#might mess around and make a part two later!!!
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𝐆𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 ☆ 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲!𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐧
Pairing: Fratboys!Lads x Female Reader
Summary: It was just an innocent game of truth of dare. Nothing bad was going to happen... Right?
Word count: 2.28k
Genre: Smut. Collage au
Warnings: Pet names. Drinking. Everyone is tipsy and stupid, okay! Lots of mouths are involved... swearing. Biting. Marking. Hickies. This is a mess. I'm sorry.
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It was a typical night. Well, if you called a typical night being filled with drunk frat boys, board games, and shouting. Then, typical it was. Everything was going swiftly as you were currently watching your two friends, Caleb and Rafayel try to see who could take the most shots the quickest. Surprisingly, Rafayel won, downing more shots than Caleb before he tapped out.
“Man, I don’t even know where half of that shit went.” Caleb groaned, trying to touch Rafayel’s tummy, but the other male just flicked his friend's hands away with a grumble.
“Trust me I’ll feel it later.” Raf burped, making everyone give out hardy cackles. The game continued with loud cheering as each member picked up a card from the deck and played whatever it asked. From Sylus snogging Zayne, to Xavier eating strange combinations of foods. The laughter was endless… that was until it got to your turn.
“7 minutes in hell.” You read the card with a raised brow. “Hell? I thought it was always heaven, no?” Your scan around the room suggested the boys knew more than you and it caused a sudden flutter in your stomach.
“You don’t know what 7 minutes in hell is?” Caleb smirked while taking a sip of his beer.
“This is gonna be fun.” Sylus snickered, causing Rafayel to roll his eyes at him. But yet they all had the same expression, one with a lingering hunger. They were no longer looking at you like their close friend, no, they were looking at you like you were just a piece of meat. A steak they were going to ravish on.
“Can someone explain...” You felt singled out, making a shot of anxiety spike through your gut. Zayne leaned over from where he sat, placing his hand gently on your exposed leg, giving you a warm smile.
“Hey it’s okay…” Like he could sense your uneasiness, his comfort brought a small smile to your face. He was always so caring towards you, but then again, they all were. “The game is, you are blindfolded and you have to guess who is touching you.” You could feel your face beginning to burn up, “Since it’s hell, the back of the card should tell you what part the other players will use.” Okay, now you were definitely redder than the wine you are drinking.
“B-body part…” You looked back down at the card and for a moment you felt your heart stop… “Mouth.”
You could have sworn every single male in the room groaned at this discovery but then again It might have just been the high-pitched ringing in your ear from the sudden dizziness in your head. Zayne’s hand moved from your leg to your shoulder, squeezing the flesh softly to get your attention. Your neck snapped quickly, looking at him with wide glossed eyes. “You don’t have to do the dare if you don’t want to, honey. You can just take a shot instead.”
All the boys began to agree, not wanting to make you uncomfortable even though they had all but dreamed something like this would happen. Like some twisted sexy fantasy where they all finally get a taste of you. You didn’t even wait for a second to go by before you said a quick and sharp ‘I want to’. truthfully you wished your words had not come out so desperately but then again, the way each of your friends looked at you caused the reaction. “Well then. Someone go get a blindfold.”
You’ve never seen Xavier get up so quickly, practically bolting down the hall before reappearing with a soft red silk blindfold. Of course, he owns one. You eyed Caleb as you watched him move one of the chairs from the dining table and placed it in the middle of the room. You were about to speak but Zayne caught your attention again by grabbing your hand softly. “Okay, Honey. So we are going to let you sit in that chair while blindfolded and when you are ready, we’ll pick someone to start.”
You felt your heart beating fast against your chest at the sheer idea of five different mouths being placed on your body. But it wasn’t like they were going to bite you or anything, right? They were just going to place their soft plump, kissable lips on your body for you to guess who. Simple enough…
"You ready?" Zayne’s soft voice was so sweet, dripping with admiration. You were screwed. You nodded with a little 'yes', letting him lead you by your hand to sit on the wooden chair. Xavier handed him the blindfold, putting the soft silk on your face to cover your wide, slightly panicked eyes. "We're gonna pick now, so you just gotta stay still. We'll tap you when someone is gonna touch you, okay?"
"Okay... I, I'm ready." You let out a shaky sigh, feeling like your senses were heightened from the loss of vision. It was like you could suddenly hear every little sound, from feet shuffling to soft inaudible whispers and hand smacks. You could hear light footsteps coming towards you making your breath hitch in your throat. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to swallow big gulps of air. And then you felt a tap on your shoulder telling you that the man before you was ready. You let out an unsteady hum, letting the male know you were also ready.
His hands gently grabbed each side of your face, tilting your head slightly to the side to expose your bare neck to him. He could see the pulse in your jugular speeding up at his slight touch. It made him grin like a Cheshire cat. His soft lips finally touched your hot skin, and it made you instantly shift in your seat. He stayed still for a moment before you felt his mouth part, letting his tongue slip out just enough for you to feel the wetness of his appendage. “D-do I guess n-nnow…”
You had become a stuttering melting mess, feeling yourself being lost in the idea of all your friend's mouths on different parts of your body. The man currently still holding you in his tight grip grunts right in your ear, letting you know you can start the game. You gulp, feeling him move again, dragging his teeth along your goose-bumped flesh. You could feel his hands shift as well, one falling to just the base of your neck. While the hold stayed put on your jaw, his thumb gently soothed your cheek. His hands were huge, but they weren't big enough to hold the side of your face. And they were moisturised too… hmm, who is he? You thought, trying your hardest to guess. It was then he bit down on your shoulder, you sucked in a sharp pop.
“Fuck…” You moaned out without thinking, your hands flying from your lap to the sides of the chair gripping on the wood like your life depended on it. The male growled a chuckle again before unlatching his mouth from your body. You let out a deep breath that you didn’t realise you were holding, feeling your clawed hands release from the poor chair. All your friends were watching the whole endeavour intensely, trying their best not to make any sounds. Caleb took a step back from your shaky body, feeling a sense of pride from making you moan. He pulled your shirt to the side and his hand that was on the back of your neck had completely dishevelled your hair making you successfully look like a mess. A hot, irresistible mess.
“You okay there Cutie?” You could hear Rafayel call out from the table. The man in front of you was already back with the others so they now could speak freely.
“Y-yeah… I’m good.” You whispered, reaching for your shoulder, feeling the cold wind tickle your wet skin. Your fingertips grazed where Caleb’s mouth was and what you felt made your head spin and your heart skip… “Y-you bit me…” None of them replied though, no, it was a dead silence that caused you to gulp lowly. You could feel them all staring in fear and desire. No one dared to move even an inch. And then you spoke. “S-someone is gonna have to go next before I can answer…you know. Reference and all..”
You felt stupid saying that, and your face showed it. Burning a bright red to match the colour of the blindfold, making all the guys smile. You suddenly could hear shuffling again, making your heart rate ease. You went to speak again, but before you could, a pair of hands grabbed your shoulders gently, making you jump. But then another pair snaked onto your thighs. There were two of them, one behind you and another in front, most likely kneeling. The rougher hands that were on your thighs slowly shifted until they reached the hem of your shirt, tugging on the fabric. You finally spoke, “D-do you need me to move my shirt for you…”
A grunt followed.
“Okay…” You felt so small but yet you had all the power, all these men were just begging to touch you and you had no clue how they picked from your loss of sight. They were all fighting. Pushing in line to get a taste of you. None of them even cared if you guessed correctly or even guessed at all. Any excuse to have you was all they wanted. And when you pulled your shirt off you could hear an echo of men groaning. But it wasn’t from the spacious room. No, all five of them groaned, whined, and whimpered seeing your perfect breasts hiding just behind your bra.
The softer hands moved your bra straps ever so slightly, letting them just hang off your shoulders. While the rougher hands grabbed your knees, spreading your legs, letting his large body snake between them. Your whole body was shaking when you felt a hot breath pool against your neck and inner thigh. A grunt followed by the rougher man making your gulp replying with a quick “I’m read—heungg f-fuck.”
You didn’t even get the chance to finish your sentence before you felt the two men, bite you. Not kiss, no. They both bit you, hard. You yelped, your hands flying instinctively to the hair that belonged to the man in front of you. You felt his short-ish locks tangle in between your fingers, tugging at the pleasure surging through your veins. You could recognize this hairstyle, the short length by the nape, the longer length on the top… it could only be one person. The man made a low grunt through his nose at the pain on his scalp. Be pulled off you, chuckling. “That’s cheating, kitten.”
“S-Sylus.” You moan, tipping your head back, letting it rest against the toned abdomen of the man behind you. You shifted your head, tilting your neck until you could feel the cotton of the shirt the man behind you was wearing. You could smell his cologne. “Xav…”
“Now that’s definitely cheating,” Xavier whispered in your ear, unlatching his mouth from your shoulder to see his pretty mark next to Caleb’s. Xavier kissed along your neck, up to your jaw before kissing your cheek lightly. You moved your head in his direction, begging, craving for him to just forget about the game and kiss you instead…“Maybe we should tie her hands up for the next round.”
“Fuck please.” You moaned a little too quickly for your liking, wanting nothing more to be tied up for your friends.
“Someone grab a tie, or rope. Fucking anything.” You could hear Xavier bark in the direction of your friends followed by a bunch of sporadic footsteps. You’ve never heard Xavier so loud and…aggressive before. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling Sylus kiss up your thigh, his hand spreading your legs further to let him have his way with you. His hums were music to your ears as he inched closer to where you needed him, where you were craving him. Just a little more you thought over and over again.
“I got one.” You heard Zayne’s voice this time. It was deeper than normal, making you shiver. You guess Xavier had grabbed your wrists, holding them together while another started to bind them behind the chair. Your chest rose heavily with every deep breath. And with your hands now stuck in place and your vision still concealed… the game has now officially begun.
—
© DrDawnBreaker. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.
#🩺—drdawnbreaker fics#DrDawnBreaker#lads#lads smut#poly lads#lads x reader#lads fanfic#lads sylus#lads caleb#lads rafayel#lads zayne#lads xavier#lads x you#lads x non!mc reader#lads x y/n#love & deepspace#loveanddeepspace#love and deepspace smut#caleb love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#sylus love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#sylus x reader#zayne x reader#caleb x reader#xavier x reader#Rafayel x reader#love and deepspace fanfic
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this mess was yours (now your mess is mine) - Part 4
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)
Rating: Explicit (6k)
Tags: Smut, Set two(ish) years before the present aka the New York years, Porn with a little plot, Fluff, Friends with Benefits, Virgin!Carmy (my beloved), P in V Sex, Rough Sex, Non Sexual Roleplay, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink, Confessions, Bittersweet Ending
Summary:
"You're a fucking tease," he spat. "And you're an asshole," you replied, riling him up. "I'm aware. You have no idea," you detected a hint of sadness underneath the panting lust, you might have felt compassion if you weren't actively trying to get even. "Make it up to me," you dared him.
"Oh, my God..." you gasped for air as Carmy groaned above you. You were splayed over your kitchen table, your ankles on Carmy's shoulders while he stood and fucked you mercilessly.
You had the suspicion that his work was being especially hellish lately - it had been four days in a row of him knocking on your door at one in the morning, his hair and skin still wet from the shower, practically begging to fuck you. You had gotten all the way to the bed on the first night, then settled for the couch, now the table. You suspected that next time he would take you on the floor.
"Sorry for waking you. Shit," he placed a gentle kiss on your ankle, contradictory to the rough pace of his hips against yours. "I can't- Fuck. Needed you so fucking bad..."
"You didn't wake me. Ah!" you muffled a whine with the back of your hand.
"You're in your pajamas," he still had the wherewithal to contradict you, even as you were both nearing your orgasm.
"I was up reading. Why do you care?" you snapped, craving your release. He chastised you with a particularly hard thrust. "Fuck!"
"I care!" he frowned, tightening his grip on your legs. "I just need you. Holy shit. But I don't want to-"
"I was reading erotica so I'd be wet when you got here, okay?" you blurted out. "Now fuck me stupid so we can both get some sleep."
"Jesus Christ," he growled and sped up, desperately thrusting inside you. His half lidded eyes alternated between glancing at your face and your pussy. He was sweaty and flushed, panting like a drowning man. And all you could do was stare, mouth agape, past the point of moaning, just taking every drop of pleasure he could give you.
Afterwards, tangled in your bed, your back to his chest, breathing slow, he asked:
"Was that true?"
"About me reading erotica?" you guessed.
"Yeah."
"Yeah," you admitted. "Wasn't sure you'd come over but last night was-"
"I lost it a little," Carmy admitted. He had bent you over the arm of your couch, fucked you, and then ate you out until your legs trembled around his face.
"It was hot, Carm. I was still thinking about it. So... Yeah. There's no reason for you to worry. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't open the door. I... I need you pretty fucking bad too," you admitted.
"Fuck. Okay."
He pulled you even closer to his body, the warmth of his skin lulling you to sleep.
~
"...I left for a minute and he poached one of my customers! Like sure, he sells a shit ton of books and corporate loves him but he hasn't read a single one of the books he recommends - which is total bullshit!"
Your coworker was venting while you were helping him rearrange the books in his section.
"He does that shit all the time too," you agreed with a huff. "One time he asked for my opinion on a book and then repeated it word for word to a customer a week later."
"See? That's what I don't get. If his memory is so fucking great then why doesn't he read the synopsis off the back of the book like a normal human being? He's a vampire," he scrunched his face in a grimace, making you laugh.
"Who the fuck leaves a book with the spine on the inside?" you groaned, looking at a full row where about fifteen books had been flipped so that none of the titles could be read.
"An idiot. Or a teenager. Same difference," he hummed, a little less agitated than when his rant had started. You worked in silence for a while. "Hey, remember when you promised you'd let me talk to all the cute customers?" your coworker added out of nowhere.
"It was all the cute gay guys," you accentuated. "But yeah, I remember."
"Now, how am I supposed to know if a guy is gay if I don't talk to him?"
"I feel like that is a trick question," you said with a giggle without looking up. If your coworker was so taken with the customer, there was no point in fighting him over a twenty dollar sale.
"Oh, never mind, he's looking at you," he said with disappointment. "Oh, he's looking at you," he grabbed a random book and left quickly, you caught him mouthing the word 'hot'.
You smiled and put on your customer service voice. "Good evening, how can I help you?"
You turned to find Carmy, with a mischievous smile on.
"Good evening, Miss," he played along. "I was wondering if you sold any books on cooking?"
"Oh," you stopped yourself from outright giggling by biting your lip. "Right this way, sir." You guided him out of YA, through non fiction, and to the culinary books. "Were you looking for anything in particular?"
"I have a couple of these already," he said looking into your eyes, almost breaking. "Which ones do you recommend?"
You started pulling out titles, rare paperbacks and beautiful glossy hardcovers that you couldn't afford to gift him on a whim, things you had already thought he'd like when it was your turn to arrange this section.
"I'll give you a while to browse through," you said, your fingers brushing against his as you handed him the heavy pile. "Let me know if you need anything at all," that last phrase came out a little suggestive if Carmy's blush was any indication but he simply nodded.
You stared. He looked beautiful as he went through the pages and stole glances in your direction.
It was nearly closing time when he got to the till, cheeks red as he carried most of the books you had recommended.
"You want a bag for that, sir?" you asked softly.
"I think I need one," he let out a shy laugh.
"Anything else?" you asked, putting the books carefully inside a canvas bag.
"I know it's a little, uh- But I was wondering if you could give me your number," he mumbled. You covered your mouth to hide an endeared smile.
"I don't give my number to customers as a rule. But we're closing soon and there's a coffee shop across the street. Hole in the wall, gourmet sort of thing a foodie like you would like," you offered.
"Right," he chuckled. "Yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, wait for you then."
It was distracting to have him there, just outside the store, waiting. You messed up at least three times while you counted the cash, and your coworker had to step in and help you.
"Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty. You should fuck him," he said all of a sudden.
"What?"
"You've been single for months. And he's looking at you with those sad, lovesick eyes. Put him out of his misery."
"He doesn't have lovesick eyes!" you protested.
"He does. I would have given anything to have my ex look at me like that," he emphasized pointing at Carmy on the other side of the glass. "And he just met you. That's insane."
You looked at Carmy, smoking calmly in the glow of the streetlamps and something warm and fluttery settled in your stomach, something a lot like butterflies...
After a little while of silence, your coworker asked gently:
"You know I'm kidding, right? About you fucking him."
"Oh! Right!" you forced a smile.
"Like, if you want to fuck him that's cool and you can tell me all about it but only if you like him," he looked actually worried.
You shook your head. "I know. I'm a big girl. I can-"
"Take care of yourself. I know," he rolled his eyes. "It's just that you looked like you were having an existential crisis."
"It was the whole 'lovesick eyes' thing," you admitted. "But you were kidding so it's okay-"
"Oh, no, I was dead serious about that. Made me believe in love at first sight and all that shit."
"Fuck."
"Yeah," he said dryly. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Before you could overthink everything he had said, Carmy appeared by your side.
"I'm sorry for showing up like that," he said, looking sheepish. "It's my day off and there was a bookmark in one of the books you gave me with the address and-"
"It's okay. It was fun, playing pretend and all that," you smiled. "You didn't have to buy all those books though."
"I wanted to get them."
You looked away, the openness of his expression a little too much for you to handle just then.
You tugged on his sleeve to the left and led him to the coffee shop. "It's this way."
A small detail you had omitted was that they only served to go. So you walked together back to your building, coffee in hand, not talking much, the air between you electric. Predictably, you ended up in his bed, your drinks getting cold on the counter, and his books forgotten on the floor along with your uniform shirt.
"I feel like I need to tell you..." you started, a teasing tone in your voice.
"Hmm?"
He was staring at you through his eyelashes, his warm hands on your waist bringing you closer.
"If you ever get bored of me, my coworker is first in line," you said with a wide grin.
"Fuck off!" Carmy laughed.
"I'm serious. He thinks you're very hot."
Carmy blushed a deep shade of red, smiling, which had been your goal all along.
"That's nice but I think I'm getting used to you so-"
He let the sentence hang in the space between you two and leaned in to kiss you deep and sweet. His hand moved your thigh over his, guiding you to grind against him. He was addicting. And fucking him had always stopped you from overthinking. So you let yourself fall into it, the need you felt for him, his touch warm and familiar on your skin.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck.
"You'd never called me that," you commented later, basking in the afterglow with Carmy. His face was resting on your belly, tickling your navel as he caught his breath.
"Huh?"
"Baby. You kept calling me baby while we were fucking.”
You wouldn't feel the need to call it out but the sweet and needy way he said it was half the reason you had come as hard as you did.
"Is that- I crossed a line, right?" Carmy arched his eyebrows with worry.
"No. You're okay, you're okay. I think I like it," you knew you liked it. "It just felt different."
"I can stop."
You shook your head, and caressed his skin. Whatever you two had was moving and changing into something else but you couldn't name it, not yet. If you didn't acknowledge it, you could still enjoy this.
"Don't stop."
~
When Carmy knocked on your door that night, he didn't look tired or frustrated like he usually did, he looked fucking destroyed - he was so pale he looked almost grey, his eyes were red and blotchy like he had been crying, and the palm of his hand was half covered with a bloodied bandage.
"Carmy..." you sighed with worry. You reached out for him, cupping his face.
"Don't ask," he rasped. He surged forward to kiss you, pushing you inside the apartment and slamming the door behind him.
"But-" you mumbled against his lips. He truly looked terrible, and you were worried.
"Just kiss me. Please," his eyebrows arched, pleading. He looked like the first time you fucked: a second away from a meltdown, holding tight to you to stay grounded before he completely lost himself.
"Okay," you agreed, caressing his face. If fucking was the way to help him, then you would do just that. "Okay."
You started kissing him frantically, tugging down his coat as you walked backwards to your bed.
Carmy paused to hold your face, his expression serious. "I need it hard tonight, is that okay?"
You leaned to touch your forehead with his. "Yes. Whatever you need."
He brought you closer and started undressing you, his hands eager. You helped him get rid of his own clothes, no time to linger on his body or caress anything, he wanted efficiency and you could give him that.
He held your jaw roughly. "On the bed."
He didn't specify how, but you thought this was a "fuck me from behind until I scream" situation, so you landed on all fours, looking back at him. You saw Carmy going through the motions as quickly as he could; putting a condom on and dropping a dollop of cold lube on your pussy. Everything urgent and desperate. He lined himself up and thrust inside you hard.
"Fuck, shit, oh!" you moaned, the stretch of your pussy just this side of painful.
"You're so fucking tight," he groaned.
He didn't say anything else. He started pounding into you hard and fast, his bandaged hand steady on your waist, the other pulling on your hair and then rounding your neck. You were overwhelmed, tears in the corners of your eyes, uttering breathy little sounds. Everything was Carmy, the smell of his sweat, the pressure of his hands, the unforgiving rhythm of his cock inside you...
A particularly sharp thrust hit you just right, you gasped and your arms gave out. Just like that, you were face down on the bed, biting your comforter to stay silent. The frantic rhythm Carmy had set was leading you to the edge quickly, and so you braced yourself for the feeling of blinding pleasure, squeezing the mattress underneath you, breathing fast and shallow.
And suddenly, he stopped, taking his cock out completely, leaving you desperate and empty.
You whined in dismay, looking back and half expecting to see a teasing smirk on his face - there wasn't.
Carmy was holding his face in his hands and breathing hard.
You turned around and rushed to hug him.
"Carm... Baby..." you cooed, running your hands through his hair. He hugged you back, squeezing, like you were the one thing keeping him tethered to reality.
It was a strange reality too - your pussy was still pulsing, and his softening cock was trapped in your embrace, covered in arousal and lube; all of this as you tried to lure him out of what seemed like a mean panic attack.
"I need you to take a deep breath for me, Carm."
"Can't. Fuck," he was crying like a little kid and it broke your heart. "Think I'm dying."
"Breathe with me, baby," you repeated, softer, gentler.
You took a deep inhale, really filling your lungs so he could feel it as he held you. After a second of hesitation, he joined you. His exhale was shaky on the side of your face.
"One more time, yes?" you could feel him nod. "And again..."
You kept breathing like that, until he stopped shaking, and his grip on you loosened a little.
"That's it. That's it. I'm here. Don't worry, I'm here."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't be silly," you caressed the back of his neck lovingly. "Wanna talk about it?"
He shook his head, burying his nose deeper in the crook of your neck. "It's, uh, some bad shit from back home," he replied vaguely.
You went through the few things you knew about his family. He was from Chicago, he had a bad relationship with his mother or his father or both, you thought he had a brother even though Carmy had never mentioned him directly, and he had a sister he cared for a lot.
"Is Sugar okay?" you asked softly, guessing.
He froze in your embrace like he had forgotten you knew about her existence. "Sugar? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I think she's okay."
He was shutting down, and you sensed it could spiral back into the desperation he was feeling before.
"Sorry. We don't need to talk about it," you felt the muscles on his back relax a fraction. "What can I do?"
He sighed. "Honestly, fucking was working pretty well until just now."
You chuckled softly, and withdrew a little, searching for his eyes, touching your forehead to his. "Yeah?"
"It was good until- I got in my head," he squeezed his blue eyes shut. "Fuck, it sounds awful but I forgot where I was and what we were doing for a second, like none of it was real... Does that make sense?"
"Kind of," you cupped his face gently, soothing the skin of his cheekbones.
"Probably didn't help that I couldn't see your face," he added softly. In some weird way, it was probably the sweetest thing anyone had told you during sex.
"C'mere," you tugged on his arm so you were both lying in bed. His head was on your chest and you carded your fingers through his hair.
You wished he could tell you what was wrong but maybe that was the sort of thing he reserved for relationships. You were friends with benefits, fuck buddies, a booty call that was conveniently across the hall. The title didn't fit the heavy weight of worry and doubt that had settled in your stomach. You realized all at once how fucked you were, because you cared so much for Carmy, more than you had ever planned to, and there was a very real possibility that he didn't feel the same. You had to tell him - not now but soon and then-
"I can hear you thinking," Carmy said softly. Then: "Fuck. I feel like shit. Didn't even ask you if you were okay or- Is it work? Bad day?"
"Yeah," you lied. "I feel a little better like this, though," you intertwined your legs with his. "Do you feel any better, Carm?"
"I'm okay," he looked up to see an incredulous expression all over your face. "I'm- I'll be okay."
He tilted his head, luring you in for a deep kiss. He tasted salty, dried out tears all over his skin. He drew you closer and for the second time that night you were reminded of the first time you fucked - the eagerness that bordered on desperation as he moved with you, kissing, caressing, rolling over...
You opened your legs to straddle his hips, his cock steadily hardening underneath you as you ground your hips needily. His tattooed hands squeezed your ass, guiding your movements, urging you to put your weight on him.
"Fuck, baby," he panted, reaching up to kiss your neck. "Please."
"Anything, anything, Carm," you said honestly. "What do you need?"
You wanted to make him forget whatever was happening. Instinctively, you began kissing down his torso - a blowjob seemed like the obvious answer. But he reached to cup your face gently.
"Ride me. Use me. I want you to feel good, I want to see your pretty face as you come," he said, his voice gravelly.
You tilted your head in confusion. "You sure?"
He looked at the ceiling, avoiding your gaze as he confessed. "Want to remember that I can make good things happen, that I can make you feel good."
Oh.
Okay then.
You moved up again, kissing the side of his face lovingly, intertwining your fingers with his, looking into his eyes as you lowered yourself on him. You rolled your eyes, exhaling sharply, relishing the feeling of him inside you, warm and thick.
"Mmm," you guided his good hand up, to squeeze your breast, to pinch your nipple, and upward, to press on your neck, to cup your face, his thumb tugging on your lower lip, then tangling in your hair. Carmy's eyes were wide open, pupils dilated, following the movement of your hand and his.
He nodded eagerly. "Yes. Use me," he repeated.
You left his hand there, the pressure on the nape of your neck reassuring as you started rolling your hips, teasing yourself and him. A breathy moan left your lips.
"Please. Let me hear it," he begged.
You leaned on his chest and swayed forwards and back, his cock hitting just right, and you let your mouth fall open, letting whatever pathetic and needy sounds you made be heard across the room.
"Okay but don't fake it," Carmy said sternly, well, as stern as he could be while you were riding his cock.
"'m not faking," you searched for his eyes. "Mmm. I'm always trying to keep quiet, biting my lip, screaming into a pillow... Fuuuck. You make me feel this good, Carm, always."
He drew you in for a frantic kiss, messy, starved for you, almost as much as you were starved for him. You started bouncing on his cock, pulsing around him, so fucking close.
"Can't believe you didn't let me hear that all this time," Carmy growled underneath you.
Hazily, you realized that the sounds you two were making were borderline pornographic - each whiny moan followed by the lewd clap of your hips against his, the squeak of your mattress, then a low groan from Carmy. You would get strange looks from your neighbors for at least a week, but you didn't care right now, not when the beautiful man underneath you was looking at you like you were the starlit sky, mouth open in awe, marveling at every move.
"Fuck, Carm."
"Close?"
You nodded, halfway into your orgasm already, letting out a loud exhale followed by cries of pleasure.
"Jesus," Carmy cursed. His bandaged hand was grabbing the edge of the mattress with force, struggling to keep himself from coming.
You leaned over, pressing your forehead against his, catching your breath.
"Can you go again?"
You licked the side of his face, salty with sweat now.
"Fuck yes."
And you resumed riding him, harder and louder still.
"You're beautiful," he blurted out, his eyes feasting on your naked body. "You feel so perfect. Fuck."
"Nobody's made me feel this good, Carm" you managed to confess between moans.
His thumb found your clit with ease, brushing over it, following your rhythm.
