#i forgive you for allowing yourself to walk away | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simpjaes · 4 months ago

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BOOK SMART? P*SSY SMART. — P.JS

The one where Jay basically lives in the university library and you live in any and every party you can find on campus. Unfortunately, your grades are suffering over it and you need help. You’re quite lucky though because Jay is quite helpful.

minors do not interact.

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― inexperienced loser jay x afab reader

CONTENT― Jay wears glasses even tho the banner says otherwise lol, he’s also a loser ass dweeb in this, open minded and playful reader, college au, jay just rly wants to get in that but doesn't know how to

NOTE― this is a revamp, surprise surprise, nobody is shocked. was originally written for mark lee over on my other blog @/ncteez but i need jay like i need air so….cackling at the title tho, my brain is malfunctioning pls forgive me

smut tags under cut::

smut tags :: MONSTER COCK AGENDA. Jay is a pervert and smells ur towel lmao, mentions of food and detailed popsicle eating, reader is very vocal and talkative, slight use of the pet name “pretty”, a lot of cum, cream pie, unprotected sex, mention of bc pills, Jay has a huge cock and he didn’t even know it, inexperienced Jay, experienced reader, finger sucking, nipple sucking, grinding, oral (f recieving), Jay gets on his knees, making out, sex on a table

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It wasn’t shocking that you were failing but it was shocking that not a single one of your friends were failing with you. They somehow managed to keep their grades up while partying just as often as you do. You don’t know how the hell they did it and you also don’t know why the hell they refuse to help you study now that they’ve seen your failure.

Not the greatest friends, you think. They won’t help you study because they only have time to study their own classes and to continue partying without you, apparently. You knew you had to come to terms eventually that these people aren’t your friends. They’re just people to party with, people to have fun with, and apparently, people that will watch you struggle.

It’s frustrating to walk home from classes by the run-down houses with booming music already playing. Without fail, every time, you wish you could be attending instead of studying. It’s even more annoying when you give up on your studies because you’re just not fucking getting it, and you probably would be fucking getting it if you were at a party talking to potential boyfriends or fuckbuddies.

Fairness in the world is so hard to grasp. Someone else always has it, but never you. The worst part about all of this is that you’re very aware of how lucky you actually are, you wasted away in college and allowed yourself to get this low simply because you were lucky enough to be well-liked. You prioritized the pointless things over the important things, and now you’re suffering for it. Complaining that you can’t attend parties, looking like a bore to your friends who pity and are embarrassed by you for not being able to multitask like everyone else.

That’s right. You can’t party and study like everyone else, so maybe now it’s time to focus on the task you’d pushed aside for so long.

Studying. Ugh.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You don’t know Jay past the fact that he is in at least three of your classes, extremely quiet, and constantly in the library when you pass by to leave the campus. You’re a little bit ashamed to admit that the majority of people you are well-liked by are the people who are ignoring you right now. The only choice you have is to find someone that can help you catch up on all of the studies you’ve blatantly abandoned. You could go through the student center and “officially” attend tutoring sessions with someone who would likely scoff at you for not getting it, or you could find someone of your own choice to help you.

That’s the only reason Jay comes to mind. Again, he is in three of the four of your classes. Every semester, without fail, you’ll look for your name on the dean’s list knowing that it’ll never show up, but you have seen Jay’s name on that list more times than you care to remember.

Jay knows of you as well. The girl who cut in front of him in the cafeteria to grab coffee with her large group of friends, making him ten minutes late to be early for his class. The girl who loudly slammed a book down in the library and nearly gave him a heart attack, the girl who came into class stumbling and giggling with one of the guys, clearly still tipsy from the night before.

You are everything that Jay isn’t. You are everything he avoids when accepting friends into his life, and his interest in you doesn’t really go past the point of having a stubborn, pretty girl to look at. He is a man after all. A man who is finally away from home, surrounded by hormonal women and men who can’t see past their brain fog of sexual fantasies in class. Never towards him though, he’s usually just on the outside looking in.

Jay has those fantasies too, but it isn’t his focus. He is dead set on being a top student, one that people recognize on the academic end rather than the partying end of it all. So, here he is, sitting with his nose in a book, glasses sliding down every few minutes as he munches on a pack of crackers. He’s been here for three hours already and finds comfort in the silence of the library. It’s such a vast place with so many corners to hide in if someone were to come and disturb his peace. Today is no different from any other Friday, where few students choose to study and instead opt for one of the various frat parties or bar hops.

You wish you could be one of those people, truly, but instead, you’re making your way to the library in search of Jay. The one student who you assume may actually take you up on the offer of study sessions. You imagine his shocked face when you sit in front of him, and you try your best not to imagine a look of disgust rather than approval. You need Jay now, for the first time in your life, more than ever. His knowledge of the three out of four classes you have will surely work wonders on your GPA, you will probably have to admit how much you’d be relying on him in order for him to even consider your offer too.

God, you hate begging.

The library is so deafeningly silent when you walk in. You can’t hear even the slightest of a whisper as you walk around and peek into the many empty study rooms and cubicles. After several minutes of searching, the anxiety bubbles up inside of you. What if he decided to do something else? Of all days? The one day where he is needed to be studying?

Just as you turn to leave, ignoring the entire second floor of the library, you nearly walk straight into him. And by nearly, you actually do walk directly into him.

Books clatter to the floor, Jay sighs as he looks down without making eye contact with you. It’s not the first time he’s been walked into and it probably won’t be the last. He is forever wishing that people could just watch where they’re fucking going.

“Hey, I’m sorry–” You go to say as you lean down to help him pick up the mess, he still doesn’t look at you though. Honestly, he barely even notices you there with those airpods in his ears and eyes on the floor.

To be fair, most people who walk into him just continue walking, so…

When he does take note of another person helping him retrieve his things, he looks up. You’re not shocked that all he does is nod at you when he takes the book from your hands and makes his way back towards his study space.

In an awkward way, you follow him. You feel dumb and kind of lost in this world of books and good students. Up the stairs, towards the floor you’d not even bothered to check, Jay unintentionally leads you to his little corner that already has papers and books laid out.

You swallow hard when he takes his seat and looks up to see that you have followed him. Jay is quick to swipe one of his AirPods from his ears and you can kind of tell that he instantly went from relaxed to nervous.

“Uh–” You look around, feeling awkward standing there. “I was looking for you.”

“Me?” Jay questions with a soured look on his face. He doesn’t really do it intentionally, it’s just, like, what?

“Why?”

“Okay, just hear me out.” You start, taking a few steps forward and inviting yourself to sit at his table. There is absolutely no arm space on this side, but that doesn’t entirely matter. You begin your pitch.

“I know it’s kind of weird, but, I’m failing.”

“That’s not weird.” Jay mocks, shaking his head and moving to put his airpod back in his ear.

“Wait! Just, please–hear me out.” You plead now, a little frustrated that he’s already refusing to help you.

He looks around and then lets out a deep sigh. Rubbing his temples, he nods.

“I know we aren’t the type to like, help each other or whatever– but I’ve asked all of my friends, and they kind of blacklisted me…you are my last resort, I swear.” You say, begging with your eyes. “Can you please just help me study for like, one day a week?”

His body is stiff and his face is unimpressed by your pitch.

“An hour a week?” You adjust clapping your hands together to plead even harder. You very nearly start to grovel on the ground before him. “Jay, please. I need to get my grades up.”

“If you had just given yourself a day a week, you wouldn’t have to be asking someone you’ve never even spoken with to help you study.” He rolls his eyes, still mocking and appearing a bit cocky at the sudden power he’s been given. Of course he only gets approached when someone needs something from him.

“How many classes are you failing?”

“I’m failing three classes and have a C in another–” You shamefully admit. “Just an hour a day, please.”

Jay eyes you over, shifting a bit in his seat before letting out another sigh.

“Finals are barely a month away.”

“I know! I’ve already got extra credit lined up so I can at least get my grades up by a letter but– I,” You look down, more ashamed than before.

“You don’t know how to actually do the extra credit, do you?” Jay finishes for you and is, for some reason, shocked when you nod.

He can see the panic in your eyes, and he noticed for the past week that you’d been looking incredibly tired around campus. Not the hung-over type of tired either. He’s noticed you move your seat closer to the front in one of the classes and even noted that you’re actually taking notes during your time spent there. Maybe he should help you out. If not for the fact that you genuinely seem to need it, but also maybe because he’s like, incredibly aware that he is attracted to you.

He always has been, but that’s not the fucking point.

“Okay, you can come study with me whenever you want then. I usually study here because I have a roommate who isn’t exactly the quietest person–” He goes to explain.

“I have an entire apartment to myself, you can come study at my place. Really, I’ll make food and everything.” You panic, still trying to sell the idea despite him already accepting your offer.

Jay is a little shocked and offended that you have your own apartment, and yet you’re failing your classes. No way in hell are you paying for that yourself. This only prompts him to want to help more. Because, like? An entire apartment to study in? Where a pretty girl makes his food?

“Okay, that can work. What days and times can I be over?” He follows up with a nonchalant nod, noting the three shared classes and the one other you’ll probably need help with. He hopes he’s already taken the outlier class, otherwise he won’t be much help in that regard.

“You can walk home with me after those classes if you want, and we can study until you’re ready to leave?” You offer. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be every day, but–”

“We can meet up after every class and decide if you want to study or not.” Jay finishes for you yet again, and you nod with a smile.

“What’s your favorite food?” You ask, wanting to make a mental note of keeping your end of the bargain.

Jay thinks hard at that because being put on the spot like this makes answering any question a bit difficult.

“Here–” You hold out your phone. “Put your number in and you can think about it. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

You can’t wipe the smile off of your face, the anxiety is practically dissolving from your body at the very idea of someone being willing to help you in the comfort of your own apartment.

He, on the other hand, is a bit more anxious now. He realizes that now, he’s going to be studying with you. A girl who had never even looked at him twice during the semesters you’ve shared classes. He’s putting his number into your phone, and you’re going to be texting him, and spending time with him instead of going to the parties that he’s never invited to.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” You ask in his silence, sending a quick text to him so that he can save your number. He nods and looks down at his books. “Don’t forget to text me what you want to eat, okay?”

He nods again as you stand to walk away. He watches intently at the way you have a little bounce in your step and can’t help but feel his cheeks flushing. God, why is he doing this to himself?

Slamming his head on the desk, he, much like you, cannot stop smiling now. All thoughts of studying for the remainder of the night left his head and were replaced with his new study schedule. He thinks he will try and take it easy this weekend, specifically so he is mentally prepared. He’s only talked to you for a total of fourteen minutes and he’s already lost his ability to study and think clearly.

If he’s lucky, the two of you will pass this semester with flying colors. There’s still that tiny part of him though, that wonders if maybe you’d find interest in him, and maybe he will fail the semester with you because, honestly, you are so distracting.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

On Monday, you sat up straight in class while eyeing the back of Jay’s head most of the time. Mostly to prepare yourself for if and when he makes a break for it. He hasn’t even texted you what he wants to eat today, and part of you wonders if he went back on his promise to you. Not that it was much of a promise in the first place, anyway.

He was a little shocked that you weren’t the first out of the room once everyone wrapped up though. Like you, he was assuming the same thing. You’d make a fucking break for it and pretend you never approached him in the first place. After all, It was common for you to leave mid-way through class or be the first one out the door. Instead though, he finds himself proud of you. You stood there awkwardly looking at him as the room emptied out, clearly unsure of what to do or say to him.

Jay nods your way as if to beckon you towards him.

“You’re still wanting to study today?” He asks with a brow raised in surprise.

All weekend he had thought about it. Thought about the possibility of it just being a joke to you, or maybe that you’d change your mind and allow yourself to flunk out like you already had been doing. His heart kind of jumps a bit noticing you looking at him like this.

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the plan?” You ask, nudging him a bit once you get up beside him. “You didn’t text me what you wanted to eat so you’re just gonna have to eat whatever I have in the fridge, by the way.”

Jay nods, opting to stay silent at this moment. He’s going home with you. He’s going to be seen on campus walking home with you. He’s not the sort to want attention, but this situation feels dangerously attractive to him. Especially when he takes note of how you’re probably going to look all…cozy and at home in your apartment. Like, he gets to be in your space teaching you things that you should have already known.

It all shouldn’t be so exciting. After all, his days are filled with the typical boring sessions of reading, writing, noting, and memorizing. It is exciting for him though. Never has he studied with someone like you, or really even gotten to talk to someone that most of the men speak to, the unreachable men no less. The ones with families that own the city, and all the houses in it.

You’re one of the unreachable women on campus, he thinks. The ones with standards based on fun, attractiveness, and chaos rather than charisma, personality, and knowledge. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Jay to be doing this right now.

“Okay, so...” Jay drones out, avoiding eye contact with you as he packs things into his ratty backpack. “I’m not super hungry right now but–we are going to your place right?”

He needs the confirmation himself if he’s being honest. Nothing would suck more than assuming and being proved wrong.

You nod with a smile, grabbing his hand as soon as he throws his backpack on. It isn’t intimate to you, but for him, it’s…something. Holding his hand is reserved for intimate relationships with family or girlfriends. He never holds hands.

He’s never really gotten the chance to anyway, aside from a little cousin when they were crossing the street last summer. He can’t help but buckle in on himself in a shy sort of way as you lead him from the room and out of the building.

You’re rambling about all of the things you need to study. All of the snacks you could offer to him. All of the hours you wish you hadn’t wasted partying, yet, all he’s thinking about is how warm your hand feels in his. You seem to be a natural at talking to people. Touching them without a single worry in the world, it’s kind of nice, he thinks. The fact that you aren’t ashamed to be seen together with him, heading towards the place you sleep. Sometimes Jay forgets that this is college. No one actually cares who is hanging out with who unless they are in the middle of a raunchy frat party, seeing their love interest getting touched against a dirty bathroom counter.

He smiles to himself as he finally catches up to you and allows you to stop dragging him around. He keeps pace with you now, resting his hand as if to allow you to let go, but you don't.

“Just around that corner–” You say, glancing over at him and noting the shade of color his face has become. “You good?”

Jay nods, staying quiet and trying to force himself out of his thoughts. He glances down at your hand holding his and then back up at you on instinct.

“Ah, sorry.” You mumble, releasing his hand and trying hard to understand that maybe you truly are too clingy with most people in your life. You think his reaction was kind of cute though, and now you’re a little determined to help him relax those stiffened shoulders. Jay can’t be as boring as he seems, right?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“I have peanut butter and jelly, eggs, noodles, some leftover pizza and–”

“I’m not hungry, but If I can have some water or something, that would be cool.” Jay cuts you off, slipping off his shoes in an immaculate show of how clumsy he is. You can hear the clatter of your entire coat rack falling to the floor due to his weight leaning on it through that single task.

“Okay–” You side eye his mess with a slight smile. “Water, got it.”

You trail off to get him the drink, keeping a small mental note of how nervous he appears to be right now. He’s panicked, frantically trying to balance your coat rack back in place as if you hadn’t walked directly into him just the Friday before.

“Jay, it’s just a coat rack.” You laugh with water in hand, hearing him mutter a sorry as he hangs one of your empty purses back onto it.

“Thanks.” He says now, reaching out for the drink.

Watching his eyes go from the glass of water to your apartment, you smile at the look on his face. Such a smart guy acting so incredibly stupid the moment he’s alone in an apartment with a girl. Cute.

“Is this good?” You ask as if you’re offering a change of subject so that he doesn’t have to think about the coat rack he had just knocked over. You point over to your dining table that’s placed perfectly in a little nook against a window and look at him as he stands in place. “We can start whenever you’re ready?”

“Can you show me to the bathroom first?” Jay blurts, hyper-aware of his awkward demeanor. He needs to calm himself down before even thinking about sitting down to fucking study.

You point to the bathroom quickly, making your way to the table and adjusting everything so there is space for the piles of books soon to be laid on it. You watch only a little bit at how Jay makes his way over to said bathroom in a show of not-so-confident body language. He seemed kind of cocky on Friday, but today he seems to be like jelly.

You sit at the dining table without thinking much more of the man in your bathroom, instead, you pull out some textbooks and lay them out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jay stares at himself in the mirror, he can practically see the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears as he comes to terms with the fact that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to come to your apartment to study. You’re attractive. That alone is a reason in his head to avoid it, but he’s here and he’s already made a fool of himself.

He slaps his face a bit with some cold water and tries to will himself to stop acting like such an awkward idiot. Surely you’ll pick up on his inability to talk to women if he doesn’t get it together, right? You’re going to think he’s some weirdo, a pervert maybe, before throwing him out and avoiding him forever.

Staring harder at himself, he waits for the color to run from his face so that way he can get out there and start the study session, but then his eyes start to wander.

Your bathroom is immaculately clean save for some makeup stains on the counter and a few stray hairs that must have been yanked out of your head while you attempted to brush out a night of drinking. It smells fresh and your perfectly hung towels look plush hanging against the wall. Without a thought in his head, he leans towards the towel so that he can dry his face and hands, and that’s just what he does. Except, maybe he buries his face into the towel a bit longer than he needed to, and maybe the smell of it was so astronomically sweet that he nuzzled against it even more.

He could tell the towel had been used at least once though, solely because he could smell a scent that wasn’t the soap on the counter, nor any laundry detergent he’s aware of. Then…his eyes flick to the actual hand towel that he somehow missed, right beside it? A lace bra. The flush comes back to his face, making him feel even warmer than he did when he entered the room. Which feels like a fucking nightmare if he’s being totally honest.

It dawns on him again. He’s in your apartment, smelling your towels, and staring at your bra. Coming to the bathroom in an attempt to calm down has done nothing more than make things worse, and the only option he has now is to stumble out of the bathroom hoping you assume he was in here doing number two rather than planting his face into a towel where you dry off your naked body.

Mumbling to himself, Jay prepares himself to face you. Sure, you probably see nothing out of the norm if he does well and hides the fact that he’s hyper-sensitive just for being in your space, then again, Jay has never been the best at playing pretend.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You offer him a bright smile once he finally makes his way back into your living space and seats himself at the table. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with you, bashfully pulling his own books out of his bag with shaking fingers.

“Are you okay? You sure you don’t want a snack or something?” You look at him, head tilting at him in concern.

Jay finally looks at you and notes how comfortable you seem while he feels like he’s internally falling apart. There shouldn’t be any fucking issue in his head when it comes to this situation, but here he is, panicking because a pretty girl is in front of him.

He feels so dumb, so obvious, so embarrassed. Yeah, maybe he should eat something, at least so he can buy some time to focus on something else before he starts stuttering through your studies. At this rate, all you’re going to learn about today is how awful Jay is around women.

“Maybe I should eat, yeah–” He says in a small voice, still staring at the books as he places them on the table.

“Come look in my kitchen, we can eat something together?” You offer, reaching toward his hand.

He pulls back from your touch and tries to play it off casually like he was just reaching for a pencil, but you didn’t miss the fact that his hands were cold and shaky.

Taking note, it starts to dawn on you. You’ve dealt with men like him before, and it was always an interesting situation. To check your theory, you rise from the chair and lean over the table, being sure to squish whatever cleavage you have visible to make it more visible to him.

“Salty or sweet?” You ask, watching his eyes intently and the way they struggle to reach your face. Score one for you, Jay is definitely a man above all. Luckily for him, you have lots of experience in that field, while he appears to have very little in the field of women.

“W-what?” He drones out, pulling his eyes away from you in an attempt to hide the way his face immediately flushed.

“The snacks? Savory or sweet?” You laugh, propping yourself back from the table and hopping into the kitchen, checking behind you to see if he follows.

He does stand to follow, but by the time you round the corner, he isn’t behind you like you figured he would be. Peeping your head around the corner, you watch as he holds his hands in front of his groin, looks down at himself, and then lets out a deep sigh. You then watch as he adjusts himself in his pants, uncomfortably hiding a semi-hard on so that he could come into the kitchen without suspicion.

By this point, you’ve already decided that studying will very likely not be part of today’s schedule. He wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing like this, right? You should help him, right?

“Took you long enough.” You joke as he appears in the kitchen, turning to look at him and intentionally trailing your eyes down his body just to see if you can see any sort of bulge. He’s safe though because he apparently must have skills in hiding his arousal during the worst times.

Jay, on the other hand, can already tell that your shift in mood is intensely different compared to before he went to the bathroom. Twice now you’ve been blatant towards him and it is not helping him at all right now. Is he reading it wrong because he’s very obviously horny right now? Were you really trying to dangle your breasts in front of him like that? Are you really checking him out right now?

“Sorry–” He looks down. “I– uh, I dropped something.” He offers as an excuse, uncomfortably trying to shift from your view and avoid eye contact.

“Sure.” You say with a roll of your eyes, knowing full well that he was hiding his cock. “I want something sweet. Sounds good?” You change the subject, reaching out and running your fingers down his arm.

He swallows hard, stiffening his shoulders and nodding to you. Without hesitation, you let your fingers stay against him for a few seconds longer, keeping eye contact with him before turning and opening a cupboard.

“Peanut butter crackers, cereal, and oatmeal.” You deadpan, slamming the cupboard and stepping to the fridge. “Pudding.” Then you open the freezer. “Popsicles, and ice cream.”

Jay just stands there when you close the doors to the fridge and look at him in question. He could opt for the crackers but his throat is already dry enough. Choking right now would be even more humiliating. Cereal could work but that would be embarrassing too, for some reason. Oatmeal is an option, solely for how disgusting it looks, surely it would tame his boner.

But, popsicles? Hell no.

“Grab whatever you want, I'm eating a popsicle.” You say, raising a brow and throwing open the freezer door again to take your pick.

Of course, it’s intentional. It’s fun to see his eyes light up at the very idea of seeing you eat a popsicle, and even more fun to imagine how flustered he’s going to be in mere minutes.

Jay looks to the floor and heads towards your fridge, also opting for a popsicle despite his very recent internal protest. Mostly so you don’t think he’s a pervert when he inevitably sees you eat it. But also, like, just in case you really are trying to flirt with him right now, at least his lips will taste sweet too.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You had expected Jay to get flustered, and boy did he. What you didn’t expect though, was to become flustered yourself by the image of Jay’s tongue darting over sweet ice, and then over his own lips to suck up the melted and sticky juice. The only image in your head right now is the idea of if he would lick his lips like that if you were to spread your legs for him. Would he lick up your mess on his face, chasing the flavor the same way he’s doing right now?

A dull ache begins to spread throughout your body as you watch him. His eyes still avoid you but you manage to catch him a few times. Each time he makes eye contact with you, your gaze shoots to his lap just to see if he’s gotten hard enough for his cock to leave its tucked position in his waistband.

Jay is hyper-aware now too, with the way you’re staring and almost leaving your popsicle unattended as he eats his own. He feels confused, like? Are you doing what he was actively avoiding doing to you? Jesus, you really are kind of a whore, god.

By the time the popsicles are finished, your fingers are sticky from allowing it to drip down the stick. You make a point to suck each of your fingers innocently, looking under your lashes at him for split seconds as you begin to shuffle through the papers on the table.

“So–” You say, popping one finger out of your mouth and inserting another. “Can we start here? I need to have a paper written on at least one topic on this list and have no idea how to find a good source to read from.”

Jay hears and sees you in tunnel vision right now, but he manages to catch the ass end of your sentence and begins to try and focus on the studies at hand. Still watching you suck your fingers into your mouth, he clears his throat and places his own popsicle stick onto the table, pretending he doesn’t wish your tongue would lick him like that.

“I wrote mine based on this topic, and I found a lot of good sources for it. I don’t think our professor would think too hard about us choosing the same subject–”

“Yeah, especially because it’s me. They’d never guess you’re in my apartment right now.” You laugh, smirking over at him.

“I would’ve never guessed either–” Jay says without thinking, barely processing how embarrassing he is before you squint at him with a wider smile.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, raising a brow and leaning forward. “Why’s that?”

Jay tries to look around but now can’t seem to force his eyes away from you. A much different circumstance compared to before when he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. There’s a connection here, he can feel it. You’re definitely coming onto him and you have been for the past however long he’s been here.

“You’re kind of out of my league, don’t you think?” He laughs more at himself than he does the situation, and to you, he honestly looks pitiful after saying that. It’s incredibly attractive to you in the way he seems to praise you for being a failure simply because he’s attracted to you. At least, that’s the case if you’re reading him right.

