.

The woman looked like she was in bad shape, the streetlights illuminating her glassy skin.

“Do you know her?” You ask the woman who yelled at you, now kneeling at the pregnant woman’s side.

“She’s my sister, Amber.”

“Amber, can you hear me?” You placed two fingers to her pulse point. Nothing.

“Okay, I need you to call 9-1-1, how long has she been down?”

“Just before you called over. Thank god you came over!” The woman cried, reaching for her phone.

You were now assessing a patient, on the sidewalk, in the middle of the night. Rubbing your knuckles firmly against her chest you tried to wake the woman.

“Amber? Amber, can you hear me? I need you to wake up!!”

No response. You immediately went into action starting chest compressions, Amber was big, maybe 34 weeks going off what you could see when you removed her coat.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

No pulse.

“Where’s that ambo?!”

“They said they’ll be 10 minutes out.”

You cursed under your breath. A pool of blood started to spill out from under Ambers head. Not good.

“Were you with her when she fell?” You asked through compressions.

“No, we’ve been walking at night to help her acid reflux and I ran into the CVS to get her something for the pain, when I came back she fell, I tried to catch her I wasn’t fast enough.” She sobbed.

“Tell me your name.”

“U-Um it’s Caitlin.”

“Hi Caitlin, I need you to fold Amber's jacket and place it under her head, we need to put pressure where she hit.

The amount of blood was becoming concerning, but you had to keep compressions going, the baby had a chance as long as you could keep the sensation of her heart going…right? A man ran out from the pharmacy with an oxygen bag and kneeled next to you, beginning to bag the woman.

“Should I get the AED?” He asked. You nodded your head furiously, stopping compressions to rip her shirt open. When he came back you placed the patches to her chest and side. The man turned on the AED and charged it. “It’s ready.”

“Clear!” You pulled your hands back, the woman’s body jolted but there was still no sign of a pulse. So you went back to compressions. After a few minutes you shocked her again but nothing. “Damnit…”

“Amber,” Caitlin cried, stroking her sister's hair, “I need you to wake up.”

You cursed silently, your arms beginning to get sore, but you had to push through. Three people were counting on you. Suddenly you got a crazy idea, you looked down at the first aid kid you’d been brought and saw an Epi pen, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Caitlin,” you looked at Amber's sister, “does Amber have any medical allergies? Medications, anything?” She shook her head no. You turned and grabbed the epi pen, flipping the cap off and injecting into Amber's thigh. “Shock her again.” You took your hands off Ambers body as she was shocked once again.

Fuck. Nothing.

She needed to be in an ER. You started compressions again as the Ambulance rolled up. Two paramedics you knew, Cash and Landon, jumped out.

“Hey doc! Whatcha got?” Cash asked pulling a gurney out as Landon grabbed a med kit.

“Female, 20s, sister said she’s been having acid reflux but she passed out on their walk. No pulse for 10 minutes. We shocked her 3 times, continuing with CPR and bagging her. She has a head injury from her fall but nothing I can see that would make her pass out.” Cash nodded as he examined the woman.

“Straddle her and come with us, keep doing CPR.” Cash instructed as he and Landon moved Amber onto a transfer board. They put a C-collar on her, strapped her chest, your back legs and hers and loaded the three of you in the ambulance. The man who helped you stayed behind.

Cash worked quickly to hook her up to the monitors but nothing had changed, another paramedic sat at her head bagging her.

“We’re not getting anything.” Cash muttered loud enough for you to hear but not Caitlin.

“We can’t stop. Check for a fetal heartbeat, I couldn’t find one but I don’t carry stethoscopes on my runs.”

“Maybe you should start,” Cash joked, maneuvering around you to place a stethoscope on the woman’s belly. “Holy shit…it’s weak but we’ve got one!”

“Hear that Caitlin?” You asked, losing air quickly from the rigorous CPR, “the baby’s still with us. Hold onto that.”

Maybe you were saying that to her, maybe you were saying it to yourself. It brought comfort all the same. The ambulance came to a halt in front of the er, the paramedics unloaded you, Dr. Abbot was waiting with a team. Cash relayed the information you’d given him and added that there was still a fetal heartbeat as you were rolled into the er and a trauma room.

“How long as you been doing CPR kid?” Dr Abbot asked entering the trauma room, watching the muscles in your arms spasm.