"Fuck!" you cried, feeling pleasure build in your belly, squeezing your eyes shut, babbling everything you were thinking. "Yes, fuck me. I want this forever. Oh, my God! You're so good, Carm. I'm in lo-"
He planted his feet on the mattress and started fucking into you. A couple of thrusts was all it took for you to fall sweaty and exhausted in his arms. He held you tight, chasing his own release, the rhythm of his cock frantic and messy. You could hear his lewd growls on the side of your face but you could also feel them rumble inside his chest.
"Jesus Christ. Fuck," he whined, loosening his grip on you.
You sat up for a moment, wanting to check in on him. There were tears streaming down his face.
"You made me feel so good, Carm. You're good." He shook his head, sobbing quietly, trembling. You settled back in his embrace, trying to hold him together, stop him from falling apart. "You are! You deserve good things, Carmy. It's gonna be okay."
"Thank you," he said after what felt like a very long time, sniffling a little. "That was exactly- You were- Just thank you."
You placed a gentle kiss in the crook of his neck and rolled over to lie by his side, your thighs were shaking.
"Wanna stay the night?" you offered.
"Can't," he shook his head, and reached for your hand. "I'm- I need to wake up early."
"Okay," you tried not to sound too disappointed. "Can you- I want to talk to you about something. Not now. But maybe we can go get coffee on Sunday or something?"
His gaze softened, caressing your knuckles between the bedsheets.
"I need to sort some shit out back home but, yes, when I'm back, yes."
~
Two years later
"You mad?" Carmy asked.
"You surprised?" you snapped.
The drive to his apartment had been mostly in silence, letting you simmer in your anger. Having Carmy near, looking at him calm and unaffected, had opened old wounds and it hurt more than you had expected.
"I know I fucked up. The moment I got here it all went to shit. I wanted to call you. Even just to say that I wouldn't come back. But we never even exchanged numbers and I-" he got choked up. It all came out as one long and frantic sentence.
And, yes, it had been stupid self-sabotage from the both of you. You had thought about it too: not exchanging numbers kept everything separate, like your physical lives at your apartments were something completely different from your work and your friends and, more importantly, your feelings. Keeping everything so carefully compartmentalized felt downright stupid when your landlord was suddenly showing the empty apartment across the hall to prospective tenants while you were worried sick for Carmy.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
You weren't ready to accept his apology just yet but you gave him a little nod of acknowledgement.
"For whatever it's worth, your restaurant looks really fucking nice," you said as a peace offering.
"Thanks," he smiled for the first time since you had arrived. "So are you here for work?"
"Yeah, one of those team building things," you explained with a shrug. "Thought I'd stop by and say 'fuck you' real quick."
You were angry and bitter and hurt but Carmy's soft eyes were hard to hate. He caught you staring and moved closer.
"Glad you did," he said openly. He took another step closer and when you retreated back, your back hit the counter.
"Carm," you said sternly. He was too close, like he had suddenly forgotten the passage of time and you were back in New York two years ago.
"Sorry," he walked back, giving you space. "Um, are you with anyone?"
His voice sounded sad and defeated.
"No. I had a boyfriend for a hot minute there but he turned out to be an asshole so..."
Carmy winced. "Sorry."
"Not your fault. You?"
"Same. Only I was the asshole,” he allowed himself that boyish smile that made you melt.
"Wouldn't be the first time," you said dryly, reminding yourself that you were here to demand explanations and apologies and-
Why was he walking towards you and why were you grabbing his t-shirt and bringing him closer and why did everything feel so right and familiar?
Carmy searched for your eyes, his fingers carefully fixing a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Can I just-?" he asked, leaning in, leaving half an inch of separation between you so you could choose to close that space. It wasn't really a choice - you had wanted him for so long and here he was, wanting you back like it was that easy...
You kissed him hard, a little angry, biting at his lower lip, nails abusing his scalp. Before you knew it, he had placed you on the countertop. You tugged at his shirt until he took the hint and removed it. His hands were restless on your thighs, so you guided them up, to the button and zipper of your jeans.
"Are you sure?" he asked against your lips.
"Yes. Fuck. Yes," you panted, helping him to get rid of your jeans and underwear. He gave you one more desperate kiss and knelt in front of you. You opened your legs slowly, teasingly and Carmy just looked up in awe.
"I missed you," he said, getting close. You could feel the exhale of that last syllable on your pussy.
"You talking to her or to me?" you quipped but it was a feeble attempt at saving face - he had you moaning almost immediately. You pulled on his hair and got rewarded with a groan directly on your clit. "Fuck, I missed you too," you confessed.
He smiled with satisfaction, nipping at the stretch marks on the inside of your thighs and, fuck, it felt good to be wanted so completely. You shivered.
Carmy looked intently at your pussy; before you could ask what he was thinking, he spat on it, adding enough moisture to put two fingers inside you. He had never done anything like that with you. It was a stark reminder that time had actually passed and he had fucked someone else, someone who made him feel that he could be dirtier, more daring, and the thought could have made you spiral if it wasn't interrupted by Carmy curling his fingers just the way you taught him while his lips sucked on your clit. You let out a low moan, pawing blindly at his back.
He paused to ask: "Do you still like it this way?"
"Of course I do, you fucker," you cursed, feeling him chuckle against you. Softer, you admitted: "You're so good at that."
"Yeah?"
You nodded. It had been a really fucking long time. And maybe you needed to be a very specific type of competitive and emotionally unavailable asshole to be good at this. That was a comforting explanation to give yourself while you begged Carmy to keep going. It hurt your pride when he emerged from between your thighs, a satisfied grin on his face as he wiped your arousal from his chin while your legs were still shaking uncontrollably.
"Fuck you," you managed, then drew him in to kiss that smug expression off his face. The moment you touched his cock over his slacks, he let out a whiny sound that felt like you were finally starting to get even. His expression turned needy, arched eyebrows and wide eyes. Adding more pressure to your caresses, you whispered: "You better have a god-damned condom in the house or I swear to God-"
"I do. Fuck. Hold on," he put his hands underneath your thighs and carried you, your legs framing his waist and your hands squeezing the firm muscles of his back. Once you got to the bedroom he let you fall on his bed, a little careless. You scooted up, taking off your shirt and bra, then arching to see Carmy open a condom with his teeth.
"Good boy," you teased, noticing how red he got at your praise. You cursed the fact that you didn't know this about him when he was still in New York. What a waste.
He hovered above you, kissing down your neck. You busied your hands unbuttoning his slacks and palming his crotch. He hissed at your touch.
"Shhh," you soothed, freeing his cock just enough to let him roll the condom on, squeezing his ass under the fabric of his boxer briefs.
You lined his cock to your pussy, anticipating the stretch and the easy way you two fit together. Carmy groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he thrust inside you.
"That feels so fucking nice," he managed to say. "You feel incredible."
"Yeah?" you clenched around him purposefully, a challenge.
"You're a fucking tease," he spat.
"And you're an asshole," you replied, riling him up.
"I'm aware. You have no idea," you detected a hint of sadness underneath the panting lust, you might have felt compassion if you weren't actively trying to get even.
"Make it up to me," you dared him.
And he gave you everything he could, hard thrusts that made the bed shake and hit the depths of you. He pinned your hands above your head and stared hungrily, focused entirely on you, drinking in every little sign that he was making you feel good. Your mouth was agape, your eyelids fluttered with every thrust, and you were uttering soft moans into his mouth.
"You going quiet on me?" he had the nerve to ask.
"You don't get to hear that. Not after ghosting me," you managed.
He changed his rhythm to something slower, more tender. "I'm sorry. I swear I am."
His eyes were wide and sincere and you had the sudden urge to start crying. You pulled your hand from his hold and covered your face with your forearm. You couldn't look him in the eye for this.
"Remember I told you I wanted to talk, when you came back?" you asked.
"Yeah."
"I was gonna tell you that I'd fucked up, that I had feelings for you and- Fuck, I don't even know what I hoped for back then."
Carmy stopped moving his hips and grabbed your wrist, slowly pulling on your forearm to see you. A tear ran down the side of your face and you had never felt so naked.
"I was in love with you," he said simply. "I didn't know it back then but- You were the only thing that made any fucking sense, the only thing that made me even remotely happy..."
"And?"
"I was scared of it. Terrified. And I had to stay here. My brother died. Everything was fucked. And you were good and deserved better," he cupped your face, wiping tears with his thumb.
"Fuck you," you sobbed. "I thought you were hurt or worse. You told our fucking landlord but you couldn't tell me?"
"It wouldn't have made a fucking difference! Would you have left New York?"
"Of course not! But you don't get to decide for me!"
"I know that now!" he sighed. "And I know it's too little too fucking late but I'm so unbelievably sorry."
You didn't know how to reply so you moved your hand to his lower back, pressing a little, asking him wordlessly to keep fucking you. He gave you a small nod and started moving, back to that undulating, love-making pace.
"Baby," he said and kissed you sweetly, trying to fit a thousand apologies in the movement of his lips. You carded your fingers through his hair, a little longer and wilder than you remembered.
"Carmy," you sighed against his lips and realized most of your anger had melted. "You know you're the best I've ever had, don't you?" you teased, eyes still teary but a small smile lighting up your face.
He flushed down to his collarbones.
"Right back at you."
And with that, he took your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder, his angle changing and making you see stars. You didn't stop the needy whine that came out of your mouth.
"That's my girl," he beamed. "Fuck, I love how you sound," his calloused fingers moved down your leg to your thigh, squeezing. "And I love your thighs. Never got you to sit on my face but I wanted it so fucking bad."
You were a moaning mess but even with his cock deep inside you, you could tell he was saying goodbye.
"You always made me feel so beautiful, Carm," you raised a hand to cup his face. "Thank you for that. Oh, right there..."
He kept hitting that spot, concentrated, that tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows a little more pronounced than you remembered.
"You are beautiful. And funny. And, fuck, all the books you gave me are at The Bear. I never forgot, I could never."
You moaned higher, your hand dropping down to his jaw, then his throat, until your thumb rested on his Adam's apple. You could feel him groan with every thrust. His hand traveled lower still, to your clit, his thumb bringing you closer to your release.
"I forgive you," you said, realizing as you said it that you actually meant it.
"Holy shit," Carmy cursed as his thrusts became messy and frantic, driving you to orgasm right before he did. He collapsed on top of you, his head on your chest. "Thank you. Fuck. Thank you, baby."
You touched his face, traced the shape of his nose, as you both recovered. You caught a glimpse of the dusky sky.
"It's getting late. Gonna miss my flight. I should probably-" you gestured at your discarded clothes on his bedroom floor.
"Let me drive you to the airport?" he offered softly.
You fixed his sweaty hair, a little too messy even for him, and kissed him. It was sweet and short and it tasted like goodbye.
"Okay. Thank you."
~
@vyctorya
#this is it! the final chapter! i hope you enjoy it! 💜#season 4 did a number on me and the last night on new york became 200% more angsty than i had planned but i kind of love it?#let me know what you guys think#carmy x reader#carmen berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x you#carmy x you#carmy berzatto smut#carmy berzatto fanfiction#carmen berzatto fanfiction
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CAKE BY THE OCEAN - JULY 14TH


featuring: kwon jiyong x fem!reader
warnings: nsfw (unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, slight overstimulation, teasing, dirty talk, light praise kink, multiple orgasms) mentions of smoking and alcohol, possessiveness (nothing serious; in romantic context), honeymoon/married AU
word count: 1095
synopsis: first night as newlyweds, things get spicy (cannot write synopsis for the life of me, i'm sorry)
masterlist link: summer challenge 2025
Tags: @carrotheadedtoast @steponupbabe @breakmeoff (as always, dm me or leave a comment if you’d like to be tagged for the rest of this project)
an: welcome to the first day of my summer challenge!! starting out strong with GD!! random banner i found on Pinterest, did not make it myself. hope you enjoy!!!

The beach below pulsed with neon and the sounds of waves crashing onto the sand, but the suite high above it all was wrapped in a soft, golden glow. The curtains were open just enough for the world outside to glimpse the silhouettes of two newlyweds wrapped in lazy affection.
“You smoke too much,” you teased from the hotel bathroom that was practically the size of a bedroom.
“You're just mad I looked better than you in the wedding photos.” Jiyong leaned against the balcony door, shirtless in his black Calvin Kleins, cigarette between his lips. His hair was messy from your fingers earlier, his lips still pink from the last kiss you'd stolen.
“Cocky.”
“You married me,” he said as he stepped toward you, the grin on his face softening as he reached you.
You let him kiss you, his lips sweet and slow, tasting faintly of the red wine you’d both sipped earlier. He cupped your face in both hands like you were a treasure, and his touch made your chest ache in the best way. His hands slipped to your waist, holding you like you might disappear if he let go. The hotel suite was quiet, minus the hum of the air conditioning and the click of your lips parting again and again.
“You gonna show me what ‘madly obsessed’ really means?” you asked against his mouth, briefly mentioning a part of his vows that had warmed your heart, hearing it leave his lips.
His gaze darkened, voice dropping low. “Come find out.”
You smirked and obeyed, backing onto the plush mattress with a slow sway of your hips, slipping off the silky robe to reveal nothing underneath. He groaned, half reverent, half wrecked — as his eyes traced the curve of your body.
“Fuck, jagiya…”
He joined you on the bed in a second, crawling over your body like a man possessed. “I’ve wanted this all day,” he whispered. “You in that damn sundress, teasing me during lunch…The way your thighs looked under the table? You were doing it on purpose.”
“Maybe I was,” you sighed, though your fingers were already in his hair, guiding him where you wanted him most. “You’re insatiable." Your voice caught in your throat as he licked a slow stripe up your folds, tongue firm and warm.
“Only for you.”
His tongue was sinfully good, slow at first, gentle like he had all the time in the world to savor you. He traced every part of you with worshipful precision, his hands holding your thighs open while his lips worked their way deeper. Then faster, sloppier, more desperate when you arched your back and whimpered his name like a prayer.
“God, Jiyong-fuck-don’t stop.”
He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down, moaning into you, the vibration making you cry out. He flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue before flattening it and sucking, and that was it. You were a trembling mess, thighs clenched around his head as you came with a sharp cry.
You barely had time to breathe before he was kissing his way up your body, lips wet with you, eyes shining with pride.
“You taste so fucking good,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Can I do it again?”
“Later. Want you inside me.” He let you straddle him, settling against the pillows with wide, hungry eyes. You lined him up with your entrance, teasing him with your wet folds, dragging his cock slowly against your clit just to hear him whimper, just to feel him twitch.
“Fuck, Jagiya,” he hissed, voice strained.
You sank down in one smooth, aching motion, both of you groaning as he filled you. His head fell back, eyes rolling shut, nails digging into your hips.
“You feel so good. S-so warm... fuck-”
You rode him slowly at first, grinding your hips in lazy circles that had him shaking beneath you. He was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, and when you leaned down to kiss him, his lips were trembling.
“You’re so pretty when you’re falling apart,” you whispered into his ear, nipping his lobe before rolling your hips again, faster now. The friction was perfect, the rhythm easy and filthy. He cursed under his breath, hips jerking upward to meet your movements.
The only thing to be heard was the headboard slamming, the bed creaking, and the sweet sounds of your moans echoing in the room. He wasn’t ready to stop, not yet, not when he still had so much more to give you; so even though his legs ached, his voice was hoarse from all of the moaning, and his hair was slick with sweat, his thrusts didn’t falter for a moment.
“Gonna cum f’me?” He asks, voice low and rough as his hips bucking up to meet your movements, his thrusts hard and deep, cockhead kissing your cervix each time, each kiss an intoxicating feeling. “C’mon, you can give me another one, right?” He grunts, his fingers rubbing your clit in time with his upward thrusts, smirking as he watches you writhe above him.
Your body spasmed, back arching as you came hard again, walls fluttering around his cock. The sound that left his throat was raw, desperate–as he held your hips in place and thrusted deep, spilling into you with a broken moan.
He looked up at you, chest heaving in time with yours, lips parted, cheeks flushed. You collapsed onto him, both of you sticky with sweat and love and sex, wrapped in the kind of warmth that only came after giving someone your whole self. Jiyong’s hair was messy, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon.
“Married sex is dangerous,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his fingertips tracing up and down your spine. “We might never leave this room.”
“I think you broke the bed.” You teased, kissing the corner of his mouth.
He chuckled, eyes soft and shining. “Can you blame me? You’re mine now. Forever.”
“And you’re mine,” you whispered back, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “So you’d better keep up.”
He grinned, slow and crooked and so full of love it made your chest ache. “I’m topping next time.”
“If you say so,” you murmured into his skin, already drifting into blissed-out sleep, your body tangled in his, legs still trembling.
He kissed your temple, holding you tighter. “I’ll show you tomorrow.”
But even as he said it, he was already hardening against your thigh, his cock twitching in the space between your slick, exhausted bodies. And you both knew… round two wasn’t far away.

#zombbiessummerchallengeଳ#zombbiesworksଳ#kwon jiyong#kwon jiyong x reader#bigbang x reader#bigbang#gd#gdragon#gdragon x reader#gdragon smut#gdragon fanfic#kwon jiyong smut#kwon jiyong fic#kpop#kpop x reader
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If he eased the restrictions and gave MC more freedom, where would he take them? Fishing, horseback riding in his free time? Would he let MC help with the farm? I think Daniel wouldn't like modern places lol

Yesss lol he's def traditional like that.
☆You may be allowed to go somewhere but you're never alone because he needs to be there when you enjoy something and of course he makes time for you, always.
☆He would take you in a place with meaning or became part of him like the creak behind the ridges where he used to go alone or he’d lead you to a patch of wildflowers he didn't mean to find when he was younger. He watch you kneel, touch the petals and look around like you’re the one that bloomed.
☆You'd go hiking and he’s already mapped every trail better than a GPS. He'll say he have been there if you asked “How do you know where we’re going?” so don't test him if you tried to memorize the path to escape later.
☆Then you're gonna camp when the night falls. He doesn't wanna bring a tent unless you asked him to :3
☆He builds the fire fast, if you compliment him he wouldn't say anything. Just gesture you come near and slides his arms around you, rough palm tucking into your side. You'd watch the stars while lying on roll of tarp and blankets. If you offer to help he wouldn't say no, but he watches your hands like you’ll burn the whole forest down if you mess up.
☆Yes he'd let you horseback, the horse knows him more than anyone else. It will trot back in a whistle if he noticed you're... getting too far for his liking.
☆When you asked to have your own horse he might allow but you learn first. You ride in front of him, between his arms, his body flush against your back. One hand holding the reins, the other casually resting on your thigh or hip.
☆If he lets you ride alone he follows right behind on his own.
☆You sit on a flat rock while you fish with him although he doesn’t like that look on your face when you see how the lake opens up into real wilderness.
☆He'd row in the middle of the lake to fish then lets you gut it with bare hands or teach you a thing or two.
☆He'd build the fence for your garden when you asked for it. You’re allowed to dig, plant and water within that little patch of earth where he can watch you from the porch. He lets you be alone there just for pockets of time. It’s one of the rare places he doesn’t intrude because he wants to see what you do without him there.
Spoiler: he's watching further back.
☆If you want to help, he'll let you check the chickens, collect eggs in that apron egg he knitted for you or feed them. One of the hens pecked you, you feel him judging the chickens as it do the chicken things. He has a low opinion of anything with a beak and claws, no matter how small.
☆He takes you to the gas station every week to gas the truck then lets you go into the mini store alone. “Grab what you want. Be quick.” in the ride he would let you play ABBA, old folk songs, dusty romance ballads. He pretends to ignore it but he listens.
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೨౿ . jill valentine(RE3R) x fem reader


content warnings › hella cussing. porn w plot? blood & gore mentions. tribbing. groping? makeout. sub4sub? near the end!im rustyyyy yawl 💔
the door slams against the wall with a sickening bang.
it rings in your head like an untouched alarm, jittering hand palming the side of your face in hopes of dulling the ache that’s soon to settle deep in your skull. you scowl, just slight, looking over at the woman who busted the door down in such a violent manner.
jill. always jill.
“what?” she drawls, tiredly. jill holds your stare for a moment before moving towards the blood streaked mattress, smelling of rotted intestines and black mold. it’ll do for one night, unfortunately. or fortunately. neither can tell.
“what do you mean, what? my goddamn head is throbbing.” you snap, though it lacks bite. and you regret the tone it comes out in the moment her face falls. you hadn’t really meant to be so rude. “..sorry. long day.” she nods once. that silly smile returning to her mole speckled face—the one that makes your heart stutter in your chest. the one that makes your cheeks warm and belly flutter.
“anyways.” jill mutters, trying to avoid making this an awkward situation by opting to set up for the night instead. gotta get done sooner than later. “also- can you check if all the appliances work? we fuckin’ stink.”
you turn your nose up at her, scoffing, “we? no, jill, you stink. i wasn’t the one doing all that running and jumping around, was i?”
“wha- i was getting chased by a horde of lickers!”
“not my problem.”
the brunette makes a frustrated noise after that. starting a reluctant march over to the bathroom and throwing her hands up in exasperation when she finds a maggot-infested corpse suspended in the air by a tightly bound tv cable. a successful suicide attempt, apparently.
great.
once she gets the damn thing down and tossed over the edge with little care, she can finally figure out if the water runs. and, oh goodie, it does! thankfully not shit brown like the other room you two tried beforehand. now, she can actually wash her ass.
✦ . ⁺
steam curls against the ceiling as the bathroom door creaks open, a half-naked jill stepping out with towel haphazardly thrown over her head; the other snug around her waist. tussling rich brown locks to dry them quicker—as the blow dryer that was left under the cabinet popped her dumbass as soon as she plugged it in. should’ve known better.
“uh, hello?” her ears perk, head snapping towards the sound of your voice, slowly lowering the damp fabric to get a better look at you. silvery eyes squint, brow raising up to her hairline. questioning your bewilderment.
“the hell is your face twisted up like that for?”
“your chest. your fucking tits. they’re just out.”
“and?”
your jaw just drops. is she really— does she really not care? good lord.
“you can’t just have them swingin’ in the breeze like that, j!” you argue, face hot, the fire burning in your belly hotter. scalding. you hate how you get like this when she shows herself off. ‘cause you know damn well that’s what she’s doing.
and she just smirks at you.
“and whyyyy not?”
now, she’s crawling over you. towel unraveling from her hips mid-movement, sliding down the soft curve of her thighs until it’s forgotten somewhere at the edge of the bed. you watch it fall, barely. eyes glued to the thin, dark trail that runs from her navel to the unruly, thick bush between her legs. it’s coarse and soft all at once, fluffed up from the heat, the steam, the need. and fuck, it’s wet too. you can see it. see her glistening just past the mess of hair, lips parted slightly with each motion of her thighs as she moves to straddle you.
gods. it’s so hot how unkempt she is. so raw. so her.
“jesus, woman—” you croak, voice cracking on the way out. thick arms bracket your head, boxing you in against the headboard like you’re something she’s claimed. her breath is sticky with beer and salt and something that might be desperation, ghosting over your lips as she mouths lazily along your jaw. her kisses are slow and indulgent, tongue darting out to soothe the crescent-moon bites she leaves along the way. nipping, sucking, licking.
you barely register her voice through the haze. “y’gonna answer me or nah, baby?”
god. that tone. low, teasing. right on the edge of mocking. like she knows what she’s doing to you, and she’s reveling in it.
your mouth feels too full with heat, with tongue, with the phantom of her taste. the words don’t come right. “it’s—” your voice hitches, hips squirming, “it’s indecent.”
that earns a breathy, delighted chuckle from her. she kisses you again—deeper, messier—teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging. she soothes the sting with her tongue before shoving it past your lips, kissing like she’s starved, like she wants to swallow the noises you make and pin them inside her lungs. it’s sloppy. all tongue and spit and low, embarrassing whimpers. like animals. like need incarnate.
she’s not kissing you like this because she doesn’t know how to be soft. she’s kissing you like this because she can’t afford to be.
“indecent,” she repeats, laughing a little as her fingers start tugging at your shirt—what’s left of it, anyway. it’s torn, stretched, stained in spots, and she peels it up anyway, dragging it off your arms until your breasts are bare to the air, nipples already drawn up tight.
“jesus,” she breathes, one hand cupping a breast, the other flicking over a peaked nipple. she tests you. squeezes. pinches. watches your face change with every twitch of her fingers. “you’re so fuckin’ sensitive.”
you shiver—pathetic, really—as her thumb starts circling just right. you bite back a moan, but jill grins.
“ohhh,” she hums, mocking a little. “there it is. that’s the sound i wanted.”
her thigh wedges between your legs before you can catch your breath. and then she groans—head falling into the crook of your neck as your wetness immediately soaks into her skin. already. fuck.
“you’ve gotta be kidding me.” she shifts, dragging her thigh in slow, lazy circles against your cunt. “already soaked, sweetheart? we haven’t even started yet.”
you whimper, helpless, and jill laughs breathily against your neck, the sound dazed and dizzy with lust.
she dips a hand lower, fingers brushing over the stupid cookie monster-print panties clinging to your heat. she tugs at them, thumb dragging the soaked gusset right between your lips until it presses tight against your clit. you jolt. your hips buck. and jill moans at the sight.
“oh my god,” she whispers, head tilting to look down. “you’re dripping through these. that’s so—fuck, that’s cute.”
you feel her shudder a little—like she’s trying to hold back, too.
“don’t tease,” you whisper, voice ragged, hips grinding against the pressure of her hand. your nails—cracked, messy, bitten down—dig into her wrist, not hard, just enough to plead. do something. anything.
she looks down at you—face flushed, mouth glossy with spit—and for a second, she looks unsure. like she doesn’t know if she wants to keep teasing, or beg for it herself.
instead, she leans in—pressing her weight against you, shifting her thigh harder between your legs as her hand slips down to cup herself. you watch her—watch the way her fingers twitch at her own heat, gathering slick, then sliding forward.
“you’re gonna let me ride you, right?” she whispers, almost shy. “i—i wanna feel you. i wanna rub… y’know.”
you nod—maybe too quickly—and her breath catches.
then she’s guiding you, shifting her hips until her soaked mound meets yours, bare skin pressing close. her bush is soft and coarse against yours, lips sliding, catching, slick smearing between the mess of both of you. your thighs shake.
and jill?
she moans like she’s being torn apart. “oh—fuck. fuck.”
neither of you even knows who’s leading anymore. you’re just rocking against each other now—needy, slow, clumsy. sliding slick against slick. tangled in the heat, in the hair, in the desperate noise of it all. your arms wrap around her. she pulls you tighter. and you know neither of you are about to last long.
it’s so hot. so embarrassing. so fucking good.
and you’re not even sure who begged first.
jill’s hips grind down hard, slick cunt dragging over yours with a lewd, wet squelch that punches a sound out of both your throats. it’s not some slow, teasing build-up. there’s no elegance here. it’s bodies slapping, soaking, twitching. the kind of filth that sounds like it shouldn’t be real, like something out of a fever dream.
“fuck—fuck,” jill gasps, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours as her thighs quake on either side of your hips. “oh my god, babe—feel that? feel how fucking wet you are?”
you do. every messy slide of her pussy against yours leaves your clit twitching, nerves screaming. it’s drenched down there—sweat and slick and spit still smeared across your chins from earlier—and the drag of her bush over your mound only adds to the heat. soft but scratchy. real.
she starts finding her rhythm fast—frantic little grinds, sloppy and jerky, her cunt slapping against yours like she’s trying to fuse you together.
your hands clutch at her ass, nails digging into the plush, flexing muscle there, trying to drag her harder, closer. she whines when you squeeze.
“oh, fuck yes, just like that—don’t stop—fuck, don’t stop—”
you’re both panting now. feral. it’s all teeth and tongue between gasps, mouths smashing together between moans. jill’s face is flushed, soaked strands of hair sticking to her cheek as she humps you like a bitch in heat.