“Who said someone like you couldn’t teach me a thing or two?” You have a smile in your voice, and it comforts him, but that comfort is shot down when you stand on your feet and walk over to him. “Who says I’m out of your league?” You ask again, watching him scoot back with his chair as you come closer.

You prop yourself against the table, essentially blocking him from his books and papers. You look down at him now, dipping your head in a playful way. “I don’t think I’m out of your league.”

Jay notes how you’re between him and the table now. You look comfortable leaning in front of him like this, and when his eyes trail up to your face all his body can do is give in. He looks at you through large eyes, the overhead light is sparkling through them at you.

In that instant, you can see his embarrassment fill his body because he’s no longer resisting the urge to be himself. He’s staring at you as if you could be a god and saying nothing in response to your words.

“If anything, Jongie–” You soothe him, grabbing one of his hands and smiling at the way his pen immediately falls out of his grip. “You’re out of my league.”

He blinks up at you, soaking in the words and not yet understanding in full what you’re doing until he feels warmth enveloping the entirety of his hand and wrist.

“Do you know how lucky I am that you’re here right now?” You ask him, basking in the way you can see his breath get caught in his throat. “How lucky I am that you’re not only smart but hot too?”

He dips his head at this, a bashful show of your words having an impact on him. He hides his face briefly against his arm and then he realizes–

“Is this okay?” You ask, holding his hand in place as you begin to move your hips against his palm.

Jay watches the way you’ve managed to pull his hand out and plant it between your legs, all so you could grind against it without so much as a warning. He’s not against it though, if anything, his head is shot back to reality and he’s immediately back to glancing around the room and avoiding the scene in front of him.

His palm is against your literal, dampening panties, and all he can think to say right now is, “You could write your thesis on human connection and its effects on the brain.”

You smile at his attempt to continue to study through this moment.

“I could,” You say with a deeper voice than before, feeling the way his hand stays relaxed in your grasp as you grind against it. “Or we could think about how your brain is being affected right now?”

Jay groans, feeling the warmth of your wet beginning to seep through the fabric, and honestly, it is happening so fast that he’s sure it would be more embarrassing if he walked out now.

“How are you feeling?” You reword your question towards him, intentionally swiveling your hips so that you can position his fingers into your underwear.

“You’re warm.” Jay chokes out, eyes now zoning in on your legs slightly spread in front of him.

You let out a small laugh at this, pulling a bit on his arm to pull him closer, but he doesn’t compute it at all.

“Do you like it?” You ask again, this time slipping his fingers into you. You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes back, fucking yourself gently against his fingers before you look at him.

He’s nodding, probably more thankful now that you’d worn a skirt today rather than pants. He didn’t allow himself to take note of your attire, because if he did, he would have made even more of a fool of himself. But he’s nodding now, watching the way you hold his arm in place and slide his fingers in and out of you.

His silence is louder than his words could be right now, you think. You can feel him straighten his fingers inside of you, you can practically see him salivate at the very idea of how you’re using him right now. You’re not done though, no, no. He’s far too sweet like this, but you want to hear words.

Gently, you pull your hips back effectively slipping his fingers out of you. There, you lift his arm and examine your wetness against his fingers. You smile again, eyes now adjusting to his face rather than his wet fingers.

Jay watches as you guide his fingers to his lip, and without a second thought, he opens his mouth to taste you against them. He licks circles around each of the two fingers, closing his eyes almost instantly so that he can relish the experience.

He no longer cares how awkward he must seem sitting here like this, letting you do all the work.

“Do you like the taste too?” You ask, releasing his hand and watching how he continues to suck his fingers.

“Mhm–” Jay groans with his closed mouth around the digits, making damn sure to suck every bit off.

“You’re pretty, you know that?” You compliment him this time, tearing your eyes from him and slipping your panties down your legs. You turn yourself over so that you’re now bent over the table and you ignore the corner of one of the textbooks poking against your ribs, all in favor of what sound Jay will make when he opens his eyes.

“You can taste more, if you want.” You offer, lifting to look behind you at the way his fingers drop from his mouth and his eyes immediately zone in on your bare pussy displayed for him under your hiked-up skirt.

He does let out a whimper, one that seemed entirely desperate to do just that for you but–he doesn’t move. He just stares, soaking in the words you’re saying, memorizing each fold and dip in your glistening pussy.

You don’t intend to wait though. Reaching behind you, you grab the back of his head by his hair and guide his face to you. The way you can hear his chair tip over as he falls to his knees makes you quiver a bit before him, and you’re almost surprised to not just feel a face against you. It appears that Jay does know what he’s doing.

He instantly jumps into action, loving the feeling of your hand in his hair basically telling him to do it. Giving him that green light, letting him.

You can feel his tongue exploring and his other hand reaching to lift your skirt entirely over your ass. His tongue is soft, warm, wet, and so entirely eager to lick and suck every inch of you. It’s not until he starts allowing his moans to vibrate into your flesh that you hike one of your legs up and open your cunt against his working tongue more.

Guiding him by his hair still, you press his face harshly into you with little to no fight for air from him, and you’re loving it. Loving the way he whines for more when his tongue reaches the furthest limit, loving even more when he finally reaches his hands up to your pussy and spreads it out for himself.

He isn’t even thinking at this moment, just tasting and feeling you guide his tongue as if this is what you wanted all along. The thought alone of someone like you wanting to fuck his tongue like this sets his cock on fire in so many ways. He’s so hard right now that it hurts to think about it at all. Jay doesn’t give a single fuck about how pathetic he must sound to you right now, whimpering and panting against you as if this was the only sweet thing in your apartment he wanted to eat anyway.

You hear a clatter to the floor, knowing for a fact that he’s knocked his glasses off of his face from the angle in which he skewed his neck in order to fuck his tongue into you. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now, because goddamn he’s eating you out like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He’s impressively messy and loud with it too, making you feel as if you must taste like the sweetest thing on earth to him.

For some reason, thinking back to all of the non-sexual situations you’d passively seen Jay in? It turns you on even more. The big-brained student who is constantly making straight As and never going out to parties eats pussy like this? Eats your pussy like this? Better than half of the men you’d already been with? Jay doesn’t miss a single centimeter of it, and you can tell he’s focusing on you more than he has ever focused on his homework or studies before.

You feel so deeply needed at this moment by Jay that all you can do is let out a desperate moan for him. One so that he knows he’s not the only one utterly stunned by the turn of events, but also because you’re fucking loving what he’s doing to you.

With each moan, Jay picks up his pace, using those same two fingers and spreading your cunt out impossibly wider just so he can attempt to bury his tongue deeper into the messy, wet heat you offer. He’s spreading you apart so well that it almost pains you to move without the fear of being torn open by his tongue alone. Your clit has barely even been reached but he still managed to make you feel sensitive to the point of wanting to beat your fists on the table out of sheer frustration for not approaching him sooner.

Not only can he help you pass your classes, but he surely could make you feel like a fucking queen on top of it all, licking you open, up and down, as if he were born and trained for you and you alone? Insane.

“You’re so–” You groan out, releasing his hair from your grip but pressing your ass out more so that you can feel him slip his tongue back to your clit with impossible reach. He continues that, sliding his tongue from your clit to your entrance, dipping in and swirling the muscle before going back to your clit. All while he’s moaning, groaning, and panting against you.

It’s too much, he’s so incredibly eager that you’re honestly too sensitive to let him keep going. You hate it when you pull your hips forward and lift from the table. Your legs are shaking when you do this, and shaking even more when you turn to face him and lean against the table again.

“How–?” You look down at him in pleasant surprise, watching him lick his lips much like you hoped he would. “How are you so good at this?”

Jay is stunned by your question because in all fairness, he’s only ever eaten a girl out once and like, it wasn’t that great because she made him stop within like a minute. He wasn’t really thinking about what to do with you though, or how to do it. He just…did it. That’s all. So obsessed with the taste and smell of you to the point he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He’d still be licking you right now if you didn’t move away.

“I–don’t know.” He shamefully admits, nonchalantly moving his hands to his pants and unbuttoning them. Not to fuck you or anything, mostly just to release his cock from the chokehold of the denim rubbing against him.

“You’re lying.” You deadpan, running your hand between your legs and quivering the moment your fingers run over your swollen clit. “There’s no way you haven’t practiced doing this.” You gasp, looking at him as if no other man exists.

He shakes his head, looking up at you from the floor with innocent eyes. His lips are wet, his eyes are hooded, his hair sticking up from your fingers guiding him– it’s a lot to see him like this when you’ve only ever seen him as that goody-two-shoes student who doesn’t know how to have fun. Clearly, Jay knows how to have fun.

Your gaze on him makes him feel more bashful as he looks down to the floor, feeling embarrassed that you’re praising a complete amateur at this.

Using your leg, you nudge him.

“You did all of that and didn’t even touch yourself?” You ask in curiosity, noting how he had only just now undone his pants to relieve pressure. “Let me see it.” You say again, almost demanding as you hop up on the table and spread your legs even more.

Frantic at your tone of voice, Jay stumbles to his feet and pushes his pants down to his thighs. His cock springs out and stands erect in front of you. You could stare all day, honestly. Jay, of all people? He’s the one with a cock this big? He’s the one with a size that could make you feel as if you’re being split in half? Well, fuck.

“God.” You comment, mouth falling open at the way it twitches in mid-air. “All of the girls would be fucking swooning, Jay, really.” You get a bit flustered yourself because only now do you understand who you just seduced and what he’s got to offer outside of brains.

In all of his shyness, Jay hides his face from you again despite his cock out in all of its glory. Your mouth could honestly start watering if he hadn’t just eaten you out to the point of needing him to stop. Meaning, your throat is too dry right now to start drooling.

Without another thought, you pull your shirt and bra off all in one go. No way in hell is he leaving without fucking you stupid with a cock like that. Absolutely no fucking way would you let this go to waste.

“When’s the last time you’ve done anything with a girl?” You ask now, reaching for his arm and pulling his gaze back towards you, now almost completely naked save for your skirt hiked up to your waist.

Jay stares at you again, much like he did when you spread your legs in front of him, this time zoning in on the way your nipples are erect and begging for his mouth to be put to use again. He nearly forgets that you’re talking to him because of the way you’ve presented yourself to him. The reality is right in front of his face, but he still wonders if this must be a dream.

“I–um– right out of high school before she broke up with me,” He says in a lazy voice, slightly raspy. It sounds as if it doesn’t even matter to him because he is so focused on you in front of him. “I’ve only had sex two times.”

“Aw–” You pitifully look at him. “What a waste, you’re such a pretty boy.” You coo, wiggling your hips as if to entice his cock to make its way towards you. “You’ve got the brains and the cock for it. You must feel so neglected.”

All he does is nod, because yes, he does feel fucking neglected, partly because he let it happen and mostly because he knows he doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Right now, Jay could genuinely start crying if you keep talking to him like this though. He can’t tell if you’re mocking him or being genuine, but the only thing he wants to do is bury his cock so deeply inside of you that all you can do is moan out mantras of how pretty he is again. He wants to hear you moan over how much time has been wasted without his cock inside of you, how badly you’d want him again and again after this.

You can see his facial expressions change every few seconds and to be fair, your body yearns to be filled. With the way he is looking at you, there’s no way he doesn’t want to.

“Wanna fuck me, Jongie?” You ask, realizing that you much prefer calling him this rather than his full name because he seems to lean directly into it.

“God,” He sighs out, hanging his head to look at the way his cock still stands painfully erect throughout the conversation. “Can I?” He asks now, making eye contact with you through pleading eyes.

You reach out for him, grabbing his waist and pressing his cock directly against your core. You lean your head back a bit to look at him and the way his eyes sear straight through your own. His pupils are dilated, his cheeks are rosy, and his lips are glistening. You lick against them, and the way he immediately starts to kiss you makes you think he’s a liar. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth regardless of where it is. His tongue presses into your mouth so beautifully that you genuinely could argue that this man has only ever had sex twice.

Maybe he’s a natural?

Jay knows exactly when to grind his cock between your folds, knows exactly when to pull back to kiss your neck, and knows exactly how to lean you back with his hand protecting the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam against the table.

He slips his cock so beautifully as he trails his kisses to your tits too, suckling gently against one of your nipples before he nearly can’t stand it anymore. He’s in his own world, barely recognizing that he’s not the only one experiencing this right now.

With an eager hand, Jay grabs his cock and presses it directly into you without waiting any longer. He isn’t slow or gentle with it. You can feel how desperate he is solely because of the way he can’t seem to fathom taking it slow. He doesn’t let you adjust, no. The second the head of that thick cock slips in he’s slamming in. All the way, forcing a yelp from your throat and a tight grip to his back.

He’s lost himself in the moment and you’re loving it. Loving the way his tongue picks up against your nipples, and the way there is no rhythm or rhyme to his thrusts. His size alone is enough for you, and you can admit to loving every single push and pull his body is offering.

The room is silent save for his whimpers, your gasps, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin. You’re quick to wrap a leg around his waist so that when he presses in again, you can force him to stay in place, if just to let him genuinely feel what it’s like to have a pussy clenching around him.

“You feel it?” You groan out, feeling his teeth pinch against your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body.

He nods frantically, pulling your nipple with his lips as he does it. You can tell he’s drooling, wetting your chest in such an embarrassing way, but he’s so–Jay. He’s Jay. This is Jay.

You watch his face and the way he winces with each pulse of your hole quivering around the sheer size of him, and you coo out at him when his cock twitches in response. As if you can handle yourself right now, as if he can too.

Neither of you can comprehend the pleasure.

“Can’t believe I get to be your third.” You sing out. “You’re so good, so–”

“S-stop talking, fuck-” Jay calls out in a broken and choked gasp, feeling too turned on by the way you speak. He can’t help it when he forces his hips to move against the pressure of your leg trying to keep him in place. This time he fucks at a quicker pace. His mouth falls open against your breast and his hands shoot to your waist as he pulls himself up and opens his eyes.

He watches the way your sticky cunt coats him as he slides in and out of you, fingers pressing so hard into your hips that you feel he could be bruising you.

You’re so in awe of him losing complete control that you want nothing more than to cum with him inside of you. You quickly reach your hand down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive spot almost to the point that you could start crying out at how painful it truly is at this moment. You’ve never been this sensitive for a man, and yet, you’re coming undone beneath him and nearly losing as much control as he has.

A mess of moans and groans is filling the room as Jay chases his high, and you are at the point that you want to say the nicest and dirtiest things to him out of sheer arousal. So you do, you talk, and you talk. Whispers of “girls would die to be fucked by you,” turn to screams of, “yeah, fuck Jongie, just like that!”

It wasn’t until you moaned out, “Cum with me, now, Jongie, I can’t hold it–” when Jay ’s hips stuttered and his eyes closed tightly in a frustrated groan. “Stop–” He grunts, hips pressing impossibly hard against you. To the point that you scoot up on the table. “Stop, I’m–” He groans again, attempting to pull out so that he can release against your pulsing and empty pussy.

But you don’t let him.

Your legs hold him in place as you release your clit and pull yourself up on your arms just to grab against his neck and pull him down with you against the table.

“Cum in me.” You nearly demand, holding his face so that he can’t look away from you.

You watch the way his pupils dilate more at the words and you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you. Then? His pupils are gone. He’s rolling his eyes back now, looking so fucking beautiful while doing it.

Jay’s eyebrows fall much like his mouth does when he cums. His hips are frantic but his face looks calm, and not a single sound releases from his lips. His breath is caught in his throat with each twitch, shooting ropes into you so deeply that you feel each wave of his pleasure hitting your cervix.

You’re very quick to rub your clit again, harsh and rough circles being amplified by the way his abdomen adds pressure to your hand with each push of his cock in you. It sends you over edge so fast, even he feels the clench, choking out each spurt of his remaining orgasm.

You grab onto him harshly now, without a thought in your head besides kissing him. He kisses you back, realizing that despite having sex before, this may be the first time he’s ever made a girl cum. It’s certainly the first time he’s ever felt his cock being tugged by the walls of a pussy as it works itself through an orgasm, anyway.

Crazy thing is…he’s not done. Like, he can’t stop cumming. Lasting entirely far too long and far past sensitivity. Jay opens his eyes to look at you when you’re reaching the end of your own orgasm, all while he’s still filling you up, and even feeling his load bubble out from around him with each tight thrust. Your voice is beautifully raspy, and the way you hold onto him makes him feel like you should never let go.

Upon his ears popping and finally emptied, he genuinely feels the mess between the two of you. Quickly, he pulls back and notes that the hem of his shirt is absolutely fucking soaked. In an attempt to take a small step back in order to remove himself from you, he nearly trips over his pants that had fallen to his ankles.

“Oh.” You laugh, wincing as you feel his cock leave you empty. “Probably should have undressed you.” Your eyes sparkle at the large damp spot, nearly making his shirt entirely see-through from just how soaked it really is.

Jay steps out of his pants silently and just kind of stands there awkwardly, watching the cum spill from you. Then panic spreads across his face.

“Um,” He croaks out, voice cracking almost immediately. “I– I couldn’t pull out…I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want you to.” You soothe him, noting how he’s right back to his awkward and shy persona the moment he’s finished fucking you. “It’s fine, I’m protected” You confirm for him, just to see the relief replace that panic.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“So–” You comment, looking down at the wrinkled papers in front of you. “You really expect me to try and write at least 1200 words tonight?”

Jay tilts his head at you, sitting with a blanket covering his entire body as his clothes go through the cycles of a wash. “If we hadn’t gotten off track, you could already be almost done with it.”

“God, you are such a fucking bore.” You laugh, shivering at the cold air hitting your bare skin. “I’m literally naked right now and you’re making me do this right now?”

“Finish your paper and we can talk about that. Besides, I kind of need to recover for more than thirty minutes from that, you know? I’m sensitive.” He shoots back, not afraid to sound as embarrassing as he truly is now.

To his surprise, you nod with a cheeky smirk. Promising you any amount of him after what happened was enough to force your focus on your school work for now at least. Just because he did it once doesn’t mean he will always want to fuck stupid girls. If anything, Jay deserves someone who respects his work ethic and need to help others right? The huge cock is just a bonus when you think about it.

You know it’s going to be a hell of a month after tonight, but for the most part, you think that studying with Jay may have been your best college decision to date. You can learn a lot from him, and apparently... he can learn from you too. You just hope he doesn’t run off and use that knowledge on other girls once he realizes he’s definitely got the ability to break hearts.

#enhypen smut #jay smut #park jongseong smut #jay park smut #enhypen hard hours

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luveline · 4 months ago

Note

Hotch’s little sister x Spencer, they gang up on her about her safety or health or something, and she’s like “I’m happy you’re getting along, but don’t love getting ganged up on” 😂

You thought that when things between Spencer and Aaron finally became less awkward again, things would be easier. It was never your intention to drive a wedge between them, but perhaps it’s not your fault.

After all, Spencer’s the one who chose to date his boss’s younger sister. That was his idea.

Of course, you ate up his flirting and agreed to all your dates, but still. Spencer’s fault for sure. So why are you in trouble?

“Honey, I’m honestly a little surprised with you.” Aaron takes a deep breath. “It was a completely unnecessary course of action.”

Surprised with you is more apt than he realises. “Wait a second, what?” You’d known you were in for a scolding from his weird text, but you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“You went for a walk in the city alone at midnight?” Aaron frowns. “Have you learned nothing from me?”

“How do you know I went for a walk?”

Aaron raises his eyebrows. You look out of the window of his office and straight into the guilty face of your boyfriend. He has the decency not to look away, at least. “Spencer told you that?”

“He did.”

You meet the big, soft, beautiful brown eyes of your lovely boyfriend and quirk a finger at him for him to join you in the office.

“Don’t start, honey.”

“Aaron, I’m allowed to go for a walk.”

“In the city? In the middle of the night?” Aaron gives you another unimpressed eyebrow raise. You glare at him, not fond of being questioned.

“I had my phone.”

He pinches his brow.

“Aaron, what’s up with you? I’m well within my rights to go for a walk. I wanted to clear my head. I didn’t go down any side alleys.”

“You realise you’re being defensive with me because you know it was a silly thing to do.”

You bristle. The door opens and honestly seeing Spencer’s little frown makes you more annoyed than you had been. “Spencer, why would you tell him my business?”

“It came up in conversation?” he tries.

“Spencer.”

“I was concerned! You can’t just walk around at night in the city by yourself! Who knows what could’ve happened to you, and Hotch agrees with me, it’s too dangerous…” He bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to tattle, and I don’t want to tell you what you can or can’t do.”

“But I can,” Aaron says. “We all know you’re aware of the danger you put yourself in. Please, don’t do it again.”

“I feel like I just went back in time a hundred years,” you say.

“It’s an antiquated attitude, but it’s, you know, grounded firmly in reality,” Spencer says, and you’re surprised to find he isn’t shying away from you now. “It’s reckless. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“It would destroy me,” Aaron says without preamble. “Honey. Please, you can’t do that again, especially without telling someone where you’re going. What if somebody hurt you?”

You pause to digest what he’s saying. He’d profiled you correctly before —you’re defensive because you already knew you were taking a risk, and you knew if he found out this is how he would react. You hadn’t suspected Spencer would rat you out, but it’s not like he’d been very happy when he learned about it for the first time either.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” you ask. “You’re going to gang up on me whenever I do something stupid.”

Aaron’s smile is forgiving and a little bit sorry, too, “I didn’t say stupid, did I?”

“Reckless,” Spencer supplies.

“Well. At least you’re both getting along again.”

“That’s yet to be seen,” Aaron says quickly.

You wave a hand at Aaron in the universal sign for shut up and turn your full attention to Spencer where he’s laughing in the doorway. You push him out by the chest, not bothering to wait for the office door to close before you start in on him. “That was confidential information, Spencer Reid, which you were privy to as a boyfriend, and not my brother's colleague and conspirator.”

“I’m sorry.” He smiles, and he’s sincere. “I just knew you’d listen to him.”

Ugh. Stupid profilers. “Sure, I’ve listened. Now I’m extremely upset and in need of lunch.”

“Where do you wanna go? I’ll buy,” Spencer says immediately.

That’s more like it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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bellaveux · 2 months ago

Text

be my mistake | n. romanoff x reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: three years have passed since the divorce, since natasha hurt you and over time, you found yourself reflecting on the struggles you both went through, both as a couple and apart from each other. revisiting memories with your family draw you and natasha closer than you’ve been in years.

content warnings: lots of angst, hurt/comfort??, cheating, insecure!reader, mentions of alcohol/drinking, implied smut, wanda being a good friend (pls let me know if i’m missing anything else i can’t tell)

word count: 19.8k

It had been three long years since everything fell apart between you and Natasha. Three years since the day you packed your bags, gathered your daughters, and walked away from the life you’d built together. The split wasn’t clean. It wasn’t one of those polite, quiet divorces that people talk about when they’ve simply grown apart. No, yours was loud, raw, and full of hurt. You could still remember the echo of your arguments, the way her voice would crack when she begged for forgiveness, and the silence that always followed afterward—heavy, suffocating. That silence weighed more than the words ever did.

Natasha had tried. She really had. For a while, after the it happened, she did everything to make amends, to erase what she had done. But it wasn’t something you could erase. It wasn’t something you could forgive right then, no matter how hard she tried to make things right. You’d given her so many chances to explain, so many opportunities to show you that the Natasha you fell in love with was still there.

But each time, all you could see was the betrayal, the moment she chose someone else over you.

For her, it was a mistake—something that happened once and never again. But for you, it was a scar, a wound that never healed. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t let her back in. You didn’t know if you ever could again. And she knew it, even though she didn’t want to accept it. There were moments, though, when Natasha still looked at you with that same longing, the same desperation she had the night you left her. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, back to when you were her partner, her wife, her everything.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

No matter how much she tried to show you that she had changed, the past still lingered between you, like a shadow that refused to leave. Even now, after all this time, there was still a part of her that couldn’t accept that things would never be the same. You saw it in her eyes every time she picked up the girls, every time she lingered a little too long at the door, as if hoping you might invite her in, ask her to stay. But you never did. You couldn’t allow it, not after everything. It had been hard. Painful, even. Co-parenting with someone who had broken your heart, who had shattered the life you thought you’d have together, was an agony all its own. But you had to do it, for your girls, Nina and Lily. They needed you both, and you would never let your pain come between them and their mothers. Even if it meant seeing Natasha more often than you wanted. Even if it meant reopening old wounds every time her name appeared on your phone, or when your girls came home with stories about the time they’d spent with her.