“20 minutes, maybe more,” you huffed, moving to the side of Amber but still doing compressions, you glanced over as Abbot began to intubate. You hadn’t worked the night shift yet but you’d heard how good of a doctor he was. Quick, efficient, his hands moved to grab things but he never took his eyes off the patient. It was also like he had another set of eyes to look around for him. Once Amber was intubated you stopped compressions, you stepped down and grabbed a pair of gloves and a gown.

“What are you doing?” Abbot asked.

“Helping. She’s my patient. I need to make sure I finish her care.” You stated, he turned to stare at you. His hazel eyes almost bore into your soul.

“You should go home,” he offered gently.

“No.” You turned back to stare at him. “Not till it’s done.” He turned back and yelled at someone to page the NICU. They would need an incubator. The baby was weak; they needed to get it topside as fast as possible. “What do we do for mom while we get the baby out?”

“Nothing,” Abbot stated plainly, “you did what you could but she’s gone. Baby’s top priority now.” Your heart stopped. The great Doctor Abbot just told you he would do nothing for the mother you’ve been trying to save. Nothing.

“Hand me a 10 blade, we need to get this baby topside now.” You did what he asked, your body going numb as you watched him make an incision at the base of her stomach.

The baby’s heartbeat and oxygen tanked, you were mesmerized by his agility.

“Grab the baby and assess,” he shouted as he handed you a tiny infant. But it wasn’t crying, wails of life should’ve entered that room the minute the baby came out but it was silent.

“Come on baby girl,” you muttered, flipping the baby on her back, rubbing it forcefully. “I-I think she just needs a boost, she's okay.” Your voice faltered. You’d already lost one patient today, you weren’t about to lose another one. Finally a wail escaped her lips, the ragged cries a sign of healthy lungs. You laughed in relief, laying the baby down to check her.

“Heartbeats good, lungs appear to be healthy albeit she’s early. But she’s strong. A fighter.”

A NICU nurse came in and took the baby from you, cleaning her and wrapping her in a blanket.

“We’ll get her hooked up to monitors upstairs ...anyone we can call?” The nurse asked, eyes glancing to the mother on the table.

“Her aunt, Caitlin, is in the waiting room. I need to talk to her and I’ll send her your way.” You speak up, voice firm. You were happy the baby was alive but now you had to deliver the worst news of the day. ‘Your sister is dead but her baby is alive’

Abbot cleared everyone out of the room but you didn’t move.

“You comin kid?”

“Not yet,” you eyed the cross necklace hanging from Amber’s neck, “I have to do something.” You peeled your gloves off and walked up to Amber, cupping her hand in yours. She was already so cold. Abbot watched as you closed your eyes and prayed, for the safe journey for her soul and the ability to see her daughter grow up from beyond the flesh. You also asked for forgiveness, that you weren’t fast enough, that she’d fallen and you missed her head injury. You prayed that she’d hold your hand through telling her sister she was gone. Finally after taking a moment, you walked away, stripping your gown off too.

“Uh, Morgan?” You timidly approached the nurses station, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Doc….are you okay? We’re not supposed to see you till day shift.” The night shift charge nurse, Morgan, gave you a concerned look.

“Yeah, yeah I came in with that patient, could you put her sister Caitlin in the family room for me?”

Morgan nodded, she reached across the desk and pulled you into a tight hug. Part of you wanted to break down right there but you knew your night wasn’t over yet.

The talk with Caitlin did not go well. Sure she was glad her niece survived but her reaction to losing her sister was understandably horrific. You held her till she just couldn’t cry anymore, then sent her with a nurse to the NICU. Abbot had told you to come see him when you got done notifying the sister….but somehow you ended up on the roof. On the other side of the guardrail.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, legs dangerously far over the ledge. You went through every single detail over and over again. You had to miss something. How could Abbot have immediately declared the mom a lost cause? You’d never lost a patient, and now to lose one in just a traumatic way…

You pulled your knees up, removing the small cross necklace that lay under your tank top. A small prayer, a cry for help. Needing a hand to reach out and save you from the darkness consuming your every thought. Why did bad things have to happen to good people? A child losing her mother before they could even meet, her aunt now saddled with the care of an infant in the midst of losing her sister. You clutched to the cross like a lifeline, like it would save you. It could save you couldn’t it?