“i can feel you fucking pulsing on me,” she growls, jaw slack, eyes fluttering like she’s getting dizzy from the friction alone. “god, you’re soaked, baby—i’m gonna fuckin’ drown on your pussy—”
your clit catches hers just right—just fucking right—and it knocks a scream out of you. your whole body snaps up like livewire. hips lock. thighs squeeze.
“jill—fuck, jill, i’m gonna!”
“me too, me too!—fuck, don’t stop, grind it, baby—grind that fuckin’ pussy on me.”
you both lose it in tandem, messy and uncontrollable. her cunt pulses hard against yours, wet and twitching, juices flooding between your folds. it’s obscene—the way it squirts out between you both, dripping down your ass, slicking her thighs, soaking into the sheets below. you’re both shaking. overstimulated. unable to pull apart, even as your hips stutter and grind through the aftershocks.
the room stinks of sex, sweat, and cum. neither of you say anything at first. just ragged breaths. bodies twitching. thighs still pressed tight together, the slick between your legs sticky and burning-hot.
finally, jill collapses on top of you, chest heaving. one last lazy grind of her pussy into yours makes you both whimper.
“that,” she pants, lips brushing your ear, “was so fucking disgusting.”
you nod against her shoulder. still twitching. still dizzy.
“say it again,” you whisper. “say it like you’re proud.”
you both lie there, soaked and twitching, until she huffs a laugh against your neck.
“think we broke the bed,” she mutters, smug. “worth it.”
#D3LTANINE.#𐂯 fics.#jill valentine#jill valentine smut#jill valentine x reader#jill valentine x you#resident evil#resident evil smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil x female reader#resident evil x you#wlw smut
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❝𝐤𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬❞
a/n: as usual, afab!body w/no gendered language. y'all i swear i'm back surely... i totally don't work five eight and a half hour shifts in a row after this... not at all.... anyway didn't include all of the hashira just because i don't want this to feel too overcrowded, might do a part two though if anyone wants a specific character. enjoy!
── დ ──
. *. ⋆ SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA
▸ face fucking. he loves taking his frustration out on your poor throat, especially after particularly drama filled hashira meetings. watching the way the spit dribbles past your lips and how your eyes roll into the back of your head so unashamedly.
▸ spit kink. he goes crazy for it fr. having you kneel in front of him as he takes ahold of your jaw. forcing your mouth open and instructing you to stick your tongue out before spitting. he moans so beautifully when you readily accept his gift and swallow.
▸ choking. he loves the feeling of wrapping his hands around your throat and squeezing, seeing how your cheeks redden. enjoying the choked gasps you struggle getting out with every thrust inside of you.
▸ degradation. he's got a mouth on him, that's for sure. insults upon insults thrown at you, practically babbling about how much you're a dirty whore- his dirty whore- the closer he gets to his orgasm.
▸ brat taming. breaking you down until your nothing but a shivering mess. you always just have to give him attitude, don't you? running your mouth until he's forced to put you back in your place.
. *. ⋆ GIYUU TOMIOKA
▸ hair puling. both giving and receiving. shamelessly moaning anytime your fingers brush against his scalp, yanking at the hair while his tongue licks at your trembling walls.
▸ body worship. he's so fucking in love with you and that's especially in the bedroom. he spends hours memorizing your body, trailing your curves, kissing at the dips in your skin. all before he even thinks of fucking you.
▸ bondage. intricately tying your wrists and ankles to bedposts, the roughness of the rope scratching at your skin with every pull. he'll stand above you for a few seconds after, just watching how you squirm against the restraints.
▸ cock warming. sometimes he's just so bone tired from it all. he just needs to feel you, nothing more. sitting you on his lap and sinking his cock into your welcoming walls. face burying into your neck and savoring the feeling.
▸ sensory deprivation. goes kind of hand in hand with his love of tying you up. he has an extensive collection of silk ribbons, in all kinds of colors, that he'll have you model for him later that night.
. *. ⋆TENGEN UZUI
▸semi-public. he's so daring with it, really. when he wants you, he wants you, and he's not ashamed of that. fucking you in too small closets as maids at the butterfly mansion pass by, or on the top of a roof where nightlife bustles below.
▸ size kink. he's fucking huge, towering over you in every sense of the word. seeing how your lips struggle stretching around his cock or how small your hand is compared to his- it drives him absolutely insane.
▸ breeding. my god please don't get me started on this.., he wants to cum inside of you so bad, anytime and every time he fucks you. thinking of how sexy you'd look all round with his baby!!
▸ humiliation. just like sanemi, this man has a mouth on him. seeing how your cheeks redden and you stutter anytime he calls you out on being such a whore for him- it's adorable, he just can't help it.
▸ orgasm denial. such a tease with it, too. lets you think he's gonna let you cum this time around, only to pull completely away from your skin as soon as your on that edge. cooing at how you cry at him, apologizing for being so mean, even if he doesn't really mean it.
. *. ⋆KYUOJURO RENGOKU
▸ breeding. best friends think alike, right? pls just make this man a daddy already. he's so desperate for it. rutting inside of you for the third time in a night, all to cum inside your pretty pussy.
▸ cunnilingus. oh, he is such a big pussy eater. sometimes it's just so much with him. large arms wrapping around the thighs that squeeze either side of his head, lapping at your pussy like it's his last meal and he's a man starved.
▸ eye contact. grabbing at your jaw, forcing your gaze to his, instructing you to keep it there. he's eyes are so intense, so fiery. boring into you with every thrust inside- taking in the dilation of your pupils and the flutter of your pretty eyelashes.
▸ overstimulation. most times he doesn't even mean to do it, y'know? you just feel so good, and he's chasing that high over and over again until you're jelly in his arms, feeling pleasure so painfully.
▸ dry humping. his favorite foreplay. the atmosphere thick as you both huddle close, grinding and frotting against each other. anything for friction. until he gets so desperate for your touch that he's ripping your clothes off right then and there.
#kny smut#kny headcanons#kny x reader#demon slayer smut#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer headcanons#smut#afab reader#x reader#gn reader#sanemi shinazugawa x reader#sanemi shinazugawa smut#shinazugawa sanemi#giyuu tomioka smut#tomioka giyuu x reader#tomioka giyuu#tengen uzui smut#tengen uzui x reader#tengen uzui#rengoku kyojuro smut#rengoku kyojuro#rengoku kyojuro x reader#sanemi x reader#tomioka x reader#tengen x reader#rengoku x reader
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O V U L A T I N G
So this drabble has been coming up a lot in my notifications recently so I thought I'd try and write a proper fic for it :) unfortunately I kinda got carried away with the crack, so when it came to the Chan smut the tonal shift was pretty jarring. I got bored trying to make it work and then I got sick of looking at it, so I figured I'd stop stressing about it and just post it in two parts 💁♀️
Thank you @a-jazzy-bitch for reading through this and convincing me to keep in the notes I wrote when I was half asleep.
wc: 1.7k genre: cracksmut summary: poly!ot8 x fem!reader lore with condoms galore. so much safe sex. Channie would be proud if he wasn't so pissed at Seungmin. explicit warnings under the cut (they're mostly silly).
explicit warnings: mentions of han’s freaky rodent libido, jeongin being a (literal) sneaky fucker, [redacted] bottoming for the maknae, felix x you x seungmin spitroast, flavoured condoms, ovulating makes you crazy horny.
Once upon a time, Chan would have been embarrassed about buying sixteen boxes of condoms at once. He’d tried to get away with just eight before: one for each member.
One box each seemed reasonable, right?
But then Han’s freaky rodent libido had kicked in, and he’d gotten through his box so fast he started stealing condoms from the other guys. Chaos had ensued. Arguments about fairness, accusations of favouritism. Tempers had flared, fists had been raised.
Moms had been mentioned.
And the whole time you were a needy, horny little mess, whimpering and whining for someone to just shut up and fuck you. Begging like you’d been cock starved for fifty years.
Chan was almost proud of Jeongin, the way he used the argument to his advantage. Quietly sliding over to you and gently lifting you up so he could dress his cock with your cunt, while the others almost came to blows. The way he rolled his hips gently, murmuring no donut filth into your ear while you tried to stay quiet.
You've always been bad at keeping quiet. Especially with Jeongin. Chan understands, he bottomed for the maknae once. He might not be Catholic, but there's no denying it: that cock was sculpted by God.
Thank fuck Jeongin decided not to be a priest. Dick that good should always be deep in someone's guts.
It was actually the lack of sound that gave you two away. When Minho stopped to take a breath after a full two minutes of cussing out Jisung and he noticed you were no longer mewling for attention.
A quick glance over to the bed revealed the reason– the way you were holding one of Jeongin’s hands over your mouth with both of yours. His other arm was wrapped around your waist to keep you still as he ground into you slowly.The seething jealousy stirring in Minho’s gut was quickly stifled by the big boba eyes you gave him, silently promising him a turn too.
The ultimate hyung-but-one had always been a patient man, and was more than happy to watch until it’s his turn. Especially when the view was that good.
Han was less gracious when he saw what was happening. Cue the cries of betrayal, the whining, the pouting, the begging for his turn. Completely disregarding how it was him and his ridiculous libido AND lightspeed recovery rate that caused the whole kerfuffle in the first place.
It was Seungmin who snapped, whacking his hyung over the head with a rolled up newspaper and telling him to wait his damn turn.
Han shut up, pouting those cute quokka cheeks so hard he gave himself muscle cramps. Even then he would not stop. Not even when Felix started peppering his stupid sulky face with tons of teeny tiny kisses, trying to make him giggle and smile and generally cheer the fuck up.
But Hannie sulks as hard as he smiles, in the end being banished to his room and only let out for snacks and bathroom breaks, to stop him from ruining the mood. Not that you would’ve been able to notice, being caught up in a seven way tag team and all…
You did find him later, raiding the cupboards for snacks and hoarding all of the emergency heartbreak ice cream from the freezer– his heart was broken after all.
On the plus side, he’d written two new songs in his exile– both with the kind of heart wrenching lyrics that’d make you think he’d gone through three divorces, eight jobs, and watched everyone he loved perish in an 18th century shipwreck. Possibly involving a kraken or two.
Two excellent songs, sure to stir the emotions of any Stay. Though the second one–the one about the cure for his heartbreak being your thighs around his head and his tongue deep in your cunt…
Yeah, that definitely wasn’t going on the album.
He gave you his best kicked puppy eyes when you cornered him in the kitchen, clutching his high calorie loot to his chest, holding it like it was his first born child.
Which he promptly dropped, nay, threw to the floor when you shyly asked if he’d come back to your apartment and keep you company for the night.
His face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, bidding a fond farewell to his junk food child as he scooped you up and princess-carried you to his room. Mumble-babbling something to the tune of yes yes 110% yes please yes yes I would love to come and spend the night at yours but I need to fuck you right now before I actually explode.
It wasn’t until the next morning that Chan realised Han had somehow stolen all of the condoms, including the emergency one he kept in his back pocket.
So, two boxes each it is. Plus one extra box, bought in secret and hidden at the back of Chan’s wardrobe. For emergencies. Right next to the extra emergency first aid kit, in case some overenthusiastic riding ends up with another painful penis incident…
Chan had been worried about the checkout girl taking too long, about one of the others taking his turn and having to wait another rotation before getting inside you.
Rotation? Explanation:
You might be willing to jump on anyone’s dick in your estrogen-induced haze, but after the Great Condom Theft of 2024, Chan and Minho worked out a strict schedule: keeping your days full of dick appointments while making sure none of the members felt left out.
It worked, mostly. Until unexpected events. Like the checkout girl taking too. damn. long.
But when Chan finally walked back into the dorm (in a cool and dignified manner, he definitely didn’t sprint up the stairs because the elevator was taking too long) the scene awaiting him in the living room was not what he was expecting.
Because instead of Hyunjin having his turn, or even Han sneaking a quick one in… it’s still Seungmin fucking you.
He’d had you in a mating press on the floor when Chan left, (which Chan was 100% not jealous about because that’s definitely not his trademarked move), but now Seungmin's got you on the couch, pounding you from the back while you moan around Felix’s dick.
You must’ve sucked the blond raw by now, but if the gentle way Felix’s cupping your head and smiling at you is anything to go by, the way he’s brushing the hair off your forehead so he can look you deep in the eyes even as your nails leave little red scratches over his thighs… yeah, he doesn’t seem to mind. Felix has always been into a little bit of pain anyway.
Han is jerking off to the side, because of course he is.
And Seungmin's designated box of condoms lying on the floor next to the couch, empty. There had been two left when Chan left, and he was only gone for 30 minutes. Chan’s not sure if he’s impressed, relieved, or frustrated. Probably a healthy mix of all three.
Damn these young ‘uns and their ridiculous recovery rates.
Seungmin doesn’t look up when Chan shuts the door behind him, too busy concentrating on not nutting until he’s fucked you through at lease one more orgasm. But you do.
You moan something that might’ve been his name, the vibrations finally pushing Felix over the edge and into filling his pretty pink condom. Watermelon flavoured of course, Lixxie always buys you sweet flavours when he wants head. So considerate.
As Felix slips from your mouth, your face lights up into an almost-exhausted-but-radiant smile as you murmur “Channie~” in a tone that makes Chan’s heart melt to mush… and his dick as hard as a diamond.
Seungmin definitely heard that, and there’s no way he misses the way you reach for Chan, but he chooses to ignore it.
“Minnie.” Chan warns the younger man, who doesn't even spare him a glance and just starts to pound you harder instead. Pressing your face down into the cushions a little more, getting you to arch your back so he can hit it just right, making you cry out in that special way that means you’re about to cum…
And as he fucks you through it? That’s when Seungmin finally acknowledges Chan, smirking up at him through his sweat-slick bangs as he taunts his hyung:
“Wait your turn, old man.”
“Bad pup.” Chan growls, ready to rip him off you and silently regretting not taking up Minho on his offer to hide strategically placed spray bottles around the door for “when the dog needs to be trained.”
Before Chan can go and grab a water bottle from the fridge, a quiet whimper interrupts his thoughts.
“Minnie… please. Need Channie.” Your voice is soft. Needy. Irresistible. You must be exhausted at this point, but you’re practically glowing, looking at Chan with that special soft smile you save just for him.
Seungmin groans in protest, fingers digging into your hips as he thrusts just a little harder before remembering consent is key and reluctantly pulling out. But his attitude melts instantly when you lean back and kiss him, your neck twisting enough for Chan to see the mosaic of love bites and hickeys adorning your skin.
Someone completely forgot the no marking up rule. Or just straight up ignored it.
Chan makes a note to give Seungmin extra dance practice. Not as a punishment of course, that would be petty. The almost-maknae’s hip thrusts just need a little more work. They’re getting sloppy.
The way you whimper when Seungmin strokes your neck brings him back to reality, his eyes snapping open as he feels over the little bruises. He quickly kisses over each one, whispering something sweet in your ear and making you giggle.
Then he shoots his hyung a grin that says “worth it” and makes himself scarce, taking Chan’s stress levels with him and leaving you lax and boneless on the couch. The way you giggle when he scoops you up makes his heart flutter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carries you to his bedroom.
While absolutely not against living room sex (sharing is caring after all, and it’s not like there’s room for embarrassment in a nine-way poly relationship) but right now Chan wants you all to himself.
He even takes the time to lock the door after kicking it shut, balancing your entire weight between his chest and one arm as he flips the handle.
No more interruptions.
part two?
Taglist: @sthaay @bluesungology @chrizzztopherbang @avnche @kemkem33 @mikaelless @lvrgrl-xo @eevenus @furioussheepluminary @sheerfreesia007 @aasthamoon @amazinglystay @delulustardust @galaxy4489 @lil-bear08 @abby-loves-aphrodite @a-jazzy-bitch @incognitoinstigator @minhooofr
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#skz smut#stray kids smut#bang chan smut#felix smut#seungmin smut#skz ot8 smut#skz x you#skz x fem!reader#poly!skz smut#poly!skz x fem!reader#poly!skz x you
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tw - physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, themes of marking/ownership. based on this ask.
Suguru has your name tattooed just below his collarbone.
It's subtle. Black ink pressed into neat kanji, bold lettering camouflaged behind the swirls and patterns of his other designs. Yours emerges from the back of a brilliant, white and blue dragon, while Satoru's hangs below, settled into the spiraling pupil of the dragon's eye. You try not to look for it. Really, you try not to look at him at all, but he makes it difficult - always forcing your hand against his chest, always asking you to read out the only names that have or will ever matter to him. It might be a little more romantic if he didn't seem so proud, if he didn't purr out his affirmations of love with quite so much self-satisfaction. He wants evidence of his claim to you, of his right to you, and what could be more telling than carrying your name so close to his heart?
Satoru wears two wedding rings.
Technically four, if you count the engagement bands he keeps on a delicate silver chain around his neck. It's embarrassing, honestly. He'd always been the one to propose - first to Suguru, when they were fresh out of high school, then to you, on the first anniversary of your abduction. The two of you aren't actually married (no, they'd never let you stray far enough from their countryside estate for that), but Satoru likes to pretend, and Suguru likes to indulge him. He calls you by all the right terms of endearment, brings home cake and flowers every few weeks for some invented milestone, whines when he finds your rarely-worn ring stuffed under the mattress or broken into pieces on the floor. He's always wanted something domestic, something mutual. Your continued imprisonment may eliminate any hope for the latter, but he can still try to nudge you towards the former.
They've both carved their names into you.
Suguru's, first, stretching over the small of your back. The lines are jagged, the scarring ugly and only just beginning to heal around the roughest patches. He did it on impulse - as a punishment for trying to run away, as proof that you'd never really be able to get away from them. He wanted to make himself a part of you, and in a way, he did.
Satoru's had to be inflicted later on, after weeks of building jealousy and off-handed comments about how unfair it would be to leave you so lopsided. His name was handled more with more care - engraved in your shared bedroom rather than the back of Suguru's car, using a proper scalpel rather than a rusted pocket knife. Suguru held you while Satoru did the dirty work, nuzzling into your tear-streaked cheeks and promising that they were only doing this because they loved you, because they had to make sure you knew who you belonged with. That did nothing to stop the pain, of course, almost as intense as the bitter hatred you feel every time Satoru presses a line of kisses up the length of your spine or Suguru settles a hand over the ruined mess of skin and flesh that you once called your own. Satoru holds up his rings to your scars, and Suguru offers to get another line of ink, and they try to convince you that you're all on equal ground. You're not, though. Obviously, you're not.
As violently as they refuse to admit it, Satoru can take off his rings, and Suguru can cover up his tattoos. Your claims to them can be removed, or hidden, and if they ever wanted to, they could leave, separate themselves, run.
For whatever reason, you just weren't given the same choice.
#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk imagines#yandere jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo satoru x reader#yandere geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#yandere gojo satoru
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cw: post-traumatic stress disorder (torture). reader is unreliable, angry and inconsistent. reader is traumatized. military inaccuracies. jealous simon, jealous johnny. bros kissing their mates.
× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.
Part 6
After your talk with Price, and the promise of Gaz bringing you food, you realize there's not much you can do. You can't use your fingers properly, you can't walk, you can't read, you can't even use a phone. It's not like you can concentrate, even if you wanted to. Your mind feels fuzzy and blurry, like you're under water.
Ironic.
Having nothing else to do, your mind goes back to Ghost and Soap. You try to concentrate on the man under the mask, on Johnny's loud laugh when Simon would pin him to the bed so you could tickle him or forcefully shave that disturbing mustache he gets sometimes, or Simon's crude, ridiculous jokes. A smile makes it to your lips when you remember your favorite.
"What do you call a dog with no legs?" you mumble, shaking your head. With a sigh, you look at your hands, the dull pain making your eye twitch. "Doesn't matter. He's not coming either way" you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes. Now that the panic has gone down and now that you know the full story, from Price's mouth at least, you really, really want to forgive them.
Really.
But just thinking of them makes it impossible for you to focus on the good parts; at least not long enough to forget the rest. The soft kisses, the cuddles, the long nights filled with smoke, and drinks, and holding each other in a single bed. All of that, is covered by a thick layer of betrayal and pain. You might understand Price, but the fact that he used your deepest fear against you is something you will never forget nor forgive. Same goes for Ghost and Soap. They don't deserve your forgiveness, and you're aware of that.
Your mind goes back to the day Simon confessed, making your dark thoughts pause for a moment.
All of you were drinking that night and they wanted to play truth or dare. Price had to lick places around the base nobody would dare mention again, Johnny had to wear your bra filled with peanuts for seven rounds —Price thought it would be funny—, and you all had fun making each other kiss. Hands, cheeks, lips, foreheads. If Gaz had to kiss Price's ass, nobody will ever mention it again.
It wasn't so funny, though, when Gaz dared you to kiss Simon. You were dismissive, saying it's funnier when they kiss each other, but then:
"Just say you're a wimp. You're scared you'll like it".
Not even two weeks later, Simon confessed. He wrote a ridiculous poem of your eyes shining like grenades, your hair being as dry as the desert, and your lips tasting like the first sip of water you take right after waking up at night in a mission, rusty but perfect.
It worked, of course.
A soft knock on your door makes you flinch, sudden fear making your heart pound hard. All thoughts and memories leave your mind in a second. You keep silent, staring blankly at the door as it slowly creaks open.
"Hey, it's me. Come in peace. Brought you food".
"Gaz" you cry out, rushing to stand up. It was a bad idea, but you couldn't even focus on that. Gaz' eyes go wide and jumps forward, nearly dropping the food in his haste to catch you when your knees give out, hissing in pain as your feet touch the ground.
"What are you getting up for, you idiot?" Gaz scolds, his arms under your armpits to keep you up, gripping the bag of food between his teeth so he can help you onto the bed. "Dumbass. Come on".
He keeps on grumbling at you for a few moments, setting the food aside after making sure you're comfortable. He tells you something about how he had to fight the lady in the mess hall for it, but you can only stare at him. He looks tired.
"You look like shit" you mumble, interrupting whatever he was talking about. Gaz looks down at you and grips your nose between his fingers, shaking your head slightly.
"Missed you, too. Now, come on, let's eat. I'm starving" he says, not giving you a moment of silence. You know he's trying to take care of you, so you just let him guide you, both of you sitting on the bed. You watch him set the food between the two of you.
He talks about his mission, though you're not sure he actually did all that or if he's bluffing just to make you concentrate on something else. He's halfway done with his food when he realizes you're just listening to him talk and haven't eaten.
"Weren't you hungry?" Gaz questions, his voice a little muffled, his mouth is filled with food. It's terribly disgusting, but it makes you feel warm.
"I guess. I don't know" you sigh, uncomfortable. You stab the food silently, not really in the mood for eating. Just the thought of it being even a little salty makes you want to throw up. And, using a fork feels ridiculously hard, even with all the bandages keeping your fingers safe from pain.
Gaz reaches out to steal a piece of chicken from your plate and takes a bite, munching happily as he starts talking again, mouth full. You don't realize he slowly starts feeding you the bites he steals, filling your mouth and watching you chew.
He's the same as always. Maybe it helps that he doesn't treat you like a victim, or perhaps it is that your tummy is full, because your head lands on his shoulder at some point. Gaz watches you sleep, his yapping coming to a stop as you drool on his uniform. He gently moves the food from the bed, making sure you stay comfortable resting against him.
Deep in sleep, your dreams are haunted by Ghost's mask. It morphs into a smile, laughing at you, haunting you, the teeth opening wide as if to bite your head off. Hundreds of Soap's hands grip you from everywhere, and you scream, and cry, and beg, and Ghost's just laughing at you, Price's voice echoing somewhere in the back of your mind, but you can't make out what he's saying.
You slowly wake up from your nightmare, your head spinning. Gaz' shaking your shoulder slightly, a lazy smile on his lips. "Oi, morning. You slept like a rock for nearly a day, good for you".
Gaz has to trick you so you can eat again, but when he leaves, promising you he'll be back later, your coffee remains untouched. You stare at the cup as the medics come and go, checking your hands and your feet. They tell you it's for the discharge, but you're really uncomfortable as they touch you, as they check on the wounds. You knew they were bad and that it would take at least four to six months for you to walk with the boots again and not feel pain, but when they confirm it, you want to curl in the bed and cry.
When the military psychologist gives you a visit, your sobs just can't stop. Talking about it is even more difficult than experiencing it, you realize. Your mind has locked so many things but you refuse to let them out for now, not wanting to accept anything but the pain they caused you. In any case, the psychologist isn't there to be of help just now. You know it's for the discharge, again, but it's as if they wanted to make sure you're truly crazy traumatized enough for them to send you home.
The exams take three days. Gaz and Price have been visiting you as much as they can, both of them managing to make you smile, or at least distract you. Even Ghost? Simon comes to visit you, with a different mask, and he takes it off as soon as he's inside so you can see his face. He looks as tense as always, but he keeps bringing things he knows you like: a chocolate, sour candy, even some of Johnny's cookies.
"Is he... not visiting?" you question him, your eyes fixed on the sour candy, blinking slowly. In a way, it pisses you off that he doesn't have the balls to come and see you. Again, it's not like you expected—
"Johnny's scared you won't want to see him" Simon answers, his voice gruff and hard, but it's clear he's trying to be gentle. He sounds different without the mask, and that helps your shoulders relax. Not much, though.
"Well, he hasn't come. How is he supposed to know?" you grumble, crushing one of the cookies with the heel of your palm. "I don't want to see you and you're here, anyway".
When you don't hear his response, you look up at him. He looks like he wants to cry, you realize. He's been doing that. Whenever you tell him the truth, he goes silent. Whenever you say you're scared of him, he's silent, whenever you say no, why would I want you to hug me?, he's silent.
You know you're probably being unfair, but how is that your fault, though? You're angry, pissed, and he keeps coming, showing you his face like you're so dumb you can't understand he will still wear the other mask outside, like you're so stupid he can fool you and make you think he never meant to hurt you. Isn't that why he did that, anyway? The only reason you stand him is because Price and Gaz have been telling you he's been mopping around like a fucking pup, and that maybe just letting him sit with you isn't a bad idea. But how's that not a bad idea? It's ridiculous to think—
"Do you want me to leave?" he cuts you off, his tone quiet. Only then, you realize you were speaking out loud.
It makes you falter. You take a moment to genuinely think about it.
"No, I don't" you admit, crumbling another cookie, keeping your eyes down for a moment. The silence is oppressive, exhausting. It keeps you on edge. "Did you believe me when I told you this was over?"
"Yes".
"Good".
On the third day in the clinic, Price tells you you're going home the next morning. It's so relieving to hear that you give him a hug, and then immediately freeze because Simon's in the room, staring at you, no mask. Johnny's right next to him, looking down at his feet and using his index finger to pick on his fingernails. They say nothing, only staring as you let go of Price and turn to Gaz, your shoulders relaxing completely.
Simon and Johnny share a look at your reaction, their jaws clenching hard enough to almost break their teeth, but they both remain silent.
You've grown used to their presence at this point, but as soon as Simon slips the mask back on, you have to look away. Perhaps the fear will always be there, even if you're half convinced he won't hurt you again. After a while, the two decide to leave so you can rest. Price leaves a few minutes later, promising to be there when you leave the next morning. Gaz is the only one who stays with you, as he has the past few days, but instead of him sleeping on the floor you two share the bed.
It's the last day, so why not?
He tells you a bit more about how he got certain scars, about how he plans on visiting you when he can so you can show him your house. You smile, nodding at the idea, just listening to him talk your ears off. It's comforting. You feel like you're in a sleepover with your friend, sharing gossip about other soldiers, and making fun of Price.
Your head is nested against his chest, your arms gently curled between the two of you as he holds you lazily, one of his hands caressing your hair. It's comforting and warm, and slowly, at some point, the idle gossip turns a bit more serious, finally reaching Simon and Johnny.
"You don't have to forgive them. Fuck them. I hope you remember that" he mumbles against your hair. You can hear the anger in his voice, and it makes you feel a little better. "Maybe you'll learn to understand why they had to do it, but that doesn't mean you have to be cool with it".