And the first year after the divorce was hell for Natasha. She tried everything in her power to get you back—flowers, letters, showing up at the house at odd hours, always begging for another chance. She couldn’t accept that it was over. Every time she saw you, even in the briefest of moments, she could see the pain in your eyes, the devastation her betrayal had caused. It tore her apart. She had broken something precious, something she didn’t know how to fix, and yet she kept trying. She was relentless, desperate to rewind the clock, to undo what couldn’t be undone.

But the more she tried, the more tired you looked. The weight of it all was etched into your face, exhaustion hanging over you like a dark cloud. Your bright eyes, full of life and love, had dimmed. The smile that had once been hers was gone, replaced by a coldness that froze her out. And with every desperate plea, every attempt to reach you, she realized she was only making it worse. You weren’t healing. You couldn’t, not with her constantly in your space, constantly pulling at the wounds she’d caused.

By the second year, Natasha finally saw it. You needed space, needed time to mend, and she wasn’t helping at all. So, she stopped. Stopped the flowers, the late-night phone calls, the messages begging for you to forgive her, telling you she loved you. She stopped trying to push her way back into your life because it was only making things harder for you.

She watched from a distance instead, in silence.

But despite the distance she put between you both, she couldn’t stop loving you. She could never. It was something she couldn’t turn off, no matter how hard she tried. Even when she forced herself to stay away, her heart still ached for you in a way that nothing else could heal. You were everywhere—in the way her daughters smiled, in the moments when she was alone with her thoughts. She’d think of you when she’d go to the grocery store, remembering all the food you liked and didn’t like. She’d think of you at night when she’s in bed, always moving closer to your side of the bed, imagining you were still there with her. And even though she knew she had to let you go for your own sake, a part of her would always be tethered to you. It didn’t matter how much time passed. She could never stop loving you, no matter how much it hurt.

It’s been three years now. Three long, heavy years since the divorce. But in the wake of it, as the dust settled and the hurt slowly gave way to something manageable, a routine. One that neither of you ever explicitly discussed, maybe just briefly, but one that simply came to be, like a truce.

And Natasha hadn’t been with anyone since then. She hadn’t even entertained the idea. There were no late-night flings, no fleeting attempts to fill the void. Because how could she? How could anyone compare to the life she had built with you, even though it had crumbled? It had been such a stupid mistake on her part when it happened, and she promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen again, even if you didn’t want her anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to be with anyone else, and deep down, she knew it was because part of her was still yours.

Nina and Lily, your two little girls, were the threads that still tied you and Natasha together. Nina, with her wild curls and mischievous grin, only four but already full of curiosity and energy, was in preschool. Lily, more thoughtful, quieter but with an infectious laugh, had just started first grade. They were young, their lives filled with playdates, scribbled drawings, and the occasional scraped knee. They didn’t fully understand why Mommy and Mama lived in different houses now, why they didn’t all sit together at the table for dinner anymore. But they adjusted in their own way.

Natasha would pick them up from school most afternoons when she can. You’d drop them off in the mornings, coffee in hand, always on the way to work. You were working now. You didn’t really work that much when you were pregnant with the girls and Natasha always insisted on taking care of you. On weekends when Natasha didn’t have a mission or some urgent task pulling her away, she’d have them over at her place. They’d spend Saturday nights watching movies or baking cookies, or playing games until they were all too tired to continue. And then Sunday morning, she would make them pancakes, the same way you used to. It was a rhythm that worked, one that kept things steady for Nina and Lily, even when things between you and Natasha remained unresolved.

Every time Natasha saw them, it tugged at her heart. The way Lily looked at her with those wide, innocent eyes, so full of trust. The way Nina giggled when Natasha spun her around, her tiny hands reaching up to her mother like nothing had ever changed. They were growing so fast, right in front of her, and yet Natasha couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through her fingers. Three years had gone by in the blink of an eye, and even though things were better—smoother—between the two of you now, that gnawing regret never fully left her.

But for the girls, she stayed strong. She showed up, she stuck to the routine. It was the least she could do, even if, when the weekends were over and she dropped them back at your place, she found herself lingering just a second too long, watching as you took their small hands and guided them back inside. Wondering if, somehow, it could have all been different.

The sun hung low in the sky as Natasha drove through familiar streets, the scent of fast food wafting through the car, mingling with the laughter of her daughters in the backseat. The afternoon light cast a golden glow on the girls’ faces, illuminating Nina’s bright eyes and Lily’s gentle smile as they excitedly talked about their day.

But as the laughter filled the car, Nina’s innocent question pierced through the cheerful atmosphere, shattering the fragile bubble they had created.

“Mama, why don’t you sleep at home with us anymore?”

The question hung in the air and Natasha’s heart dropped, the warmth evaporating in an instant. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing a smile that felt painfully strained. Silence enveloped them, thick with heavy emotions and memories she wished she could shield her daughters from. She glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Nina’s expectant gaze, a small frown tugging at her lips as she awaited an answer.

“Um, well…” Natasha began, her voice faltering. “You know, Mama has… a lot of work to do. Sometimes it’s just easier for me to sleep at my own place.”

Even as she spoke, the lie twisted in her stomach, sharp and uncomfortable. She could see the flicker of disappointment in Nina’s eyes, a reflection of the confusion and sadness that still lingered between the lines of their new normal.

Lily, sensing the shift in the mood, chimed in, “We can share a bed, Mama!”

Natasha smiled softly, fighting back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Thank you, baby, but… this is how things are for now.”

Her heart clenched at Lily’s innocent declaration, each word a dagger piercing deeper into her already heavy heart. The car felt suddenly suffocating, filled with the echoes of memories and unresolved feelings. The gentle hum of the car faded into the background, and all she could hear was the soft thrum of her daughters’ voices and the relentless reminder of the pain they were all carrying.

“My bed is big enough!” Lily insisted again, her eyes wide with hope. “And I think Mommy misses you, too. Sometimes, I see her crying at night.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. The image of you, alone in the dark, tears glistening on your cheeks, tore through her defenses, a reminder of the consequences of her choices. Guilt washed over her, crashing down with a force that made it hard to breathe.

“Sweetheart,” Natasha said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she fought to maintain her composure, “It’s okay for Mommy to be sad sometimes, you know? We all feel sad sometimes.”

“But I don’t want her to be sad,” Lily replied, her voice small and earnest. “We could go to Auntie Wanda’s cabin and have ice cream parties and movie nights like before!”

The wistfulness in Lily’s tone echoed Natasha’s own desires, the aching wish to turn back the clock and reclaim the happiness they had once shared. But Natasha knew that life was never that simple.

“I know, baby,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “And I want that too. We just… have to be patient.”

Lily frowned, her small brows knitting together in confusion. “Do you still love mommy?”

The question hung in the air. Her heart raced, and she glanced at her daughters in the rearview mirror, the truth of her feelings spilling over like an unguarded secret.

“Of course I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t hesitate.

Nina chimed in, her conviction unwavering. “Maybe if we all hug and give her lots of kisses, she won’t be sad anymore!”

She wanted to laugh at the sheer innocence of their logic, but it only deepened the ache in her chest. “I don’t think it’s that simple, baby.”

Lily tilted her head, her expression earnest and unwavering. “But, we’re a family, and families love each other.”

Natasha only smiled.

As they continued down the road, the fading sunlight cast warm shadows in the car, but the weight of their words settled heavily in Natasha’s chest. Lily fell silent soon after, her small face pensive as she stared out the window, the world outside a blur of colors. Natasha’s heart ached for her, wishing desperately that she could turn back time, wishing that the nights spent apart didn’t feel like an insurmountable distance.

As she pulled up to your house, the familiar flutter of anxiety danced in her stomach. She could hear the muffled giggles of her girls in the backseat, their excitement palpable as they chattered more about their day. But as she stepped out of the car and approached the front door, her heart began to race for a different reason entirely.

When you opened the door, Natasha felt the air shift around her. There you stood, framed in the soft glow of the entryway light, and her breath caught in her throat. You were breathtaking, wearing an elegant black dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric glimmered subtly as you moved, catching the light with each breath. Your hair was fixed neatly by your shoulders, and your makeup was flawlessly applied.

For a moment, Natasha was transported back to the nights when the two of you would dress up for special occasions, the thrill of anticipation sparking between you. But now, that thrill was laced with an ache that felt as sharp as it was familiar.

“Hi, mommy!” Lily squealed, bursting with energy as she darted past you into the house, closely followed by Nina, who gave you a quick hug before joining her sister.

“Hey, girls,” you greeted them softly, your voice warm but tinged with an undercurrent of something unspoken. You stepped back to allow them inside, your gaze flickering to Natasha, who stood momentarily rooted to the spot, taking in the sight of you.

Without breaking eye contact, you rushed over to the mirror that hung just inside the entryway, your movements quick and graceful as you fumbled with your earrings. Natasha’s heart ached at the sight, realizing how beautifully you carried yourself, even through the chaos of their past. She walked inside hesitantly, closing the front door behind her, swallowing the lump in her throat as she slowly walked further in.

“Wow, Mommy! You look so pretty!” Nina beamed.

“Thank you, honey,” you replied with a soft smile, your voice brightening as you turned your attention to the girls.

Natasha lingered by the wall, unsure of what to do with her hands as the girls raced off into the living room, their laughter filling the house with warmth. She listened when you asked the girls quick questions about their day at school, but all she could focus on was you. She stood there, still as a statue, her fingers brushing nervously over the seam of her jacket, as her eyes found you again.

You moved gracefully through the hallway, your dress shimmering faintly with each step. She felt a pang in her chest, something akin to longing but deeper, more raw. She hadn’t seen you like this in so long—dressed up, glowing, completely at ease in your skin. Her breath hitched slightly, catching on the memories that rose unbidden in her mind, of nights when she’d watch you just like this, mesmerized by the smallest of movements. You never failed to amaze her every time.

But now, it feels different. There was a distance between you that wasn’t just physical, and Natasha could feel it more sharply than ever. Yet, despite the distance, she found herself rooted in place, unable to tear her gaze away. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling awkward and out of place, like a visitor in what was once her home.

You hadn’t said much since opening the door, offering a quiet greeting before slipping back into the rhythm of your routine. But it didn’t matter. Natasha’s thoughts were too loud to be drowned out by small talk anyway. All she could think about was how beautiful you looked, how effortless you made everything seem. The curve of your neck as you bent slightly to adjust your earring, the way your lips pressed together in concentration—it all made her feel like a stranger witnessing something intimate, something she no longer had the right to witness. For a moment, her fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out, to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin under her palm. But she held herself back, knowing that her place in your life now was nothing like it used to be. Instead, she remained where she was, standing awkwardly by the wall, her heart heavy with unspoken words and feelings she didn’t know how to express anymore.

You must have felt her staring, because you glanced up at her briefly from where you stood by the mirror. The moment your eyes met, Natasha felt a surge of emotion that almost knocked the wind out of her—regret, longing, admiration—all tangled together. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t find the words to say anything. What could she say, anyway? Nothing would change the fact that she was the reason things were the way they were.

And yet, she couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you were. How beautiful you’d always been. How you’d managed to slip right out of her fingers.

Natasha’s hands twitched at her sides, the yearning almost unbearable as she watched you. The way your dress hugged your frame, the soft curve of your neck as you finished adjusting your earrings—it stirred something deep inside her, a longing so fierce it nearly took her breath away. She wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you and wrap you in her arms. She wanted to hold you like she used to, when everything was easier, when you were hers and there was no wall of hurt between you.

But now, it feels impossible. Every time she considered moving closer, something stopped her—the guilt, the regret, the knowledge that she no longer had the right to that kind of intimacy with you. Not after everything. Not after the way things had ended, fractured by her own mistakes.

Still, the desire was overwhelming, almost painful. She couldn’t help it—her eyes followed the way your fingers brushed against your collarbone as you fixed a stray hair, and her heart ached with the thought of reaching out, of pulling you against her, of whispering that she was sorry, that she had never stopped loving you. God, she wanted to hold you so badly. Just for a moment. Just to feel that connection again, to remind herself that once, not too long ago, you had been hers.

But instead, then she saw you struggling with the clasp of your necklace.

Her hesitation was palpable as she took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. Her heart pounded in her chest, every movement deliberate and slow, like she was afraid that even the air between you was fragile. She saw you fumble with the clasp of your necklace, your fingers shaking ever so slightly in your rush. Her own hands twitched, the need to help overwhelming her, but she hesitated for a beat longer. She wasn’t sure she had the right to step into your space, to touch you again, even for something as simple as this.

But when you let out a frustrated huff, she took a breath and moved closer, her presence soft but undeniable as she stood just behind you. Gently, her fingers brushed against your skin, so light you might not have even felt it at first. Carefully, she took the delicate chain from your hands and closed the clasp at the back of your neck.

Her touch lingered just a second too long. She couldn’t help it. The warmth of your skin under her fingers, the proximity, the way your scent filled her senses—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. The faint scent of your perfume washed over her, and it hit her all at once. You smelled exactly the way she remembered, like something warm and comforting, but with an edge that made her dizzy. It was intoxicating. She glanced up for just a moment, catching your reflection in the mirror, but her eyes dropped quickly, too scared to meet yours. She didn’t trust herself to look into your eyes and not say everything she was feeling. It felt like a betrayal of her own heart to be this close to you, yet still so far away. Her hands fell back to her sides, clenched into soft fists, fighting the urge to keep touching you. She stepped back, quietly swallowing the ache that seemed to settle in her chest.

“You look beautiful,” Natasha breathes, almost afraid to say the words, but it came out before she could even think about it.

“Thank you,” you said quickly, your voice barely more than a whisper, the quiet words hanging in the air.

She froze for a split second, the simple phrase sending an unexpected ripple through her. It was such a small thing—a polite acknowledgement, nothing more—but to her, it felt loaded with everything that had been left unsaid for years. Then, she forced a small smile, though you couldn’t see it, her eyes still fixed downward as she stepped back from you.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice just as soft, though it felt like a lie. She wasn’t welcome. Not anymore.

She watched as you turned back to the mirror, adjusting your hair slightly and smoothing the fabric of your dress. You looked beautiful—breathtaking, really—but all she could focus on was the sadness in your quiet thank you. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but no words came. Instead, Natasha let the silence speak for her, the tension between you heavy and unresolved, much like everything that had been left behind.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Natasha asked, trying to keep her voice light, though it came out more strained than she intended.

The words had been on the tip of her tongue the moment she saw you in that dress, but she hated herself for asking, for making it sound so casual when the question felt like it was burning her from the inside.

You released a small huff, something resembling a smile flickering at the corners of your mouth, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see the way her jaw clenched in the mirror.

“It’s just a work thing,” you muttered, turning slightly in the mirror as if to busy yourself with something else, but Natasha could tell it was an attempt to deflect the conversation. You had always done that—shrugged things off when they felt too heavy, too personal.

But Natasha wasn’t stupid. She knew it wasn’t just a work thing. She could feel it in her gut, the way you said it so softly, so dismissively. And yet, she didn’t push. Couldn’t. Instead, she let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it.

“Well, you look really nice,” she added, her voice a bit more gentle now, her eyes softening as they roamed over you once more. She hated how small her words felt, like she was grasping for something, anything, to make sense of the distance between you.

You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, almost absentmindedly, still adjusting the clasp of your earrings. Natasha stood there, helpless, her hands twitching at her sides as she watched you prepare to leave for an evening that didn’t involve her anymore. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—this ache of wanting you, this regret that sat like a stone in her chest.

You glanced at her, your eyes flickering with indecision before they darted to the clock on the wall.

“Shit, I forgot to text the babysitter,” you muttered, already pulling out your phone. You were halfway through typing the message when Natasha’s voice cut through the quiet tension of the room.

“I can watch them,” she offered quickly, almost too quickly, like she had been waiting for the opportunity. There was a soft urgency in her tone, something that made your fingers pause over the screen.

You hesitated, looking at her fully now, your gaze searching her face. She stood there, trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flickered between you and the door, as if bracing herself for your response. It wasn’t the first time she had offered, but something about tonight—about her standing there, in your home, so close yet feeling so far away—made you hesitate.

“Natasha, it’s so last minute, and you’re probably busy—“

“I’m not busy.”

There was silence.

“Are you sure?” you said, your voice trailing off. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her with the kids, in fact, you trusted her with the girls more than anyone.

“Of course. I promise, I’ll make sure they’re asleep by the time you get back,” Natasha said softly, taking a small step closer, as if to bridge the gap between you.

You lingered for a moment longer, the phone still in your hand, thumb hovering over the screen. Natasha stood there, waiting, her gaze steady but gentle, almost like she was afraid to breathe too loudly in case you changed your mind. There was a hesitation in the air, thick with all the memories and tension that seemed to live between the two of you now.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “Okay,” you murmured, the word coming out soft but resigned. “But only if you’re sure.”

Natasha nodded immediately, as if there had never been a question. “I’m sure.”

You watched her for a moment, still not quite as sure as she was, but there was something about the way she looked at you that made you relent. Maybe it was the familiarity of her presence, or the way she always seemed so certain when it came to the girls. You wanted to believe it would be fine, that it wouldn’t hurt to let her help, just this once.

“Alright,” you said again, this time a little firmer. You tucked your phone away, glancing toward the living room where the girls’ voices echoed softly in the distance. “I might be back late, though.”

“I can handle it,” Natasha reassured you with a small smile, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Relief, maybe. “You go have fun.”

You nodded, still hesitant but knowing that you had little choice now. With one last glance at her, you grabbed your purse from the table and walked toward the door, feeling Natasha’s eyes on you the whole way. Just before you left, you stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at her one more time.

“Okay,” you said quietly. Natasha didn’t respond right away, just gave you a small nod, her eyes soft, watching you like she was still trying to figure out if this was real.

Your phone buzzed with a sudden chime, the noise breaking through the quiet air between you and Natasha. You flinched just slightly, caught off guard, but Natasha’s eyes never left you. That unwavering stare, intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—regret, longing, maybe both—lingered as you glanced down at your phone.

“Oh, that’s… my coworker. She’s here to pick me up…” you said softly, reading the message on the screen.

You didn’t look up immediately, feeling the weight of Natasha’s gaze settle over you like a thick blanket, almost suffocating. There was another beat of silence, her expression barely changing, though something flickered in her eyes at the word “she.” It was so subtle, you almost missed it. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she just nodded once, stiffly, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the tension in the air shift.

You turned toward the door again, suddenly aware of how small the space between the two of you felt. The air was heavy, like it held all the words neither of you had said over the years. You hesitated, hand on the knob, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Natasha’s voice, soft but strained, reached you before you could turn the handle. “Be safe tonight.”

You froze, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. They were simple, but coming from her, you knew they meant so much more.

As you stepped out of the house and closed the door behind you, the cool evening air hit your skin, and for a moment, you paused on the front steps. You could hear the muffled sounds of the girls laughing inside, and the thought of leaving them for some work party made your heart twist.

Truth be told, you didn’t even want to go. The idea of mingling, making small talk, pretending everything was fine—it felt exhausting before it even started. But your coworkers had been persistent, insisting you needed to get out more, that it would be good for you. They meant well, of course. They saw the toll the divorce had taken on you, how the weight of it had settled into your bones, leaving you quieter, more withdrawn. And though you tried to hide it, the loneliness was written all over your face. They probably thought this was what you needed—a night of distraction, a chance to be someone other than the person who had been left shattered after everything fell apart. But standing there, under the dim glow of the porch light, you felt a tug in your chest, a sense of dread thinking about the night ahead.

Natasha lingered in your thoughts as always, the way she had silently helped you with your necklace, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin sending shivers down your spine. You hated to admit it, but you missed her soft touches, her gentle smile, the way she would look at you like you held her world in your hands. The more you thought about it, you realized that it never really went away. And that look in her eyes, the one she always tried to hide but never quite could—it haunted you now as you made your way toward the car waiting at the curb.

With a sigh, you slipped into the passenger seat, greeting your friend with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As the car pulled away, you found yourself staring out the window, thinking not about the party or the people waiting for you there, but about the house you had just left—the home you used to share with Natasha, the life you once had before everything fell apart. Maybe tonight would be a distraction, or maybe it would just be another reminder of everything you’d lost. Either way, it felt like one more step away from her, and that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You were grateful for your friends—those who always wanted to help you after what happened.

Wanda was the one who helped you through most of it.

In the beginning, when everything felt like it was crumbling beneath you, Wanda had been there. She’d been the first to know what had happened with Natasha—the first to see the hurt blooming in your eyes, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, even when you tried so hard to sound strong. When she’d found out, Wanda was so angry, her fury simmering just beneath her skin. Word traveled quickly at the compound; someone must’ve overheard. But you’d heard, too, about how she’d cornered Natasha, her voice cold and sharp, her words unforgiving.

“Why did you do it?” Wanda had demanded of Natasha, her tone somewhere between outrage and heartbreak, and the confrontation left Natasha speechless, stripped of the practiced poise that she carried like armor. You never wanted to know all of what was said, but the rumors filled in the gaps; Wanda’s words were scathing, a fierce defense of the person Natasha had hurt most. She was protective, fiercely loyal, and in that moment, you felt the strength of a bond you hadn’t fully appreciated until you needed it most.

And it wasn’t just the initial shock, either—Wanda stayed. She kept you afloat on the days when the hurt felt too deep, kept you from slipping further into the void of your own heartbreak. She had this way of knowing when the silence was too heavy, when you needed to be pulled from the edge of your own emotions. She never let you wallow, and yet she didn’t rush you to move on either; she’d bring you back, her voice gentle, but firm, reminding you that you were stronger than this pain, that you’d heal, that you still had so much left to give to the world.

When the decision for a divorce finally weighed heavy on you, Wanda was the first person you told. The words had come out choked, but clear, and though she didn’t say much at first, her hand had reached for yours, holding it tightly as you tried to steady yourself. She kept asking if you were sure, her eyes steady, searching yours for any trace of doubt or hesitation. She knew you loved Natasha. And she knew Natasha was madly in love with you. But she wanted you to be certain, not out of judgment, but out of a desire to protect you, to make sure you weren’t making a decision you’d regret. She knew the depths of your love for Natasha and how much this was costing you; she wanted you to find peace in your choice, even if that peace felt miles away.

She had always been quietly supportive, even when things between you and Natasha fell apart. She never pried, never asked too many questions, but she had a way of knowing when you needed someone. You knew it was hard being your friend and Natasha’s friend.

But a few weeks ago, when she helped you pick out the dress you were wearing tonight, you could tell she was trying to lift your spirits, offering a distraction with her usual good-natured humor. She had pulled you into a few boutiques, tossing dresses over the fitting room door while she waited for your approval. When you finally stepped out in the sleek black dress you were wearing now, Wanda gave you that look—her eyes bright with approval, a grin spreading across her face.

“You’re going to knock them dead,” she had said with a playful wink, her tone light, but there was something else in her voice too, something softer.

You hadn’t said much in response then, brushing off the compliment with a smile. You hadn’t really felt like going to the party, but Wanda was insistent that it would be good for you, to dress up, to get out.

And despite your silence on the matter, you knew she supported you and Natasha—always had. She never quite explained why, but you could sense it. Maybe she believed in second chances, or maybe she saw something in the two of you that you couldn’t see anymore. Even though she hadn’t talked about it much, you could feel her quiet faith in your relationship, like she was holding onto a hope you’d long since let go of. It was comforting, in a way, knowing that someone still believed in you and Natasha, even when you weren’t sure if you believed in it yourself anymore.

And from time to time, Wanda had a gentle way of bringing up her old cabin in the countryside, each suggestion delivered so casually that you might’ve let it slip past if it hadn’t been for the significance lingering just underneath her words.