“Please God, send me a sign…anything to show me this is where I’m supposed to be.” Your adrenaline was starting to crash, your bones became heavy and as much as you’d like to protest you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning over the guardrail, maybe this was your sign? You closed your eyes, feeling a strange sense of peace.

The sound of quick footsteps got louder behind you, then you felt two strong arms wrap around you, pulling you over the guardrail to safety.

When you opened your eyes they were met with the wild ones of Jack Abbot. His eyes moving erratically, searching every inch of your face. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I didn’t mean to.” You protested weakly, “I just wasn’t good enough. I have to be better, I won’t lose them if I’m better.”

“Take a deep breath with me.” You followed his instructions, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out. “You know, you remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Really?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. He scoffed slightly, a smile haunting the corners of his lips.

“Yeah. I used to know this bright-eyed kid who had the ambitious idea to join the navy right out of highschool. And then 2 weeks into boot camp; make it his mission to become a Navy SEAL medic. Because he could always find a way to be better.”

As he spoke you fully turned your body to face his, taking in every part of him as he spoke. Spoke of the hardships of every patient who had to die in his arms because he was in the middle of a combat zone and couldn’t fix everything. How he’d write to the families and curse himself for every death. His eyes got dark as he remarked that he would always be stained by the blood on his hands even if he couldn’t see it. You could see the way he held tension in the corners of his eyes, his lips turning down into a frown as he spoke. Why was he telling you this? Opening up to a complete stranger?

“Listen, the morale of this little story is that you’re going to lose people. That’s emergency medicine. The thing you can never do is lose yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got the heart for this kid, you’re too sweet to become a cynical fool like me.”

You laughed, stopping abruptly to throw your hand over your mouth. “That wasn’t funny, I'm sorry!” Jack cracked a full smile, pulling you into a hug.

“And you should probably stay off the roof, I already claimed this after-shift hiding spot.”

“I would never invade a personal place you go for relief,” you pulled away looking at him earnestly. Jack took a minute to examine your face, your eyes were still rimmed red with tears but he was looking beyond that. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that this wasn’t just Jack comforting you, that wasn’t something he did. Jack was trying to save himself. He saw parts of himself in you that he’d never seen in anyone else.

“You’re too sweet, you know that? I think I found your ER nickname.”

“ER nickname?”

“Yeah, most people have them, yours’ Honey 'cause you’re just so sweet.”

You cracked your first genuine smile of the night. Most people would take that as flirting but you knew Jack wasn’t, the two of you were interlinked in ways you didn’t quite understand yet.

“You don’t have one. Is it ‘cause you’re too cool?”

“It’s actually because everyone’s scared of me,”

“I’m not scared of you, you ran over to me like a Jack Rabbit!!” You exclaimed, “that’s it, Dr. Jack Rabbit!”

Jack scoffed, clearly liking the name but not wanting you to know that. He stood up and extended a hand to you. A hand reaching out to save you from the darkness, a silent prayer answered.

“You’re the only person who gets to call me that, deal?”

You smiled and took his hand, pulling yourself off of the concrete floor. Maybe things would be okay, because you had someone who would always understand you. “Deal.”

Jack wrapped a tight arm around your shoulder and walked with you till you were out of the hospital and to your car, you wouldn’t realize it but he’d slipped his number into your workout pants pocket. He gave you a tight hug, a final grounding, before sending you home. When you got home you found the note in your pocket.

Even Honey needs to be settled every now and then. Keep up the good work -Dr. Jack Rabbit.

God had answered your prayers in the form of Jack Abbot, and you would forever be grateful.

an: I was a bit worried to post this due to how heavy it is but honestly I think the severity hit with Jacks character and the way he would help you work through it. In this story you and Jack are platonic soulmates, interlinked in every way, which I think is actually so sweet: as always feel free to leave feedback in the comments. Kisses!

Tag list: @ebodebo @kchronicallyonline @sceletaflores @yuenity @dizzybee03

#fanfiction #~abi writes #the pitt #Jack Abbot #Dr Jack Abbotxyou #dr Jack abbotxreader #Dr. Jack Abbotxfem!reader #WE LOVE DR JACK RABBIT IN THIS HOUSE #they’re everything to me #He’s so silly #nothing like a girl and her roof ledge #I’m actually referring to Jack not you #Jack Abbot being baby girl #we love to see it

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