"And I'm not" you mumble back, shaking your head as you shift, looking up at him. "It's hard to just... look at them and not think of it. It happened like a week ago, anyway, so I can't be blamed. Right?"
"Fuck no. I'd say you give them hell a few months" he says, winking at you and nudging you slightly. It's enough to bring a smile to your face. You shift again, feeling restless, anxious.
"I don't know. I understand, I guess. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same in their position, but... I don't want to think about that right now".
"Of course" Gaz hums, his hand gently rubbing on your back. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
It's warm, and it's nice. You melt into him, your eyes blinking lazily as you both lay in silence. Since Gaz has been taking care of you these past few days, you haven't been allowed more than two minutes of silence whenever he's in the room, so you treasure it.
Perhaps is the peace you're feeling, perhaps is the way he's holding you, but you can't help but look up at him. He's lost in his head for a long moment, looking up at the ceiling, before realizing you're staring at him. He raises an eyebrow, playfully poking your back.
"What do you want? Is there something on my face?" he asks, moving so he can look down at you properly, his eyebrows furrowing.
When he shifts, trying to get comfortable again, you surge forward.
It's only a brief, soft press of lips.
Gaz is silent when you pull back, his eyes worried, mostly surprised, but also deeply conflicted. His body is frozen, half lifted from the bed where he was changing his position. You feel shame deep in your stomach. Fear, maybe.
"I'm sorry. I'm really—"
He cuts you off.
It's a soft kiss. There's nothing but calm and affection in it. You're not sure for how long it goes, but it's only when he cradles your face, the kiss slowing down, that you realize you're crying. He hugs you closer, letting you cry into his chest, caressing your hair.
It takes a while for you to calm down, your hot face buried deep in his chest, embarrassed. Ashamed.
"Are you angry?"
"What? No. Why would I be?" Gaz asks, sounding genuinely confused.
"Because I kissed you?"
He hums, his hand never stopping where it's caressing your back. "No. I'm not mad. It was a good kiss." You groan, hitting him on the ribs with your elbow. He laughs, patting your back so you settle against him again. "Nothing bad with kissing your mates".
"Shut up!"
"Fine, fine. Well, look" he starts, shifting to turn the lamp on so he can look at you. "I think you needed that, and maybe I did too. I don't think I'm a replacement, either. Or am I?"
"No!" you shriek, your face heated.
"Then that's fine. Just kissing the mates goodnight".
"Garrick!"
"All I'm saying" Gaz says, grinning down at you and placing a hand on your head, "is that a kiss can just mean that. Did it feel good? It helped?"
You purse your lips, frowning. It did feel nice. It's not like it took away the trauma or anything, but it was nice. Your restlessness isn't there anymore. "Yeah".
"Then that's alright. Don't question it much".
"Should've asked. I'm sorry".
"It's cool. Just don't do it in front of the rest. They wanna kiss their mates, too, but they need alcohol for it".
"What? You'd be embarrassed?"
"No. You would be, though".
"Why? It's not like— ugh!"
Gaz playfully grips your face, not letting you move, and kisses your cheek loudly, making you laugh for the first time since you woke up. He manages to keep your good mood, not letting you dwell on whatever that kiss could've meant. At some point, you hear him snore softly, and decide to settle against him, focusing on his heartbeat.
Your feelings haven't changed for Gaz. You're deeply aware the kiss wasn't romantic. It's like... you're just closer, somehow. With a big sigh, you let your body relax, and fall asleep.
The next morning, it takes you around half an hour to be ready with the medics help. Johnny packed your things, now in the truck, and Simon's wearing the full black mask as he pushes your wheelchair.
Price can't make it, but you're not surprised. Gaz gives you a big hug for him, squishing your face against his chest. Johnny and Simon very carefully help you to the truck, never once touching your bare skin, never once meeting your eyes. You stay very still, but when Simon's hand gently rests on your waist to help you adjust, you look up at him.
"I'm sorry" he says, removing his hand instantly.
"It's alright" you mumble.
You both stay quiet for a moment. Then, Simon nods and slowly takes a step back. "Take care of yourself. I'll... text you?"
"I'll try to text back. Won't promise I will".
That seems to be enough. Simon's eyes warm behind the mask, filled with hope. He gently lifts a hand, his movements predictable and slow. Your shoulders tense a little, but you give him a nod, your eyes on his. He caresses your hair, drinking you in, endulging himself in the permission you give him. In the end, he steps out of the truck.
Johnny's eyes are filled with guilt, and he doesn't touch you, standing right there, just a step away from the door. "Take care, yeah?" he says, his hands gripping the seat in front of you.
"Yeah. Thanks" you mumble, your palms rubbing on your thighs. You feel uncomfortable around him, instead of actually scared. He hasn't tried to talk to you much at all, so it's a little confusing.
Finally, Gaz steps in and your smile becomes genuine.
"I'll see you as soon as I can" he says, his hands gripping your cheeks just to squish them together. "If you don't eat, I'll personally go and shove it down your throat".
"Lovely. Thanks" you grunt. You motion him closer, and press a kiss to his cheek. "That's for you. And tell Price that I'm thankful, all in all".
"No".
"Fuck you, Gaz".
"You wish".
You roll your eyes hard enough for it to hurt, but your smile is warm, content. With another tight hug, you say goodbye, and the engine rings in your ears.
Then, you're off.
so! there's that. no, this isn't gaz x reader, im just heavily projecting and I think he's down to kiss the homies for fun and comfort, like I am.
-ˋˏ✄——————————————————
Masterlist | Part 7
Buy me a coffee
simon going from simon to simon isn't a typo, she just hates him less. 😋
taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @defronix @clickbait-official (im adding this one very nervously so😭 I'm sorry)
#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#cod mw2#call of duty#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost call of duty#john soap mactavish#ghost simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#gaz x reader#??? i guess just for this one#tf 141 x you#tf 141 x reader#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#soap x reader#cod john price#captain price#cod fanfic#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader angst#ghost angst#simon riley angst#soap angst#price angst#welp it is what it is#kyle gaz garrick#poly tf141
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hiii, you can ignore this request if you don’t want todo it!! It’s sort of fluffy/hurt comfort. Spencer and reader have been pining over each other for ages until reader finally asks Spencer on a really cute date to a museum or something. Reader shows up a little early to make sure they are there on time, and waits for Spencer to arrive. Spencer is super super late because something happened on the underground/metro, and reader thinks Spencer has just stood her up so she flees to Penelope. I’m not sure how it would end, and sorry it’s so long!! :)
date — spencer reid
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader feeling upset bc she thinks spencer stood her up a/n: hii !! i love this idea and i hope you like this :) also this gif might be my all time favorite spencer gif
You were early. Maybe a little too early.
But sitting at home, pacing back and forth, obsessively checking the time—it was only making things worse. You’d spent the better part of an hour staring into the mirror, pulling and adjusting your clothes, second-guessing every little detail. At some point, you just had to force yourself out the door before you talked yourself out of it completely.
And now, here you were. Standing outside the museum, shifting from foot to foot, your breath fogging slightly in the crisp afternoon air.
It was a history museum. The moment you’d heard about the new exhibit, your thoughts had gone straight to Spencer.
It had taken you a month to work up the courage to ask him to come with you. A full month of rehearsing in your head, psyching yourself up, only to completely fall apart when the moment actually came.
You had been a stuttering mess, stumbling over your words, barely able to get the invitation out. But Spencer—Spencer had been just as awkward. There had been a long, heart-stopping pause where your pulse pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.
Then he nodded. Enthusiastically.
His curls bounced with the movement, and for a second, you thought he might actually be more excited than you were. The two of you had grinned at each other, wide and dorky and entirely too pleased with yourselves.
The memory made you smile as you stood there, phone in hand. You glanced at the screen. 1:55 PM. Five more minutes.
Deep breaths, you reminded yourself.
Your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh as nervous energy buzzed through you. You weren’t sure if it was the anticipation of the date itself or just the fact that it was Spencer.
Maybe both.
Time passed. More than five minutes. More than ten. Too much time.
You had started out standing near the entrance, glancing around every few seconds, expecting to see a familiar figure rushing toward you with an apologetic look on his face. But as the minutes ticked by, your stomach slowly twisted into knots.
Now, you were sitting on a nearby bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, biting your lip to keep your emotions in check. You stared down at your phone, heart sinking as the screen lit up. It was much, much later than 2 PM.
Spencer wasn’t coming.
And you knew him well enough to know that Spencer was the most punctual person on the planet. If he hadn’t shown up by now, there was only one explanation.
Spencer Reid stood you up.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled up your contacts, pressing the call button.
Penelope answered on the second ring.
“Hey, sugarplum! What’s up? Are you geeking out over fossils and artifacts yet?”
You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Hi, Pen… are you busy?”
Immediately, her tone shifted. The warmth in her voice was still there, but now it was layered with concern. “No, not at all. What’s wrong? You okay? I thought you and Boy Genius were off on your little nerd date.”
You let out a small, shaky breath, staring down at your shoes as you nudged a small rock. “No… uhm… no.”
There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a softer, more careful voice. “Do you wanna come over?”
You nodded before realizing she couldn’t see you. “Yeah. Yeah, can I?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I made cupcakes this morning. I’ll have some waiting for you.”
You murmured a quiet “thanks” before hanging up, already pushing yourself off the bench. Penelope’s apartment wasn’t too far from the museum—thank God. You just needed to get away from here.
The walk to her place was a blur, and before you knew it, you were curled up on her couch, a plate of cupcakes in front of you. You picked at the frosting absentmindedly before finally whispering the words that had been weighing on your chest.
“He stood me up.”
Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”
You took another bite of the cupcake, trying to drown your sorrows in the taste of chocolate.
Penelope was still staring at you, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But… he was so excited.”
Your chewing slowed. You glanced up at her. “Hmm?”
She shifted closer, her expression troubled. “Spencer. He had been talking about this all week.”
That caught your attention. You sat up a little straighter, swallowing the bite of cupcake.
Penelope nodded, as if replaying the memories in her head. “He actually bought a new tie for it,” she added, her voice full of certainty. “A completely new tie. I helped him pick it out.”
You blinked, your breath hitching. “What?”
“He wanted it to match you.” She gave you a knowing look. “I mean, he didn’t say that, but I know these things. The man was so particular about the color, the pattern, everything. He kept fidgeting the whole time we were shopping. It was adorable, really.”
Your mind reeled.
Spencer had been planning for this. He had been excited.
So why hadn’t he shown up?
You were suddenly wide-eyed, staring at her as she continued rattling off all the things he had done in preparation for the date—how he had debated over restaurant options in case you wanted to get food after, how he had even worried about what books he might mention so he wouldn’t ramble too much.
He had wanted this.
“Oh.”
It was all you could manage to say. Your brain was still trying to process everything Penelope had just told you.
He had been excited. He had planned for this. He had even bought a new tie.
You couldn’t help the warmth that crept up your neck, a soft blush blooming across your cheeks. “So… he wanted to go out with me?” you asked, your voice laced with disbelief.
Penelope tilted her head at you, giving you a look that practically screamed, Seriously? You still have to ask?
Silence settled between you.
Then, finally, you spoke again—quieter this time, your confusion only growing. “So… why didn’t he come?”
Penelope hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Maybe he got the day wrong?”
You gave her a flat look. “Garcia, it’s literally our only day off from work. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mix it up.”
She groaned, slumping back into the couch. “Right. Good point.”
The two of you sat there, completely stumped.
Penelope let out a dramatic sigh. “I also have some cookies if that helps?”
You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “That helps.”
She shot up from the couch. “Good, because emotional support baked goods are my specialty.”
You managed a small smile, but even as she disappeared into the kitchen, your thoughts remained elsewhere.
But then you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a knock at the door.
Before you could react, Penelope’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Can you get that? I’m trying to heat up the cookies.”
“Sure,” you called back, pushing yourself up from the couch and making your way to the door.
The last thing you expected when you opened it was him.
Spencer.
Your mouth fell open slightly.
He stood there, slightly breathless, his shoulders slumped like he’d just run a marathon. His curls were messier than usual, a few stray strands sticking to his forehead. But what caught your attention most was his outfit—something you’d never seen him wear before. A soft button-up, a tie you knew had to be the new one Penelope mentioned, and a blazer that was slightly wrinkled, as if he had been gripping the fabric with nervous hands.
Neither of you said a word. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you just stood there, locked in place, staring at each other.
Then, from behind you, Penelope’s voice broke the moment. “The cookies are ready!”
You heard her footsteps approaching before she finally reached the door, holding a plate of freshly warmed cookies in her hands. “Who’s at the—”
Her sentence cut off the moment she saw him.
Spencer.
She froze.
Now she was staring too.
More silence.
You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Spencer,” you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.
He blinked, as if snapping out of whatever trance he was in. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—needed to say something—but the words just wouldn’t come.
“How dare you stand her up like this?”
Garcia’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. She held the plate of cookies in one hand while the other jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in Spencer’s face.
Spencer’s eyes widened, his cheeks darkening with guilt. “I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he stammered, shifting nervously. His gaze flickered from Garcia to you, his expression almost pleading.
“I took the metro,” he rushed out, “and then it broke down. Completely. They couldn’t get it fixed for an hour and 10 minutes, and my phone didn’t have service underground, and I—” He stopped abruptly, his ramble faltering as he let out a breath.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I’m so sorry.”
Garcia pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes as if debating whether to keep scolding him or let him off the hook. After a moment, she exhaled dramatically and slowly backed away toward the apartment.
“Alright, alright. I see what’s happening here,” she muttered under her breath, before giving you a not-so-subtle wink and slipping inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Now, it was just you and Spencer.
You weren’t sure what to say.
You had been so sure he had stood you up. The hurt, the disappointment—it had all settled deep in your chest. But now, standing here in front of him, hearing the way his voice shook with sincerity, seeing the genuine guilt in his hazel eyes, you felt your frustration unravel, piece by piece.
“Oh.”
It was all you managed to say—again.
Spencer winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know that’s not really an excuse. I should have—I don’t know, found another way to get to you, or—” He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I just… I’m really sorry.”
You studied him for a moment, your gaze softening. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “So you didn’t ghost me on purpose?”
His eyes widened a bit, and he rushed to correct himself. “No, no, of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” His voice dropped slightly, filled with sincerity. “I was actually looking forward to today. I did my research on the museum, and I heard there’s a painting on the second floor that—”
Spencer abruptly stopped himself, his face turning a dark shade of red. He tugged at the strap of his satchel nervously, clearly embarrassed by his over-explanation.
You couldn’t help it—you smiled even wider.
“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Spencer seemed momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Oh.” He blinked, looking slightly flustered. “Well, you’re very good friends with Garcia,” he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
From inside the apartment, you could hear Garcia mumbling with an exaggerated tone, “Good? We are best friends, Dr. Reid.”
You grinned, knowing she was eavesdropping. Spencer’s cheeks reddened further, and he seemed to realize that his conversation was no longer entirely private.
Spencer continued, recovering quickly. “Every time you’ve had a bad day at work, you tend to go to Garcia.” He gave a small shrug, like it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that one time when Hotch made you rewrite your report—remember that? You went to Garcia then.”
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Or when Strauss got mad at you,” Spencer continued, his voice now soft with the memory. “You also went to Garcia.” He fiddled with his satchel again, clearly fidgeting with nerves.
You let out a small chuckle. “I see how it is. I’m predictable.”
Spencer gave a sheepish smile, his hands finally falling to his sides. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. I just—well, you seem to always go to her for advice when you're upset.”
You could hear Garcia mutter a small “As she should,” behind you.
Your heart warmed at his words, and you pushed yourself off the doorframe. “I guess you’re right. I do tend to run to Garcia when things go sideways.”
He nodded, looking slightly relieved that the tension seemed to break between you. “So, I just assumed you’d be here… and when I got here, I wanted to explain… before you thought I had just… forgotten.”
You stepped forward, offering him a smile. “Well, i'm glad i can stop worrying that you've stood me up.”
Spencer’s shoulders relaxed. “I really am sorry,” he repeated, his eyes soft and earnest.
You looked him in the eye, the teasing edge of your voice gone, replaced by something warmer. “It’s okay, Spencer.”
A small, relieved smile spread across his face as he let out a quiet sigh, trying to smooth down his disheveled curls. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, attempting to look a bit more put-together in front of you.
Then, as if on cue, Penelope’s voice cut through the silence, loud and clear from the other room. “Dr. Reid, ask her if she wants to go to the museum now!”
You could almost hear her taking a bite of something, likely one of the cookies she’d been baking earlier.
Both you and Spencer immediately blushed, the heat rising to your faces at her suggestion.
“R-right—yeah, uhm…” Spencer stammered, his voice faltering for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Would… would you like to go to the museum?” His voice was shy, and the way he stumbled over the words made your heart flutter a little.
You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to bubble up. “I’d love to.”
You turned to Garcia, who was still sitting on the couch, her eyes wide with a smile so big it practically took up her whole face. “I’ll, uh, see you at work, Pen,” you called over your shoulder, still feeling a bit giddy.
Garcia shot you two thumbs up, still grinning like she was the proudest friend in the world. “Have fun, lovebirds!” she yelled after you.
You couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm as you turned back to Spencer, whose face was still a little flushed. “Shall we?” you asked, motioning toward the door.
Spencer nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… let’s go.”
#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds x you#spencer reid#spencer reid x you#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid angst#criminal minds fic#criminal minds angst
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𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞

18+ MINORS DNI
a/n: there’s some russian spoken here so i’ll put the translations into [little brackets] next to it
summary: nat cheated and you got a divorce. time jump of three years
warnings: smut (brief), alcohol, mentions of blood/injuries, house fire, child endangerment
word count: 17.2k (oops)
part 1, part 2
✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷
Part 2: Secondhand Smoke
The drawer is open, its contents a mess. Old baby socks, screws, a teething toy. Natasha stares at it, trying to find what she's looking for. If she doesn't, you might kill her.
Behind her, Valerie runs down the hardwood stairs. She slips on her jacket and skids to the front door.
"Mama, we're going to be late!", she says impatiently. Lottie, sitting on the table with a donut in her hands, grins. "Hey, why'd she get a donut?"
"Because she wouldn't put her shoes on. Do you know where that permission slip for your field trip is?"
Valerie shakes her head. She steps over the backpack Natasha left on the floor to reach her shoes. "You can't find it?"
Natasha grunts and shuts the drawer, only to open the other one. More screws. A broken pipe wrench. A stack of documents she doesn't have a place for. She glances at the clock and realizes she's about to be late for the drop-off — again.
"Mommy's going to be mad", her older daughter helpfully informs her.
"Yes, bub, I know that", Natasha mutters. Lottie slides off the table, a sad little piece of donut in her hand, and tugs at her sleeve. "Hm?"
"Braid my hair, mama?"
She hesitates and looks at the clock again — 7.12. If they don't hurry, they will not only be late, but you'll get a text message from their schools as well. But Lottie blinks her big eyes and Natasha folds. As predicted in the hospital, she has your eyes, and she can't resist the sweet look on her daughter's face.
"C'mere", she mumbles, scooping Charlotte up and setting her down on the table. "Quick one, alright?"
Valerie groans and flops into the worn armchair. She stares at the ceiling, complete with wooden beams and a chandelier, and impatiently kicks her feet. Her shoes leave specks of dirt on the rug.
"Hurry", she drawls. Natasha curses quietly, her hands working on Lottie's hair.
"Shit", the younger girl parrots. She's been going through a phase lately. Whenever she learns a new word, she has to repeat it constantly until a new one catches her attention.
Much to Natasha's dismay, of course. She was forced to replace an entire list of curse words with kid-friendly alternatives.
"No, we don't say that."
"Why?", Charlotte asks. She's on the table, cross-legged, fingers sticky with sugar glaze. "Shit! Mama, shit!"
"You're not funny", Valerie mutters. She reaches for the remote and turns on the tv. Natasha gives her a hurried look.
"Wait, you can't-"
"I am funny!" Lottie turns her head. The braid slips from Natasha's fingers and comes undone. "Meanie!"
Ten minutes later. Natasha's sweaty, Charlotte's braid turned into space buns, Valerie's in a mood. The car ride consists of Elsa songs and two girls fighting over who gets to pick the music. Everyone's on edge.
Natasha can't help but think that this never happened when you were still married. A fleeting thought, but it stings. Once upon a time, she had her life together. Now, she's barely keeping it from falling apart. If it weren't for caffeine and duct tape, it'd all crumble.
She parks in front of the elementary school first and shoos Valerie out of the car. Right as she's about to walk away, Natasha rips open the door and hurries after her.
"Your permission slip!"
"You found it?"
"Under the car seat", she mumbles, turning Valerie around and putting the piece of paper against her back. She quickly signs it. "Here you go, bub. Have a nice day at school, yeah?"
She shrugs and grabs the permission slip. Natasha stands there, rubbing her forehead and watching her go, before she remembers that she still needs to drive Lottie and then make her way to work.
She turns around and gets into the car. The Elsa songs keep playing, Lottie keeps singing along, and Natasha is teetering on the edge between gratefulness and panic.
. . .
"You're late."
"I know. I'm sorry."
You're in the kitchen, scrubbing a pot with a sponge and holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. It's Sunday afternoon, which means it's time for Natasha to drop the kids off at your place for the week. You decided on shared custody together, because how could you not?
She cheated on you, but that doesn't mean she she's a bad mom. She loves the girls as much as you do. She shows up for the small and the big things. She's present, and even though communication still isn't her strongest suit, she's trying.
You're still holding a bit of a grudge, though, and you're far from letting her forget it. Natasha understands that sentiment completely, which somehow feels like the worse option.
You adjust your shoulder and put the sponge aside. Someone screams in the background, then you hear the maniacal cackling of your younger child.
"What's going on?", you ask, slightly worried. Natasha's house is not quite as toddler-proof as you'd like it to be. You’ve seen it via FaceTime — dumbbells and tools everywhere, a huge fireplace, some arts n' crafts table for Lottie she got started on.
At least the backyard is big, with plenty of space for the girls to play. It's the main reason why Natasha bought the cabin sitting on the edge of a forest, and she took full advantage of it. Within a single summer, she built an entire playground, complete with a sandpit and a merry-go-round.
"Nothing- no, don't jump off that! Charlotte!"
You sigh and dry your hands, then exchange your shoulder for your hand. You open the fridge and grab the lettuce you bought the day before.
"Can you please make sure our daughter doesn't break her neck?"
"Sorry, babe. She's good, she just found one of my energy liquid gels."
In the background, you hear a high-pitched voice ask if it's mommy on the phone. You smile faintly and lean against the counter.
"You gotta hurry", you say, one arm crossed over your chest. "I made baked ziti, Vee's favorite. It'll go cold."
"Yep, yeah, in a minute." Natasha digs through something, and you hear bags rustle. "Goddammit, where'd you put your left shoe?"
"You lost her shoe? Which one, the Stride Rite?"
"Uh..."
Someone falls. You hear the thud, muffled but clear, and frown. Then, someone starts to cry. Natasha drops another curse word.
At this point, it doesn't faze you anymore. Charlotte is as energetic and reckless as Valerie was at her age, and you're used to the countless bruises and scraped somethings she brings home every week.
"Go help her", you sigh.
"We'll be there in a minute."
They, in fact, aren't there in a minute. It takes them forty minutes and a near-mental breakdown. But they make it, and Natasha pulls up in front of the house you once shared.
It's still the same. White picket fence, a red front door and window frames, the shoes next to the doormat. The grass has been freshly mowed, and the air smells like flowers and late summer nights spent on the porch together.
Natasha scoops Charlotte out of her car seat and carries her on her hip. The girl is barefoot and only dressed in one of Natasha's oversized shirts, which functions as a dress for her. Valerie's already a few steps ahead, so she opens the gate.
You step out the door and smile. "You made it!"
"Mommy!", Lottie shrieks. She starts kicking her feet until she's back on the ground, then she starts running.
"Hey, mom."
"Hey", Natasha adds, her hands in her pockets.
She takes a moment to look at you. Nothing about you is particularly outstanding, at least not right now — it's a Sunday afternoon, so you're in a white shirt and sweatpants. Your hair is up, your face bare, your eyes crinkling at the corners when you smile at the girls.
Then, you look up. Her heart flips. She's always been a little too weak for you.
"Hi", you say, crouching and hugging Charlotte as you redirect your attention. "You're barefoot, honey."
Natasha lingers by the gate, hands in her pockets and feet unmoving. She's still staring, still soaking in, and she's also zoning out. Even if just for a short moment in time, you're soft. Unguarded. You rub Lottie's arms, ask her if she's hungry, scoop her up and kiss her cheek.
You look at Natasha and tilt your head. It feels like there's miles between you.
"So", you start, adjusting your hold on the little girl, "we're going to have dinner."
"Oh, right." She nods and takes a step back. "Sunday afternoon? You'll drop them off?"
"Of course."
Natasha nods and turns around. Her phone starts ringing, so she fishes it out of her pocket and glances at the screen. She hesitates, then makes sure she's in the car before answering. You close the door behind you.
Valerie helps you set the table. Lottie is less productive — she's sitting on the floor with a coloring book —, but at least her humming is cute.
Between scooping baked ziti onto plates and pouring juice into glasses, you've been wondering who was behind that phone call Natasha got. It's a dumb thing to think about. It was probably her sister, or her mom. Clint also calls sometimes. Maybe he invited her to barbecue, as he sometimes does.
In the end, you're wrong. You're really wrong.
"Mommy, mama kissed a lady."
You freeze. Valerie's head whips around.
"Lottie!", she hisses.
"What? She did!"
"Yes, but-"
You lift your hand to interject. It's not your place to be jealous (you are); it's not your place to talk to the kids about this (you will); it's not your place to confront Natasha (oh, you have to). Yet, you can't help it.
She's not yours anymore, but when you were married to the one person who you actually loved, it feels like you'll always own a little piece of them. No matter what she did, it feels like she's still yours, in a way. Whether that's actually the case or not is debatable.
"Who was she?", you ask, trying to sound calm. But the way you keep wiping loose strands of hair out of your face is anything but.
"A lady", Lottie says. She's too enthusiastic for her own good. "She's pretty. She has a purple dress, mommy."
"Uh-huh", you say. Valerie looks like she's about to lose her mind. You raise your eyebrows at her. "You don't have to protect her from me, you know."
"I'm not!", she protests. "But I don't want you to get mad at mama."
"No, mama doesn't want me to get mad at her", you argue. You grab your phone and tap the phone icon. Valerie starts bouncing in her chair. "Just a quick call."
"Please!", she groans. "Don't fight again."
"Shush."
You walk into the living room, your phone against your ear. You barely hear how Valerie whispers something to Lottie about her ruining everything. For a split second, it's enough to make you rethink this.
Of course, Charlotte doesn't remember that day. She doesn't remember the yelling, the packed suitcases, how you kicked Natasha out. But Valerie does, and she's terrified of it happening again. She can't risk it — things are more or less peaceful right now. You haven't had a real fight in ages. This, however, might change everything.
Natasha picks up. She sounds almost relieved. "Hey."
"Who is she?"
A long pause. You swear you can hear her heart beat faster, louder. "What?"
"The woman", you say, coming to a halt next to the staircase. "The one you brought home. The one who met my kids without my permission!"
Natasha starts stammering. There it goes, her usual confidence. Goodbye, self-assurance and pride. You've always had a way of dismantling her like a children's toy.
"She, uh...her name's Irina."
"I told Lottie not to tell you!", Valerie yells from the dining room. You ignore her.
"And you let her come over?"
"It's not like I had a choice!", she says defensively. "She just wanted to pop by. She-"
"Does she know you have kids?"
"Who do you think I am??"