She didn’t live there anymore, now that her and Vision moved to New Jersey a lot recently with the twins. But every Thanksgiving, with her permission, the cabin had been your haven—a place where the world’s noise faded, replaced by the simple sounds of fire crackling, the murmur of conversations that stretched late into the night, and the delighted laughter of the girls as they played under the trees. It was as if the cabin held its own magic, a place suspended in time, where warmth radiated from more than just the fireplace, and you could almost believe in the simplicity of those happy moments lasting forever.

The girls loved it there especially—they loved the air, the trees, the comfort of a cozy cabin, playing music on Wanda’s old record player, or drinking hot chocolate Natasha loved to make for them. One winter, you spent the weekend there with them and Lily had just learned how to build a snowman with Natasha. Nina was still a little too young, but she found joy in trying to run around, catching the falling snowflakes with her tongue. You got nothing but good memories from going there.

The first time Wanda mentioned going back, it felt impossible to picture without Natasha. Even imagining it brought a sense of loss so heavy it threatened to shatter the memory entirely. The cabin without her was like watching the film reel of your life with half the scenes missing—disjointed, fractured, unable to find the comfort it once held. When you’d tried to explain, Wanda had only nodded, a knowing look softening her face as if she understood the unspoken things that weighed down your words. But over the months, she kept mentioning it, in small ways, like a quiet refrain.

“Then bring Natasha,” she’d said last, her voice so gentle it almost blended with the room. Her gaze, steady and unwavering, had landed on you with a quiet faith that made you feel exposed.

You’d wanted to respond, to give voice to the reasons why it felt impossible, to explain the ache that lingered too deeply to ignore. But the words had caught in your throat, your thoughts tangled in memories that had once been warm but now held the sting of something fractured. So you’d only managed a soft smile, allowing the silence to stretch between you as you turned the conversation away, knowing Wanda would understand.

And yet, her words stayed with you, lingering long after, wrapped in a fragile hope that you hadn’t dared to touch. Wanda believed in something you weren’t sure you could reach for, a belief that the cabin could be a bridge, a place where memories could be revisited, reconnected—maybe even healed.

The idea stayed with you, filling your mind, daring you to wonder if, perhaps, she was right.

It was late by the time you finally unlocked the front door, the echo of the party still buzzing faintly in your head, softened by a light haze from the few drinks you’d had. The house was dark and still as you slipped inside.

As you moved further in, adjusting your eyes to the dim light, you saw them.

Natasha was stretched out on the couch, her body softened in the shadows, and there, tangled in her arms, lay your two little girls. Nina and Lily were nestled close, their small bodies curled and sprawled across her, their hands loosely gripping her shirt, their faces pressed into her chest as if she were their entire world. Natasha’s head was tilted back, her breathing deep and steady, the sort of calm that only came when everything around her was right, if only for that fleeting moment.

You paused there in the doorway, just watching them, a warmth settling in your chest, bittersweet and familiar. This was the woman you’d once called home. And maybe she’d made mistakes—mistakes that fractured everything between you, mistakes that left bruises you weren’t sure would ever fade. But seeing her now, surrounded by the soft rise and fall of the girls’ breathing, you were reminded that she’d never once faltered as their mother.

For a long moment, you just stood there, absorbing the scene, the beauty of it, the softness that was so rare in Natasha, brought out only by the girls resting so peacefully against her. A part of you ached, the part that remembered when that was your world, too—the intimacy, the trust, the feeling that this was where you belonged. But now, standing alone in front of her, you knew it was different.

“Natasha…”

The name leaves your lips in a choked whisper, so quiet you barely hear it yourself. It’s both a word and a breath, carrying years of ache, of longing, of memories buried beneath the hurt. She stirs softly at the sound, her eyes blinking open, unfocused in the dimness, but immediately careful, instinctively cradling Nina and Lily closer to her, her instincts as a mother overriding everything else. She lifts her head, and in the low light, her eyes meet yours—surprised, still a bit hazy with sleep, yet touched by something tender, something deeply aware.

A faint smile tugs at your lips, almost without your permission. You nod toward the girls, your voice so soft it hardly disturbs the quiet of the room.

“We should get them to bed,” you murmur, the words gentle, careful, as though you’re trying not to disrupt a delicate peace.

Natasha gives a barely perceptible nod, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though she’s searching for something. Then, she looks down at the girls, her features softening into something achingly vulnerable. She shifts, moving slowly so as not to disturb Lily, her hands moving with the practiced care of someone who’s done this a hundred times over but who never takes it for granted.

You step forward, slipping your arms beneath Nina, feeling the gentle weight of her small body settle against you as you carefully lift her, your heart swelling with that instinctive protectiveness you’d felt since the day she was born. Natasha mirrors you, tenderly sliding her arms under Lily, her movements so gentle it’s as though she’s afraid to wake her from whatever dream she’s lost in. Together, you make your way down the hallway, your footsteps muffled on floor.

Natasha trails a few steps behind you, her gaze lingering on the small bundle in your arms. There’s something undeniably tender in the way she holds Lily close, quiet in every step as if even her footfalls could shatter the peace that’s settled over the house. She watches as you cradle Nina with the same delicate care, and she can’t help but feel a pang of something—nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe it’s something deeper, something achingly familiar and distant at the same time.

You reach the doorway to their shared bedroom, and you both instinctively pause, a silent agreement hanging between you as you ease open the door just enough to slip inside. The room is softly lit by a nightlight in the corner casting a warm, gentle glow. You move first, bending to lay Nina down into her bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she settles into her pillow, the smallest smile flickering across her sleeping face.

Natasha steps forward, carrying Lily with the same care, lowering her slowly, as if she was releasing something precious. She smooths the blankets over Lily’s small form, her hand lingering on her daughter’s shoulder for a brief moment, her thumb brushing in a gentle, protective arc.

You both stand back, side by side, your eyes on the two little figures in the bed, their steady breaths filling the silence between you.

You turn first, giving the room one last look before stepping into the hallway, leaving the door just a crack open. Natasha lingers, her gaze falling on the spot where you had stood only moments before. She doesn’t follow immediately, instead letting herself absorb of the room, the weight of it pressing on her chest.

Then, Natasha’s feet shuffle lightly on the carpet, her shoulders tight, her movements more careful than usual. She takes a breath, then steps into the hallway, spotting you just ahead, walking back down the dimly lit corridor, your shoulders softly sloped in a way she recognizes well. Her pulse stutters, a swell of unvoiced words caught in her throat as she trails behind, her eyes fixed on your silhouette.

You pause, turning slowly, the faintest glint of something heavy in your eyes. Natasha freezes, almost holding her breath as you look up at her, gaze wavering, like you’re fighting with words you’re not sure you should say. She knows this look well enough to brace herself, the feeling of dread curling in her stomach. Her shoulders stiffen, instinctively preparing for the worst as the silence stretches, each second laced with something unspeakable.

“I… wanted to talk to you about something,” you say gently, almost catching her by surprise.

Natasha’s shoulders drop a fraction, her breath catching at your words. She hadn’t expected that, not tonight. Her gaze flickers, uncertain but hopeful, as she steps closer, nodding her head eagerly.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. She’s trying to appear calm, but there’s a tension in her eyes, a cautious vulnerability that betrays her. She searches your face for any hint, any sign of what you’re about to say.

“Lily’s birthday is coming up,” you say softly, your gaze finally lifting to meet Natasha’s, even if just for a moment.

Natasha nods slowly, trying to read between the lines, unsure of what you’re really thinking. She remembers every birthday, every milestone, how you used to plan together, side by side, laughing over cake designs and decorations.

“Lily keeps asking…” you start, your voice so quiet Natasha has to strain to hear. She watches you, noting the way you hesitate, choosing your words with care. “If we could go back to Wanda’s cabin. You know the girls like it there…”

The suggestion hangs heavy between you. Her mind floods with memories of those trips—Wanda’s warm cabin, the girls’ laughter, the four of you bundled in sweaters, sharing cozy meals and evening walks in the crisp, autumn air. Those times felt like forever in the best way possible, like nothing could disturb the harmony you’d built together.

“Yeah… yeah, they love it,” Natasha murmurs, her voice catching. Her eyes are distant, clouded with thoughts she isn’t sure she’s allowed to express. The idea of returning feels almost like opening a door she thought you’d closed for good. Still, the prospect brings a bittersweet hope, like maybe a piece of the life she lost could be revived, if only for several days.

You shift uncomfortably, glancing away as though admitting this feels too vulnerable, as if voicing it aloud might betray too much of what you’re holding back.

Your words come out soft, almost as if they’d slipped through a crack in your resolve. “It’d be weird to go without you… For them, I mean.”

The admission lingers, tentative, like an echo that neither of you expected. Natasha stands there, motionless, her gaze locked on you, and you can feel the weight of her eyes on you. She doesn’t respond, perhaps because she doesn’t know how to, or maybe because there’s nothing she could say that would sound right after everything that happened.

You keep your eyes on the floor—this reluctant honesty shared after years of trying to keep a cautious distance. There’s a tenderness in the air, one that feels unfamiliar now, something you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge since the divorce. Natasha doesn’t move, and for a moment, you wonder if she’ll reach for you, break the wall of silence. But she just stays there, rooted, like she’s afraid that any movement might shatter the understanding you’ve found yourselves in.

“Maybe, we could… all go,” Natasha offers finally, her voice hushed. “If that’s what you want.”

You glance up, catching her eyes for the first time in what feels like ages. There’s a weight there, a heaviness she carries, lingering regret woven into her eyes. You break the gaze quickly, focusing on a spot on the wall behind her, holding onto the barrier you’ve had to build to keep yourself steady.

“It’s what Lily wants.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, nodding slowly, her fingers fidgeting by her sides. The truth is plain between you: this isn’t really about what either of you want. It’s about the tiny person who’s still dreaming down the hall, in her own perfect, unbroken world where her family feels whole. And somehow, even after everything, you both want to keep it that way for her. The idea of doing this trip together feels as precarious as it does bittersweet. But the image of Lily’s face when she sees you all together, the way she lights up at the mention of Wanda’s cabin, that’s enough to ease the ache.

Natasha leaves late that night, a soft click of the door echoing in the house after she’s gone. You’re left in the quiet, the weight of the decision settling slowly over you. You’d both agreed—two nights, maybe three—just enough time for the girls to enjoy their favorite place, to breathe in the crisp air and marvel at the autumn leaves.

You exhale, leaning against the counter, the thought of those days stirring up a mix of emotions you’ve worked so hard to bury. There’s excitement for the girls, the way their faces will light up at seeing Wanda’s cabin again. You can almost picture Nina and Lily scrambling around the place, giggling and squealing, thrilled at the rare chance to have both their parents there together, even if things have changed.

As you glance down the hall where they’re still sleeping, you wonder what it will feel like to play at something close to normal, if only for a few days. For Lily, for Nina—you would try to make it work.

A few weeks later, Natasha arrives in her old grey Lada Niva. You could hear the familiar rumble of the engine before you even see the car pull up. You’d almost forgotten the way it sounds—the low, steady hum that used to fill the spaces between you two, back when things were simpler. The car, a relic from another time, was a piece of Natasha that never changed, a constant that the girls had grown to love just as much as she did. It had been years since you’d last ridden in it, since those family road trips that now felt like distant memories you barely dared to touch.

Nina and Lily don’t hold back, rushing to the door as Natasha parks, their excited squeals echoing as they shout, “Mama!” and clamber down the front steps.

You watch as she steps out, smiling with that familiar, easy warmth that once felt like home. She crouches to their level, her arms opening as they run to her, and you can’t help but feel the smallest tug at your heart as she lifts them both in a swift, effortless motion, twirling them around like old times. Her laughter, soft and genuine, floats over to you as you linger in the doorway, a faint, bittersweet ache stirring within you.

She looks up from the girls, her gaze meeting yours, and you catch the flicker of something in her eyes—maybe nostalgia, maybe uncertainty, or maybe something else entirely. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the unease, then grab the bags by the door. You brace yourself for the weight of them, but as you take a step forward, Natasha’s shadow moves alongside you, close enough that you feel her presence before you hear her voice.

“Hey, let me,” she murmurs, her voice soft and warm.

Before you can protest, her hands reach for the bags, fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. It’s a touch so light that it leaves a ghostly warmth lingering on your skin, but it’s enough to catch you off guard, your breath hitching as she gently eases the bags out of your hands.

You watch as she walks over to the car, her movements steady and familiar, the ease with which she lifts the weight somehow comforting and unsettling all at once. Her shoulders are relaxed, yet there’s a focus in the way she sets the bags in the trunk. She turns back to you, a faint smile pulling at her lips, and for a fleeting second, the past seems to slip into the present.

You tear your gaze away to walk over and open the passenger door and slide in, the scent of old leather and faint traces of Natasha’s cologne unmistakable. It’s strange, slipping back into this space, sitting beside her again like this, feeling the past brushing close but staying just out of reach.

The drive was quiet for the most part, other than the sound of the girls’ favorite songs playing on the car radio. Natasha’s hands grip the steering wheel with ease, and her driving is as steady as it always was. Outside the window, the trees blur by, softened by late autumn light, and you lose yourself in the landscape.

Every now and then, Natasha’s gaze strays from the road to linger on you. She catches herself, tries to refocus, but her eyes drift back almost instinctively, drawn to the way you sit, wrapped in your own thoughts. Her hand hovers just slightly above her thigh, muscles tensing with the urge to reach out and place it on yours, an instinct that feels so ingrained it’s almost muscle memory. But she pulls back, fingers flexing as they return to the wheel. She remembers all the times she’d reach over without thinking, her palm resting against your thigh.

And as she glances at you once more, her chest tightens, that feeling of missing you growing stronger each and every day.

“There’s more trees now,” Natasha mutters, driving along the dirt path, getting closer towards the destination.

The cabin sits quietly in the woods, nestled under a canopy of tall pines. It’s quiet and private—the next house probably miles away. The air is cool and crisp, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, and when you text Wanda to let her know you’ve arrived, her reply is short, almost comforting in a way, telling you to enjoy yourselves with a tiny smiley face at the end. She doesn’t need to say much; she knows what this place means. She knows it has its own kind of healing, as subtle as the wind rustling through the trees.

When you get out of the car, you unload your things, the girls’ things, and settle in to the cabin.

The girls are thrilled to be here. They take to the cabin with the kind of joy only children can muster, filling the space with giggles that spill out through open windows. They chase each other around the clearing, calling for Natasha to play along, and she does, jumping into their games with an ease that’s somehow both comforting and bittersweet. She’s gentle with them, her patience surprising in moments when the girls demand more and more of her. She spins them in her arms, laughs with them, gets them to try new tricks—whatever they ask, she does. She’s always been a good mother. You’ve never doubted that.

You find yourself watching from the porch, hands wrapped around a mug that’s gone cold, rooted in place by the weight of memories. Sometimes you slip inside, needing the familiar rhythm of chopping and stirring, needing to focus on something simple, something that grounds you. The scents of rosemary and garlic fill the kitchen, and it’s strange, but this simple act of cooking feels like a kind of armor. It’s something you can control, even if you feel like everything else is slipping from your grasp.

Natasha catches your eye sometimes, her glance lingering in a way that almost feels hesitant, as if she’s waiting for you to join them. But you stay back, listening to the sounds of their laughter from a distance. You’ve built walls around yourself, fragile as they are, and the thought of letting them down, even for a moment, feels terrifying. You want to be a part of this, to let yourself fall into the warmth of your family again, but something holds you back. So you stay where you are, like an outsider in your own life.

The first night the girls are already settled into their beds, sleeping peacefully and Natasha is in the living room, moving quietly, tugging a thin sheet over the lumpy couch cushions and fluffing a pillow that barely holds its shape. Her movements are careful, almost too careful. From the shadowed hallway, you watch her in silence. You know how stiff her back gets, how this couch does her no favors, and how, come morning, the sun will stream straight through the window to warm her face uncomfortably awake. You sigh, a little louder than you mean to, and Natasha glances up but doesn’t see you there, just lingering in the shadows, uncertain.

Finally, you take a breath and step into the dim light of the living room, your voice quiet as you say, “The bed is big enough for both of us, you know. You could sleep there. If you want.” You try to keep your tone casual, as if you haven’t thought this over a hundred times, and shrug lightly. “But you don’t have to. It’s just… an option.”

She stands still, her hand pausing over the pillow, eyes glancing to the floor. Of course she wanted to. But she looks at you, hesitant, as if searching for any hint that this offer is anything more than what you said it was. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, something softened by a yearning she’s trying too hard to hide from you.

Without waiting for her response, you turn and walk away, not looking back, not wanting to see the indecision flickering across her face.

For a moment, the silence stretches and fills the empty room behind you. You hear the softest rustle as she stands there, still unsure, before her footsteps follow yours into the bedroom, cautious and quiet. The bed creaks as she settles on her side, keeping a respectful distance, her breaths slow and steady. She doesn’t say a word, but you feel her presence, steady and comforting, like a familiar warmth close enough to touch yet lingering just out of reach.

Natasha lies stiffly on the edge of the bed, her back turned but senses tuned to every breath you take beside her. The proximity—it feels like an exquisite kind of torture, and she’s aware that it’s probably worse than any discomfort the couch could have offered. But somehow, she welcomes it, aches for it, even as she tells herself to keep her distance, to keep her composure.

She can feel the warmth radiating from you, close enough that the tiniest shift would bring her shoulder against yours, but she keeps herself still, staring into the dark, wide awake. Her mind refuses to settle; memories tumble through her thoughts, fragments of laughter, the easy warmth you used to share. She finds herself painfully aware of the rise and fall of your breathing, the gentle way your face looks when you’re asleep, and she almost can’t contain herself.

She knows she won’t sleep tonight. How could she, lying here in the same bed, close enough to touch you, yet worlds apart?

But eventually, as the night wears on, she does.

It’s your breathing that does it, she realizes, grounding her, washing over her like a lullaby. The sound is soft but constant, and she closes her eyes, letting it surround her, allowing herself, just this once, to be comforted by it. Her hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to rest beside yours on the sheets, but she holds backinstead.

And, in time, Natasha drifts off, lulled by the gentle rhythm of you beside her, more at ease than she’s been in years.

The next night, you help Lily and Nina bake a cake.

The kitchen is a mess. Flour dusts the countertops, the floor, even speckles across your cheeks and Lily’s small hands. Nina stands on her tiptoes on a kitchen stool, eyeing the mixing bowl with such intense concentration that you can’t help but smile. It’s chaotic and loud, with squeals of laughter whenever a dollop of batter splatters onto someone’s arm. Lily is at the helm, her little hands wielding a wooden spoon as if it’s a magic wand.

“Mommy, I want the sprinkles!” she exclaims, reaching for a bright container of them before you even have a chance to measure them out.

But you don’t stop her; it’s her night, and this mess is hers to make. Every year she insists on making her own birthday cake, decorating it however she pleases, and every year it’s as beautifully haphazard as she is. You watch her, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm, her innocence.

Natasha watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She takes in the scene quietly, hoping that it’d never go away—the joy, the laughter, the way Nina’s eyes light up as she carefully mixes ingredients, the concentration on Lily’s face as she decorates her cake, and then, you… God, you looked so beautiful. The mother of her children. The person she once called her wife. When you glance over, you catch Natasha’s gaze, and there’s a tenderness there as she smiles lightly at you, knowing exactly where her place is. So, she doesn’t move. She watches.

Eventually, the cake is baked, golden and imperfect, with sprinkles scattered unevenly over thick layers of frosting. It’s more of an abstract work of art than anything, but Lily beams with pride, her little hands sticky with icing as she admires her creation.

When it’s finally time to sing, she stands on a chair, practically glowing as everyone joins in, voices soft and full of love. Everybody sings. The light of the candle flickers across the girls’ faces as Natasha’s voice blends in with yours, and for a moment, everything feels… whole. You catch her eye again, and she looks at you with something unreadable—hope, maybe.

But you look away and her smile falls.

Then, Wanda visits on the last day.

Her visit catches you off guard, appearing just as you’re gathering up the last odds and ends in the cabin. She breezes in with that familiar smile, warmth radiating from her as if she’d been here all along, making herself at home in the easy way she always does. It’s been a couple weeks since you last saw her, yet here she is, greeting the girls with the kind of affection that only Wanda has, her laugh bright and contagious as she swoops them up one by one. You can’t help but smile as they cling to her, their giggles filling the cabin as they chatter on about every little detail of the weekend, as if they hadn’t seen her in ages.

Then, somewhere between the hugs and the laughter, Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a glimmer of something mischievous sparking in them.

Before you know it, she’s suggested ice cream, casually slipping the offer into the air, barely giving you a moment to consider before Nina and Lily’s eyes light up with excitement, their voices blending into one constant, pleading hum of “Please, Mommy, please!”

You hesitate, glancing around at the half-packed bags and open suitcases scattered on the floor. There’s still so much to do, and the sky outside has that heavy look to it, the kind that promises to come down hard if given the chance. You shoot Wanda a skeptical look, but she just waves it off, her voice light and certain.

“Oh, I’ll just take them real quick,” she says, already holding out her hands as Nina grabs one, Lily the other.

You glance once more at the ominous clouds hanging low in the sky. They should wait, you think, but you’ve already seen the way their faces light up at the mention of ice cream, and you can’t bring yourself to say no, not when they’re this happy.

So you sigh, pulling each of them close for a quick hug, whispering your usual cautions, “Be careful, okay? And Wanda, please… it looks like it’s about to rain.”

With a final nod, you watch as they pile out the door, their voices fading into the thick silence left in their wake. And suddenly, it’s just you and Natasha, an entire cabin somehow feeling smaller without the girls. She clears her throat softly, moving to help with a stray pile of blankets, and you follow.

The silence between you stretches on and you find yourself too aware of every sound she makes, the soft rustling of fabric, the soft padding of her steps across the creaky wooden floor. You don’t dare look at her, not directly, focusing instead on the small tasks in front of you: folding the blankets with slow, methodical care, stacking up dishes in silence, packing up the girls’ scattered toys one by one. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see Natasha’s glances, her fingers moving with a touch too gentle, as if each item in her hands were something precious, something irreplaceable.

When she reaches over, her hand brushing yours as she passes a blanket, you freeze for the briefest second, your heart pounding in a way you wish you could ignore. It’s strange, this small gesture—nothing more than a graze of skin, but it feels heavy.

After a moment, Natasha clears her throat, shifting her gaze to the window where the sky darkens further.

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you, but her voice is close, familiar in a way that aches, that reminds you of nights spent together, whispering in the dark.

And you want to say something, to fill the silence with something else, but the words won’t come out.

Instead, you both go back to packing in silence, And as you reach for another item, you catch her eyes on you again, lingering a second longer than necessary, something soft and unreadable passing through them before she looks away.

When the last bag is zipped and the blankets are folded neatly on the couch, the sky finally breaks open with a relentless downpour. Raindrops hammer against the cabin roof. You glance out the window, watching as the world outside the cabin turns hazy and blurred, colors melting together in streaks. It’s coming down harder than you expected, the kind of rain that turns roads to rivers, and any hope of a quick drive to meet Wanda and the girls seems to vanish.

Natasha stands beside you, her gaze following yours out the window. There’s something calming in the way she stands there, shoulders relaxed, as if she were rooted to the spot, waiting without a rush. She doesn’t offer any suggestion about the rain or attempt to fill the silence, and somehow, that makes it harder to ignore her presence.

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, low and resonant, like a warning. You watch as Natasha crosses her arms, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve as if in thought, and you can tell she’s trying to gauge the storm, trying to calculate how long you’ll be stuck here together.

Natasha looks over at you, an almost apologetic look flickering across her face. “I’ll go check on the car real quick,” she murmurs, her voice low enough to blend with the rain. “I know we probably shouldn’t go anywhere right now, but it’s old, and it never does well sitting in rain like this.”

You only nod, saying nothing, watching her pull on a jacket and tug the hood over her head before slipping out the front door. The rain swallows her figure instantly, and you see her trudge through the mud, her boots sinking slightly with every step.

Through the window, you can just barely make out the shape of Natasha as she reaches the car, her hand brushing over its rain-streaked surface with a soft touch, like she’s apologizing to it for what she’s about to ask of it. The headlights flicker as she tries to turn it over, but the engine groans before settling into silence again. Another turn of the key yields the same result, the rumble followed by a spluttering cough as the car refuses to cooperate, sinking ever deeper into the mud.