You barely manage to stop yourself from hissing the words that lay on the tip of your tongue. Throwing the fact that she cheated on you back at her would, despite everything, be a little too harsh. Plus, little ears are listening. All of this is bad enough already.
"Natasha, all I need is for you to tell me next time", you say, sounding curt. No room for softness, even if you still feel it between you. "I don't care that you're dating someone. But when it involves our children, that's when it becomes a problem."
She lets out a halfhearted noise. For some reason, she's stuck on you apparently not caring about her dating other people. It shouldn't bother her, but it does. Do you really not care?
She knows she'd care if you started dating. She'd lose her mind.
"Fine", she agrees. "But like I said, I didn't-"
"Well, you still let her kiss you in front of them."
"We were outside! They were probably peeping", Natasha says. "I'll tell her not to do that anymore."
"Yes", you mutter. "Good. Fine."
"Yeah."
You exhale slowly and glance toward the kitchen. Valerie's head is poking out the doorway, her face nervous. You give her a tight-lipped smile.
"Are you fighting?", she whispers.
"No, bub", you sigh. "Listen, Nat, we'll go have dinner now."
"Sure, yeah."
You give a noncommittal hum, then hang up.
You told Natasha you don't care. You told her that it's fine she's dating someone, because it should be. You're the one who rejected her when she tried to patch things up a couple months ago. You're the one who keeps avoiding her. You had every right to do that, and you have every right to keep reminding her of what she did.
It's simple — Natasha cheated. There are no excuses, no explanations, nothing that could justify what she did. She hurt you, which means that she should be in for a lifetime of being hurt by you as well. If only it wasn't for your kids. They're the reason why you try to remain friends with her, which doesn't always work.
The breakup was painful. Looking at her is, as well. Sometimes, you make Yelena pick up the kids or drop them off just so you don't have to see her. But there's secondhand smoke, still affecting you, and thought the support beams are burnt, they're still standing.
Still keeping it all upright.
. . .
Thick smoke curls out of open windows, tinted a dangerous black. Flames dance and flicker behind glass. Sirens blare and neighbors watch.
The fire engine comes to a halt, and Natasha immediately jumps out. The rest of the crew follows, all of them dressed in fireproof gear. Radios crackle and people yell — she's not sure who's yelling, but someone is.
They run toward the house, passing a distressed father who's trying to keep his wife from storming back into the house. Natasha knows what that means, and it only raises the stakes.
"Fire showing second floor, alpha side", the lieutenant yells. "Possible entrapment. Let's go defensive. Romanoff, search and rescue. Barton, fire attack. Rodriguez..."
None of this is new to her. She's seen it all before, and it's as familiar as breathing, but it's still scary. Adrenaline floods her, her heart beats faster. She's thinking on autopilot. Every move is practiced, from the way she breaks down the door to her crawling on the floor.
Smoke rises, after all. She has her BA mask on, but she still needs to stay as close to the ground as possible. It's hot inside, the heat even reaching her through the thick layers of gear she's wearing, and it's pitch-black. Her gloved hand sweeps across the floor, searching for bodies.
"There's a kid upstairs!", the lieutenant yells through the comms. "Up the stairs, first door to the left!"
She feels sweat drip down her lower back as she makes her way up the stairs. She doesn't get far, though — her path is blocked by a roaring fire.
"Fire located", she says, out of breath. "It's blocking the second floor, the kid's trapped. Need a ladder to the bravo side."
"Come outside."
The fire engine has already pulled up to the side of the house when Natasha gets there. She grabs an axe and starts climbing, her heart thudding and her baby hairs sticking to her temples.
In a field like hers, staying professional is important. You can't let your own feelings get in the way. But sometimes, that's impossible. All she can think about are Valerie and Lottie. Unlike this child, they're safe and sound, and somehow that makes everything hit harder.
The cries she hears are unbearable. They're not coming from the kid, no — it's their mom. Standing in the backyard, her husband barely keeping her from running straight into the flames. She doesn't blame her. She'd do the same.
Natasha grabs the axe and swings it. Glass shatters and thick smoke billows out. Fire's licking at the door that leads into the child's bedroom, but thankfully, the room isn't in flames yet.
She climbs in through the window and gets on the ground again, hand sweeping. She knows what kids do in situations like this one. She's a mother, of course she knows. She's also had to do this before.
The boy, maybe four years old, is hiding inside the closet. Tears have dried on his cheeks, but he's not crying anymore. It's hard to cry when you're unconscious. Natasha curses and gently picks him up, then she hurries back to the window.
"Child located", she says, clutching the boy like a little bundle of blankets. "Exiting now. Need a medic."
Getting down the stairs is, ironically, the hardest part. Her legs are shaking, her feet keep slipping, but her grip on the child is tight and secure. The second they're back on solid, safe ground, she drops down. Her eyes are red and teary, sweat is dripping, she feels like she's about to collapse.
Medics surround her and start to treat the kid. She only allows them give her oxygen once he's let out a cough and opened his eyes. The fire has been put out as well, and Barton sinks into the grass next to her. He nudges her side.
"You look beat."
"I am", she says, gulping water from a bottle she was handed. She's taken off her gear and is now sitting there in a soaked tank top and pants. The wind feels soothing against her skin, which is still way too warm from the fire. "Fuck."
"You're shaking."
"Yeah."
"It's hard when there's kids involved, huh?"
She nods, picking at the grass and still chugging water. She doesn't say anything. She can't. She's already close to sobbing. The boy was too close to not making it.
"I need to call the girls", she finally mumbles, running a hand through her damp hair. "Just to check on them."
"They're with Y/N?"
"Yeah." Natasha gets up and wipes her hands on her pants. "I think they're at some puppet show."
"The one that freaked you out?"
"Still getting nightmares. But the kids love it."
He nods, and she walks to the fire engine. Once she's found her phone underneath one of the seats, she sits down and dials your number. It takes seconds for you to pick up.
"Hi, mama!"
It's Lottie. Natasha nearly bursts into tears. But the kids get anxious when she cries, so she blinks a few times and inhales deeply to keep herself under control.
"Hey", she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "How are you guys?"
"Good! We saw puppets."
"Mhm? The scary ones?"
"They're not scary!"
She hears Lottie chew on something. Popcorn, probably. It's what the girls usually eat at those puppet shows. She also hears you, talking to Valerie and making sure Lottie doesn't run off.
Suddenly, she wishes she could be there with you, puppets be damned. Steal popcorn from the kids, kiss you in the dark, get fast food on the way home. It's not her life anymore, though. And the worst part is that it's her fault.
"So you had fun?", Natasha asks. She's leaning against the wall, legs stretched out. Outside, the crew is slowly returning to the fire engine.
"Yes! I want a puppet."
"You do, huh? I'll get you one for Christmas, how's that sound?"
"Mama, you're silly", she says, giggling. "Santa brings the presents!"
Of course. Even the imaginary bearded man from the North Pole, the guy who sits in malls and wears a fatsuit, outranks her.
"You're right, bub", she agrees. "Hey, how's mommy?"
"Mommy's good", Charlotte says, voice tiny and chipper. The second she says that, she hears you pause in the background. Valerie doesn't say anything, either. "She bought us popcorn."
"Yeah? Did you have lunch before?"
"No."
"That's a lie", you call, sounding muffled. "We had stir fry."
Natasha smiles to herself, but quickly puts on a neutral face when her colleagues enter the vehicle. She turns toward the wall a little, trying to shield the fragile bubble the phone call put her in.
"Mommy makes the best stir fry", she says. Men and women talk, change out of singed gear, intrude without being aware of it. She glances at them, then tries to focus on what her daughter's saying. "What was that, bub?"
"We miss you!"
She swallows and blinks. Her eyes are burning, but this time, it's not from the fire and the smoke. She rubs them to keep the tears at bay. She's surrounded by the crew, after all. They tend to not hold back on the teasing.
When she doesn't respond for a couple seconds, you gently take the phone from Lottie. Your voice cuts through the silence, kids' chatter in the background, and that makes everything worse.
"Hey", you say softly. "You okay?"
"I'm fine", she mutters. "Don't worry."
"You're at work?"
"Mhm." Natasha nods and flicks a blade of grass off her leg. "There was a house fire. It's all good now, though."
"Oh."
Something rustles, then beeps. Natasha recognizes it as the sound of your car being unlocked.
"Going back home?"
"No", you say, struggling to get Lottie into her car seat. "Wait, let me buckle you up- we're going to the library. Vee needs to pick up a book for her oral report."
"What's it on?"
You pause. "It's a surprise."
Natasha lets out a quiet laugh and nods, rubbing her forehead. The crew sits down, and the fire engine starts to drive away and back to the station.
"Well, I can't wait to find out."
"You'll love it. Want the kids to call you around bedtime?"
"Yes, that'd be..." She trails off and nods. "Please."
"Of course. Take care of yourself, yes?"
"You too."
You hang up with a click. Natasha stares at the screen for a moment, then a message from Irina pops up. She turns her phone off and tucks it into the waistband of her pants.
. . .
When you met Natasha, there was one thing you realized immediately. It didn't take long — she'd barely stormed into your apartment, fully dressed in her firefighter gear, and you knew already.
The woman in front of you was a flirt. She was putting out fires, yes, and she looked good doing it, but she was also flirting. Constantly, shamelessly, like it was as much of a routine as putting on her boots before work.
For some reason, you liked it. You were charmed by it. You knew you couldn't be the exception, that she probably flirted with just about every woman she ran into, but you didn't care.
Smoke had filled the kitchen. You were standing to the side, only in slippers and an oversized shirt, and coughed as she extinguished the fire. Her colleague stood to the side, assisting her and trying to get you out the door.
"Too much smoke", he said. "You'll damage your lungs."
"Fine, sorry."
A few minutes later, they both stepped out. Natasha took off her helmet and let her eyes sweep across you, from head to toe.
"You were making dessert?"
"Crème brûlée", you replied, hands tucked behind your back as you leaned against the wall.
She hummed, smirking faintly. There was the tiniest soot-smudge on her jaw.
"I'd advise against keeping cotton towels in the kitchen. They catch fire pretty fast", she informed you. She paused, looking at you again. "Though some things are worth the heat."
Pink color dusted your cheeks. You rolled your eyes and nudged her out the door, but now, there were two things you knew about her. She's a flirt, and she'd flirt with you again. Eventually.
You ended up being right about both. You went to the fire station a couple days later to thank them and drop off cookies (which you managed to bake without setting off another fire alarm).
Natasha was there, too. Smirking, teasing, a black undershirt displaying her casually muscular form. Her hands were calloused in that blue collar-way, her hair in a low bun. She accepted the plate and took a quick bite.
"No fire today?"
"Maybe next week."
Natasha, chewing, tilted her head. "Sounds like you want me to come back for seconds."
You suppressed a smile. The lieutenant was watching, after all.
"Careful", you said. "Don't want you to get in trouble."
"Might be too late for that", she mumbled, letting her eyes rake up and down your body once more.
No oversized shirt and slippers today — instead, you got into a short dress and dolled yourself up a little. Natasha appreciated it as much as she did the domestic little outfit you wore the other day.
Something warm stirred inside her. Before you knew it, you started meeting her for coffee. A quick 'I'm not seeing anyone right now' got tossed into conversations here and there.
You took her home one day, offered to make lunch for her. The third thing you figured out was that she loved fire jokes. She made them constantly, especially when you were handling something hot in the kitchen.
You had lunch together that day. You slid into her lap because she tugged you there, but you stayed because you didn't want to move. You feed her a forkful of food and managed to be the one who dusts her cheeks pink.
It was stir fry. To this day, it's her favorite dish.
Even when the plates were empty, she didn't leave. You sipped on a wine bottle together, talked, kissed once you were tipsy enough to have the courage to.
The night ended with Natasha in your bed and you on top of her. That joke she'd made a couple weeks ago — her being in trouble, thanks to you — turned out to be true. You were straddling her, hands on her shoulders, and she knew was falling way too quickly.
Natasha didn't do this. Not really. She flirted, she had sex, she blocked numbers. She excused all of that with her abysmal work schedule, her 24 hour shifts, the dangers that came with it. How would a relationship fit into her life when she barely managed to keep it together already?
She didn't expect you to come along, though. She didn't expect to fall in love. She did, anyway.
Suddenly, keeping her life together was the easiest thing she ever had to do. Because after every shift, she was able to look at the text messages you sent. She was able to come over, just like that, without having to announce herself. And you'd have a meal ready for her, even if she didn't warn you beforehand.
Natasha proposed a year later. At that point, you were basically living together.
It all felt easy, safe. You got married in a small vineyard (your idea), bought a house (her idea). Not even three years after you got married, you gave birth to your first daughter.
When Natasha gets called to that same apartment that started everything — the crème brûlée, the stir fry, the proposal between bedsheets and rose petals — she feels sick to her stomach. She goes home afterwards, tired and aching all over, and opens the door only to find Irina in the living room.
"Hey", she says. Natasha nods and drops her bag. "Sorry I didn't call. But you said there's an extra key under the doormat, so-"
"Yeah, it's fine." Natasha walks into the kitchen. It matches the rest of her cabin — counters made of walnut wood, complete with granite countertops. Steel appliances, chipped mugs, a protein shrine with powder, bars and beef jerky. She grabs a shaker and scoops powder into it.
Irina joins her. She feels her arms around her stomach.
"Someone rang the doorbell earlier."
Natasha pauses mid-water pour. "When?"
"I don't know. 2 o'clock, maybe?"
She curses and puts the shaker aside, then reaches for her phone. Surely, new messages have popped up.
Y/N: Vee is coming over later, so you can help her with her oral report — 11.42am
Y/N: don't know if you'll be home, a quick answer would be nice you know — 12.05pm
Y/N: you could've told me you wouldn't be home. — 2.38pm
The oral report. One on firefighters, inspired by none other than Natasha herself. She sobbed when Valerie told her over FaceTime a couple days ago.
"Why didn't you answer the door?", Natasha asks, already typing out apology after apology. Send her over, please, my phone was on mute, I completely forgot — and Irina is just standing there, peeking over her shoulder.
"I wasn't sure whether I'm supposed to."
"You weren't supposed to take the key either, yet you did." Natasha bites the inside of her cheek. She left the key under the doormat for Valerie specifically, so she could enter whenever she felt the need to.
That plan didn't work out, though. Why did she have to tell Irina about the stupid key?
Irina leans against the counter, arms crossed. "It was your kid?"
"Yes, it was my daughter." She lets out a frustrated noise. You've received her messages, but aren't looking at them. "She was supposed to come over today."
"You forgot?"
There it is. Natasha puts her phone aside and grabs the shaker, shaking its contents until the protein powder and water have formed a silky, foaming liquid. She takes a sip and walks into the living room.
"I was stressed", she defends herself. "Had a grease fire. It was the apartment where..." She pauses, then shakes her head and sits down. Irina raises her eyebrows.
"Where...?"
"Doesn't matter." Natasha kicks off her boots and leans back. She turns on the tv, zaps through the channels, then turns it back off. Outside, it's getting dark. It's around dinner time, so you probably wouldn't appreciate a phone call right now.
Irina sits down next to her. Her body curls into Natasha's, warm and distracting. If she screwed up everything else, she might at least get some sex out of today.
Delicate fingers trail down her forearm, to the little beaded leather armband around her wrist. Valerie made it for her when she was five, and she only takes it off when she's working.
It's enough to pull her back into reality. Natasha gets up, leaving Irina alone and rejected on the couch.
"I have to call my kids", she says, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door.
She dials your number. You don't pick up.
On Sunday, Yelena drops off the kids instead of you. Apparently, you don't want to see her right now. Rightfully so, her sister says, and Natasha almost slaps her for it. But you'll get over it, like always.
No. You won't. She won't hear from you for a while, either.
. . .
"Please, mommy."
"No, honey. I'm sorry."
Lottie whines and bounces on the spot. She looks cute in her green dress, with her hair curled and the non toxic nail polish on her fingers. It is a special occasion, after all — it's her grandmother's birthday.
One you won't be going to, because Natasha will be there as well. It's been weeks of nothing. No phone calls, no texts, no dropping off the kids yourself. She's done a bunch of stupid shit in all those years that you've known her, but her forgetting Valerie like that may have taken the cake.
Valerie's not mad at her anymore, not at all. But, again, you're good at holding grudges.
"Mommy", your younger daughter whines. "I don't want to go alone."
"You're not alone." You put her on the table so you can put on the ballet flats you got her. "Your sister is going, too. And mama will be there. It's babushka's birthday."
"Lottie, stop crying", Valerie says. She sits down on the striped rug and puts on her own ballet flats. "There will be cake. You like cake."
"Exactly", you affirm. "You can bring me a slice, hm?"
"No", she says, covering her face with her hands. You get up and kiss her fingers, which are resting right on her forehead. "Don't wanna go."
You sigh, then scoop her up. You can't force her to do anything, but she'll probably change her mind once she sees her grandma, so you carry her to the car. Once everyone's buckled in and ready, you drive.
Melina's house is an hour away, but it takes you almost two thanks to a cranky toddler and her annoyed older sister. You wipe the seat with a wet wipe — Lottie, who got an apple juice pack as a sort of consolation, squished it so hard it exploded. Thanks to some miracle, nothing got on the girls' clothes, but it's all over the middle seat.
You scoop Charlotte out of the car set and dare to set her down. She immediately starts crying and stomping her feet, so you cave and pick her up again. Seems like the terrible two's sometimes last a bit longer.
Valerie is in a much better mood. She sees Melina's backyard — the wide patch of grass, the yellow shed, the huge tree with the tire swing — and immediately starts running. It's a sunny day, the sky's clear and the air smells like shashlik.
"Babushka! [grandma]", she yells, running straight into her grandmother's arms. She's embraced into a tight hug. "S dnem rozhdeniya! [happy birthday]"
"Hello, my darling!" She kisses the top of her head and then pulls away to inspect her outfit. "Ah, red dress. Looks pretty!"
"Thanks!" Valerie smiles brightly. She seems to remember something, so she runs back to your side. "Mom, where's her present?"
"Oh, right here." You turn around and open the trunk of your car. You grab the gift bag, which is almost too heavy, and hand it to Valerie. Off she goes again.
You look at Charlotte, who has her face buried against her neck. You rub her side, try to coax her into looking at you, but to no avail. You've given up already and are walking toward Melina when, suddenly, she lifts her head and perks up.
"Mama!", she screams happily.
You freeze — no way —, then turn around. Yes way. Lottie's right, Natasha showed up. And she's not alone.
You're not too familiar with the blonde who's getting out of the car, but you can easily guess who she is — Irina. Dressed in a tight skirt and a blouse, her lips red and no dark circles under her eyes. Probably childless.
You adjust your hold on Lottie and try not to look too irritated. Melina, on the other hand, isn't trying.
"Who's that?", she asks promptly and straightens up.
Valerie turns around and grimaces slightly. You've raised her to be polite and kind, but in that moment, you can't blame her. You wish you were able to throw your own morals out of the window as well.
"You brought her?", Valerie says. She sounds so disbelieving it's almost funny. Instead, you rub her back with one hand and keep cradling Charlotte with the other.
Natasha looks stressed. She offers a tight-lipped smile as Irina kisses her on the cheek, and seeing that is enough for Lottie to lose the happy attitude again. The girl starts sobbing, because how dare her mom show up with a near-stranger?
"It's okay", you mumble, glancing at your ex-wife again. She lets Irina kiss her on the mouth, then the blonde turns away and waves at everyone in the backyard.
"Bye", she says, already making her way back to the driver's seat. The car engine roars and Irina drives off, thankfully.
Natasha lingers by the gate, and even though you're pissed, you can't help but look at her. She's always had a talent for looking her most irresistible when she absolutely shouldn't. Turnout pants, suspenders hanging off her hips, her beloved black tank top. Not at all birthday-conforming, but it's not like she cares.
Melina walks up to her. If there's one thing you know about your ex-mother in law, is that she's not going to be pleased with her daughter's decision to bring along a stranger. A stranger she wouldn't even introduce, for obvious reasons.
"Chto eto bylo? [what was that]", she asks, grabbing her daughter's shoulder and steering her further into the backyard. Lottie blinks away tears, then reaches her arms out for her mama again.
"Nichto [nothing]", Natasha says, glancing at the girl in your arms. She nods at you. "May I?"
Melina, shaking her head, answers for you. She steps in front of her. "What, 'nothing'? That wasn't nothing! Now don't play innocent. You don't bring stranger to my house, Natasha."
"She's not a stranger."
"She is to us."
Valerie crosses her arms and stares at the ground. Green grass, covered in wildflowers. You run your hand over her head.
"Listen", Natasha says, stepping around her mom to reach you and the girls, "she insisted on driving me. Said I never have enough time for her. I just didn't want it to end in a pointless fight. Hey, bub."
"Hey, mom", Valerie mutters. Natasha cups her face and tilts it up. "Hm?"
"I know I screwed up", she says apologetically, then kisses her forehead. "Your dress is beautiful, dochen'ka. [little daughter]"
"Thanks."
Lottie makes grabby hands, so you set her down. Without so much as even an ounce of hesitation, she tumbles into Natasha's arms. A few kisses, smiles, and she's back to being a mama's girl.
Then, Natasha looks at you. You raise your eyebrows, jaw set. She doesn't say anything.
Neither do you. You turn around and walk to the little porch. You enter Melina's house, which is somehow always cool and smells like tea and herbs. It's empty inside, no one to be seen, so you make your way into the kitchen and lean against the counters.
The fridge in front of you is covered in all kinds of memorabilia and keepsakes. An ultrasound of Valerie, a handprint of Charlotte. Family pictures, held up by little magnets. Another magnet, a souvenir one from Greece — you spent your first vacation as a family of three there.
You rub your eyes and turn around. Borscht is boiling on the stove, a bowl of pelmeni sits next to it. She made appetizers as well, which mostly consist of vegetables like radishes and cucumbers.
You grab one of the dirty bowls in the sink and start scrubbing it. Anything to distract your mind is welcome right now. Soap bubbles pop under your fingers, suds cover your hands. It smells like citrus.
Footsteps appear behind you. Someone leans in, blows warm air against your neck. You shut your eyes — when Natasha apologizes, this is her way of showing it. It's what comes before the words.
"Don't."
"I'm sorry." She nudges your hair aside, then places a kiss on the back of your neck. "I didn't know you'd be here. I wouldn't have let her."
You stand there, frozen, the feeling of her lips lingering hotly on your skin. You dry your hands, then turn around. She's standing so close she's got you caged in against the sink.
"You're going to pretend everything's alright?", you ask, crossing your arms. Natasha sighs. "Listen, you crossed a line. Multiple, actually. So don't act like, like..." You gesture desperately, then let your hand drop against your arm again.
"Like?"
"Like you're still allowed to do this." You swallow, trying your hardest not to look at the fridge again. "You showed up with her."
"She left", she says, putting her hands on your waist. Once a flirt, always a flirt.
"You're with her", you retort. It takes everything in you to push her hands away.
After all this time, they still feel comforting. Safe. They shouldn't be, but they are. She'd still start wars for you, and that may be the worst part. Those wars wouldn't be worth fighting.
"So?", she replies. "You're the mother of my children. Nothing will ever change that. Besides, things aren’t that serious."
"Oh, right." You laugh bitterly and shake your head. "If only that meant something. You cheated, anyway."
Natasha falls silent. Your words hit where it hurts most. She stands there, studying you in that inoffensive way she's got down to a tee. Despite her physique being the peak example of someone who's able to lift tree trunks double her weight off the ground, you've never seen someone resemble a hurt puppy more accurately.
"Nat", you plead.
"No, you're right."
"You know it's true. You've moved on."
"Mommy?"
You both turn your heads. Lottie's in the doorway, her mouth and hands stained red from the wild strawberries Melina always feeds the kids. You reach out your hand and she pads closer to grab it.
"You okay, sweetie?"
"I'm sticky", she says, holding up her other hand.
Natasha hums and scoops her up, then helps her reach the tap. You watch them, silently, your mind running in circles. For a moment, you see what things could've looked like if they'd been different. If everything had worked out.
Once Charlotte's hands are clean and dry, she zooms back outside to play with her cousins. You look at Natasha. She avoids your eyes and instead turns off the stove.
"Melina told me to get the borscht", she mumbles. "Can you help with the bowls?"
"Yeah, sure. Sour cream?"
You open the cupboard and grab every bowl you can find. Blue-rimmed, with little pink roses on them. Natasha hums and looks into the fridge, then pulls out two smetana cups.
It's silent. No one's speaking anymore. All you hear is the quiet clinking of silverware and the hum of the old fridge.
You almost bump into each other when you're leaving the kitchen. Natasha pauses and looks at you, contemplating. You tilt your head.
"You used to bite your lip when you're mad at me", she says. "It was easier when I knew what you're thinking. I miss it."
You falter, so much so that you almost drop the tall stack of bowls you're holding. She's flirting. Probably. Or she's using this to (cruelly) remind you that not only your marriage ended — but also the access you used to have to each other.
You used to be entangled. Without having to talk, you knew what the other was thinking. You remember an instance where she brought home comfort takeout without even knowing you'd been sobbing over Valerie outgrowing a onesie all morning. You remember her building dozens of seemingly useless things — a birdhouse, another bench (but make it kid sized), a whole pergola. She thought that it'd help.
You used to complain. Now, you look at your empty garage and miss the stacks of wood she used to have on hand.
"Yeah", you say, struggling to speak. "I know."
Natasha stops in the middle of the hallway. It's pure instinct for you to do the same.
"I miss you", she adds. You stare at her, desperately holding the bowls. "I think you know that. Just had to tell you."
"I mean..." You trail off. "Yeah. I guess I do."
There's a window at the end of the hallway. Small, insignificant, not even big enough to let much fresh air into the space. But it's slightly ajar anyway, just enough for Valerie to hear your mumbled words.
. . .
"Happy birthday!"
"S dnem rozhdeniya!"
Melina raises her eyebrows, but you can tell she's enjoying the attention. She blows out the candles, eyes closed, then immediately gets up and starts cutting it into slices.
"Wait", Natasha says, grabbing the paper plates. "It's your birthday, for god's sake. Let me help."
Yelena stretches out in her lawn chair and yawns. She arrived an hour late, but she made up for it by bringing a puppy. She thinks she made up for it — in reality, only her and a handful of kids enjoy the hyperactive dog that's now chasing Lottie through the backyard.
She giggles loudly, then trips over nothing and falls into the grass face first. The puppy climbs onto her back and licks her red curls.
"No, no!" She giggles, then lets out a frustrated noise. "Mommy!"
"That's me", you mumble and stand up.
As soon as you've left, Valerie turns to Yelena. She's been carrying this little secret around for way too long now. She's itching to get it out.
"Aunt Lena", she whispers. Yelena raises her eyebrows and leans in.
"Is this a conspiracy?", she whispers back.
"No." Valerie shakes her head. "I heard mommy and mama talk. In the hallway. I think they still love each other."
Yelena freezes, her eyes locked onto the child's. Being Natasha's sister, she's usually the first to find out about stuff. She sometimes handles drop off's, whenever you're not in the mood to look at your ex-wife. But you and Natasha still loving each other? That's news.
"You mean, love-love?"
"Mama said she misses her", she adds. You return to the table, Lottie sitting on your hip, and Valerie puts a finger over her mouth. "Shh."
You sit down, oblivious, and thank Natasha when she hands you a slice of honey cake. Valerie gives Yelena a pointed look. She suppresses a grin and puts her hand over her niece's eyes.
As evening approaches, it gets colder outside. Charlotte falls asleep on your chest, Natasha scoots closer with her lawn chair. She drapes a blanket over you, and Valerie rams her elbow into Yelena's side. The blonde nearly chokes on her water.
"Blyat-"
"The kids", Natasha warns her. Yelena shoots her a glare. "What's your problem?"
Yelena grunts and sinks into her chair. You are my problem, she thinks, bitterly crossing her ankles. You and your ex-wife are. Just figure shit out.
You won't figure it out. Not for a while. But Natasha wraps her arm around your shoulders and you lean into it. Melina and Valerie both watch, one stunned and the other trying to hide the hope that's flaring up in her.
You ignore the others. You look at Natasha, who's warm and familiar despite everything that's happened, and feel her thumb rub circles against your shoulder. She hums, either not aware of what she's doing or overly confident in it.
"It's getting dark", you remark, voice hushed. She nods. "I should get the kids home. It's a one hour drive."
"Let me drive you", she whispers. You hesitate. "You said it yourself. It's dark, you're probably tired. It'll make it easier for you."
Valerie tugs at your hand. She heard every word, despite you trying to be quiet and discreet. You squeeze her hand, but don't look at her.
"I don't know, Nat."
"Come on", she says. "I don't like the idea of you and the kids being on the road this late. Let me drive you."
You hesitate again. But it's completely dark by the time you decide to leave, so you have no choice but to agree. You know you're in good hands with Natasha, so what's the harm in letting her drive you?
Valerie is half-asleep but thrilled. She tugs Natasha to the car and, despite knowing exactly how to do it, makes her buckle her in. You handle Lottie, who almost wakes up. Through some kind of miracle, she stays asleep.
You get into the passenger seat and wave at Melina and Yelena. The puppy in her arms yaps and tries to break free from her arms, but he doesn't succeed. The car drives off, and suddenly, it's just you and your sleepy kids in the back.
If you didn't know any better, you'd think it's always been like this. You, Natasha, the girls. Valerie watching like a hawk, despite her eyes being sleep-heavy. Music low and windows down just enough to let in some night air. A stuffed tiger in the middle seat, dangling from Lottie's limp hand.
There's no need for words, but there also isn't space for it. Anything you'd possibly talk about is not fit for Valerie's ears. She's still awake, so you need to be careful.
You glance at the time, which is displayed on a little screen. 9.21pm. Way past her bedtime.
"Honey", you say, looking at your daughter through the rear view mirror, "don't you want to sleep a little? Rest your eyes? It's a long drive."
"No", she says, shaking her head. "I'm not tired, mom."
"Your mom's right", Natasha says. "Take a little nap, hm?"
"No", she says stubbornly. She squeezes the hem of her dress. "I like it when it's the four of us. I don't want to sleep now."
You and Natasha glance at each other. It's quick, silent, but it's everything you need in that moment. She'd reach over and hold your hand, but again, there's a little hawk sitting in the back.
"Yeah", she says, voice softer. "I like it, too."
You don't know what to say. You can't afford to start missing this life that you never got to have, so you turn your head away from her. The fields and houses outside the window pass by in a blur.
. . .
Each of you balances a sleeping kid into the house.
Halfway through the drive, Valerie fell asleep as well. Neither of them woke up, even when Natasha pulled your car into the driveway, so you now have to deal with the unnecessarily difficult task of relocating children without waking them.
You slowly make your way up the stairs, Natasha following close behind. Lottie's limp in your arms, her mouth slightly agape. Asleep like this, you see the features she got from Natasha. You exhale and focus on not accidentally falling down the steps.
You carry Charlotte into her bedroom and tuck her in. Bedsheets with a zoo animal pattern, her little tiger plushie still clutched in her hand. You kiss her forehead, adjust the nightlight next to her, then walk out the room and leave the door ajar.
Natasha and you step into the hallway at the same time. You look at her, then quickly turn to go back downstairs. You're hoping she'll follow. That she won't stay upstairs, where it's way too close to your bedroom.
You're not sure what you'd do if she asked. If you'd say yes, if you'd allow yourself to bask in a fantasy that can only end in being hurt all over again. A fantasy, doomed to end eventually.
Thankfully, you hear her footsteps behind you. You walk into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. Natasha leans against the counter.
"They didn't wake up."
"No", you say, taking a sip. "They usually do."
"Yeah." She nods. "I know."
It's awkward, because you're both forcing yourselves to talk about something you don't want to talk about. But it's the safer option — always has been — so it's what you're going for.
You clear your throat and put the glass aside. Natasha watches you, contemplating, her arms crossed. Eyes meet, heads tilt, and she smiles faintly.
"Tired?"
"I'm fine", you say, pushing off the counter and walking into the living room. Natasha hesitates, then follows. "Didn't get much done today. Sorry about the mess."
"I found a bagel in my bookshelf last week", she says, helping you gather a couple toys and throw them into a laundry basket. "This is nothing."
You both reach for a baby doll. Your hands knock together. It's nothing but a brief touch, but you falter and look at her. You're crouched on the floor, so close you could kiss if only you leaned in a little.
You don't know if you should. Irina is lingering at the back of your mind, with that stupid skirt and the flawless, well rested-looking face. But Natasha's staring back at you, unmoving, and her eyes flicker to your lips.
That's when you quickly straighten up and grab the laundry basket. You hold it in front of you like a shield.
"It's late", you say, shifting awkwardly. "I'll call you a taxi, if you want. I don't know if there are any buses this late."
The disappointment is etched into her face, but so is a subtle sense of relief. Natasha is sure that her and Irina aren't that serious yet. There are no real labels (though, she did hear Irina refer to her as 'her girlfriend' before), and she doesn't want to put a label on it.
However, she cheated once already. She can't do it again, at least not if there's nothing more attached to it. Unless it promises her the future she thinks she's lost, she won't do it.
"Taxi's fine", she says, tucking her hands into the pockets of her pants. "You'll drop off the kids tomorrow?"
"Yeah." You nod, then remember something. Good thing you didn't forget thanks to the almost-kiss. "They're going to their cousin's birthday party next Saturday, if that's alright with you. It's a sleepover. I'll text you the address?"
"No, no." Natasha shakes her head. "Gracie, right? We've been there before."
"Mhm." You hum and lead her to the front door. "I got her a gift, all you'll have to do is make sure the girls bring it."
"Will do, captain."
You smile and lean against the doorway. The door is open, Natasha is standing on the porch. The wind is making loose strands of her hair flutter. Green eyes twinkle in the porch light, and a calloused hand squeezes your arm.
You recall hundreds of moments just like this one — late at night, Natasha coming home from a shift or leaving for one. Handing her a lunchbox, kissing her goodbye; or getting a 'I'm home'-kiss. Kisses that stopped, eventually. Nobody warned you that you'd have to go without them one day.
It's hard, not leaning in and trying to revive that little habit you had. Natasha has to keep herself from stepping over the threshold again. It wouldn't be fair, not to you or Irina. But there's a part of her that doesn't care whether it's fair to the blonde who can't be bothered to learn her daughters' names.
She doesn't know whether you'd want that kiss, so she finds a compromise. Her lips press against your cheek, quick and soft, and she pulls away. Your face burns up, you almost reach out, but she's already making her way to the gate.
"Taxi", you call, dumbfounded.
"I got it", she calls back. "Go inside. It's cold out."
"You don't have a jacket!"
Natasha taps her index finger against her lips, then she smirks and steps out of the front yard. She closes the gate, pulls out her phone, and gone she is.
You linger for two minutes. Pretending this is just another night — you waiting on the porch, dinner warming up on the stove, Natasha returning from a late shift — is the stupidest thing you could do in that moment, but you do it anyway.
The wind chime above you tinkles, and you look up. Another apology, back when she forgot to do something mundane. You stare at the shapes, all of them custom and dedicated to each member of what was once her family. A psi for you, a soccer ball for Valerie, a tiger for Charlotte. Natasha's, a fire helmet, dangles just a bit lower.
Despite everything, this is her family.
. . .
It's Natasha's idea that you go pick up the girls together. At first, you hesitate; it's not just that you'll be alone with her for a longer drive, but because this Sunday is hers. It's her time with the kids.
Your sister, however, texts you that Lottie's been whining and asking for you all morning. To help Natasha avoid having to deal with a cranky toddler, you agree.
She pulls up twenty minutes late. You're waiting by the front door already, dressed in a white shirt and short denim dungarees. Sunglasses are perched atop your head, and you immediately look up from your phone when you hear her.
"You're late!", you call, making a beeline for her pickup truck.
"Sorry", she says, leaning over the open the passenger door for you. "Look at you, all dolled up."
"Look at you, not even changing out of your pajamas."
Natasha grins. She's not too offended — she knows she looks anything but put-together, wearing shorts and an undershirt.
"It's warm out. Can't blame me."
You hum, agreeing, and sink into the seat. "A/C works again?"
"Fixed it last week", she says absently, turning down the volume of the radio a little. "Lottie helped me. She grabbed a wrench and added a nice dent to the door panel in the back."
You grimace apologetically. A song comes on, one you both can't stand as it brings back memories of alcohol, a party at the fire station, and vomiting into shrubs. When she kissed you on the hood of her truck and thought she could impress you with vodka shots. When she got drunk and told you she could see this being forever.
You reach out to change the station, then you stop in your tracks.
What you noticed is not worth mentioning, really. It should mean nothing. In that moment, it feels like a little stab.
"Don't like the 'new car' smell anymore?"
"What?" Natasha glances at the air freshener. "Oh, that. No, just thought I'd try this one."
"What was wrong with the other one?", you ask, sounding snippy.
For as long as you've known her, she used the 'new car' air freshener. Always. Whenever you'd stop at a gas station to buy a new one, she'd get that one. Obviously, it shouldn't be that important. For some reason, it is.
"Nothing's wrong with it", she says, glancing at you. "What's the issue?"
"Thought you'd at least be loyal to a fucking scent."
Natasha stammers. She glances at you from the corner of her eye a few times, her hand nervously tightening around the steering wheel. She's dumbfounded. She expected you to say a lot of things, but not that.
"It's- it's just a scent", she says weakly. "It doesn't have some deeper meaning."
"You're sure?", you hiss.
"Yes, I'm sure! God, you're going all therapist-mode again!"
You raise your eyebrows at her, and she winces slightly. That was the wrong thing to say. She regrets even thinking those words now.
"This has nothing to do with that! Ask any sane person, suddenly switching scents after years of having a favorite is not normal!"
"It's just a scent."
"It's not!"
"It is", she insists, suddenly grabbing the air freshener. You shut up and watch her tear it off, then she tosses it out the window.
Just like that, it's gone. You don't even hear it hit the ground. You stare at her, then shake your head and slump into the seat again. You hear her exhale, quietly but filled with so much frustration you swear she's about to have an aneurysm.
You cross your arms and shift in your seat. Natasha doesn't say anything. She keeps driving, the car passing by a gas station and some convenience store.
"That's not good for the environment, you know", you mutter, stubbornly refusing to look at her.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Y/N!"
"You saw that documentary!"
Natasha rolls her eyes, but doesn't reply. Of course she saw the documentary. You randomly sent it to her one morning, with a text attached to it — use metal straws. That was it. Nothing else.
She watched the documentary, of course. And of course she bought those stupid metal straws you told her about.
The silence lingers, heavy like the clouds hanging in the sky. They're dark and thick, and before you can even think about the incoming weather situation, it begins to rain.
Raindrops patter against the windshield and roof, constant and rhythmic and loud. You hope it won't be that bad — just a couple raindrops. A drizzle, maybe. Nothing so bad that it'll affect you.
It's not just a light drizzle, no. It starts bucketing down on you, rain pouring and the sky darkening. It begins thundering in the distance, then lightning strikes. Despite the air conditioning being on, you feel the air in the car get chillier.
"We'll be fine", Natasha mumbles when you glance at her. "Just a storm. I've driven during worse conditions."
It gets worse. On top of rain and thunder and lightning, the car makes a whining noise when it accelerates. The radio flickers, the headlights weaken, and you give her another worried glance.
"That's nothing", she says, but you don't miss the slight frown on her face.
"Nat, we're already running late!"
The car wheezes pathetically, then it slows down. Natasha curses and hits the steering wheel a couple times, but it's no use. It breaks down in the middle of the road, and she just barely manages to pull over.
"Are you kidding me?"
"Wait", she says, stressed, and gets out of the truck.
Within seconds of being outside in the rain, her clothes get soaked. She ignores the uncomfortable feeling of wet fabric sticking to her skin and pops open the hood. You stay where you are. She can get wet all she wants, but you're not moving. No way.
Something clatters, then you hear her curse. She stomps back to the driver's side and gets in.
"So?", you ask impatiently.
"The alternator's dead", she mutters, reaching for her phone. "I'll have to call AAA."
You stare at her, then exhale slowly. No need to start a fight — but your blood is boiling. All it took was one air refresher, and your day is ruined. Pair that with a storm and a truck that's broken down in the middle of the road, and it can't end well for Natasha.
"The kids are waiting!"
"And the truck broke down", she replies, pressing a button and holding the phone to her ear.
When she's done talking, she lowers it. The silence tells you everything you need to know. It'll be a long wait, possibly around an hour. That was the case a couple years ago, when you were on your way to your parents' place for the holidays.
"Idiot!", you hiss. "Did you know about this?"
"Well, it was acting up last week", she says, rubbing her face. "I thought I tightened the belt enough. It should've held."
"You thought? Nat, we're stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere! The kids are waiting!"
"I know that!"
"No, you don't!", you snap. Tears shoot into your eyes, and you're not fully sure why. "You can't do this anymore, Natasha! You can't pretend everything's alright and then be surprised when it all goes up in flames! Actually take care of shit for once! Be responsible!"
"I'm trying!", she retorts. She's a mess — water is dripping from her hair, her clothes are drenched (as is the car seat), and she's panicking. Another fight. Everything's been going somewhat well, and now you're about to get into another fight. "You think I wanted this to happen?"
This wasn't supposed to happen. Those are the words Natasha said on the phone three years ago, right before she told you she'd slept with Wendy. It's funny, how the human brain pushes some information aside and yet retains things you'd love to be able to forget.
You didn't forget, though. You stare at her, teary-eyed and furious, then open the car door and jump out. Natasha stares at you as you leave, the raindrops heavy on your skin. It takes her a second to register what's going on.
"Shit! Y/N, wait!" She accidentally hits her hand trying to open the door, then she storms out. "Wait, please!"
"Fuck you!"
"Y/N", she pleads. She's a firefighter, and she's faster. She reaches you within a matter of seconds. "Please."
You whip around. Loose strands of hair are sticking to your cheeks, and your eyes are red. She can't see the tears due to the rain, but she can't tell you're crying.
"Why'd you cheat?"
She blinks, her heart sinking. She never figured the 'why' out, either. There was never a reason, or an explanation, for what she did. It was cowardice, and idiocy, and selfishness all poured into what'd end up being the worst mistake of her life.
"Tell me!", you sob. "Come on! Don't just stand there!"
"Because I was an idiot", she says, finally able to speak again. She steps closer. "Because...I..."
You shake your head. The rain keeps pouring, and it thunders again. It's a furious sound, sizzling and crashing, and it sends lightning zipping across the sky.
"You don't even have an answer", you say. "Was it worth it? Destroying everything and not even knowing why?"
"It was a mistake, Y/N", she says, her voice breaking. "I told you."
"No." You laugh bitterly. "I hate that word. It wasn't a mistake. It was a choice. You chose to do it."
Natasha doesn't say anything because it's true. You're right, unfortunately, and it's painful to admit. Spilling juice, losing a key, forgetting about an appointment — those are all mistakes. They're forgivable, human. But cheating is not.
"I regret it every fucking day", she says quietly. Another step closer. "I miss you constantly. I don't just miss our family, but I miss you. I married you for a reason, Y/N. That day you almost burnt down your apartment for crème brûlée? I mark that date in my calendar every year, and I buy crème brûlée because god knows I'd end up burning down my kitchen as well, but I buy it because it's the reason why I got to marry you."
The crème brûlée. What started as a poor attempt at making a French dessert ended in you meeting and marrying this woman in front of you. Rain-soaked, stupid, but you love every tiny part about her. Even the ones that ended up hurting you.
Believing someone who cheated, however, is hard. Love doesn't change that.
"Bullshit", you whisper.
"It's not bullshit", she pleads. "I've loved you for over 12 years, and that's not something that's going to change. I love you."
"Natasha." You let out a soft sob. "You slept with someone else. That's final. Do you know how much it hurt me? It still hurts. Every day. God, Vee and Lottie both look like you, and sometimes it hurts to look at them!"
Natasha swallows. Tears fill her eyes, but she blinks them away. Emotionally avoidant — that's how you once described her as to Valerie. In hindsight, you shouldn't have. But you were tired and sick of her, and in that moment, you needed someone to vent to. Though there are certainly better options for that than your child.
That doesn't change the fact that you were right, though. Your ex-wife was never good at communicating. She doesn't like to show her feelings. Even now, tears are something she needs to suppress.
"I know", she mumbles. The storm is so loud you can barely hear her. "I'm sorry."
"I love you too", you say. Your voice shakes. "I don't think I can change that."
She blinks and nods. You shiver pitifully, and Natasha reaches out. You want to back away, but then her hands touch your arms, and you're pulled in. She feels warm against you despite the cold rain, and she feels solid.
Way too much of you relies on the woman who's holding you. Despite the divorce, and the fights, you can't imagine existing without her at this point. It's your biggest weakness.
You look up, jaw set. You shiver again. She smiles, eyes glassy with tears, and you tip your head back a little. She's taller than you, and what you're doing is instinct. It makes it easier for her to kiss you.
It's been years, and yet, the feeling of her lips moving against yours is as familiar as breathing. You get on your tiptoes and cup her face to keep her close. Bodies pressed together, you nod your head and deepen the kiss.
She tastes like tears and rain and that gum she always buys. Her hands run down your sides, squeezing and roaming, and she keeps pulling you closer like you aren't already intertwined.
You wrap your arms around her neck. Natasha hums quietly, her hands on your thighs, then hoists you up. You pull away.
"What are you doing?", you ask, out of breath. She's already walking back to the truck.
"You're shivering", she says. "I got a blanket in the back."
"Oh."
With the door open, you slide into the backseat. You tug Natasha in with you, and she doesn't resist. As soon as she's sitting, you're swinging one leg over her lap. She feels a twitch inside her shorts, a familiar one, and shifts.
"It's fine", you mumble, pressing your lips to her jaw. She exhales quietly. "I know what I'm doing."
"You're sure? We haven't..." She trails off. You close your eyes.
You haven't slept together in over three years now. Not long before you got pregnant with Lottie, sex turned rare and lost what it once overflowed with. It was hollow and lacked passion. But if you try hard enough, maybe you'll be able to pretend that never happened. That sex is still the same as it was. That you still know each other's bodies by heart.
Even if it's just to distract yourself for a short while.
"If you don't want to, we don't have to. Obviously."
"No, that's not..." Natasha laughs nervously. "I'm not going to last long, love."
"That's what you're worried about?"
She shakes her head, then kisses you. Her hands move upwards, undo the straps of your dungarees, take them off. You feel the bulge in her shorts, straining against the fabric, and help her out of it.
You straddle her again and sink down onto her. Neither of you are worried about using protection in this moment. You're too fixated on the feeling of her inside of you.
The rain keeps pattering against the windows, which are now fogging up on the inside. Her hands are holding onto your waist like it's a lifeline. The backseats creak softly, you grip the backrest, and everything around you stops mattering.
She lets out a quiet curse when you clench around her. You bury your face in her neck and smell rain and cologne.
"I mean it. I love you."
"I know", you moan. Her hips thrust off the seat.
"I want to fix this. I want to fix us."
You hum vaguely, but it shifts into a soft whine. "You're really picking your moment here, Nat."
"Sorry", she gasps. Her forehead is presses against your shoulder. "But I mean it."
"I know", you repeat, nodding and biting back moans. A shiver rolls up your spine, and heat pools in your lower belly. "Just...wait a minute."
"Right."
Her hips roll up against yours, and the orgasm washes over you like the rain earlier. You shudder and slump into her. She kisses your neck and you feel something warm drip down your thighs.
The windows are fully fogged up by now. It smells like sex and rain, and you close your eyes to soak it in. Her heart beats against yours, steady and rapid, and you feel like you got tossed back into the past.
. . .
The girls ask no questions when you pick them up, but you've never seen Valerie look this excited.
She jumps into the car, clutching her duffel bag like an oversized teddy, and gives you a toothy grin. It should relieve you that she's happy about this — in reality, it freaks you out.
There were no promises made. Nothing's certain. For all you know, you're playing house instead of trying to become an actual family again.
Thankfully, Lottie distracts all of you. She's cranky from a sleepless night, so she's fussing and complaining about everything. The fruit pouch you hand her is squeezed to death like that apple juice pack a couple weeks ago, and her stuffed tiger ends up flying through the truck and hitting Natasha in the head.
To try and bribe her into calming down a little, you grab ice cream at a fast food drive in. It offers you three minutes of peace, then it's smushed against the window. More tears come, little feet kick against the seat, and Natasha and you decide going home is probably your safest bet.
Natasha parks her truck in front of your house. You unbuckle, then give her a hesitant look. Just sex — except it wasn't. Not when there's so much history tied to it. It's tied to everything you do.
"I'll help you", she finally offers. You exhale, thankful she broke the silence. "I just gotta wipe the window."
"Sure. I'll get the kids."
You get out of the truck and gather the girls. One in your arm, the other holding your hand, and go inside. Natasha follows minutes later and drops off their duffel bags.
The moment she steps over the threshold, you silently agree on something neither of you says out loud. She doesn't consider leaving, and you don't consider asking her to. Instead, you move around in the house like this is how it's supposed to be.
(And maybe it is.)
Lottie doesn't question it. She inhales the grilled cheese Natasha makes for everyone, then drags her upstairs for nap time. Valerie stays seated at the kitchen table, legs dangling. As soon as she's alone with you, she leans in.
"Have you made up?"
You frown and put the knife aside, then dry your hands. "What? Nonsense. We weren't fighting, honey."
"You're lying", she says. She grabs the plate of apple slices you hand her and eats one. "You were. You always fight. Is mama moving in again?"
You stare at her, but she doesn't flinch. You doubt she isn't aware of the weight of what she just asked; she's been perceptive of her surroundings ever since she was a toddler. She's certainly acting like she has no clue, though.
"You're too observant", you finally say. You stand behind her and start fixing her hair. "Don't worry about me and mama, alright? You should read that book for your English class instead, bub. These are grown people-problems."
"But mom-"
"No", you reply. You use the hair tie around your wrist to put her hair into a ponytail. "I promise I'm trying my best here, alright? And so is mama. But there are some things that are just hard to deal with."
"I could help", she offers, getting up from her chair. "Please."
You furrow your eyebrows at her. Footsteps on the staircase make you pause, and you both peek into the hallway to see Natasha return. She looks at you.
"Lottie's asleep", she says. "Anyone want to watch a movie?"
Apparently, trying to distract Valerie from anything only works if you're Natasha. Even if just for tonight, she lets go of the topic. Instead, she curls up between you on the couch and stares at the tv screen like it's offering her the entertainment of a lifetime.
An hour later, Lottie joins. You finish watching the movie and put on some cartoon. You make dinner — stir fry; Natasha wants to both kiss you and sob her eyes out —, and then go outside. The rain has stopped a while ago, but the slide is still slippery, so Lottie almost zooms into the shrubs.
When it's bedtime, you get the kids ready together. You tuck them in, kiss foreheads, turn on nightlights and search for specific stuffies. Once everyone is happy, you meet in the hallway and go downstairs.
Again, there's not much talking involved. You don't have to say it out loud to agree on it. You get the couch ready like it's second nature — pillows, blankets, a change of clothes — and linger by the door when she sits down.
"Just for tonight, right?", she says, slowly unfolding the blanket. You shrug.
"I'm not going to answer that."
Natasha shoots you a faint smile, then sits down. "This is like that night where you kicked me out of bed."
"It's not the same at all", you argue. "Get some sleep, alright?"
She looks up and hums quietly. Join me — she doesn't say those words out loud, but she certainly thinks them. You, however, turn around and head up the stairs. Something rustles in the living room.
You're not ready to commit, or to pretend nothing ever happened. You can't go back to normal. But you can't bring yourself to let her go, either. All you can do is survive the moment and pray you don't fall apart in the morning.
By the time the sun comes up, three warm bodies will have joined Natasha on the couch.
2am. Valerie wakes up, thirsty, so she pads into the kitchen and fills up her water bottle. When she walks past the living room, she stops. Her mom's on the couch, asleep and snoring. She hasn't slept here in forever. Valerie hesitates, then curls up next to her.
4am. Charlotte wakes up. She carefully makes her way down the steps, her hand gripping the metal rods of the railing. She sees that the couch isn't empty and sleepily climbs on top of Natasha. She's knocked out within seconds.
5am. Something rips you from your sleep, so you get up and go downstairs to get started on breakfast. But you see all three of them on the couch — Natasha, on her back; Lottie, on top of her; Valerie, tucked between her side and the backrest of the couch. You pause and blink, eyes still heavy with sleep.
Walking up to them is not an active decision, and neither is laying down next to the woman who was once your wife. At least that's what you tell yourself, because it's been years since you were able to fall asleep this quickly.
When Natasha wakes up, all three of her girls have joined her on the couch.
You stir as well. As soon as you register where you are and what happened, you freeze.
Last night wasn't a dream. You didn't make it up. You were stupid enough to have sex with her, take her home, let her sleep over. Now, you're all entangled on the couch, and you have to deal with the aftermath.
The domestic peace you feel is the same thing you felt years ago. Back when everything was safe, when you trusted it. You were naive. You now know what it's like to have that feeling be taken from you, and having it taken away a second time will only hurt more.
Lottie and Valerie wake up at the same time, and you scramble up and excuse yourself. As soon as you've closed the bathroom door behind you, you sit down on the closed toilet lid. You feel the tears well up and roll down your cheeks. You cry quietly, hand over your mouth to stifle any possible noise.
Then, it knocks. You freeze and don't reply.
"Y/N?" That's Natasha's voice, soft and cautious. "You alright?"
"I'm good", you lie, ripping off some toilet paper to wipe your face. "Something happen?"
"Valerie's going to be late for school. It's almost 8am, which means she needs to be there in five minutes. I'm not good at maths, but I feel like that's kinda hard to do."
"Get her dressed", you say, getting up. You open the door and Natasha falters. "Grab a few snacks, she can eat those in the car."
"Are you-"
"Give her some lunch money too", you cut her off. You walk past her and scoop up Lottie, who's about to fall asleep again on the floor. "I'll pick her up later."
Natasha stays rooted in place. She looks helpless and confused; a little regretful too, maybe. You're gone already, having disappeared upstairs with a sleepy Charlotte in your arms.
She wants to follow you and apologize. She wants to talk about this. But Valerie runs to the front door, dressed and ready to leave, and she has no choice but to go.
. . .
Three days later, you find a jewelry box on your porch.
It just appeared there. No warning, no note, no quick text from the woman who made it for you. Another apology, disguised in wood and nails and painted white. You pick it up, flip it, inspect every inch of it.
Then, you open the lid. Between the little cushions she put in one of the compartments is a ring.
You know which one. It's the one she proposed with over a decade ago. It's the same width, the same diamond cut, the same design. It glistens in the sun, and you slam the box shut.
"What's that?", the woman behind you asks. You turn around and see Maria leaning against the doorframe. "Oh no. Don't tell me..."
"Yeah."
"She still does that?"
You gesture at the shoe rack next to the front door. "This thing's from, like, half a year ago."
Maria snorts into her coffee cup. She steps closer. Without even glancing at you, she pops open the jewelry box and pauses. "Dear god. Has she lost it?"
You give her a tired look. Maria is a firefighter as well. She works alongside Natasha, and she knows her almost as good as she knows you. She's also aware of Natasha's inability to communicate with words instead of DIY home projects.
"Guess", you mumble, shutting the box again.
"Is this her way of proposing?", she asks, following you inside. "I thought she'd be able to do at least that without a prop."