You watch as Natasha leans back in the driver’s seat, her shoulders slumping in quiet resignation. She presses her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, as if gathering herself, then takes a deep breath and steps out. She gives the car a gentle, almost defeated pat on the hood, the look of someone who knows they’ve tried all they can. When she glances back toward the cabin, her gaze lifts to find you through the window.

She walks back, her steps slow, head slightly bowed against the storm. When she reaches the porch, Natasha shakes out her hood, droplets splashing across the wooden boards, and stands for a moment, hesitating as if she doesn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news. But there’s a strange, almost gentle softness in her gaze as she finally meets your eyes.

“It’s stuck,” she says quietly, tugging the hood down. “The mud’s got it pretty good, and… I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight.”

You nod, trying to ignore the small part of you that almost feels relief at her words. You watch the rainwater drip down from her jacket, forming a small puddle at her feet, and the cabin’s warmth surrounds you both, soft and heavy. Natasha only watches you as you pull your phone out to text Wanda. You fumble with your phone, tapping the screen to try and coax a single bar of signal to life. Nothing. The little icon taunts you with its emptiness, a dead end in the storm.

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, low enough that it almost feels like an afterthought, something you wish would disappear into the sounds of the rain.

Natasha’s voice, gentle and steady, breaks through. “I’m sure the girls are fine with Wanda…”

You look at her. Her gaze is fixed on you, softened by a faint worry lingering at the corners of her eyes. There’s a sincerity you see in her irises. You look away, down to your phone as though it might somehow find a way to work.

The silence settles in again, heavier this time. Natasha shifts on her feet, uncertain, as if waiting for something from you—a response, an assurance, anything to break the tension she can feel thickening in the air. But instead, you simply pocket your phone, shoulders tense as you press your lips together in thought, a part of you unwilling to trust that everything is okay. You don’t respond, your mind too wrapped up in worry, feeling that gnawing pit in your stomach that refuses to ease, the sense that something is just… out of reach, outside of your control.

The rain comes down in sheets, a constant drumming against the windows and the roof, filling the air with a steady hum. But inside, the silence between you and Natasha is deafening, thicker than the rain, pressing down on you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Each passing second feels heavier, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel under the weight of it. It’s suffocating, somehow.

You glance down, trying to keep your breathing steady, but there’s something clawing at you from the inside, a mix of panic and… something else. The feeling of being here alone with her, the person you loved so much and lost so painfully, is almost too much to bear. You press your lips together, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your hands start to tremble just a little. It’s as if everything’s closing in on you, the walls, the quiet, the memories. You sense Natasha watching you, catching the small signs you’re trying to hide. Her gaze is warm, careful, as if she’s afraid that one wrong move could make everything fall apart. She shifts, almost reaching out, her hand hesitating in the space between you, as if she’s weighing whether she has the right to offer any comfort.

A shaky breath escapes you, breaking the silence, and you almost regret it instantly. It’s like you’ve let down a barrier, and Natasha’s expression softens, her eyes filled with something that’s so familiar it hurts. The ache inside you grows stronger, and you find yourself wanting to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You can feel the weight of all that’s unsaid between you—the hurt, the love, the quiet grief of two people who once had everything and lost it.

For a second, you catch her eye, and you’re pulled right back to those moments when it was just the two of you, when you didn’t need words to understand each other. You have to look away, not ready to face the full force of it.

You take a shaky step backward, feeling your chest tighten as you distance yourself from Natasha, as though putting even a few inches between you could somehow ease the ache clawing inside you.

“I… I can’t be here,” you murmur, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice, raw and low.

You glance toward the rain-soaked windows, almost desperate for escape, the downpour outside strangely inviting, anything to cut through the weight of this moment. You’re one step from turning toward the door when you feel Natasha’s fingers close gently around your wrist, her hold soft but unyielding.

“I won’t let you go out in this rain,” she says, her voice steady, a quiet determination threading through her tone. She’s close now, closer than she’s been in so long, and the warmth of her hand against your skin, even through the fabric of your sleeve, sends a shiver down your spine.

You look down at her hand, your eyes tracing the lines of her fingers where they touch you, and for a moment, you feel yourself waver, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. It’s almost as if her touch could melt away everything you’re carrying, all the years, the heartbreak, the carefully rebuilt walls. But you don’t move, and she doesn’t let go.

“Please,” she whispers, her thumb brushing gently along your wrist. It’s the barest touch, but it’s enough to keep you grounded, to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to face this alone.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Natasha’s hand falls away from your wrist, fingers slipping into emptiness as if she’s retreating into herself. Her gaze drops, the slightest flinch crossing her face, a flash of something broken that she quickly tries to bury.

“I can go make you some tea,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, gentler than you’ve heard in a long time. It’s a soft offering that she knows has always brought you comfort.

But you turn away, steeling yourself. “I don’t need it,” you reply, sharper than you mean to, the words laced with bitterness you can’t hide.

Natasha hesitates, her hand hovering in the air like she wants to reach for you, to do something, anything, to take the pain from your eyes. “It’ll help—” she begins softly.

“I don’t need anything from you,” you cut her off, voice splintering, more forceful this time, a fierce edge to the words that lands heavy in the space between you.

Natasha stares, caught off guard, and her expression shifts, something fragile crossing her face that she can’t quite hide. She opens her mouth, but no words come, her voice lodged somewhere too deep to reach. She doesn’t fight back, doesn’t press you. Instead, she just watches, taking in every tremor, every piece of you she’s shattered.

And that’s when you feel it—everything inside you begins to unravel, as if a dam has broken. Your voice drops to a whisper, your gaze falling to the floor, and your hands start to shake as you choke out, “I don’t… I don’t need you.”

The words come softer, barely audible, and you realize it’s as much for yourself as it is for her.

But then your voice cracks, your resolve slipping, and the truth of it cuts into you like glass. The tears come, quiet at first, slipping down your cheeks as you try to hold it together, but the pain is too much. You can’t stop the sobs that rise, each one sharper than the last, as the weight of it all threatens to swallow you whole.

Natasha’s heart twists painfully as she watches you, each quiet sob striking her deeper than any wound she’s ever endured. She hates seeing you like this, hates that she’s the reason for it. Every tear, every tremor, is a reminder of the ways she’s failed you. There’s a pain that fills her, clawing at her chest as she stands there, watching you break in front of her, knowing there’s nothing she can do to piece you back together.

Her hands itch to reach out, to pull you close, to soothe you the way she used to. But the distance between you feels unbridgeable. She can only stand there, fists clenching at her sides as she tries to steady herself, feeling utterly powerless. Regret presses down on her, heavy and unrelenting, mingling with a love she never stopped feeling and a longing that never seems to fade.

Every part of her wants to close the gap, to say something that might ease the pain she’s caused, but all she can manage is a quiet, broken whisper.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice cracking, barely audible over the sound of your quiet sobs.

It’s the same apology she’s given a hundred times, one that feels worn out, hoping it will somehow be enough to mend what’s been broken. But even as the words leave her lips, she knows they don’t carry the weight they used to.

Your hands reach up to push her weakly. It only takes three pushes until Natasha feels the cool wall of the cabin press against her back as your hands meet her chest, each shove more desperate than the last. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t move to stop you, just lets you push her—lets you release everything that’s been simmering inside. The look in her eyes is pained but unwavering, as if she knows she deserves every bit of anger, every ounce of resentment, that you hurl at her.

When your voice breaks on those words, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” it feels like something inside her is splintering.

She’s faced countless enemies, stared down dangers most people couldn’t imagine, but nothing has ever gutted her like hearing you say those words. Her chest aches in a way she can’t describe; it’s a hollow, consuming pain that only comes from hurting someone you love.

“I hate you,” you say again.

Natasha swallows, her own eyes shining with unshed tears as she reaches out instinctively, hesitantly, as if she might still be able to comfort you, though she knows it’s selfish. Her fingers brush your arms, just barely, but she stops, feeling unworthy to touch you, even if every fiber of her being wants to hold you.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice low, raw. “I know. I hate myself too.” Her words come out fractured, like she’s fighting to keep them steady.

You press against Natasha with the last bit of strength you have left, hands shoving her even as your body begins to crumble under the weight of all you’ve been holding back. Your knees weaken, unsteady as a wave of exhaustion overtakes you, and you feel yourself start to slip. And Natasha, still pressed against the wall, doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for you, arms encircling you in one swift, instinctive movement, pulling you close against her as though she’s been waiting for this—for any chance to hold you again.

You struggle at first, fists pressing weakly against her chest as you try to push her away, to break free from the comfort that only stings in its familiarity. But Natasha’s grip is firm, and steady, that doesn’t falter as you fight against her. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t loosen her hold; she just holds you close, pressing you to her, heart hammering beneath your cheek.

Eventually, the exhaustion wins. All of your fight slips away. A ragged sob escapes your lips, and then another, and before you know it, you’re crying fully, the sound muffled against the warmth of Natasha’s neck. She lets her cheek rest against the top of your head, her hand moving to stroke your back in small, soothing circles, each touch tender and careful, as if she’s afraid of breaking what little is left of you.

“I’m here,” she whispers into your hair, her voice barely a breath, soft and unwavering. “I’m right here.”

She repeats it, holding you even closer, feeling each of your sobs shake through her. For the first time in a long time, Natasha feels you, feels you surrender in her arms, and it breaks her as much as it mends her.

Eventually, your sobs subside, fading into shallow, uneven breaths. You can feel Natasha’s steady heartbeat beneath your palm, and the room settles into a stillness as heavy as the rain outside. Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your head, pulling back just enough to see her face. And in that close space between you, you realize she’s been crying too. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, glistening under the dim light, eyes raw and vulnerable in a way that you’ve almost forgotten.

You take her in, every detail of her face, so familiar yet somehow achingly new. Her lips part, a trembling breath barely filling the space between you, and there’s something almost fragile in her gaze, like she’s as uncertain of this as you are.

Neither of you speaks.

And before you can second-guess it, before you can pull yourself back, your lips meet hers. The touch is gentle, neither of you moving too quickly, afraid to shatter whatever understanding has settled between you. Natasha’s hand moves slowly, coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek so that nearly undoes you.

The kiss deepens, the two of you leaning into each other, guiding each other towards the couch just behind you. You straddle her, settling yourself on her lap, feeling the heat radiating from her body, and it’s intoxicating. Your hands tangle in her hair, drawing her closer, as your lips press against each other. You feel her tongue in your mouth, moaning against your lips and for the first time in years, she remembers the taste of you. She wanted more. More. More. More—

And Natasha snaps back to reality.

“I can’t do this,” she gasps, pulling away, her breath uneven, a pained look etched across her face.

You freeze, disbelief washing over you like a cold tide. “What?” you whisper, the weight of her words crashing into you.

It’s as if the ground has fallen out beneath your feet. The warmth you felt disappeared, replaced by an uncomfortable chill that seeps into your bones. You feel it all over again. You feel unwanted. And you wanted to get away from her, as fast as you could.

But Natasha’s grip tightens around your hips, anchoring you in place. “No, no, please,” she pleads. “Please don’t go.”

Her voice breaks and stops your movements. Instead of pushing away, you find yourself drawn back into her orbit. Natasha pulls you closer, resting her forehead against your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her tears soak into the fabric of your shirt. You sit there in silence, letting Natasha cry against you.

You remember the warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she saw you, how her touch used to feel like home. You sigh, feeling the ache in your chest as Natasha clings to you. It feels strange, foreign even, to see her like this, to feel her emotions pouring out when she’s usually so guarded, so composed. You gently run your fingers through her red hair, each stroke an attempt to calm her down just as it always did. It’s rare to see Natasha like this, and the sight of her tears pulls at something deep within you, something that refuses to let go of the memories you once shared.

Her breath is warm against your neck as she whispers, “It’s not that I don’t want you…” Her voice trembles, soft and almost hesitant. “I always want you… but I want you to be sure. I want you to want me too… not now… not when we’re still fighting like this.”

The words settle heavily between you. Her confession is raw and earnest, a glimpse into the heart she so rarely lets anyone see. The warmth of her touch and the depth of her gaze make you feel as though you’re standing on the edge of something vast and uncertain. You could so easily fall back into her arms but the walls that the two of you have built—brick by painful brick—are still there.

“I know,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, trying to find the right words to bridge the space between you.

You want to tell her that you’re here, that part of you has always been here, waiting. But you’re afraid too, afraid of what wanting her again could mean, afraid of the heartbreak that might be waiting if things were to fall apart once more. You pause, resting your cheek against her head, feeling the soft tickle of her hair against your skin.

“I know,” you say again, softer this time, as if to convince yourself as much as her.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut, and she lets out a long, unsteady sigh as she pulls you closer, absorbing the feeling of your warmth, the familiar weight of you against her. It’s been years since she’s held you like this, years since she’s felt your skin. Every inch of her aches with the realization of how much she’s missed this—missed you.

She lets her fingers trace gentle circles on your back, each touch cautious, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away the second she lets go. Memories flood her mind of the times when the two of you were unbreakable, your worlds wrapped around each other. All of it feels so close, so painfully real, like she could reach out and grasp it, yet impossibly far away. She’s overwhelmed, but she doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to let go.

She listens to the rain, feels you underneath her fingertips, the scent of your skin filling her nose. She dreamed of holding you like this everyday for the past three years. And now that she had it, she wanted it forever.

“Where did we go wrong?” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear.

The question catches Natasha off-guard, lingers in the air between you, and she can barely bring herself to breathe, almost afraid that any movement might shatter this moment. She holds you a little tighter, as if she could somehow shield you from the pain in your voice.

She feels the weight of all the memories, the years you’ve shared, pressing down on her. She nuzzles closer, her face tucked into the curve of your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin against hers, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. She’s surprised you haven’t pulled away yet, as if the tenderness still feels too familiar, too natural.

“It’s my fault,” Natasha whispers, barely louder than the rain outside, her voice breaking around the edges. Her heart races, and she doesn’t dare to look at you, afraid of the hurt she knows she’ll see in your eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze drifting somewhere past her, lost in thought. “You don’t think… I gave you a reason to… to find someone else?”

She’s stunned into silence, the realization settling over her that maybe, somehow, you’ve been carrying this blame, wondering if you were part of the reason she’d broken the life you built together. She blinks, swallowing hard as she tries to find the words, a flicker of panic rising in her chest.

“No,” she says firmly, her voice steady yet soft, almost pleading. She shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hand gently brushing your cheek. “No, it was never because of you.”

But you’re still looking at her, and your voice trembles, barely holding back the pain.

“Don’t lie to me, Natasha.”

“I can’t,” she says.

Your eyes harden and you pull back slightly to look at her face, “The truth. You owe me that.”

She didn’t want to say it. Her heart twists, and she hesitates, closing her eyes as she forces herself to say the words she’s been too afraid to admit—even to herself.

“I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” Her voice wavers, her fingers tightening their hold on you as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you all over again.

The silence between you is thick and heavy, your breaths filling the quiet space as you absorb her words. She feels the guilt clawing at her, as if she’s baring every part of herself, hoping that you can see the truth buried within her confession. She never wanted to hurt you. She never wanted to push you away. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost sight of what mattered most, and she’d convinced herself it was too late, that the love you’d once shared had slipped through her fingers.

The word slips out, barely audible, cracked and raw. “Why?”

The question hangs in the air. Natasha feels it wrap around her heart. She forces herself to look at you, even though the sight of that single tear tracing its way down your cheek makes her want to look away. She knows this answer; she’s carried it silently, wordlessly, and now it seems so inevitable that you’d finally ask her.

She tries to swallow, her voice almost too thick to form the words. “You… you stopped touching me.”

It’s such a small statement, so simple, yet it feels too big, too complicated, as if it holds every untold truth between you.

She falters, looking down at her hands, gathering herself before she tries to explain.

“I don’t mean… just sex,” she says softly, her head shaking almost in shame, as if she doesn’t trust you to believe her. “It was all the little things. We used to be close, you know? I liked touching you, even if it was just brushing my hand against yours… feeling you next to me in bed. I liked—”

She pauses, her voice catching as she tries to summon the tenderness that’s still tucked away somewhere in the past.

“I liked holding you at night. I liked standing close to you when you cook. I liked that you liked holding my hands no matter how rough they were. And I loved how you’d kiss me before I left the house, or the way you’d kiss me again as soon as I came back…”

She trails off, the words fading into the silence. The silence presses down between you. It’s all so achingly clear at this moment. You sit there, absorbing her words, the hurt spreading through you in waves as she continues.

“And then… somewhere along the line, we just stopped,” she breathes into your neck. “We barely talked anymore. And when I tried to initiate anything… you’d pull away from me.”

Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. But the way she says it hits you with a kind of clarity that feels like a wound reopening. She’s talking about something ordinary, something so small and routine that you can hardly believe it could be the reason for so much hurt. Yet now, hearing her say it, you realize how much those tiny moments meant. The gentle touches, the kisses, the reassurances you’d once given each other like breathing… how you pulled away from her… it was all fading even before you saw it happening.

She sits there, barely daring to breathe, looking at you with eyes that hold more regret than she’s ever known how to express. There’s a subtle twitch in her fingers, as if she wants to pull you even closer, to bridge that space between you that now feels so painfully wide.

The words spill out hesitantly, each one trembling with the weight of something you’ve kept hidden, maybe even from yourself. “I think… things changed for us after Nina was born.”

The realization feels sharp, pressing against you. You’re not blaming Nina—she’s so innocent, so undeserving of even a hint of this pain—but it’s like tracing back a long path through a dark wood, seeing the moments where you veered off course, where insecurities took root without you realizing it.

Natasha’s gaze is soft as she looks at you, her thumb grazing over your waist in small, comforting circles, coaxing you to keep talking.

“Why?” she asks gently, like she’s holding space for you.

You hesitate, feeling the words catch in your throat, but you force yourself to continue. “I don’t know… I… I’m the one who pulled away first.”

Natasha’s fingers pause on your waist, her focus fully on you, willing you to keep going. Her voice is a low murmur, soft but insistent, “Why did you pull away?”

The question cracks something open inside you, and you feel your lips start to quiver, your chest tightening with the ache of it all. You’re on the edge of sobbing again, but you push forward, knowing you can’t stop now. “Because I changed after Nina was born.”

Natasha’s brows knit together as she searches your face. “What do you mean?”

You take a shaky breath, looking down for a moment, as if saying it out loud will finally make it real, and will confirm what you’ve been so afraid to confront.

“My… my body changed.” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and almost embarrassed, but it’s there, raw and painfully honest.

A light bulb flickers on in Natasha’s mind as she processes your words.

“Did you think I had an issue with your body after Nina was born?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with both offense and confusion. She wants to understand, to dig deeper into your emotions. “Did you think I wouldn’t want you if your body changed?”

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks like the rain outside, each drop echoing the chaos inside.

“No, I…” You struggle for the right words, each syllable weighed down with shame. “I don’t know. It was so stupid… Y-You’re always in shape, Natasha. Everyone you know and work with… they’re all perfect and strong and beautiful. And you’d come home and I’d be struggling to lose the weight I gained when I was pregnant. I’d have baby food in my hair. The times I didn’t get to shower early enough because taking care of the girls could get so hectic sometimes… and you would come home to that… and I thought…”

Your voice trails off, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your chest. Natasha’s expression shifts as she absorbs your words, her brows furrowing in a way that reveals how deeply your pain affects her. She shakes her head, protesting against the image you’ve painted of yourself.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, (Y/n). Always,” she says softly, wiping away your tears with her thumbs, her touch gentle yet firm, as if she could erase the hurt with the warmth of her hands. “I don’t look at you and think anything else other than how breathtaking you are. You carried and gave birth to both of our beautiful girls. That alone means everything to me. You didn’t have to pull away from me.”

“I… I pulled away… because I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore…” you confess, each word punctuated by the quiet sobs that escape you, an avalanche of emotions finally breaking free.

“I always want you,” Natasha sighs, a tear slipping down her cheek, mirroring your own pain. She murmurs, her voice thick with regret. “I wish I knew… I should’ve asked. I should’ve…”

Her words tumbled out in a rush. You see the depth of her sorrow, the realization that she could have made a difference if only she had reached out, if only she had known. As you cry silently, Natasha takes your hands in hers, cradling them like fragile treasures.

“I should’ve told you,” you say, watching as she soothed her fingers gently over your hands.

“No,” she interjects, her tone firm but gentle. “I should’ve known. I should’ve clued in on what was going on a long time ago.”

Natasha looks at you softly, memories flood her mind—images of that one night, a night she’d tried to forget but couldn’t escape. The feeling of abandonment gnawed at her as she replayed the moments leading up to her decision to leave. She remembers the heavy weight of despair that had settled in her chest, suffocating and relentless, making it impossible to breathe. She had convinced herself that if she went out, if she got drunk enough, maybe the pain of feeling unwanted would fade away.

But it only deepened.

In her haze, she had followed a woman into bed, desperately trying to imagine the warmth of your body in place of hers, the softness of your laughter, your gentle voice reassuring her that everything was okay, that you loved her. Natasha had thought that perhaps, just for a moment, she could replace the feeling of loneliness with something that resembled closeness. But the alcohol only made her feel more lost, more empty. And when the fog of the night began to lift, reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

Then, the devastation that followed was unbearable, the realization that she was lying next to someone who wasn’t you was a betrayal of its own. She had stumbled back to her car, tears streaming down her face as she cried against the steering wheel, the home you shared just miles away, reminding her of everything she had thrown away in that one moment of weakness.

“I wish I didn’t leave that night. I should’ve stayed with you,” Natasha murmurs, the regret thick in her voice.

She looks down, fingers fidgeting restlessly against your waist. The memory of that night, the night she let her pain turn her into someone she didn’t recognize, stings like an open wound.

In her mind, it replays over and over with cruel clarity: the empty bed she left behind, the bitter taste of jealousy and self-doubt that drove her out the door, and the alcohol she turned to, hoping it would numb the ache. But it only made things worse.

She remembers how her vision blurred, and in the hazy, dimly lit room, she’d let herself believe she was somewhere else—back home, with you, as if she could trick herself into feeling loved. She imagined your skin. She imagined your lips. She imagined your hands. She imagined your voice. She imagined it all to be you. She wanted it so badly to be you. That the woman she was with became an illusion that she’d desperately wanted to be real.

But it wasn’t. It was a lie she told herself, a lie that shattered the instant she sobered up. And when she told you the truth, when she saw the pain in your eyes, she knew the weight of what she’d done.

Her voice breaks as she continues, “I thought… that if I could just close my eyes and pretend, I’d feel close to you again.”

She risks a glance up, searching your face for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything to soften the truth of what she’s saying.

“All I could think about was you,” she whispers, her gaze dropping to where your hands rest between you. “Even when I was trying so hard to forget. It was only you. It’s always only been you.”

There’s a silence, a moment where her words settle, and she braces herself, unsure if her honesty will bring you closer or push you further away.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n),” Natasha’s voice is barely above a whisper as she leans forward, resting her forehead against your shoulder, her hands slipping down to your hips, holding you gently but firmly against her lap. “I hate myself for hurting you as much as I did. And if I could go back and undo everything, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

There’s a tremor in her voice, a rawness in her apology that cuts through the walls you’d built, walls that once felt impenetrable, necessary. Now, they softened, melting under her words, her touches.

You sit there, not moving, not quite sure where to go with the ache that’s lodged itself in your chest. Natasha’s breath is warm against your neck, steady yet trembling with the emotion she can no longer contain. Her arms wrap tighter, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go. She presses her lips to your shoulder, a hesitant kiss, soft and laden with the weight of every unsaid apology, every moment she should’ve been there instead of elsewhere.

You feel your own heart twisting, caught between confusion and forgiveness, between the impulse to push her away and the urge to hold her closer, to let yourself be vulnerable just one more time. Natasha’s fingers flex against your hips, grounding herself in the reality of you here, with her, despite everything.

“I think… we were both lost, Natasha,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers threading gently through her red hair. Her hair is soft between your fingers, and somehow that simple act—the feel of her—grounds you both in the present.