"What?" You stop in your tracks and whip around. Maria, startled, bumps into you and spills coffee. "Shit- are you insane? Why would you ask that?"
She rolls her eyes and puts the cup aside, then tugs at her shirt. It's stained with lukewarm coffee, and the fabric is sticking to her skin.
"Gee, I don't know. The engagement ring she gave you, maybe?"
You give her a stunned stare. "That's not- no. That's not what this is. I mean, that'd be..."
"Crazy? Insane? Completely bananas?" She shrugs and walks into the kitchen to grab a towel. You follow her. "Amen, sister. But it's kinda what it looks like."
You put your hand against your head and lean against the wall. Maria dabs at the stain and sighs.
"She's not proposing", you say. You're not sure if you genuinely believe that or whether you're trying to make yourself believe it. "I mean, she's with Irina."
"No, she isn't."
Your hand drops to your side. You wait for Maria to continue and explain — she can't just drop a bomb like this one and then not elaborate, after all. But she just frowns and rubs at the persistent stain on her shirt.
"What do you mean, she isn't?"
Maria looks up. She shrugs. "She had sex with you, didn't she?"
"Yeah, well." You laugh bitterly. "She also had sex with Wendy when we were married, so there's that."
"Yes, sure, but-" She sighs and takes off her shirt, then waltzes straight into the laundry room. You're tired of her constant back-and-forth, but you follow her anyway. "But she's changed. I think. And I heard her dump someone in the bunk room. She was on the phone, it got pretty ugly."
You stop in the doorway. Maria grabs a stain remover and dabs it on her shirt, then she puts it aside. You barely register any of it.
Apparently, Natasha's made a choice. She's sabotaging (sabotaged?) her relationship because of you. It's desperation in real time, and it's quiet, and messy. But she's picking you.
And you? You're not sure if you want to be picked. Maybe not being the first choice would be better for you this time. You still can't help the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You press your hand against your lower belly.
You're confused, you're scared, but you're also tempted. Part of you wants to believe in her, and in this love that still exists between you.
"She didn't tell me", you say dumbly.
"Of course not." Maria glances at you. "Why would she? She's terrified. She's fucked up before, and she's smart enough to know she's not immune to doing it again."
"Yes, but...she didn't tell me. She didn't...I mean..."
"Breathe, honey." She gently leads you back out into the hallway. "I mean, you should probably confront her, right? Don't be too nice, either. Make her suffer."
"Maria."
"I mean it."
You give her a deadpan look. She's one of the few who know why you and Natasha got divorced, and she's been a hater ever since. She used to be friends with your ex-wife, now she barely tolerates her. Seeing them in a room together is pretty funny, but you don't need her to act like this all the time.
She smiles and shrugs on her hoodie. "She deserves it."
"Yes, but she's Natasha."
"And this is why people fuck you over."
"Alright, time for you to leave."
She laughs and walks out the door. You stay on the porch, leaning against the railing, and watch her get into her car. She winks at you.
"I think she's off-duty today", she calls.
"No."
Maria nods and starts her car. "Yes. Absolutely", she says. "I mean it."
You groan. She sounds the horn, then drives off. You're left on the porch, alone, with a ring in a box waiting inside the house for you.
There's about a hundred things you'd rather do. Vacuum the house, mow the lawn, reschedule that appointment at the optometrist you won't be able to go to. In the end, you sit down in your car and drive to the other end of town.
Straight to Natasha's cabin.
. . .
Her cabin isn't unfamiliar. Not entirely.
You've been there countless times to drop the girls off, or to grab a toy one of them forgot. You know what it looks like — the dark wood, the gray trim, the metal roof. A huge backyard, half grass and half dirt patch, and a covered porch with a worn couch. Tools everywhere, even on the staircase.
You stay in the car for a long moment, then you get out and walk up to the porch. You don't knock, don't ring the doorbell. Instead, you lift the corner of the doormat and snatch the spare key Natasha apparently forgot there.
The door creaks open, and you're hit with a smell of pinewood and cologne. Sawdust and coffee are tangled into the scent, and you exhale softly as you step in. Now it's unfamiliar.
You inspect the coat rack, weighed down by jackets and fire gear and a diaper bag. You glance at the pairs of shoes scattered around underneath it. You peek into the kitchen and spot the protein powders and beef jerky on the shelf there.
Silently, you wonder whether her breakfasts are still as ridiculous as they were when you still lived together. She used to wolf down 5 to 6 eggs every morning, and sometimes followed up with waffles and leftover steak.
You shake your head and walk further into the house. It's comfy, you have to admit. Lived-in, too. You pick up a little sock with rainbows on it and put it on the coffee table, then you keep going.
A small staircase leads you into the walkout basement. You hear the sound of someone scrubbing something, so you keep going. You push open another door and freeze.
Natasha, on the floor, crouched next to a dresser. Sanding paper in hand, she's sanding the side. As soon as the door has swung open, though, she stops.
All you can do is stare at each other. Her hair, slowly coming loose from a low bun. The grey hoodie she's wearing, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her eyes, still looking up at you in that way that never stopped making you weak.
"You let yourself in?", she asks, her voice cracking.
"Why'd you give me the ring?"
She pauses. She slowly puts the sanding paper aside, then she wipes her hands on her sweatpants before getting up. You swallow, the jewelry box firmly clutched in your hands.
This is what you wanted. An answer. Watching her squirm, hesitate. Letting her feel what it's like to drown for a moment. You didn't come up for air for much longer, after all. Grief, motherhood, betrayal — crushing your lungs and pulling you under the surface. It's her turn.
"I don't know", she then says. You shake your head, but she lifts her hand. Her expression is pleading. "I wanted you to know I still had it. I didn't know how else to...you know."
"No", you say, both sharply and weakly. "I don't know. You think you can just drop this off and fix it all? I've told you that you building shit doesn't repair anything, Natasha."
"Yeah", she mumbles.
"And neither does this ring. I don't want it. Not like this."
She nods and steps closer. You willingly hand her the box when she reaches for it, and you watch her open it and pull out the ring. It gives you flashbacks to that night in your bed, when she was lying on her side with the ring between her fingers. She'd dumped rose petals all over the room, bed included.
It was right after sex when she revealed the ring. You were both flushed and out of breath. Back then, you swore you'd never be able to fall in love like this again. As of right now, you were correct.
"I'm not proposing", she says. She keeps the ring in her fist, careful to not drop it. "Honestly? I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't known for a while. But I need to fix this, Y/N. I need to fix us."
You shake your head. "No, Nat. You-"
"Wait", she begs. "I keep thinking about it. About the way you looked at me that night. Like I was the best thing you'd ever seen. And-"
"Natasha-"
"And I want to be that again", she finishes. You rub your eyes. "I'm not supposed to burn stuff down, you know. My job is to put fires out. But I burnt us down. And now it's my job to undo the damage."
"This is not the same as burning down a house", you say. "I'd prefer that, honestly. We'd just build a new one. But you can't do that with a marriage."
Natasha's running out of moves. She's sitting in this grief, letting it encompass her. It's like a heavy weight, one she hasn't been able to shake in three years. But she needs to keep trying, even if it costs her what little dignity she has left.
She steps closer, again. You stay rooted in place, which is both relieving and saddening. Not that long ago, she couldn't have imagined that she'd ever fear you not wanting her close. But you're still here, still in front of her, and she's not only running out of moves — she's running out of time as well.
Her eyes search yours. You avert your gaze when it becomes too much.
"Please", she says. "Just tell me what to do."
"I don't know", you say, looking at her again. Sawdust on her hoodie, her eyes filled with quiet desperation. "I can't do this if you're not sure. And even then, I..."
"No. Don't."
"Can it even work?"
"Yes. It can."
You chew on your lip and glance at the floor. More sawdust. A hammer. A stack of sanding paper in various grits. A bottle of water, and a shaker filled with some protein shake.
"You cheated", you say slowly. You're hyper aware that you're starting to sound like a broken record, but you can't help it. Natasha winces. "You slept with someone else. How do you make anything work after doing that?"
Unfortunately, she has no idea. Love and relationships don't come with usage manuals or instructions. You can either try to figure it out yourself or wing everything and pray it'll be okay.
She did try. Then, she screwed up. She struck the match, burnt it down, and now, you're standing between ambers and ash. You're breathing in the smoke in a desperate attempt to clean the air, but there's only two of you, and without opening a window, you'll die before you succeed.
There's only one solution left. Tear down the walls and let the smoke escape before it suffocates you.
"I can't undo what I did", she says. "I know apologizing isn't enough. It will never be. But I know I love you, and I'll keep working on myself, and I'll make sure that you'll never doubt me again."
You stare at her, hesitating. "Nat."
"I'm serious, Y/N. So serious." She exhales, her breath shaky. "Let me prove it to you. Give me a year. A test phase. You can back out at any point. You can always end it. But give me one chance. Just one. I'm not asking for anything else."
"And then?", you probe. "I don't trust you anymore. Not like I used to. What if I also don't trust you in a year?"
"That's okay", she promises. She cups your face, the ring stuck between her fingers and pressing against your cheek. "I'm not asking for anything else. I want you and the girls back. Just give me a shot at trying."
This is so her that you almost smile. Laying out blueprints, strategizing, framing it like something practical. Turning your relationship into a deal. But somehow, she's managed to make it raw and hopeful.
At the end of your life, you don't regret what you did — you regret what you didn't do. The 'what if' hurts the most. The knowledge that something could've been, if only there'd been more courage. If only you'd been braver. If you'd taken that leap instead of walking away.
Your marriage has always been centered around fire. It's the reason why you met. It's what Natasha deals with every day. It burned your marriage to the ground, even if not literally.
You feel it all over her, too. In her hands, which are calloused and strong. Her eyes blaze with it. Whenever you'd kiss her, you felt it. She's the human equivalent to fire. She's messy and unpredictable, she can cause disastrous amounts of damage. But when it comes down to it, she's there to warm you up.
Fire meant safety. Early humans used it as a source of light and protection.
It turns out that, even millions of years later, some things don't change.
You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your eyes are burning.
"Don't disappoint the girls", you mumble. "Not again. Because I'll kill you, Romanoff. I swear."
Natasha lets out a breath. Her eyes glass over, her fingers shake against your cheek. You ended it with a threat, and truthfully, she deserves it. She'll have to fight for every scrap of softness now, but that's okay. It's worth it.
"I won't", she promises. "You know they're in good hands."
"Not the point."
"I know." She brushes her thumb over your lip. You move your head so her hand drops from your face, then you lean in and kiss her.
It's not a big deal. Just a quick brush of lips, lasting a mere second. It shoots adrenaline through her entire body and her heart begins to race. You pull away and reach up to remove some sawdust from her hoodie.
You stay silent for a moment as you study her. She doesn't say anything either, just stands there and admires you like the idiot she is. Finally, you pull away, but not without snatching the ring from her.
"I'll hide this", you say, walking up the stairs. She raises her eyebrows.
"Okay...?"
"You're not proposing unless I allow you to."
"Oh, uh- alright."
"It better be. Now get a move on, we need to pick up the girls."
She stares for another second, then she hurries up to follow you outside.
. . .
Picking the kids up together once was fine. Doing it a second time, though, left Valerie bouncing on the spot like she's a battery operated toy.
She's smart. She knew. All it took was seeing you and Natasha, waiting by your car. There was less distance between you this time. She'd touched your arm, hesitantly, and you'd opted for a faint smile.
Something'd changed. Which, for once, was a good thing.
Months have passed, and it's turned into more of a routine. You pick Charlotte up together, with Valerie waiting in the car already. The second she's in front of you, she lifts her arms at Natasha.
"Up?", she asks. Her voice is grouchy in that tired toddler-way.
"Sure, bub", she says, scooping her up. Natasha's always held babies like they're made of gold. It doesn't matter if said baby is three weeks or three years old. "Let's get you home."
"We're going to mama's place tonight", you inform them. Valerie tilts her head. "Sounds good?"
"You're not mad anymore?"
Natasha and you had a little argument last night, but it really was little. And, to be fair, it was mostly your fault. There's no need to start yelling over a roll of toilet paper.
You buckle up and look at your daughter through the mirror. Way too perceptive. That won't change. You love that about her, though, even if it sometimes drives you up the wall.
"Who said that?", you ask, smiling.
Natasha sits down and starts the car. She glances at you, then forces herself to keep her eyes on the road. "You got homework, bub?"
"Answer the question", she drawls. "Are you still mad?"
You get a pointed look from Natasha. You roll your eyes and push your hand against her cheek, making her laugh quietly.
"No", you say. "Not mad anymore. Sorry for the fight, honey."
"We didn't think you'd hear", Natasha adds. She takes a left turn and drums her fingers against the steering wheel. "You were supposed to be asleep."
"I don't care. You can't fight even when I'm sleeping."
"You're not the boss", Lottie says, throwing a LEGO figure at her sister. Valerie retaliates by grabbing her stuffed tiger and whacking it over her head. The next thing you hear is screeching and whining.
Exasperated, you turn around and intervene. "No, absolutely not. If we can't fight, then neither can you."
"She hit me!", Lottie cries out.
"She threw a LEGO at me!"
"Stop fighting and I'm getting you nuggets for lunch", Natasha mutters.
You want to intervene — don't bribe the kids into behaving, this can't end well, etc. — but then you remember that she's been doing this without you every other week for three full years. So far, nothing bad has resulted from it.
You slump into your seat when they immediately stop bickering. Natasha doesn't say anything, but she puts her hand around yours and squeezes gently.
At home, she grabs both kids and carries them into the cabin. One on her shoulders, the other in her arms, she slows down and turns around. You're close behind, holding their backpacks and the takeout paper bag.
You meet her halfway. There's a second of silence, of you just staring at each other, then you get on your tiptoes and kiss her. It takes her by surprise, for some reason, and you can't blame her.
You pull away first, and Valerie gives you a mildly disgusted look. She's been hoping for this for years, but she doesn't need to see you kiss.
"Can you not?"
Natasha shoots you a smile. You put your hand on her shoulder and turn her toward the cabin again. It's a spring afternoon, the sun is warm and the grass is covered in hundreds of little flowers. On the porch, Natasha left a half-finished bookshelf for Lottie's room.
As soon as you're inside, you wash your hands and dish out the food. You allow the girls to eat lunch in front of the tv for once, and they happily agree to find something to watch without fighting.
Then, it's just you and Natasha left in the kitchen. She's leaning against the counter, her hand twisting the top part of a water bottle. You can feel her watching you as you empty out the takeout bag and put the food on two plates.
"Want to share the onion rings?", she asks, pushing off the counter and walking up to you.
"You'll make me share my fries if we do, won't you."
"You know me too well", she mumbles. She wraps her arms around you and kisses your temple. "I'll let you have a sip of my beer."
She does. You end up on the porch together, sitting on the floor like teenagers. You stretch out your legs and she pulls them into her lap. You bring the beer bottle to your mouth and tip back your head. It's still cold, fizzy, tasting like the early days of your relationship.
You pass the bottle back to her, and she finishes what's left in it.
"Bookshelf looks nice", you comment. "Looks like a little house. Lottie will love it."
"I'll paint rainbows on it, too", she says. Her hand runs up and down your calf absentmindedly. "She asked for a bed with a slide, you know."
All you say is 'no', quickly and without hesitation. Natasha grins.
"I already told her no, don't worry. Not after the soap incident."
You hum, agreeing. Back at your house, Charlotte had dumped a small bucket of soapy water onto the slide and then slid down. Needless to say that didn't end well. You're still haunted by the blood coming out of nose.
"She laughed", you mutter, rubbing your temple. "She sat there and laughed. That's all you, you know."
"Sorry."
"Well, you better be. If she ends up wanting to be a firefighter, I'm suing."
"Maybe she ends up wanting to be like you", Natasha says. "I wouldn't mind that, you know."
You nudge her shoulder with yours. She sets her plate aside and wraps her arm around you.
Fire burns and destroys. It leaves behind ambers and smoke, soot and ash. The landscape looks scorched, your marriage was a wreckage. Things looked dead. But ash is fertile, and though you're marked, you're still here.
✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷
🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlet @jassgunner @marvelwomen-simp @fairyfandomwhore @womenarehotsstuff @twentyonetornmyheart
#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#black widow#black widow x reader#x reader#fanfic#marvel#lesbian#wlw#angst with a happy ending#moon’s fics
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𝓝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝓐𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 ── ft. 𝐍𝐀𝐌-𝐆𝐘𝐔 ┊남규
warnings — MDNI 18+・ fem!reader ・english is not my first language so bear with me・not proofread
❥ a/n: think i might’ve gone a lil carried away. oh well
𝓐 = 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 . . . what he’s like after sex
nam-gyu is not particularly soft or sentimental about it. he’s not the type to whisper sweet nothings or linger too long in the moment unless it suits him. aftercare for him is minimal, functional—if it happens at all.
he might roll over or light a cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air as he decompresses. but he’s not completely thoughtless; he’d notice if you looked uncomfortable or out of sorts. “you good?” might be all he says, his tone almost indifferent, but the way his eyes flicker toward you gives him away—he’s serious.
if you ask for something—water, a towel, or cuddles—nam-gyu would sigh like it’s an inconvenience, but he’d still do it. begrudgingly, but he’d do it. he’s not used to giving, so gestures like helping clean up or asking if you’re okay feel foreign to him. he’ll grumble about it, but deep down, there’s a satisfaction in being needed.
his movements are kinda clumsy when he bothers to help. he’ll shove a glass of water into your hand or awkwardly brush your hair away from your face. physical closeness is rare unless you initiate it. if you nuzzle against him, he’ll freeze for a second before relaxing, letting you rest against his chest.
𝓑 = 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 . . . his favorite body part of his & yours
nam-gyu is obsessed with his hands—long, slender fingers that are both capable and calculating. he knows how to use them, and he likes to watch the way they move, whether he’s lighting a cigarette, adjusting his rings or gliding them over your skin.
after fights, he secretly enjoys when you tend to his scraped or bruised knuckles, even though he’ll complain about the sting of antiseptic. the way you fuss over him feels intimate, and he secretly enjoys it.
there’s a lewd fascination with how his hands look around your neck or slipping past your lips for you to suck on. not just sexual (though it is very much sexual); it’s also the thrill of control and trust, how you let him push boundaries.
has a not-so-subtle fixation on your breasts, and it’s written all over him whenever you wear something that accentuates it. tube tops, low necklines—they might as well be his weakness. his eyes linger too long, dark with something both appreciative and borderline lascivious, and he doesn’t even bother hiding it. likes to encircle his arms around you from behind under the guise of a hug, but uses that as an opportunity to grope and squeeze at your tits.
𝓒 = 𝐂𝐔𝐌 . . . anything to do with cum, basically
nam-gyu is not reckless when it comes to stuff like this; he uses condoms most of the time—even though he would prefer to fuck you raw, the two of you aren’t ready to deal with the consequences or extra effort. not in this economy…
he generally hates mess. not because he’s a clean freak, but because he’s practical to a fault. the thought of having to change the sheets annoys him enough to avoid it altogether. if things get messy, he’ll grumble about it, probably throw the blanket over the spot, and deal with it later—or make you deal with it.
sure, the sight of you on your knees—lips swollen, eyes watering—gulping down his load does something to him, but what he loves more is making a mess on you, your body is his favourite canvas. he’s not subtle about it either. the lazy smirk on his face when he sees the sticky aftermath on your chest, abdomen or ass? pure satisfaction. “guess we need a shower now,” he’ll say, acting like it’s the most natural solution. the shower is just another excuse to keep his hands on you.
𝓓 = 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 . . . pretty self explanatory
pansexual or bisexual but would rather choke than admit it, even to himself.
and yeah, he’s totally a panty thief. likes to jerk off with your lace panties wrapped around his cock.
𝓔 = 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 . . . how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?
yes, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s not shy about letting you know. his confidence is almost obnoxious, but it’s earned—he’s had enough practice to back it up.
his body count isn’t as high as he brags it to be, but working as a club promoter has its perks. his looks, charm, and the nightlife scene give him a lot of opportunities.
𝓕 = 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . this goes without saying
definitely missionary or any position that lets him see your face. it’s not necessarily about the intimacy—he just likes watching your reactions, like he’s trying to gauge how much control he has.
he’s also into standing positions in small or semi-public spaces, like bathrooms or closets. the risk factor gives him a thrill, and he loves the idea of being impulsive and spontaneous with you.
when he’s sleepy but still wanting to fuck, he defaults to cowgirl. he’s too tired to put in much effort, so he’ll let you take the reins while he lounges back, half-lidded but still enjoying the view of your bouncing tits. his hands won’t stay idle, though—he’ll grab your hips, guiding you just enough to stay in control without actually moving much himself.
𝓖 = 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐘 . . . is he more serious in the moment? or is he humorous? etc.
he’s playful and teasing during foreplay—loves getting a rise out of you. but the second things escalate, he flips a switch and gets super serious. no laughing or joking in the middle of it—it’s like he’s hyper-focused, almost like he has something to prove.
𝓗 = 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 . . . how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.
the carpet matches the drapes, though he doesn’t think about it much. also, he’s naturally sparse down there, but still keeps it trimmed. not obsessive about grooming, but he knows the bare minimum is necessary.
𝓘 = 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 . . . how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect
during sex, nam-gyu isn’t traditionally romantic, but he’s deeply physical and expressive in his own way. he doesn’t rely on words or overt displays of affection; instead, he shows his emotions through the way he fucks you, like he’s trying to prove something to himself—or maybe to you. he thrives on control and the feeling of being desired, so he focuses on what gets the strongest reactions out of you.
emotionally, he struggles with vulnerability. if he feels too exposed or like things are getting too intimate, he’ll mask it by being rougher or redirecting the focus back onto you. for him, sex is both an outlet for his insecurities and a way to feel closer (in the spiritual sense and literal sense) to you without actually having to open up.
𝓙 = 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅 . . . masturbation headcanon
he’s pretty average about it—not an excessive masturbator, not abstinent; it’s just another part of his routine. usually to porno magazines, or even just your instagram beach photos. if you guys have made sex tapes, then he’d jerk off to that.
if you ever walked in on him, he’d play it off with a smirk and a sarcastic comment like, “oh, hey, you’re just in time.”
𝓚 = 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 . . . one or more of his kinks
asphyxiation: there’s something strangely erotic to him about having his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his fingers. the power dynamic in that moment is a huge turn-on for him.
praise kink: he’ll never in a million years admit it, but hearing you tell him how good he is or how much you need him in that breathy way fuels his ego like nothing else. one of the rare things that makes him feel genuinely confident rather than overcompensating.
light bondage: he’s into improvising—using things like neckties or scarves to tie your wrists.
𝓛 = 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . favourite places to do the deed
your place or his are his favorites. while nam-gyu enjoys the occasional quickie in the club’s bathroom or a blowjob in his car, he’s not big on real risks—he likes the privacy and control that comes with familiar settings. the bedroom is his domain, where he feels most comfortable. to have the freedom to let loose without worrying about interruptions or consequences.
𝓜 = 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . what turns him on
revealing outfits drive him crazy. whether it’s a short skirt, a crop top, or something sheer, he won’t bother hiding how much he’s staring. if anyone else is looking too? it flips a switch in him, equal parts possessive and turned on.
you being a little wild, rebellious, or feisty absolutely does it for him. that lana del rey lyric, “i heard that you like the bad girls, honey is that true?” yup. very true. might as well be written about him. he loves seeing you do rebellious, crazy shit—flipping off a guy who’s being a creep, starting a catfight—makes his blood rush south.
𝓝 = 𝐍𝐎 . . . something he wouldn’t do, turn offs
overtly public sex is a hard no for him. he likes the idea of risk but not the actual consequences, so anything too exposed or risky is off the table. he’s not into watersports either.
𝓞 = 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 . . . preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.
definitely more of a receiver. he’s selfish about it and won’t hesitate to ask for a blowjob outright, expecting you to comply like it’s second nature.
however, nam-gyu knows when to step up—like when you’re mad at him or during your time of the month. in those moments, he’ll willingly switch roles and be a giver, partly to make amends and partly because it’s one of the few ways he knows how to take care of you.
𝓟 = 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 . . . is he fast and rough? slow and sensual?
most of the time, he fucks you fast and rough, driven by his impatience and desire to be in control. he doesn’t like drawing things out unless he’s teasing you to get a reaction—then, he’ll slow down just enough to keep you frustrated.
when he’s drunk or sleepy, though, he’s slower, almost a sensual edge to it, like he’s savouring the moment because he’s too tired to rush. it feels more intimate than usual, even if he doesn’t realise it.
if he’s half-asleep but still horny, he’ll put in the effort despite his exhaustion. it’s less about performance and more about fulfilling that need, but his thrusts are deeper and in a more rhythmic, relaxed tempo. he’d probably crash right after.
𝓠 = 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 . . . his opinions on quickies
quickies are practically his bread and butter, especially when he’s at work or in a time crunch. he often initiates one in random places around club pentagon if he thinks you can get away with it. it’s part of the thrill for him—he loves the challenge of making you cum in a tight timeframe.
𝓡 = 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 . . . is he game to experimenting? does he take risks? etc.
he’s open to experimenting as long as it doesn’t cross into his hard “no” zones.
𝓢 = 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀 . . . how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?
if he’s sober, he can usually manage one solid rounds, maybe two if he’s really into it. he tends to push himself, but he doesn’t have endless energy—he says it’s “more about quality over quantity.”
if he’s high, it’s hit or miss. sometimes drugs make him last longer, but other times, he burns out quickly, cummin’ too early and getting embarrassed about it.
𝓣 = 𝐓𝐎𝐘𝐒 . . . does he own toys? does he use them? on you or himself?
nam-gyu doesn’t spend money on toys, but he has a friend who runs a sex shop, and he’s shameless about “borrowing” or pressuring them to hand over new stuff.
he’s not really dependent on them but enjoys using them for variety, especially if it’s something you’re curious about. his main focus is on impressing you, so if toys can help, sure he’s all in.
𝓤 = 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑 . . . how much he likes to tease
“unfair” is his middle name…and he’s so mean about it. he’ll pretend to ignore you, act aloof, or be completely indifferent just to get under your skin. loves it when you get flustered and whiny, feeding off your reactions like it’s his favourite pastime.
he’s got zero sportsmanship, though. if you flip the script and start teasing him, he’ll immediately get defensive or annoyed, like, “can you stop? it’s not funny.” he can dish it out but can’t take it.
𝓥 = 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 . . . how loud he is, what sounds he makes
not super loud, definitely on the quieter side. more of a grunter and groaner. dirty talk happens, but it’s not a constant thing—he saves it for when he wants to rile you up. most of the time, his focus is on showing rather than talking.
𝓦 = 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 . . . a random headcanon
okay, hear me out: ever since he met the famous rapper in club pentagon he has some weird fantasy involving you, him, and thanos (his threesome dream team). it started as a passing thought—but the more he thought about it, the more it spiraled into something oddly specific.
𝓧 = 𝐗-𝐑𝐀𝐘 . . . what’s going on under those clothes
namgyu’s body is lean and deceptively strong. he’s not overly bulky, but his frame has a wiry, muscular quality to it. he was built for stealth and speed rather than brute force. his abs aren’t overly defined, but a v-line runs down to his waist.
okay okay i know y’all are waiting for this… approximately 6 inches erect and slightly curved to the right. rosy pink tip. definitely veiny, has a vein that starts on the side and breaks off into two and one goes all the way to the tip.
𝓨 = 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . . how high is his sex drive?
working at a club means being constantly surrounded by temptation and indulgence, which naturally keeps his desire elevated. despite this, nam-gyu’s self-control is remarkable—largely because of the demands of his environment. he’s learned how to compartmentalise and maintain razor-sharp focus, even in high-stakes or chaotic situations. but when the moment presents itself, when there’s no pressing business to handle or distractions to fend off, all that restraint slips away, and his libido skyrockets.