Natasha tilts her head slightly, resting into your touch, as though she was seeking forgiveness in every gentle movement of your hand. Her eyes are closed, and you watch as her face softens, a flicker of relief and remorse still etched deep in her features.

“I was just… struggling… trying to hold everything together and forgetting… forgetting we were supposed to hold each other up.” Your voice cracks, but you push on, feeling Natasha’s grip on your waist tighten. “And you were hurting too. I didn’t even see it.”

Her eyes open then, green and full of something you can’t quite name. “I wish I had been stronger for the both of us… for you,” she murmurs, her hand lifting to brush a stray tear from your cheek. Her touch is warm, delicate, as if she’s afraid to break you any more than she already has.

You shake your head, your hand still buried in her hair. Your thumb strokes softly against her scalp, and her hand comes to cover yours, pressing it gently against her. Natasha opens her eyes to meet yours, and in that gaze, a flicker of hope ignites, mingled with uncertainty.

“What do you want us to do?” she asks softly and you hesitate, the words catching in your throat.

“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” you admit, and the honesty feels fragile. The confession hangs in the air, but it’s not a rejection. It’s an acknowledgment of the hurt that has settled deep in both of you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it,” Natasha replies, nodding her head in agreement, her voice thick with regret.

“But I… maybe we could try. It won’t be easy,” you say, a spark of resolve rising within you. “But I want us to try. Not just for you and me… but for the girls too.”

The thought of Lily and Nina grounds you, their innocent laughter echoing in your mind, reminding you of the love between you and Natasha not only affects the two of you, but the lives of your beautiful little girls as well. And they motivate you to be better, to be stronger in a lot of ways, no matter how scary something could be.

Natasha blinks, taken aback by your words. She searches your eyes, searching for some sign of betrayal, some hint that this is just another cruel twist of fate, but all she finds is sincerity—a desperate wish for something more. To move forward. A possibility.

You take a shaky breath. The anger and bitterness that had clouded your heart for so long begin to dissipate, and you realize that the facade you had built to protect yourself was crumbling. You had pretended to hate her kb because it felt easier than confronting the truth—that all you wanted was her love, her touch, her presence beside you.

“You said you hate me,” Natasha murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as her gaze drifts to your lips.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “I always told myself that I did. I thought I did.”

A silence stretches between you, thick with unsaid feelings and the echoes of past grievances. Natasha watches you intently, her emerald eyes searching for understanding, desperate to catch every part of your emotions.

“And even though I felt like I wanted to,” you continue, your voice trembling as the truth rises to the surface, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Natasha.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She tilts her head slightly, allowing a small smile to break through the sorrow etched on her features.

“You love me,” she repeats, her voice barely more than a murmur, eyes searching yours.

You take a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her gaze, the way it’s unraveling parts of you that you thought you’d locked away.

“Don’t act surprised,” you reply, sighing softly, almost chastising her for even doubting it. But there’s a hint of resignation in your voice, as if loving her has become an undeniable part of you, something you’ve both fought against and clung to.

Natasha’s expression shifts, and you see something like both relief and remorse in her eyes. She reaches up, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, lingering there as if grounding herself in this moment, in the truth of it.

“I didn’t know if you still did… if you still could.” Her voice is low, raw, carrying the weight of all her insecurities, the missteps and miscommunications that led you both here.

You hold her gaze, letting her see the depth of what you feel, all the love and pain tangled together, and you shake your head slightly.

“Loving you was never the problem, Natasha. I just… I didn’t know if I could keep doing it when I was… so angry with you.”

The admission aches as it leaves your lips, but it’s the truth. For all the love you feel, there’s been just as much pain, and it’s taken its toll on both of you.

Natasha nods, her thumb brushing against your cheek as if she’s memorizing every detail of it.

“Are you sure you still want to try with me?” she asks quietly. She’s looking at you with those green eyes that have seen so much, eyes that hold both love and a flicker of fear, as if she’s afraid of the answer.

You take a moment, feeling the gravity of her question settle in your chest. You nod slowly, your heart pounding against the silence that envelops you.

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for us to be together soon…” The words feel thick on your tongue, but they’re the truth. You can’t rush this—too much has happened for that. “But, I still want to try.”

Natasha’s expression shifts slightly, the blink of pain that crosses her face making your heart ache in response. She nods, processing your words with the understanding that comes from a deep love.

“I just need time,” you add, hoping to offer her some reassurance amidst the uncertainty. “Maybe, we can take it slow?”

A small smile breaks through the tension, and in that moment, it feels like the world around you lights up just a bit. It’s not much, but it’s everything Natasha needs right now.

“However slow you want to go,” she replies, her voice softer and her hands gentle against your waist. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

The sincerity in her voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tightness in your chest. You can see the depth of her commitment in her eyes, a willingness to do whatever it takes to bridge the distance that formed between the two of you.

You lean into her slightly and whisper, “Thank you.”

Natasha looks at you, her gaze filled with a depth of emotion that makes your heart flutter. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, not just as the woman she loves but as the most beautiful woman she has ever laid eyes on. The way her eyes soften, the way her lips curl into a smile—it’s overwhelming. There’s a longing there, an undeniable desire that urges her to close the distance, to lean in and kiss you. She wanted to kiss you so badly.

But she holds herself back, restraint crossing her features as she fights against it. Instead, she smiles gently, looking up at you. It’s a smile that says she’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. The warmth of her touch spreads. You feel a surge of gratitude. Her fingers press softly into your sides, holding you there without demanding anything more than what you’re ready to give.

Her gaze softens as she watches you, studying your face like it’s something she’s memorizing all over again, tracing every detail with her eyes. A small, almost hesitant smile plays at her lips, just the faintest upward curve, afraid to let the moment slip away.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You watch as Natasha turns her head towards the window, her eyes shifting away from you.

“Where did the rain go?” she murmurs, almost to herself, her voice low.

You follow her gaze to the window, watching as raindrops cling to the glass in silent, scattered trails.

“The sun’s out,” you murmur, shifting off Natasha’s lap. Her hands linger for a second longer than they should, fingers brushing against you as you slip away and rise to your feet.

Natasha watches you cross the room, her gaze following each step, each small movement. You move towards the window, your hand brushing against the glass as you peer outside. The world looks untouched, as if the storm never even happened, with the sun spilling over the trees and grass, drying the last remnants of raindrops clinging to the leaves. In the distance, you catch sight of Wanda’s car pulling into the drive, her headlights cutting through the last threads of mist hanging low over the ground.

“It’s like it didn’t even rain,” you say softly, almost to yourself, the words carrying an odd, quiet wonder.

Natasha moves closely behind you. She’s close enough that you feel her there but she doesn’t reach out.

The car door clicks open, and you watch as your daughters jump out, their laughter filling the morning air as they spot you and Natasha in the window. They wave eagerly, little hands in the air, faces bright with excitement. You walk over to the front door and push the screen door open, stepping out onto the porch and watching Wanda step out of the car with a knowing look. Her expression is unreadable, that sly, familiar grin playing at her lips as she lingers by the driver’s side, watching the scene with a certain satisfaction.

Natasha’s smile widens as she looks at the girls, softening into something that feels almost like relief, her eyes lighting up as Nina comes running, arms wide, straight toward her.

“How’d you guys survive the rain?” you call out, a trace of teasing in your voice as the girls run up to you and Natasha, their laughter still bubbling over.

Nina giggles, wrapping herself around Natasha’s leg, as though she’s missed her all these hours.

“It didn’t rain, Mommy!” she laughs, her head tilting back, eyes sparkling with innocence.

The words take a moment to sink in. It didn’t rain. You exchange a look with Natasha, and suddenly it all starts to fall into place. Wanda’s magic. The quiet, unexpected downpour. The way the time seemed to disappear for hours, leaving you and Natasha stranded in the cabin with nothing but your hurt and your words to fill the silence. You feel the realization settle in, glancing between Natasha and Wanda.

You step closer, crossing your arms with a faint smirk and meeting Wanda’s eyes directly.

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda only shrugs, her mouth quirking in that mischievous, all-too-familiar smile. “Seemed like you two could use a little time to talk.”

She says it lightly, like a friend with good intentions, and yet there’s something so deliberate in her tone that you know she planned this from the start.

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head as you turn away, slipping back through the doorway to collect the bags still waiting by the cabin’s door. You can feel Natasha’s gaze on you as you move inside, her eyes following you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she looks away. But there’s a softness in her eyes now, a sort of peace that hadn’t been there before, like the air between you both is just a little lighter after the night you shared.

Behind you, Natasha stands on the porch, her hands resting loosely by her sides. She watches as the girls eagerly chatter, running toward her before she crouches down with a smile.

“Hey, girls,” she says gently, smoothing back a stray curl from Lily’s forehead. “Why don’t you go help Mommy with your things?”

Nina and Lily grin, nodding excitedly before they dart inside, their footsteps echoing across the cabin floor as they rush to your side, each one eagerly grabbing a piece of luggage and heading toward the car.

Wanda steps up to Natasha’s side, her heels crunching softly on the gravel as she gives a knowing smile. She glances at Natasha, eyes curious, then leans in close enough that her voice falls to a gentle whisper. “So… how did it go?”

Natasha takes a slow, steady breath, her eyes lingering on the doorway where you disappeared moments ago.

“We talked…” she says softly, the words holding a weight Wanda understands without needing more.

“That’s something,” she murmurs, glancing back toward the cabin as though she can see the space between you both healing, bit by bit.

Natasha looks down, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but the weight of those words lingers in the air between them.

“She said she wants to try,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as a heavy, relieved sigh slips past her lips. Her shoulders relax, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a spark of hope flickering inside her—a chance to start over, a chance to make things right.

Wanda watches her closely, her expression warm and understanding as she nods. She knows the journey won’t be easy, that there are pieces to pick up and trust to rebuild, but seeing Natasha standing here, her face softened with hope, Wanda knows it’s a start.

Natasha opens her eyes slowly, her gaze distant as if she’s looking past the porch, past the quiet woods stretching around them. Her mind is with you, picturing the way you held let her hold you, the way you’d let her in, even if only a little. It had been so long since she felt that closeness, and the thought alone fills her with a warmth she hadn’t dared let herself feel.

“She wants to try…” Natasha repeats softly, as though saying it aloud might make it more real, solid, something she can hold onto. A soft smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and she looks over at Wanda, her green eyes shining.

Wanda gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“It’s a start,” she says gently, her voice steady but tinged with that familiar note of caution. She meets her gaze, her eyes filled with both support and a warning Natasha knows is true. “You know it won’t be easy.”

Natasha nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line. She knows. Every cell in her body knows. Her mistakes, the distance she let grow between you, the ache that took root in the spaces where love and trust used to be—but knowing it won’t be easy hasn’t made her want it any less.

She stares out toward the driveway, where you’re helping the girls settle in, the sunlight glinting in your hair as you laugh at something Nina says. It’s a sound she’s missed so deeply, it aches, and yet here it is, real and alive, a reminder of what’s still here, what’s still possible.

“I know,” Natasha murmurs, her gaze locked on you, as if watching you can give her strength. “I know it’ll take time, and… there’s a lot to make up for. But, I want it more than anything.”

“That’s all that matters, Natasha,” Wanda says. “But if you break her heart again, I don’t think I’ll be willing to help with that next time around.”

She smiles and nods in response, the determination in her eyes stronger now. She glances back toward the car just as you emerge, the girls trotting behind you, chattering happily as they throw their bags in, their laughter floating across the grass.

Natasha’s heart swells as she watches you, watches her family together, a sense of purpose settling over her as she realizes just how much she wants to make this right. She knows it won’t be easy, knows that there will be days filled with doubt and pain, but for now, for this moment, she has a sliver of hope.

And for Natasha, that’s more than enough.

note: would you forgive her ?

navigation | n.r masterlist

#bellaveux writes!#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #black widow x reader #fanfiction

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paradlselost · 26 days ago

Text

. ⋮ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ ֹ

doctor phosphorus x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ fun fact i’ve wanted to eat uranium for a long time so he is the worlds most perfect man to me . also sorry for not writing anything in so long , i’ve been busy and jumping from hyperfixation to hyperfixation for a while now as you can see by my unfinished mouthwashing fanfics . but i watched the show last night and he is my favorite and there’s almost nothing about him so i had to . enjoy !

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , mentions of body dysmorphia and imposter syndrome / depersonalization , religious trauma + blasphemy ( cause i can’t help myself ) specifically in catholicism , catholic rituals , depictions of eating raw meat , depictions of wounds , hurt / comfort , depictions of cannibalism , described body horror . smut : fire / burning kink , dry humping , fingering , male moans ( yay ! ) .

3 . 1 k words ++ not beta read .

PART TWO OUT NOW : CINNAMON GIRL

Eyes flutter closed, allowing darkness to wash over you. Soft sounds of birds chirping fill the room around you, drowning out the constant humming of the chip in the back of your neck. You’re hyper aware of everything, the fabric of the blanket that covers you and the cold air that stings your nose as you breath in; chest rising and falling in rhythm.

You remember how reluctant the guards that watched over you were to allow you the sounds you so desperately needed to sleep, not believing your pleas to quiet your constantly racing mind. Nearly a week without rest made them understand rather quickly, when, despite the power dampener locked around your neck, talons began to grow out of your hands and your spine contorted with the growing of fleshy wings.

It seems you’ve been blessed, something has gone right for once in your life as you’re now able to change the sounds to whatever you wish instead of the constant rushing of waves. Secretly, you’re happy to have been put on this mission. Grateful, even, as much as you could be to a monster like Waller. Perhaps you could even forgive her for the electrocution you’d been put through.

Weasel kips at the foot of your bed, stuck to your side since the day you had snapped at him: barred your fangs and shoved him away from you. Something about the beast had been so pathetic that you ended up apologizing and giving a hesitant scratch to the back of his ears. He’s good company, loyal if not a bit of a flea concern, and he listens when you speak to him unlike many of the others in the special containment of Belle Reave.

Nina was kind, as well, perhaps a bit out of her element, though. You’d once tried to make small talk with GI but that ended as quickly as it had started with his sudden interrogation on if you were a Nazi. And god, you wouldn’t dare bring anything up to the others.

Crickets chirped through the headphones you had been allowed to wear, owls hooting and birds calling. A forest at night, a beautiful scene you were sure you wouldn’t be able to see freely again, but you do not indulge in those negative thoughts. You can already feel it looming over you, exhaustion and stress mingling to bring it out. The thing that stirrs inside you, monstrous and ugly. Its hungry, and you know better than to ignore that hunger lest the Weasel that kips at the foot of your bed be more than a scrap of fur.

So, you stirr. Sitting up in the bed you remove your headphones and push the blanket from your form quietly as to not disturb him. He’s almost cute when he sleeps, like a crusty old dog that resembles more of a tattered blanket than a pet. Regardless, you close the door quietly behind you and walk down the long winding hallways of the palace. Truthfully, you had never been anywhere quite as lavish, never had a king sized bed all to yourself or a private bathroom. Its almost too big, especially at night when the shadows dance up the walls and cast an ominous glare over just about everything.

You know better than to gaze at your shadow as you pass the large walls with royal family portraits. Unworthy, unrighteous, evil. The rosary marks still pierce your skin, forced to pray this thing away day and night till your palms and knees bled. You’ve grown resentful towards the being that shares your body. It makes demands of you, to feast, a single slip can give way and allow it to control you. Some kind of devil, the reason you’re here in the first place.

Your mouth had begun to hurt in your search for the kitchen, gums beginning to bleed and pool against the base of your tongue.. You’d have thought you’d be used to this by now, that your world wouldn’t continue to be turned upside down, that the Lord’s Prayer wouldn’t recite involuntarily in your mind as it all starts over again. You stumble over your own two feet, finding yourself silently wishing you had that power dampener around your neck once again. Your stomach rumbles more.

It feels like an eternity till you finally find the kitchen, thankful that all the servants had retired for the night so you can spit your mouthful of blood into the sink. Crimson stains the marble, dripping from your chin as you turn on the faucet to wash your mouth of the taste. Your fangs had grown in now, taking space in front of your canines and piercing uncomfortably against your bottom lip whenever you close your mouth. Hunger gnaws at your stomach as if beginning to consume the lining itself.

You throw open the fridge door with little care of the noise it makes as it slams into the counter beside it. Eyes scour for something, anything, till you land on a large, raw goose marinating for tomorrow nights feast. Shaky hands reach out to grab it, allowing the glass tray it sits in to fall to the ground and shatter. The shards prick at your bare feet, cutting and marring your skin with more blood, though you don’t seem to notice.

Fangs sink into the bird, soft flesh breaking at the intrusion. The taste is almost euphoric, never had you tasted a meat so rich and fatty; your body had gotten far too used to the awful prison food they served in containment. You rip out a large chunk; tendons harshly snapping from the body as you swallow nearly without chewing. Your eyes gloss over as you devour the bird, reaching in to grab at the sausage links that had also been waiting to be cooked the next day.

You hadn’t realized how much you had truly lost yourself till a harsh green glow halted your feast. Head whipping around to greet the skeletal face of Phosphorus, a hiss falling from your lips that still wrapped around a chunk of meat like a food insecure cat. He was your least favorite of all, acting as if he knew everything simply because he had been a doctor before his incident. Not like it mattered in Belle Reave, and certainly not in the monster sector they were kept in.

“Woah. Calm down, I’m not takin’ that from you.” A huff came from him, head tilted to the side as he watched you, almost intrigued with the way you acted. He simply stepped past you, walking over to the sink and simply staring down at the blood that had graced the basin. “This yours?”

The link fell from your mouth, rolling into the shards of glass and crimson as the fangs retracted back into your gums, eyes returning to normal. All you could do was stare at him, as if he had asked the most stupid question in the world. Smartest man in the room your ass.

“Who else’s would it be?”

“Don’t know, thats why I’m asking. Flag and I got into a fight earlier and I totally won, so I’m just wondering.”

“Oh.”

He leans back against the countertop, facing you now, the sleeves of his hoodie protecting him from burning through the granite. Part of him had always intrigued you, in a way, everyone but Weasel had a signature outfit; but him? A hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. It was almost comical how simple he was, though you supposed there wasnt much he could keep. A step towards him, wincing at the sudden realization of what you had done.

His gaze followed yours, looking down to the glass and blood that gushed from your feet and ankles. The light from the fridge and his green glow illuminated the space between you two, dancing off the shards on the floor. Your mouth was covered as well, sloppily wiped onto your cheeks as you had feasted. God, you looked a mess, but the pain distracted you from that fact. Biting your bottom lip to muffle a pathetic whimper of pain.

“Cmon don’t cry, what’s a little glass among friends?”

“I am not crying.”

If he had eyes to roll no doubt he would’ve. Stepping over to you and hooking an arm around your shoulder to help you stand without any warning. Your first instinct is to fight him off, to tell him no and shout at him, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the touch and allow him to help you hobble up the stairs to, what you originally assume to be your room, but soon discover he’s guiding you into his, and then, into his bathroom.

Theres something almost intimate about the way he grabs your hips to help you onto the counter so he can patch you up. You hadn’t asked this from him, but it didn’t seem to matter much now as he filled a bucket with warm soapy water, dunking a rag in a few times and using the help of tweezers to pick the glass out of your skin. You do your best not to flinch, using the time to preoccupy yourself with washing off the blood from your face.

John 13. You detest the thought, Belle Reave had ripped every ounce of belief from your body, but the ceremonies and rituals of your youth had not quite left your mind, and the intimacy of the moment didn’t help. Silence filled the room, the only noises being the soft sounds of the wash cloth being dunked into the water and squeezed out. You’d seen it before, a relatives wedding, the washing of the feet ceremony. It’s meant to be intimate, to be between spouses, to show commitment and love just as Jesus had to his disciples. You feel far more like Judas, however, with the monster that festers inside you.

“So. What was that?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts, eyes fluttering down to look at him, hesitating at his question. You don’t have a good answer, not one that wraps everything up into a neat bow at the least. Just what you know, which isn’t much.

“It’s the reason I’m classified as a monster. Theres… something that lives inside me, a devil of sorts I was always told. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, its why I had to wear the collar back in confinement. It starts to creep out whenever I slip, get too comfortable or let my guard down.” You’re quiet, not wanting to break the softness of this encounter. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re all freaks, its the whole point of this task force.”

“I guess. I’m still sorry.”

A huff comes from Phosphorus as he grabs a clean washcloth, dunking it in fresh water and reaching up to wipe off some of the blood that you had missed, that still marrs your mouth and flesh. He’s close, now, very much so. He smells of sulfur, though it does not cause you to recoil or scrunch your nose; its a scent you’ve grown accustomed to with the monster that shares your body. Can a skeleton be attractive? Is that possible?

You lean into the feeling of the warm washcloth against your cheek; having been so long since someone had touched you. Before you had been arrested you indulged in sin, lust, it had engulfed your body and it wasn’t a feeling you ever wanted to encounter again. How it could consume your entire being, give control over to someone other than yourself. It’s a fine line for you, but you feel the distantly familiar feeling of butterflies flutter in your stomach at the proximity of him.

You feel sick; like bile will creep up your throat any moment, but it doesn’t feel bad. Not with how he lets the cloth be a barrier between the two of you, between his hands that will burn your body at his touch. You’d welcome it, to let him cauterize your wounds and fix you. Your hands creep up to wrap around the back of his neck, protected by the hood of his sweater as you pull him closer. He’s warm, comfortable.

“I don’t like you apologizing, you look like a kicked puppy.”

“You’re smiling, though.”

“Can’t help it, I’m a skeleton, doll.”

His voice is a giveaway, though, possibly the most upbeat you had heard him despite the quiet and intimate nature of the room. You feel it, the radiating warmth from his other hand creeping down to your thigh, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the fabric that protects your skin from his touch. It would hurt, but a part of you almost welcomes it, wants to feel it.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes focused on the hand that slowly crept higher from your thigh. He’s close, his heat rivaling that at your core. You miss the way his head tilts to the side at your demeanor, hands grasping and releasing the fabric of his hoodie over and over.

Phosphorus said nothing as he continued to wipe some of the blood from your mouth, lingering over your bottom lip while his other hand becomes preoccupied with cupping you over your pajama pants, skeletal fingers pressing in to give you some friction.

That nausea you had felt earlier returns tenfold, punishing yourself for feeling anything remotely good. The situation reminds you far too much of the last time, dipping too far into bliss. It seemed you had only blinked when the body of the lover you had found for the night was strewn across the room, spitting half eaten entrails out of your maw. He guides you to lean back against the mirror, your hand clasping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he slips below the fabric of your nightwear.

You can feel it again, the hunger that rises to your chest. Your hands shake against your skin now, nailbeds aching with the growing of your talons. A whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You are selfish, greedy. You’d rather relish in this than warn him, to have one moment that allows you to feel human, to feel wanted and loved.

A sudden burning feeling rips you from your thoughts, your hand had been removed from its post over your mouth and was held in his. Tears well in your eyes at the feeling, the searing pain that washed over your body and forces you to see white. It aches, branding you.

“Shit.” Is all that falls from his mouth, moving his hand away before you needily grasp it once more. Intertwining your fingers, keeping him there. The pain had forced the monster away, talons no longer threatening to protrude from your nailbeds and spine ceasing its contorting. You are lucky, graced with an opportunity to feel something beneath the endless pit in your stomach. To feel him.

“Don’t stop.” Your breathless words are more than enough to encourage his continuation, slotting himself between you legs and pressing the suddenly tight fabric of his sweatpants against you. A soft sigh falling from your lips, head tilted back, hair fluffing up on the mirror as he began to rock against you.

“I wont.” Slow, at first, as if testing the waters to gauge your reaction. Soft whines emitting from somewhere behind the skeletal teeth that were on display for you. Your hand scrunches up his hoodie, dragging his chest closer to you as he began to pick up the pace.

Needy and pathetic, his hips grinding rougher against your pajama pants, the tent in his pants catching on your covered clit; pulling a gasp from you as you arched your back. He focused his movements in that spot, up and then down to elicit soft whines and moans from you. Matching his neediness, having been touched starved for so long.

You’d grown up with depictions of heaven, imaginary white fluffy clouds somewhere high above the Earth. But here, right now, you’re more than convinced this is paradise. Rough fabrics rocking against each other, keeping you grounded on the countertop you sit on, the mirror behind you beginning to fog up with your heavy breathing. Your hands still intertwined, the harsh stinging drowned out at the near bliss you faced.

Hes sloppy now, nearing his finish far faster than you despite your state. Harsh whines fall from him as he grinds against you a few more times before panting and leaning against you. He’s winded for a moment, catching his breath, though the hand not holding yours travels back down to rub against your core.

Hes rough, guiding you to gush around nothing. You can feel your heartbeat below, drumming uncomfortably as you bury your face in the neck of his hoodie. His hand slips below your pajamas once more, continuing to tease your swollen clit and soaked folds as tears pricked at your eyes, squeezing his hand to single for him to stop.

Within a moment, he did. Ceasing the torment though not removing his hand from under your pants. Allowing your juices to pool against the cotton of your underwear before guiding his hand lower, placing his palm flat against your thigh and removing his other hand from yours. It stings, the cleansing fire emitting from him, your hand already burned as he brands your thigh with his handprint.

“Perhaps we should act like this didn’t happen… I’m sure it would make being on a team awkward.”

“I-... Yeah. Agreed. I should, um, head to bed.” Awkward you lift yourself from the counter and fix your pajama pants, slipping off the granite and setting against the cold tile floor. Your feet still hurt, though not nearly as bad as they had hurt before and surely nothing in comparison to the feeling of him against your skin.

He gives little more than a nod as you slink out the door, stumbling down the hall to find your own room and quickly running a hot bath. It would soothe you, make everything better, you deemed. Stripping to allow yourself to sink into the warmth as a sigh falls from your lips, eyes drawn to the handprint marked on your thigh.

You trace the outline with your finger, over and over almost obsessively and silently cursing him for his words. An asshole, you remembered, your least favorite in the little ragtag team. Though, with the way he had whimpered and moaned against you, you were halfway convinced you may be able to fuck the sarcasm and ill wit out of him.

#doctor phosphorus #dr phosphorus #creature commandos #creature commandos dc #smut #x reader #doctor phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus x reader #i need that radioactive man so bad

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morose-melodies · 1 month ago

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your knight | princess reader x yandere! capitano

summary: your new knight, capitano, is everything you hate and yet he won't leave you alone T_T

content warning: none

part 1, part 2, part 3

"I'd suggest you not walk barefoot around the garden, princess."

you paused mid-step to look back at your knight. how did he manage to find you so soon? "i won't be out for long. you don't need to watch me every second..."

you sent him to the marketplace to buy you a treat and not only was he already back, but he also managed to find you...

"but, that is my sole duty, princess, to ensure your safety."

your shoulders slumped and you looked defeated. you hated your knight more than anything else. "leave me be. I'll be back inside soon."

"i cannot allow that, princess. I would never forgive myself if you were to fall into harm's way."

"well then, stay as far away from me as possible."

it was so smothering! having a knight follow you around at every given moment... your old knight didn't do this, no, he gave you space and let you be when you asked.

why did your father ever fire him...?

he was one of the better knights.

"I will try my best to please you, princess."

you tried your very best to ignore his presence as you roamed the garden, taking flowers for yourself but now that you knew he was watching you, it ruined everything!

you sighed, turning to face your knight, a scowl on your face. he did not falter, he started (or you assumed he was) back at you, "I can't even enjoy a walk in the garden without you bothering me!"

he had been standing silently in the corner of the garden this entire time. capitano sighed, "i believe it would be best we go inside now, it is getting dark and you're getting irritable, princess."

"I'm getting irritable because of you!" stomping your foot down, you tossed your flowers to the ground and rushed off, past your knight, "i can't stand you."

your knight sighed. stepping forward, he picked up your discarded flowers.

you ran off to your chambers - you knew weren't allowed to lock your door but oh you wanted to!

you would do anything to get rid of your knight.

so, as you settled down for bed, you conspired against your knight.

when you awoke that morning, sitting up in your bed, you were pleased to see that capitano was not standing in the corner of your room watching you, not as he usually did.

good. maybe he was learning.

you didn't notice it before but on your vanity was a vase, filled with the flowers you remember tossing to the ground in your anger the day before.

"ugh," you flopped back down onto your bed, grieving the day to come.

#yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere scenarios #capitano x reader #capitano #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader

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jymwahuwu · 7 months ago

Note

idk i like to think sunday is a firm believer of no sex before (cough forced) marriage. but when the vows are exchanged, the first kiss is celebrated, and the doors are closed… he’s more than ready to take you to poundtown.

he takes you in all the right angles and even in the most humiliating positions, and makes sure every hole of yours is satisfied and fulfilled.

he has an elegant smile that charms even nuns, but behind that seeming innocence and grace is a lustful sinner with a relentless libido he’s been patiently keeping away until now. he adores and coos at your dumb-looking face as you were being fucked dumb by him. what, “no more”? ah, he thinks you meant “please more” when your eyes involuntarily rolled back with your tongue lolled out. you look so happy and cute, a stark contrast to your ever so vicious, and wild nature when interacting with him.

he likes you this, so fulfilled without that savagery of yours to ruin it. he feels like he successfully domesticated a wild animal, and the only finishing touch is having your belly round with child… or children ;)

and if you ever complain or say those disgusting, sinful words against him, it’s okay. he’ll wash that filthy mouth of yours, over and over again until it’s only praise about him that’s dripping from your tongue.

tldr; sunday’s always been a freak but has hidden it all his life until he married you.

>_<🪭anon thank you for such a great story!! I love how Sunday changed after marriage. He hides his true nature and controls himself…

cw: yandere, dub-con, overstimulation, penetration, nipple stimulation, gag, spanking, reader has female reproductive system

Sunday believes in chastity before marriage and protecting chastity before eternal commitment. He does not indulge you in your desires. The body is a sacred temple and cannot be defiled.

And this not only means no sex before the wedding, it means you can't masturbate, read erotic novels, comics, watch pornographic movies, none of these are allowed. Before the engagement, Sunday showed appropriate care and closeness. After the engagement, you had just platonic dates, walking together, dining in restaurants, watching movies and playing games. Sunday likes to read some books with you and share opinions. He doesn't mind if you read books other than philosophy, even popular ones, but… there's only one category he doesn't like… He checks your browser and reading apps.

Switching accounts to browse pornographic novels/browsing pornographic websites will not work. You had done this sneakily, and after you were discovered, your hands were on the table, your underwear was on your calves, and the whip in your fiancé's hand was in close contact with your butt. Clearly, you violated his trust and indulged in lewdness.

Depending on your personality, you might scream and curse at him. Or you whimpered and repented. You emphasize that you will really correct yourself and beg for forgiveness. Both options without exception ended in a spanking. (He also tells you to bend over his lap and get spanked…it's important to bend over in humiliation first. Your butt is so sore it feels like it's burning.) After the punishment is over, Sunday rubs ointment and lotion into your butt. He puts you on his knees, wipes your tears and kisses your forehead.

It's for your own good, he insists. He derived no pleasure from it. You wisely chose not to point out his rising smile.

Wedding!! Sunday was months in preparation for the wedding. He and you exchanged vows and kissed each other. Robin even shed a few tears. She was deeply touched. She was glad that her brother had his happiness. When you get married, you think it's going to be a conservative life, like once a week, missionary position, that sort of thing.

But, no… it was completely unexpected, like you said, Sunday penetrated you at every right angle and humiliating position. He had never done it before but was a quick learner. He explores your sensitive areas and sweet spots, focusing on attacking and teasing those spots. The gloved fingers circled your areola, occasionally pinching and scraping gently. He pinched your raised nipples as if you were about to produce milk. His balls ravaged and slammed against your vulva, his elegant glans hitting your sensitive spots accurately, and his thick cylinders stretching your tight, layered flesh. Fill you with seeds not just once but several times a day. Long periods of abstinence can make you very sensitive to touch. Just caressing your breasts can bring new excitement and tremors to your body, not to mention creampie. You… squirted. When you get your first squirt, Sunday watches you curiously and the amazing amount of squirt. You look completely engaged and surrendered, muttering shakily, rolling your eyes, and spreading your legs.

"No - no more…"

Uh-huh, yes, and if you keep that mean attitude when you're in a relationship with him. The satisfaction this gives Sunday is indescribable. Watching the look in your eyes go from aggressive to melting into orgasm, screaming and begging for no more rounds. You didn't know that a man who had been abstinent before turned out to be like this… His load that had been accumulated for a long time was released inside you, flowing through and filling you up. His cock stayed inside you for a moment, until it was hard again and the thrust returned, slamming into your ass.

And wash your mouth haha, that's a little too hardcore(?) for me and that's just for being a mean and condescending reader. Sunday might not like a rough approach, so… maybe a gag? As long as you keep being mean and saying horrible shit, eventually your mouth will get gagged. All you could say was "mmm!!" and "eh", "wh…" and other unwritten sounds, and you glared at him. Regardless, eventually you'll learn how to compliment him properly and without any swear words. (If Sunday realizes your taunt, he will put the gag in your mouth again without hesitation.)

All in all, you discovered another side of Sunday after marriage. Maybe he is not an ascetic man. He knows how to control. He knows he wants you.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail x you #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #honkai x reader

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months ago

Text

slap

words: 1k

warnings: established relationship, hitting rafe, rafe having a panic attack, brief self harm from rafe (not really intentional), drunk riding? a dirt bike

“rafe.” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “stop that.”

“i-” rafe takes a gasping breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “i can't.”

“you're going to hurt yourself.” your eyes flicker down to his clenching fist, his nails digging into his palm, threatening to break skin. your voice is trembling with concern.

“i can't.” rafe says again, his mouth turning to a frown as he struggles to hold back tears, eyes glistening.

you don't know what to do. you've seen rafe overwhelmed before, but this is a new low, seemingly to lose control over his body. hes always kept it together before, especially for you when you’re around.

you reach out, not sure if it would help, and slap your hand directly across his cheek in a swift, firm hit.

you both fall silent and time seems to stand still as you stare into each other's eyes, both in shock at your action when rafes hands loosen and pull you into him.

“that helped.” he says, tucking his head into the space between your shoulder and neck, pressing a kiss to your skin.

“okay.” you reach around his waist and hold him tightly. “im sorry for hitting you.”

“it's okay.” rafe says, eyes closing, quickly tiring out.

“let's go to bed, yeah?” it's the middle of the day, but you're ready to retreat into rafes bedroom, especially to get away from ward who didn't let your presence hold him back from shouting at rafe.

“yeah.” rafe grips your hand tightly, needing that connection to you as you head up the stairs.

“rafe.” you voice is harsh and controlled, but not a yell. not yet.

“baby-” rafes voice is whiny and slurred from all the shots of alcohol he'd taken with his boys earlier. “what do you want? im going-”

“you're not going anywhere without a helmet on. you already shouldn't be riding drunk.” you place your hands on your hips.

“im fine.” rafe says, a smile stretching across his cheeks, hoping it will appease you, will make you let this go like you usually do.

“no.” you say harshly. “get off the bike and get a helmet.”

rafes expression hardens as he revs the engine, threatening to take off and join kelce and topper, but you don't care that they already sped away towards the country club without putting any protection on.

rafe opens his mouth to continue to argue, but you cut him off with a slap across his face.

rafe blinks, stunned.

“sorry.” rafe steps off the bike and takes your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your lips. “ill get a helmet.”

“thank you.” you're still not happy that he's even going, but you know you can't do much to control rafe and you’ve learned to pick your battles.

you're sitting on the couch playing on your phone, scrolling aimlessly through social media when you hear the roar of the bike engine returning to tanneyhill.

you frown and check the time, but your mental clock was correct, it's only been around an hour since rafe and his friends left, too early for him to be returning.

curious, you walk outside in time to watch rafe pull into the garage.

“what are you doing back so early?” you ask as he takes his helmet off.

“i missed you.” rafe sniffles then pouts, his voice shy and a little sheepish. “i don't like being away from you when im drunk… or ever.”

“aww, whose a softie?” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as you melt at his words.

“and i feel bad about being mean to you about me wearing a helmet. i know you were just looking out for me.” rafe ducks his head and presses his lips to your forehead.

“i forgive you.” you wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. “sorry for slapping you.”

rafe shakes his head, dismissing your apology without the need of any further acknowledgement.

“love you so much.” rafe picks you up and carries you inside. you're not worried about him falling or dropping you, he wouldn't allow you to get hurt even in his drunk state.

“ahhh!” you scream out, hand reaching out and hitting the figure in the face that appeared from the darkness. you reach up again with your other hand to deliver another slap when a hand emerges from the shadow and grabs your wrist.

“baby, it's me.”

rafes voice cuts through the darkness as you freeze before your body deflates.

“oh shit.” knees buckling as rafe grabs you and pulls you against his chest. “i thought you were an intruder.”

“an intruder?” rafe laughs. “well, that was a good hit. i think you might leave a mark.”

“a mark?” you squeal, pulling away from his chest and looking at his cheek, that does in fact have a red mark in the distinct shape of your fingers.

rafe just laughs, his arms wrapping around you more securely. “dont worry about it.” he says, kissing the top of your head. “its kind of hot that you’re so tough.”

“god, shes hot.” rafes voice is loud, almost obnoxious, as he pipes up for the first time since entering the room and plopping down on the couch next to you.

“what the fuck?” you question, dropping your phone as your eyes narrow at him.

“nothing.” theres a smile on rafes face that tells you there's something more as you try to snatch his phone from his hand, but he holds it just out of your reach.

“give it!” you squeal as rafe laughs at your frustration, not fighting too hard before letting you see the screen, opened up to his photo album filled with pictures of you, candid shots, selfies you’ve sent him, and moments he’d captured of you without your knowledge.

“oh my god, you piece of shit!” you join in on rafes laughter, falling into his lap.

you reach your hand up and playfully hit rafes cheek. “i hate you.” you say, though the affection in your voice betrays your words.

“no you don't.” rafe counters, pressing his lips against yours. “you love me.”

“yeah.” you admit, kissing him back. “i love you.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

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m-ilkiee · 5 months ago

Text

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, implied domestic abuse, victim blaming, blackmailing, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break, psychological torture, use of firearms

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 11.6k

[masterlist] [chapter 1] [chapter 3] [taglist]

a/n: likes are nice, comments and reblogs with comments are superior, anons are also superior too and would make me update faster cause it means people like what i write. this chapter takes an entirely different turn from the old story, some scenes are similar but the context is different. i host polls after this so stay tuned. Edit 02/11/2024: this chapter's end has been edited and changed. I've indicated the edited point, so that you could skip other parts to read it. Thank you.

YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself.

Not to mention, studying until the words are bleary and just looking at a book hurts your eyes.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. You try to reject him, try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped. This time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of the thing you hold so dear while you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgement for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard any of this, he was definitely going to fire you. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam!” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologised to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologising profusely for your so called rude behaviour. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well, you better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his penetrating gaze on you, as if judging you. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here because you said you were desperate for a job. But apparently, you’re not even bothered enough to keep it.” He spat out. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

IZANA knows it's creepy to be waiting for Emma just outside her college, but it's not like he has a choice when she keeps ignoring any method he uses to contact her.

Mindlessly, he fiddled with his lighter with his back on the wall of the English department building and an unlit cigarette between his lips. Purple eyes scanned the people leaving the building one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. His hopes rose with each blond he saw, only for him to deflate when he realised they weren't her.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him before. Usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought her gambling friends into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain. He’s not the best person to be around, with how fucked over he was by life until Shinichiro gave him purpose but he loved his sister a lot and everything he did was to protect her. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma and he’d do anything to protect his humanity.

Only to watch it slip through his fingers.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet.

The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it is you, taking the space in her life that belonged to him and Mikey. You’re pushing both of them out of the equation, threatening their position in their sister’s life and everything they know.

Izana wonders how someone so insignificant was so important to Emma that she was willing to cut communications with her own brothers. It baffles him beyond understanding and at the same time enrages him that she could trust you so easily. That she was willing to turn against him in your name.

He took more puffs, skimming throughout the campus for any sight of her. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, as Kisaki had convinced him to ask Emma and you to go shopping, just to get back into Emma's good graces again. Apparently doing a nice gesture publicly for you would convince their sister to give them another chance again.

Especially because Izana had been the biggest opposition to their friendship.

“But Mikey was a little shit about them too.” he grumbles underneath his breath, cigarette in hand. “Why do I have to be the one to apologise? And why did Mikey get an out while I’m doing all the heavy lift-”

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind and stood up straight, tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly and earning a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her free hand was fast to hit him, but her head was faster in turning around, only to recognize it was just Izana. Her hand stopped inches away from the smirking male’s face, the tension leaving her body and relief taking its place. It doesn’t last long, though as irritation suddenly crawls on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, despite the glare she gave him in response. “You know no one would dare touch you.”

“Get off me. Your breath stinks like nicotine, I thought you said you quit smoking that shit.”

Ignoring Emma’s last question, he decided to change the topic. “Your lapdog isn't here with you?” he asked. Usually, you would be hovering behind her like a damn pest, so you not being around her was rather strange.

Emma is quick to shove him off lightly, putting some distance between the two of them, clearly still mad at him. "(Name)'s not feeling well, so she didn't come to class today. I'm on my way to get her medicine."

Oh, that's a surprise.

But with you out of the way, Izana could finally have Emma all to himself for today and hang out with his beloved sister. Maybe even make up for the party thing without apologising to you. Without you here, it’s likely Emma isn’t as mad at the whole situation and is playing it up to make you feel like you have someone on your side.

He knows you’re not going to protest if Emma says she’s in talking terms with her brothers again. It’s a win-win situation and he doesn’t have to grovel or ask for forgiveness for some joke that went wrong.

"So that means we can hang out?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to keep pretending you're still mad at me now that she isn't here." He spews the 'she' with so much venom it could kill, before switching up with a sick grin, his hand stretched out. "We can go to Vivienne Westwood and get that Saturn necklace you like, what do you say?"

His words hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes burning holes into his face as her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! I just told you (name)'s ill and you're asking me to go with you to shop at Vivienne westwood? Are you nuts?”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. Izana kept his composure, despite his bubbling irritation beneath the surface of his skin, with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Oh come on, should I care about her-"

"You should be begging her to forgive you for what you did to her that night!"

"You can't still be mad at me for that shit that happened two weeks ago. And besides, it's not my fault she couldn't take a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth, digging his own grave. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat.

“I-I-i" she starts to stutter. It’s obvious that she can recognize what she had just said as he blankly stared at her. "I didn't mean i-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking away as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression. Emma followed behind, instantly, shouting his name at the top of her lungs followed with strings of apologies.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise, her words repeating in his head.

“I didn’t mean it! I’M SORRY-”

YOU don't know which was worse, the feeling of helplessness that came with the reality of your life crashing before your very eyes or the splitting headache you've developed after crying in your room for a week straight. Laying on your bed all day, huddled up in a blanket and sobbing uncontrollably was unhealthy, but it was all you found the strength to do these days.

In all your years of being alive, you've never felt this pathetic. Not when you would be pushed outside in the pouring rain if you made a mistake in making dinner, or had been beaten with a belt in front of Yuzhua and Hakkai because you failed your catechism test. You could protect yourself from your brothers when they got violent. You could run and hide when your dad was really angry and wanted to take it out on you.

Unfortunately, no one told you what to do when your life is falling apart.

Ever since that day, you couldn't find the strength to go to class or do anything for that matter. It was like your entire energy was sucked out of you, leaving your body an empty husk with nothing left to give.

You only have yourself to blame.

You drag the blankets closer to your body, sniffling a bit. The worst part of all of this is that after this month, if you don’t find a job that pays you quickly, you are going to be broke. It’s times like this that makes you regret leaving your family. You know it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you would be forgiven assuming you return home in tears and repentant of your sin of disobedience like the prodigal son in the bible. Life is too hard to live in the outside world without the help and guidance of a parent. You miss your old life, with your own bed and guaranteed food, as long as you did as you were told. You miss how sometimes your parents took you and your siblings to eat out after church.

You miss your mother. You want to go back to her. Life is hard, and dealing with being jobless with nowhere to turn to is harder. You could ask Emma, but she’s already taking care of you and there was no way you would bother your friend about your money problems.

"Hey babes, I got the medicine for you."

Emma's soft voice rouses you out of your self-pity session. The wood creaks underneath her heels as she walks to your bed and takes a seat besides you, the mattress dipping underneath her weight. The scent of her Vivienne Westwood wafting through your nostrils fills you with a sense of warmth, familiarity and at the same time, dread.

You feel guilty. Perhaps it's because you don't know how to tell Emma what exactly is wrong with you. It's easier to give her the half-truth that you caught a stomach bug than say everything. If you even as much as hinted that Manjiro had something to do with the real reason you were a sobbing mess on your bed, you're sure she would overreact and fight with her brothers again.

But still, not telling her meant you were keeping secrets from her. Something you both promised not to ever do as you two became best-friends.

‘It’s for her own good.’ you try to justify it. ‘It’s better I keep my mouth shut.’

Pushing that thought at the back of your mind, you roll over to her direction, pulling down your blanket just a little bit to see her properly. Your heart drops at the sadness etched onto Emma’s face, a forlorn look in her eyes. You hated seeing her down, yet all you’ve been doing for the past few months since you came into her life was causing her pain. You know how it feels to lose family, no matter how bad they were to you and Emma is no different.

“Hey”

Your voice is hoarse from your constant crying, but Emma doesn’t mention it as she reaches a hand to caress your face. “You look better than yesterday. You up to eat?”

You nodded briefly, realising how hungry you were. You’ve barely had an appetite to eat anything, so your rations had been smaller and compact until you regained it back bit by bit, thanks to Emma’s constant care. Pushing yourself up, you sit up and yawn, quickly covering your mouth the moment a bad stench emanates from it. Emma’s face quickly grows sour as well, probably smelling it too.

“You haven’t showered.”

“Uhhh-”

You knew there was no excuse for that one as Emma put the food and medicine away before yanking you off the bed while talking about how gross you were for not showering throughout today. “You’re a girl (name), don’t do this to yourself, c’mon-”

“But-” you start to whine, trying to defend yourself. “I was tired-”

“Nope!” she retorted, pushing you towards the bathroom. “No excuses! I swear you’re acting like Mikey when he’s in one of his moods-”

The room falls silent at her words, the cheerful aura dropping the second Emma realises what she’s said, a wave of guilt washing over her face as she lets go of your hands.

“Fuck- I’m sorry (name)...”

Your heart aches at how heartbroken she sounds right now and shatters even further at the fact that everything, every problem they were experiencing right now was all your fault. You saw it deep in Mikey’s eyes how much pain and suffering your presence in their family had caused, and how his anger reflected that action towards you. You’ve been so entrenched in your own problems that you forgot the mess you made in their family.

“Emma, you miss them don’t you?”

‘It’s not too late.’ You mutter to yourself, your heart in your throat as you steel your resolve. You couldn’t let her make that mistake you made by leaving your family aside. You don’t want Emma to be like you.

“(Name), please don’t-”

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever.” You cut her short, speaking directly to her now. “You can’t keep ignoring Draken either too. You’re miserable.”

“I’m fin-”

“Emma no.” You snap at her, finally having enough of her stubbornness as anger swells up in you. “I see how sad you look everytime you look at your pictures with your big brothers and Draken. Do you think that it’s healthy to keep ignoring them like this?”

“You were the one they hurt, you shouldn’t feel bad for them-”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t matter!” You yell desperately, now pulling away from her grasp in an attempt to put your foot down. “They are the ones who matter a lot. Those are you family members! People who love you and have protected you for years! Just talk it out with them! They miss you for god’s sake!”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t matter?” Emma roars back at you, suddenly enraged by your outburst. You nearly stumble back at how angry she sounded, fear creeping into your skin as your verbal claws retract. “You matter to me! You mean the world to me as any of them do! You’re my best friend and I love you and if they don’t understand that then there is nothing to make up for!”

By the time she was done yelling, her breathing was heavy and her eyes so intense you couldn’t even stare at her. Your eyes quickly flickered to your feet instead; scared of seeing the disappointment on her face and terrified of her anger. You didn’t like it when Emma yelled, it reminded you of your mother getting angry at you, something you hated doing to her.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and took a step closer to you, her hand intertwined with yours. “Come on, I’ll help you shower.”

You silently follow behind her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

PERHAPS Izana should be angry at Emma.

It would be justified after the words she said from her mouth, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Emma was just angry as well and she didn’t mean any of the words she had said to hurt him. She said them because of you, however and he realises that every fight they’ve had is over your presence in her life.

Which meant that the true culprit was you.

People may believe in love at first sight, but from the first day Izana set his eyes on you, he could only feel hatred towards you. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him.

At first, Izana thought it was the fact that the both of you were clashing personalities that made him feel that way, but then you keep getting in his way and ruining things for him. He hates everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma and how easy it was for her to like you. Just your mere presence in general was enough to set him off because of how simple it was for you to be close to Emma while you barely knew her. It felt like he was losing his only sister to a stranger, and now the Emma who stands in front of him is a mere mockery of his real sister.

And that’s the frustrating part. He can’t do anything to hurt you. He’s smart enough to know that if he does, Emma would never forgive him.

“... Kurokawa, are you here with us?”

Izana snaps back to reality as Kisaki taps the table three times to get his attention. ‘I might have spaced out.’ He thinks to himself before facing the entirety of the table; Tetta Kisaki, the rather shrewd and ruthless dealer sitting, his equally irritating lap dog Shuji Hanma and the little shit that he called his younger brother, Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey, ever since that day he made that phone call and revealed his brand new plan of accepting you into their friend group, he’s been very quiet. Even throughout today’s meeting, he hasn’t said a word, aside from mentioning that Draken was going to be absent and asking where Kakucho was before the meeting began.

And knowing his brother, a quiet Mikey is a suspicious Mikey.

Now that Izana thinks about it, he’s noticed that Mikey, who was on his side initially had suddenly switched to trying to apologise to you. Which was weird, considering how egocentric Mikey could be on the topic of apologising. Izana has his suspicions, but then again Mikey is unpredictable due to his rather dark impulses, so he couldn’t really say anything yet, until Kakucho came back from his task.

Izana cleared his throat and faced Kisaki again, deciding to be as honest as possible. After all, it’s their fault that he’s in this mess, might as well remind them. “Just thinking about how Emma practically called me a bastard and I’m supposed to be okay with it.” He said nonchalantly and the air in the room shifted into an uncomfortable silence for the upteenth time this week ever since that unfortunate day. It isn’t surprising to anyone as to why though, Izana’s complicated relationship with the Sano’s is a sore topic that no one ever dared to bring up.

From Kisaki’s tight lipped expression, Izana is sure that the younger male is picking his words carefully in his head. Even Hanma who would have laughed or said something to intentionally piss off Izana remains silent. Eventually, Kisaki lets out a resigned sigh. “The audit would be done another time.” He states in a cool tone, putting his laptop aside before facing the two brothers. “It’s obvious we’re not gonna do anything useful until you resolve this issue with Emma and her friend.”

“Really?” The white haired male mocks, causing Kisaki to shift in his place, an irritated frown creasing his face. “would you like to hear my pla-”

“We’re not going to kill a civilian and draw attention to ourselves, Izana. I’ve already told you what to do.” Kisaki snapped back, his yellow eyes darting from Izana to Mikey, before narrowing in irritation. “Both of you. Just apologise to (name), it’s not that hard. You don’t even have to mean it, the girl won’t even know the difference-”

“Ah yes, cause that went well the last time.”

“And whose fault is that? I clearly told you to say “I’m sorry” and all you did was make things worse!”

“I’m just brutally honest.” Izana spits back. “And you can’t blame me because I tried, compared to Mikey who sits on his damn ass and has done nothing-”

“I wasn’t the one who called her a cheap hooker!” Mikey interjects defensively, sitting upright after staying quiet from the start of this meeting, finally saying something.

“Oh, so you can speak.” Izana retorts back, his voice cold. Mikey is so good at shifting blame onto others for actions he has a hand in, especially when he knows it would reflect badly on him. Unfortunately, Izana has been in this game longer than his little brother. “I thought you had gone mute with the way you don’t want to talk about the issue beyond pushing me to apologise to her.”

“You don’t make it any easier with how you talk to people.” Mikey hisses back, his tempo rising with each word, but Izana can hear the slight shake in his voice, almost as if he’s hiding something. “How am I supposed to do anything if you keep saying shit like you’re glad (name)’s gone?”

(Name)?

The entire room falls silent at Mikey’s sudden outburst, or rather what Mikey had just said. No one says a word as they all stare at Mikey in shock, eye wide and mouth hanging open like he’d grown two heads. There’s a glimmer of confusion in the dark eyed male before the realisation of his mistake washes over him, his facial expression changing into a mixture of guilt and pure terror.

As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It’s unmistaken. Izana knows his brother is hiding something and it has to do with you. “You’ve never,” he starts slowly, never taking his eyes off Mikey, gauging his facial expression. “called her by her name. You only call girls who you had something to do with by their name.”

“I-”

“You fucked her, didn’t you.” it’s a statement, not a question. Mikey grows pale and it's more of a sure answer than anything else at all.

“I didn’t do anything bad… she’s still a virgin-”

“What.” Kisaki, interjecting as well, cuts him off, his voice cold. “Did. You. Do?”

Mikey is silent. It’s brief and doesn’t last long as he finally seals his fate with a quiet voice. “It’s not my fucking fault, she wore a short skirt and she was asking for it-”

At the side, Kisaki crumples back onto the dining table seat, his head in his hands muttering a quiet “Oh fuck, I should have stayed with Osanai.” as he shakes in disbelief. Hanma just sits there, clearly perturbed, not knowing how to react but at the same time, not really interested.

“Glad to know I’m not the only screw up.” Izana scoffs as well. Despite how cheery his voice sounded, the furious look on his face says a different story altogether. “Since apparently you’re just as stupid as I am.”

Mikey runs a hand through his golden locs, frustration evident on his features. No one has ever seen him look so frantic, like a little kid who broke something and is trying to hide it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure she said no at first but I knew she wanted it when she relaxed in my touch-”

“That’s not what Emma’s gonna think, you idiot!” Izana barks at him angrily, his temper finally off the rails. “You practically threw away your entire plan before it even started! All for what? Mediocre pussy you could get from some other girl? And you know how Shin is about this shit. If Emma finds out and tells him, we’re screwed!”

There’s a mixture of emotions swirling in Izana right now. The urge to punch Mikey was strong, for daring to not only lie to his face, but also making him look like a fool to cover his ass.

Then again, he knows it’s really not Mikey’s fault but yours. You must have done something to make Mikey hurt you because he knows his little brother doesn’t hurt girls. You have this effect of turning people into worse versions of themselves, making them disgusting, evil and hateful.

You turned Emma against them and now you made Mikey’s dark impulses come out.

It’s you that’s the problem.

“So what anyone find out? They won’t believe her” Mikey snarls back, irritated. “She can’t blame me, I told her to fucking leave but she didn’t listen! She was practically begging me to fuck her-”

“ENOUGH!”

Kisaki’s voice is loud enough to silence the two brothers, ending their argument instantly as they breathe heavily from their prior screaming match. Izana slumps back on his seat as Kisaki sits up straight, eyes narrowed. Mikey does the same as Izana, his jaw tightly clenched as he crosses his arms on his chest, feet crossed. The younger male clears his throat, and starts to rationalise the situation.

“It’s obvious that we’re going to switch gears since this happened. We all have a curated reputation that we need to protect so that people don’t nose into our business.” He turns to Mikey who is still glaring hard at Izana. “Your brother has a point, you fucked up our plan by not telling anyone what you did-”

“You judging me too, Kisaki?”

“Can you stop being defensive for once Mikey and just listen!” Kisaki scolds, just about done with everyone making things more difficult for him. “I don’t care what you did to her, whatever affection or lust you have for her is a you problem. I just want this situation to be in our favour.”

The statement makes Izana scoff in dismal fashion, but he decides to ask out of curiosity regardless. “And how do you intend to turn this situation around? Cause right now she has leverage over us and any careless move can put us in a tougher spot than we can handle.”

Kisaki turns his attention fully towards Izana again, a knowing look on his face as he asks. “Is Kakucho done searching Mikey’s car?”

‘How did he know?’ Izana blinks, but then catches Hanma smirking and doesn’t bother to ask his impending questions. Kisaki always had a nasty and suspicious habit of continuously tailing him specifically, and usually it doesn’t go over Izana’s radar when it happens, apart from this instance. Which meant someone was being a rat in his group.

He’ll deal with that later.

Mikey raised a brow in confusion as well, opening his mouth to protest the invasion of his privacy when Izana’s phone suddenly rings. He picks it up, attempting to step out to answer it when Kisaki raises his hand to stop him.

“Answer it here.” Kisaki said, ignoring the way Izana looks at him like he has two heads. “and put it on speaker.”

He had no reason to comply, but he wanted to see where Kisaki was going with whatever plan he had. With a wry smile, Izana put the phone down on the table and slid the answer button, putting it on a loudspeaker.

“Did you find anything Kakucho?”

Ever loyal, Kakucho clears his throat and starts to speak, his voice sounding strained over the phone, as if he’s struggling with something. “Yes boss.” He answers, a twinge of nervousness coating his tone. “There’s a dash cam on the mirror and a spy cam underneath the compartment facing the passenger’s seat…”

Mikey grumbles under his breath something about fucking Kakucho up if anything ends up spoilt or missing in his car but Kisaki holds his hand up to his lips and shushes him. Izana continues once he’s sure his brother is done complaining. “And did you confirm the anonymous tip that we got?”

He can hear Kakucho shift uncomfortably, the silence on the other side of the phone drawn out until he finally says. “Boss, it’s too … I don’t think we should use this against her.” He tries to reason. “I think we’re going too far-”

“Perfect.” Kisaki chimes in, now looking at Izana with a satisfied smile. Kakucho is about to ask why Kisaki was there but Izana cuts him off instead. “Bring it back. I’ll explain once you come to the house.”

“Okay boss.”

The phone line dies and Kisaki, fairly confident in his plan, looks at Izana once again. “I’m sure you know where I’m going, right?”

Izana may think Kisaki is a pathetic brat who just happened to be smart, but right now, it’s like the both of them are connected and in tune with their thoughts. The tanned male stretches his lips into a smile, one full of malice and at the same time, glee, his eyes light with mirth when he realises what Kisaki was thinking.

Finally a plan he could follow along with.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after spending the entire day looking for a job and getting back to campus, it was already late in the night. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 00am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago before the world weighed you down, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you: “Women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you realised the love you craved from your father will never be given to you. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars, the memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this. Today had been one disappointment to another

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, a sigh escaping your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began but at least she's taking your advice and talking to them again.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available. You felt greedy for this, after spending a week with her, you should let her be free.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realise that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatised you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘Oh God, how far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Nighttime always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just get out of here.

Eventually, you make it to your dorm house in record time, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid. But at least I’m safe now.’ You think to yourself as you push the door open, closing it behind you.

Weary from the day’s stress, your body starts to give up on you but you push through, trying your best to just make it to your room. You’re sure you would just collapse on your bed the second you got there and forget about anything else.

You finally make it to your room, about to rummage your bag for the keys when you notice the door was unlocked. ‘Oh? Ami must have come back rather early, since I barely see her until 2am.’

(From here is edited)

But as you reach for the handle, a feeling of dread washes over you, the same one you felt when you were outside. ‘I really need to let this go. There’s no harm waiting for me. It’s just my room.’ You mutter to yourself. Your overthinking has cost you a lot, from your job to your academics and right now, you really need it to stop. Pushing whatever feeling was keeping you away, you walked into the darkened room.

The first thing that greeted you was the stench of some kind of smoke -weed, the kind that Ami liked to use whenever she was in the room. You always hated the smell and you recall telling her to leave the windows open whenever she wanted to smoke. Coughing, you quickly covered your nose and mouth with one hand and reached to turn on the light with another. “Ami, how many times have I told you to open the window whenever you smoke? You know I don’t like the smell-”

Your blood turns to ice the moment light floods the room, your mouth dry as you stare at the man perched on your reading chair, a leg crossed over the other, the weed blunt hanging between his tanned hands. His lips are stretched into a sick grin, showing all his teeth, purple eyes shining with an odd mirth as he glances at you up and down.

Izana Kurokawa.

‘Run’

You don’t need to be told twice, quickly discarding your bag and running towards the direction of the door, only to hit someone hard, standing tall in your way. You look up fearfully to see mismatched eyes, a scar running down his face and flinch backwards in reflex. It’s as if he gazes at you with pity, but quickly switches to a blank stare as he stands between you and the door.

You know him from hanging around Emma a lot in the Tenjiku frat house, Kakucho. He’s always around Izana and only loyal to him for some reason that you don’t know. He doesn’t listen to anyone else, not even Mikey. You realise that he might have been the one that was following you when you were walking home.

Begging him to let you pass would be futile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to have a little chat with you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is calm, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If Mikey could hurt you without any remorse, then there’s nothing stopping Izana from doing worse to you. “And as much as your backside is as interesting as your face, I prefer talking to someone who is looking at me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The words fly out from your mouth before you even think of a more appropriate response but it doesn’t seem to give him any form of reaction other than a dry laugh.

He scoffed. “I don’t care. Turn around.”

Reluctantly you slowly turn to face him again, your body trembling as your fear filled eyes lock with his. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear heavy footsteps walk out of the door, shutting it behind you, locks turning and trapping you with Izana.

‘Oh God oh God oh God.’

Your fear doesn’t go unnoticed by the white haired man, and he only chuckles at how stiff you were. Between the two brothers, you know Izana thrives in fear, using it to his advantage and it’s not unfounded. Notwithstanding his backing from Black dragons, Izana had taken Tenjiku from a down and out frat house, to a den of crime that holds power, trickling right into the administration of the university. Even his men know better than to ever get themselves in his bad books, because no one can ever escape him, no matter how much you try to run.

It was only a matter of time until he would make you pay for causing him problems, but you didn’t think he’d come by himself. You felt stupid for thinking he wouldn’t care about you or he’d forget how angry he was at you and leave you alone, especially with Emma still not on speaking terms with them.

He motions with his bunt for you to come closer to him and you comply, taking careful steps until you’re standing right in front of him. He eyes you again with a tepid frown. “When you meet a king, you don’t stand before him, you kneel.”

Kneel. You want to assume he’s not serious but you know better than to question him and go down on your knees, focusing your gaze firmly on your lap. It’s humiliating the way he has you at his mercy, without even moving an inch but it’s better to be compliant than to aggravate him even further by being disobedient.

You’ve learned the hard way what could happen if you resist.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch as Izana puts out his weed blunt on your reading table leaving a sorching mark on the table, before reaching behind his waistband. Your mouth grows dry the second you see the gun, your heart pounding against your chest as he presses the barrel to your head.

‘Oh god.’ You gasp as he presses it further against your head, until you’re sure it would leave an indent. ‘He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…’

“That’s odd,” He murmurs. “Usually, other people would be begging for their lives when met with a gun to their head, but you’re quiet. If not for the way your hands are trembling, I’d think you weren’t scared.”

This time, with a gun pointed at your head, you’re careful with your words. “Y-you said you won’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes with fear but you continue. You know men like Izana, he reminds you of your older brother who ruled the house apart from your father, with fear and control. Sometimes, when you were able to stroke his ego, he’d go easy on you. Maybe that would work on Izana too. “That you want to talk.”

“And what if I changed my mind? Pulled the trigger? That’ll make my life easier, yeah? I won’t have to fight for my sister’s love and affection with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear the safety go off and watch as his finger curls around the trigger. ‘Oh God, he’s going to kill me. He’ll shoot me dead. I-i have to say something- I don’t want to die-’

“I-i trust you not to do it.” You reply, your lips trembling as you struggle not to think of your head scattered into pieces on the floor if he chooses to kill you. “You’re a man of your words.”

There’s another complete silence that engulfs the entire room, until you hear a click that makes you flinch for a split second, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Instead, it’s him putting the safety back on, and chuckling at your reaction.

“You trust me? How foolish.” He laughs, tracing the gun from your head down to underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You’ve only read about people with empty eyes in stories, but seeing it in person was so terrifying. “Is that why you ended up with Mikey in his car?”

All the blood rushes from your head to the tip of your toes. “H-how do you kn-”

“I have eyes and ears in this school, (name).” You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name and despite being in a life or death situation, you couldn’t control the shiver that ran through your spine. “You wanted him to touch you, right?”

“T-that is not what happened!” You suddenly cried out, trying to explain your own side of the story. Of all the people who know your dirty and shameful secret, Izana is the worst pick, just your luck. “It was a mistake! I tried to tell him I didn’t want it but I couldn’t-”

“Ah ah -” Izana cuts you off, tilting your chin higher with the gun. “Don’t lie to me. You must have planned the entire thing to make Mikey look bad”

“No! I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk-”

“Really? Cause Mikey told me an entirely different story-”

“No, no I- didn’t… -”

“You were dangling yourself like a piece of meat for him to fuck and he’s a man, you know. He has urges and it's hard to resist temptation.”

“That’s not true-” your lips start to tremble at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to be assaulted, you just wanted to talk to him about the Emma issue and you wanted to apologise. “That’s not true-”

“Oh but it is.” He said firmly, now leaning in closer to your face until there’s barely any inches between the two of you. “And now Mikey feels like a piece of shit because he couldn’t stop himself.”

“No-” your voice is small, trying to defend yourself but even you are beginning to doubt your own credibility with how he keeps twisting the narrative around until you begin to actually believe him.

‘No! Don’t let him make you think you’re in the wrong! You know what happened!’

“He even told you to leave but you refused to. You were baiting him to just do something to you so that you can tell everyone how bad Mikey is and make yourself get more sympathy points. Am I wrong?”

“No! I would never do that to Mikey!” You don’t realise your tempo had suddenly gotten high or that tears had started to drip down your face, but Izana did. He doesn’t point it out, staying quiet as you start to shout at him. “I would never bait him into hurting me! I just wanted to make up with him because I felt that I overreacted at the party I swear! And then he touched me in the car -”

“And you never reported him to the school authorities? Why? Did you want to blackmail him for money-”

“Because I love him!”

The words flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself from saying them.

Your heart drops as a mischievious glint appears in Izana’s eyes. His smile drops slightly, still maintaining the gun on your chin. “You love him?” He says slowly, testing out the words on his lips. “Love? Mikey?” He looks so deep in thought, like the concept sounds so foreign to him that he almost can’t believe it. His gaze falls back to you again, a quiet scoff emanating from his lips. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Unable to maintain eye contact with him, you break away from his gaze, biting down on your lips to prevent yourself from falling apart. When you don’t respond, Izana takes your silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “If you love him so much, then what’s wrong with what you both did in the car that day? It was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“Not like that…”

“But you claim to love him.” Izana is calm and cool, while you’re stuttering on your words, making you look like you’re the one who is wrong. Like what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense to begin with and he’s the one saying something of reason. “And yet, you didn’t even notice he wasn’t himself that day. Or did you take advantage of his fragile state of mind?”

“I would NEVER-”

“You would, because you get to be the so-called victim and he gets to be the villain in your own story. Do you really know the implication of your actions?”

“That’s not right.” You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten, your voice full of uncertainity. “I didn’t … it’s not…”

“Shut up.” He cuts you off again with a firm tone, tapping the gun on your chin gently to enunciate his point. “The reason why I haven’t put a bullet through your head as much as I want to is because I love Emma. I love Emma so much I’d kill for her and I’d resist the urge to kill for her. That’s how Sano’s love. That’s true love. That's something you'll never ever experience.”

You stay silent, trying to understand what exactly Izana was calling love. He leaned closer, making you feel even smaller. “If Emma finds out, she’ll think Mikey intentionally hurt you and she will hate him. But I guess that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Never. I don’t want her to hate him” your inner voice telling you it’s not your fault, is nothing more than a whisper, the feeling of guilt and shame overtaking you until you’re almost suffocating. “I just want them to be happy…”

“Then you know exactly what you’re meant to do, right?”

Of course you know what to do. Ever since you were child, it’s been drilled into your head. Whenever your brothers hit you a bit too hard or your father went overboard with his belt and you ended up in the hospital, your mother would take you aside to issue a warning that still rings in your head. That had terrible consequences if you refused to follow through with it.

You nod weakly. It really doesn’t matter what is right and wrong when it comes to the Sano’s, but what they want. Izana taps the gun on your chin again, shaking his head. “I need a verbal answer.”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened. Especially not Emma.”

Satisfied, he withdrew his gun from your chin and your face falls onto his lap, unable to support your head any longer. You feel a hand reaching down to pet your head, like you were a dog who had just been tamed by her new owner. The strength to push him off or stand up had left you, feeling drained as the weight of guilt settle down on your shoulders, heavily. You know you shouldn’t believe anything Izana says, but then again he does have a point. Maybe you should have been more receptive of Mikey’s touch or at least be polite about declining him instead of shoving him off and hurting his pride.

You feel so utterly powerless. Despite being wronged, you know there’s nothing you can really do to save yourself. You don’t think you can bear the traumatic experience of being an outlier again.

Mikey. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want anyone thinking he’s a bad person over a singular action.

'Maybe it’s not as bad as I think, I did enjoy it mid-way, so it should count as something. Right?'

You feel sick just trying to think about it.

“You know, if you’re this obedient, we can get along just fine.” He hums, breaking the silence as he pets your head gently. You hate yourself right now. How easy it is to do whatever it is that you’re told because disobedience is not an option. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you break your promise.”

“No” your voice is quiet. You feel tired, sick maybe, you don’t know. Maybe it’s the weed he smoked earlier affecting your judgement and reasoning. Or it’s the lack of sleep that has made it difficult for you to think straight or stand up. Either way, you don’t care. “I don’t.”

“Good girl.”

You know he’s mocking you, but you accept it, like you do with every circumstance thrown at you.

Bonus:

IZANA looks down at your sleeping figure with a curious gaze.

For a moment, he almost pities you. Despite the faint glow of the room lighting, he can see the dark circles underneath your eyes and how stressed you look. For someone who is actively working to pay her fees while sustaining herself with no one caring for her, it must be hard being abandoned by society.

He can see why Emma picked you to be her friend, she always had a trait of picking up stray animals who had no one because she wanted something to protect. It’s no different with you, the way she’s so fiercely loyal to you and why she wanted you to be accepted by their family. No wonder she was hurt when you were vehemently rejected by them.

If he had a conscience, he’d feel bad for you. You love Mikey, of all people, someone who only saw you as a nuisance and to push the blame of his actions onto. All those times Mikey was cruel to you must have hurt the most because you truly cared about what he thinks about you.

He’s careful when he lifts your head from his lap, not wanting to wake you up. He puts your head on the chair and turns to leave, already overstaying his welcome. He’s done the thing he was supposed to, ensuring you stayed quiet about Mikey’s actions and there’s no need for him to be here any longer.

As he walked to the door, his mind goes back to you. In a way, you and him were similar. All alone, unwanted, with nobody in the world to care about you, cold, uncaring parents who didn’t think twice in terms of abandoning you both. The only difference between you and him is that he grew a backbone and you haven’t. You’re like a kicked dog who continues to stay on the ground to get kicked, in hopes the person kicking you stops eventually.

As long as you stay on the ground, people like him will keep kicking you.

He knocks loudly on the door and the locks turn. Kakucho opens it for him, peering inside with a worried gaze, his eyes settling on your body slumped over a chair.

“Did you hit -”

“I didn’t touch her.” Izana snaps at the taller male, stepping out of the room properly. “She’s fine, physically at least. Emotionally she’s a mess. But that’s Mikey’s problem to fix.”

“Huh?”

It wouldn’t hurt to tell Kakucho your little secret. “Apparently (name)’s in love with my dear brother Mikey so she’s keeping quiet what he did to her.” a cruel smile stretches across his face. “How pathetic.”

Kakucho frowns at Izana’s statement, but as usual he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, his eye darts back to your form again, taking a good look at you, his eyes softening. Ever the gentleman.

“She shouldn’t really stay like that Izana, she’ll get a stiff neck-”

“Kakucho.”

That was enough to end the conversation.

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