𝓩 = 𝐙𝐙𝐙 . . . how quickly he falls asleep afterwards
when he’s had a particularly intense time or pushed himself physically and mentally, he’ll crash immediately. on nights where he’s less physically exerted, it’s more of a slow burn—he lays in bed, smoke some fags to decompress, getting lost in the post-coital haze as his mind wanders.
fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
#squid game#nam-gyu#squid game season 2#nam gyu x reader#namgyu x reader#nam gyu smut#nam gyu#squid game x reader#squid game fanfic#namgyu x y/n#player 124#player 124 x reader#namgyu smut#squid game x y/n#namgyu x you#squid game s2#nam gyu x you#jackie writes squid game
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manny setting you and abby up on a blind date, even though you’re “just friends” 𓂃⊹ ࣪ ˖
──────
“You owe me,” Manny said, tossing a towel at Abby as she finished a set.
“For what?” She chuckled, catching it midair. She was trying to drown him out and finish her workout, but he was making it damn near impossible.
“That patrol I covered for you last week? Come on. One drink. One dinner. I set you up with someone cool. Trust me.” Manny grinned, leaning up against the barbell rack.
“I hate when you say that,” she muttered, wiping her face, rolling her eyes as she glared back up at him.
Manny clutched a hand over his heart. “She’s smart, funny, not annoying. You’ll actually like her.”
Abby raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He held up his hands. “Just… be at the mess hall tonight. Eighteen hundred. I promise you’ll be glad you went.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s gonna suck. I don’t wanna waste my time.”
“Come on, hermana. If it’s awful, I owe you a week of patrol coverage.” Manny replied, unfazed as he reached out to shake Abby’s shoulders.
Abby sighed, pressing the towel against the back of her neck, trying not to smile. “Manny. You say that like your word means anything. If it’s awful, I’ll lock you in the supply closet myself.”
“You’ll thank me later,” he said with a wink, finally walking away and leaving Abby to finish her routine.
── .✦
I sat on the edge of my bed, unlacing my boots, when a knock hit the door. I opened it to find Manny already leaning on the doorframe with a ridiculous grin.
“No,” I said immediately.
“Oh yes. You’re going out tonight.”
I squinted at him, raising an eyebrow. “What kind of ‘out’?”
“Blind date,” he said. “Before you say no—they’re solid. Bit serious, but big heart. Strong as hell.” He shrugged. “I figured that’d be your type.”
I hesitated, wary. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch. Just dinner in the mess at eighteen hundred. You need to get out more.” He smiled, poking me in the ribs.
“Is this some kind of prank or something…?” I groaned, rubbing my forehead.
“Do I look like a man who plays pranks?”
“Yes, actually you do. Because you are.” I respond smugly, pushing him out of the doorway.
He snorted, turning away. “Just go. Please.”
── .✦
The mess hall space within the stadium had once been a cafeteria, now dressed up with mismatched linens and strings of warm lights that someone (Manny) had hung with care. It wasn’t fancy, but he tried. Like everything else we’d built here.
I sat at the table first, my knee bouncing restlessly with barely contained anxiety. I hadn’t asked for this. Manny had cornered me this morning, and then again during rounds, spun something about “someone thoughtful, serious, into books,” and I’d caved out of equal parts curiosity and peer pressure.
Abby walked in two minutes late, her hair swept back into a quick braid, and a clean shirt on. I did a double take, standing up from the table. She immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw me. We both stood there for a second. Confused. Suspicious.
“…Hey,” I said slowly, stepping closer, a bit cautious.
“Hey,” Abby echoed, her brow furrowing.
“Wait. Are you here for…?” I looked around the room slowly.
“No way.” Abby let out a low laugh, running a hand down her face. “Manny?”
“Yeah. Manny said I had a date.”
We stared at each other for a moment, then both broke out into a fit of soft laughter, something easy and fond settling between us.
“Oh my God,” Abby mumbled under her breath, shaking her head. “That bastard.” We both laughed.
“So we’re each other’s blind date… cool.” I sighed, thinking about heading back to my dorm.
A moment passed between us. Abby rubbed the back of her neck. “You wanna just stay? Make it dinner anyway?”
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. “We’re already here. Might as well enjoy it.”
We found a quieter table near the back, away from the louder patrol squads trading stories and jabbing each other over canned chili. The mess hall wasn’t exactly candlelit, but under the dim overheads and faded posters on the wall, the space felt a little more intimate than usual.
“Guess we’re already past the awkward first impressions.” I muttered, gesturing to the chair across from me.
“Guess so,” Abby said, sitting down. “He’s a real piece of work.”
I smiled, a little soft, a little teasing. “I would’ve said yes if you asked me yourself, y’know.”
Abby’s ears turned a little pink. “Maybe I will next time.”
“Next time…” I mumbled to myself, fingers wrapped around my mug. “So, this isn’t a date.”
“Definitely not,” Abby agreed, a little too quickly.
“Just… two friends being tricked by a mutual idiot.”
“Exactly.”
We both smiled, but something hung in the air. Quieter than laughter, a little heavier than coincidence.
“Well, if this was a date, it wouldn’t be the worst.” I said softly.
Abby looked up. “Yeah?”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
Abby grinned. “Then maybe I’ll pay next time. Stadium rations and all.”
Dinner was simple. Lentils, rehydrated steak, and overcooked carrots. Whatever passed as a meal these days. Abby glanced down at her plate. “Luxury...”
“Don’t be a snob,” I teased, poking at my own food with a fork. “It’s got… protein?” I shrug.
“And seasoning that tastes like the floor.” Abby mumbled, her lips tightening.
I laughed softly, and Abby looked up at the sound, catching the way my eyes crinkled slightly when I smiled. The awkwardness melted fast. We already knew each other’s tells, each other’s quiet humor. We ate while talking about patrol rotations, about the book I had picked up from the trading post, about how one of the younger recruits had nearly shot their own foot.
“You clean up nice, by the way,” I added, trying to be casual but sincere.
Abby glanced down at her plain black t-shirt and jeans. “This is… me trying.”
“It works.” I answered warmly, taking a bite of my carrots.
Abby watched me for a second longer than she meant to. “You don’t look too terrible either.”
I raised a brow, amused. “Wow, what a charmer.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t usually do the whole date thing.” She responded, her voice going a bit quiet.
“Neither do I,” I said, voice softer now, a bit more honest. “But this doesn’t feel… weird. Not with you.”
Abby was quiet for a minute, her jaw working like she was chewing on a thought. “Yeah. I was kind of relieved when I saw it was you.”
“Same,” I responded, leaning forward and nudging her boot lightly under the table. “Way better than some sweaty patrol guy.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Abby huffed a laugh, finally relaxing into the conversation. “He played us. Got you to go, got me to go, and left us here like it’s some romcom setup.”
“Joke’s on him,” I said, softly. “You’re not bad company.”
There was a brief pause, not awkward, but full. Warm. I tilted my head slightly. “Have you ever… thought about it?”
Abby blinked. “Thought about what?”
“Me and you,” I mumbled softly, picking at my food. “Not seriously or anything, of course. It’s silly.”
Abby’s throat bobbed with a quiet swallow. “Maybe. Once or twice.”
I looked down at my plate, smiling into it. Neither of us said anything for a long moment, just the clatter of trays and distant conversation around us filling the space.
Then I said, teasing again, “If I’d known it was you, I might’ve actually brushed my hair.”
Abby gave me a playful glance. “That’s how it always looks.”
“Shut up,” I said, laughing again.
Abby grinned. “You look nice. Always do.”
My cheeks flushed at her compliment, and I tried to hide my smile behind my fork.
The “date” label faded, until it didn’t. The air shifted after the shared cookie we agreed to split “because it’d be a waste.” Abby handed me the bigger half without thinking. I paused, looking at the cookie, then at Abby. “You didn’t even fight me on it.”
Abby shrugged. “You like the soft center.”
There was a moment of silence. My brows softened just slightly. “You remember that?”
“I remember a lot about you,” Abby said, quiet now, then took a sip from her tea as if to cover it.
I looked down at the cookie, then broke off a piece and passed it to Abby. “Split the soft center, then.”
Our fingers brushed. Abby’s jaw flexed slightly, a muscle twitching.
“This still isn’t a date,” I murmured, my eyes flickering up to hers.
“Nope,” Abby said, eyes on her hand.
── .✦
We slipped out of the mess hall and into the open walkway, the stadium quiet in the way it only ever was after curfew, when most had gone to their bunks and the air was left to echo through the old corridors. The moonlight slanted through the upper windows, casting soft pools of light that guided our way. Abby walked a little slower than usual. The air between us felt different. The denial a little thinner. Glances a little longer.
“You didn’t have to walk me back,” I said, hands in my pockets, voice gentle.
Abby shrugged one shoulder. “Figured I should, since I’m such a great date and all.”
I smiled faintly. “Oh, so it was a date?”
Abby smirked but didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
We reached the hallway that led to my room. I paused outside my door, looking up at Abby. Her gaze softened a little in the low light. “I had a good time,” I said quietly.
Abby nodded. “Me too.”
For a second, it felt like neither of us knew whether to linger or say goodnight. My hand hovered over the door handle, but I didn’t turn it yet. Abby glanced down, eyes flicking briefly to my lips, then back up.
I gave a soft, teasing smile. “Goodnight, Abby.”
Abby’s voice was lower than usual when she replied. “’Night.”
But she didn’t go right away. She leaned in, barely brushing her shoulder against mine.
“Meet me in the greenhouse tomorrow afternoon?” She asked.
I nodded, just once, eyes soft. Abby’s smile returned, quiet and sure. I slipped into my room, closing the door with a quiet click.
Abby stood there for a few seconds longer than she meant to, hand curling and uncurling at her side. Then she turned and walked away.
Inside my room, I leaned against the back of the door and let out a slow breath. My heart was still thudding. Not hard, just steady, like it was trying to tell me something. I crossed the room to my bed and sat on the edge, absently untying my boots. The bracelet on my wrist— a rough one I’d braided weeks ago, caught the light. I tugged it off and held it loosely in my hands, thinking.
Outside, Abby’s boots echoed softly as she walked. She wasn’t headed straight to her room, not yet. She took a detour, climbing the narrow stairs that led to the rooftop, where the wind hit harder, cleaner. She braced her forearms on the railing and looked out over the dim lights below.
She thought about the way you had smiled tonight, less guarded, more present. She thought about the warmth of your laugh, the way their boots had bumped under the table and neither of them had pulled away. She thought about what you had asked — if she’d ever thought about them. Abby stared out into the dark, muttering to herself. “More than once.”
── .✦
The greenhouse was tucked away on the far end of the stadium, lit by golden strips of late afternoon sun through weathered glass. The scent of damp earth lingered, the soft buzz of insects in the corners barely noticeable over the creak of the old door as I stepped inside.
Abby was already there, crouched near a planter box, inspecting a cluster of overgrown tomatoes. She looked up when I entered, face unreadable at first, then softening in that way I had started to recognize as being just for me.
“You found it,” Abby said, straightening.
I smiled and closed the door behind me. “You’re not as hard to find as you think you are.”
Abby gave a small chuckle and leaned back against the wooden frame of the planter, arms folded. I came to stand beside her, letting the silence settle for a moment. Out here, away from everything, it was easier to breathe. “Didn’t know you liked plants,” I said.
“Yeah, my dad used to have a greenhouse,” Abby replied, glancing at me. “It’s quiet. No one comes out here much.”
I nodded. “Except when they want to disappear.” We stood there for a minute. Then another. And when Abby tilted her head to look at me, something shifted.
“About last night…” Abby started, voice a little rough around the edges.
I shook my head gently. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, I…” Abby paused. “I liked it. More than I thought I would.”
My heart thudded, hard. I took a step closer, close enough that our arms brushed. “You mean the steak or the part where we almost had a date?”
Abby exhaled a laugh through her nose. “Both.”
We turned to face each other more fully now, my gaze lingering on Abby’s mouth, then flicking up to meet her eyes. “I think,” I said slowly, “we might be bad at pretending we’re just friends.”
Abby’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I think you might be right.”
Neither of us moved, but the air between us felt electric. Then, carefully, almost like testing gravity, I reached out and laced my pinky through Abby’s. Not a full handhold. Just a small touch. Abby looked down at our joined fingers, then back at me, and gave a single, subtle nod.
“Okay,” Abby said, her voice softer than I had ever heard it.
“Okay,” I echoed, my thumb brushing lightly over the back of Abby’s hand.
── .✦
We left the greenhouse as the sun dipped behind the far edge of the stadium, casting long shadows and staining the clouds with streaks of orange and violet. The walk back wasn’t long, but we stretched it out without saying so. Steps slow, close, unhurried.
“You’re quiet,” I said eventually, my tone light, coaxing.
“I’m just… thinking,” Abby replied. “Trying not to mess this up.”
I looked over at her. “There’s nothing to mess up yet.”
Abby glanced back, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yet?”
I grinned. “I mean, unless you’re planning on vanishing into the barracks and avoiding me all week.”
“No,” Abby said quickly, too quickly. She scratched the back of her neck. “I’m not. I liked being with you today.”
My expression softened. “Me too.”
We reached the hallway that split off toward the living quarters, quiet except for the hum of generators and the occasional far off clang. Abby slowed near my door, lingering as if uncertain whether to say goodnight or something else.
I leaned against the wall beside it, looking up at her. “You’re really not gonna kiss me yet?”
Abby blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… didn’t want to rush you.”
“That’s considerate,” I said, voice low and playful. “But next time, don’t overthink it so hard.”
Abby stepped a little closer, close enough that I could smell the faintest trace of pine soap and sweat on her collar. Her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. “Next time?”
I reached out and brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Mhm. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a second, it looked like Abby might lean in. Her gaze lingered, jaw tightening just slightly. But instead, she gave a quiet breath of a laugh and pulled back, eyes warm. “Goodnight.”
I smiled, pushing the door open behind me. “Goodnight, Abby.”
The door clicked softly shut, and I stood still for a heartbeat. Then two. Then three.
The quiet hum of the hallway just outside my door buzzed in my ears, my pulse louder than it should’ve been. I stared at the handle, lips parted, heart thudding.
To hell with it.
I yanked the door back open and jogged barefoot into the corridor, scanning until I saw Abby’s back, just a few paces down, slow moving, like maybe she wasn’t quite ready to leave either.
“Abby,” I called softly.
She turned.
She didn’t have time to say anything before I was in front of her, reaching up, fingers curling into the collar of her jacket, eyes searching hers for half a second. Just enough time for hesitation to flicker. Then none at all. I leaned up and kissed her.
It wasn’t polished, but it was warm and certain. The kind of kiss that carried the quiet weight of something that had been building for a long time. Abby froze just for a second, startled, then softened beneath it. Her hands hovered at my waist, then settled there, careful, steady.
We didn’t pull apart quickly. It was slow, a soft press, a breath, then another. I stayed close enough that my forehead nearly rested against Abby’s. “I didn’t want to overthink it either,” I murmured.
Abby looked at me like the world had shifted a little. Like maybe everything would taste different tomorrow. “You didn’t,” she said quietly. “You got it just right.”
I smiled, slow and sheepish. “So… goodnight again?”
Abby nodded, brushing a loose curl from my cheek. “Yeah. Goodnight.”
This time, I didn’t turn away immediately. I lingered a second more, memorizing the feel of Abby’s hands still warm on my waist, before slipping back toward my door.
And this time, Abby didn’t take another step until she heard the door shut again.
#abby anderson#abby tlou#abby the last of us#abby anderson tlou2#abby x reader#the last of us abby#abby fanfiction#tlou abby#abby anderson x female reader#abby angst#abby fluff#abby x you#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby anderson x you#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson blurb#the last of us#the last of us part 2#the last of us 2#the last of us part two#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson fanfic#wlw yearning#lesbian#tlou#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#abby the last of us part 2
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avoid - Matt Sturniolo
summary: when matt calls you out on you pushing him away, until a huge fight breaks out between the two of you. a couple hours later you find him a mess, you have no choice but to make things right.
contains: angst, crying, arguing, yelling, fluff, comforting, swearing.
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you didn't realise you were doing it, you just were.
you had accidentally been avoiding him and pushing him away for the past couple of weeks, there wasn't a specific reason but you just were.
9:04pm
i'm laying on the couch alone, watching some random romcom as i stare at the screen.
the floorboards creak as i hear matt coming down the hallway, his footsteps are heavy as he approaches the living room.
he stands in the doorway, just observing me for a couple of seconds.
i hear his lips part as he gets ready to speak.
"y/n..?" he mutters softly, his voice is weak and shy.
i hum quietly as a response, not even diverting my gaze away from the bright screen. i hear matt huff slightly, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"what- why- can you at least look at me when im speaking?" matt scoffs.
"what difference does it make?" i mumble back, still staring at the television.
"makes me think you might actually give a shit about me still." matt spits, his arms fold over his chest as he leans against the doorway,
"pfft." i dismiss him which only sets matt off even more.
"why are you acting like this? seriously!" matt exclaims,
"why are you being so sensitive." i groan,
i know i’m being annoying as shit, but i can’t help it, i’m just doing what i can to tick him off.
matt just stares at me, his breathing heavy as i see him visibly start fuming.
“you wanna know what it is? you’ve been acting like a total stranger for the past couple months and i’m done with it, i’m done with you.” matt raises his voice
i stand up off the couch, standing a couple feet away from matt as i lock eyes with him,
“me? i’ve been acting like i stranger?” i laugh dryly, not cause this situation is amusing, i’m just in shock.
“yes! you’ve been treating me like crap for the past too long!” matt keeps his voice raises,
i point my finger at his chest as i walk closer to him, “you cannot be serious? i literally do everything for you? i gave up so many things for more time with you!”
“i didn’t ASK you to do that! nobody did!” he scoffs loudly, grabbing my wrist and yanking it away from his chest.
“so it meant nothing to you? clearly you’re not appreciating my love for y-“
matt cuts me off,
“don’t even. you’re trying to make me feel bad when i’m literally trying to talk to you about my feelings!”
his eyes are narrow slits now, his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.
“let me go, now.” i mutter angrily,
“just listen to me!” he spits, moving his hand off of my wrist to grab my shoulders,
he jolts me back and forth harshly,
“i fucking hate this new attitude of yours, you’re the most self centred bitch ever!” matt shouts,
his voice booms through my living room, making my heart race quicken.
“would you just shut up- shut up!” i scream,
matt shoves me back gently, not enough to actually hurt me, just enough to get his point enough.
“you’re just- you’re just being ridiculous?” matt mutters, turning on his heels and walking away from me.
“i fucking hate you! i hope you get that through your thick head!” i snap
i didn’t mean it.
not at all.
i was so angry, just doing anything i could to be mean.
i hear matt’s heavy footsteps as he walks up the stairs, followed by the door slamming shut.
i flop down on the couch, running a hand through my hair as i pant.
i don’t know why i said any of that.
(35 minutes later)
i’ve just been thinking for the past half hour, about things i shouldn’t have said, things i shouldn’t of done.
i’ve held back all my emotions, feeling somewhat numb, except for the intense feeling of guilt gnawing away at me
the whole house has been eerily silent, usually it would be filled with matt and i’s endless giggles, but it’s not.
i stand up off the couch, my legs somewhat wobbly and my stomach churning with immense guilt.
i need to talk to him,
i drag my feet over to the bottom of the stairwell, knowing matt’s at the top of the stairs, locked away in our bedroom.
one step,
after another,
i slowly walk up the stairs.
my heart pounds against my rib cage, not knowing what matt would say, nor think, when he saw me in the doorway,
the same person that just screamed at him, making him believe that i hated him.
i reach his door, my hand stalling on the doorknob as i let out a soft sigh.
i couldn’t bring myself to just twist the doorknob, my hand was lightly shaking.
i swallow harshly before twisting the knob,
i stand in the doorway, looking around the dimly lit room.
there’s a discomforting feeling in the air, the room is cold.
my eyes search around the room until they land on matt.
he’s laying down on the bed, his back facing me and his still.
is he asleep?
“matt..?” i call out quietly, my voice breaking.
i walk over to the bed, my footsteps light.
suddenly i hear him,
a choked sob escapes him.
he’s crying?
i made him cry,
matt’s never cried infront of me before
and i’m the reason he now has.
“baby- are you crying-?” i whisper, reaching down and brushing his hair away from his eyes. he shivers at my touch, rolling over so his face is buried in the pillow.
i quickly crawl into bed beside him.
“please- please don’t cry-“ i mutter, my tone is panicked as i reach for him.
i sit up against the headboard as he stays buried in the pillows beside me, letting out strangled sobs.
“please look at me- darling i am so sorry, seriously.” i speak softly, my voice just loud enough so it’s audible to him
“matt, look at me please.” i say, my tone shaky as my voice cracks again.
he gently lifts his face from the pillows,
i take the opportunity to grab him, and tug him to sit up beside me.
i run my hands through his messy hair, he looks like a wreck, i feel terrible.
his eyes are swollen, his lips are a deep red and puffy and tears roll down his pale cheeks.
i grab his hands, “matt,” i sigh, “y-you’re killing me.”
matt stares down at the bed, “can- can i have a hug?” he whispers with a small hiccup.
“of course you can have a hug.” i sigh, wrapping my arms around him and pulling his body flush against mine.
i hold him close to me as i lay down on the bed, his head buried in my chest.
he sniffs shakily as he just cries, letting everything out.
i can still feel the undeniable tension in the air,
we’re both so angry at eachother still, it’s hard not to be after argument like that.
“hey, it’ll be okay- we’ll be okay.” i whisper, running my fingers through his locks of hair.
he lets out another sob against me, the noise making my heart break.
“you’re gonna make me cry.” i whisper with a small sigh, holding the back of his head gently.
“sorry.” he sniffles.
i hold him in my arms, whispering small words of affirmation while matt slowly starts to calm down.
i fight back the tears in my eyes as i attempt to stay strong for him.
“could we- talk maybe?” matt sniffs, wiping his eyes on my shirt before slowly lifting himself away from me.
he sits up on the headboard beside me, his legs outstretched and his hands still gently shaking.
“i think we need to.” i nod,
we both sit in silence for a second, waiting for one person to start.
“i know i was-“ i start but matt interrupts me,
“can i go first- i just want to tell you… how i’ve been feeling.” he rambles, his voice cracking.
i nod, “yeah..”
matt starts,
“i mean it when i say you’ve been stupidly distant for the past months, everytime i try to initiate anything with you, i just get brushed off, all of our conversations are shallow and i can’t tell if you actually care about me anymore!”
i stare at him as he rambles, trying to take all of his words to heart without getting mad again.
“i love you so much, and it’s hurting me to see you slowly drift away from me, i just want to know what i did wrong..?” he follows on, swallowing harshly,
i nod slightly, my lips parting to speak but no words coming out.
“i’m not trying to push you away matt.” i whisper,
he goes to speak but i interrupt, “i think it’s just a mix of everything, i’m just so exhausted with work after half my coworkers quit, i’ve been working long hours and i don’t mean to push you away, i swear.” i ramble on,
matt nods slightly with understanding, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“i love you so much matt, and i’m trying to do better, i promise.” i finish,
matt just looks at me, before finally nodding.
he lets out a breath, one that i can tell took a weight off his shoulders.
“i’m sorry about the argument.” matt says,
i shake my head, “no i was being a pain on purpose, it could’ve been avoided if i acted differently.”
“i came at you with like a confronting tone- i should’ve approached it better.” he speaks,
“and i also shouldn’t have laid my hands on you, i didn’t mean for it to ever get physical..” matt whispers, his eyebrows furrowing as he breaks eye contact with me,
“it’s okay, i needed it-“ i try to defend his actions but he cuts me off,
“no- no that was a shitty thing for me to do, i feel super guilty about it.” he sighs,
the room goes silent, my heart aches as i try to apologise for that one thing i said, the 3 words that exited my mouth, which is now eating me alive.
“i’m sorry- for saying i hate you.. i- i don’t i swear, it wasn’t true at all i was just saying it to make you mad- i promise, i love you more than life itself.” i spit it out.
matt’s gaze softens,
my eyes well up with tears, “i shouldn’t have said that, i’m so sorry-“ i whisper out,
matt reaches his hands up to my face, his hands caressing my cheeks and his thumbs wipe my eyes quickly.
“no tears.” he gently coos,
“i’m so sorry- i fucked up so bad-“ i continue, but matt cuts me off.
he presses his lips to mine, his hands still firmly on the sides of my face.
he rolls us over so he’s ontop of me, keeping our lips connected.
i kiss back, distracting myself from the swirling thoughts in my head.
after a few moments he pulls away from my lips with a small ‘pop’.
a warm smile appears on his face as he peppers kisses all over my face.
i squirm with a giggle as his pecks kisses all over me, before pressing a final peck to my lips.
“we’ll always talk things out next time, i promise this won’t happen again.” he whispers comfortingly, his hands gently running through my hair.
i nod in agreement, “i love you.”
“love you too sweetie.” he whispers, before going back to peppering kisses all over my face.
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@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl girl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover er @solarsturniolo lo @mattsenthusiast t @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonlybitch @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos
@sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 1 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-love r @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall john @raysmayhem-72
#sturniolo#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo fanfic
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𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒, 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋..𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄'𝐒.



𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐘!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐱 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄
—> Being childhood best friends with both Mattheo and Theodore was an adventure on it's own. Although, what if they start acting more possessive and protective towards you once they develop feelings for you?
Thank you for requesting @slutsluvpaola - your ask here!💗
—> Childhood best friends to lovers trope, very fluffy, maybe a little suggestive, none toxic possessive behaviour & jealousy.
—> When you guys were kids, they were protective of you.
—> If anybody was messing with you or hurting you, they'd do something about it asap like it was on sight and they always left that person scared shitless to even go near you.
—> To the point where ppl just stopped fucking w u like they didn't have the balls to even try.
—> Cool now y'all are in Hogwarts and as they get older, they seem to be more handsy and possessive over you.
—> I mean you weren't complaining all that much. although, it would get annoying sometimes when you just wanted some space or to talk to someone or do something without them breathing down your damn neck.
—> But in third year you started getting feelings for mattheo, then Theodore a month later and you were so confused.
—> You kept the act up, just like they did, but eventually it got harder to pretend in fifth year.
—> When they were always hands on with you - hand on your thigh, holding your hand each, always sitting next to you every chance they got, pulling you into their laps randomly as they wrap their arms around your waist and nuzzle their faces in the crook of your neck.
—> Yeah, you were a goner.
—> The boys probably started falling for each other in the end of fourth year, so in fifth when they started liking you as well they too, were extremely confused .
—> Mattheo was bad especially because he's bad with his own emotions.
—> They will be at every party you're attending too, trust.
—> even if one can't make it and it's js Matty going w you or just Theo, one of them had to be with you.
—> It doesn't matter if you're in the same house or not, better marking on you tbh.
—> Mattheo hands on your waist behind you, Theodore in front of you holding one of your hands to guide you.
"c'mon, sweet girl, let's get some drinks at the bar." Mattheo said, letting Theodore lead the way. Mattheo got a cup, filled it with the drink you wanted before handing it to you. "Here, princess." Then repeating for Theodore and then himself. Satisfied, they go and find the rest of your friends; seemingly in the corner where the seats are, talking.
"look who finally came! The love birds of the group." Lorenzo snickered. "How about you go see if you can get into that girls pants, you know, the one you're practically eye fucking." Mattheo rolled his eyes as he sneered back. "I just might, mate."
You go to sit down when you feel hands clamp down on your hips from behind you, pulling you down with enough force to not hurt you. You look behind yourself, seeing Theo with a smirk pulling on his lips. You let him pull you into his lap.
Mattheo lights a cigarette and inhales deeply before exhaling. He silently offers it to Theodore as he blows the smoke out; Theo leaning in and inhaling the smoke, slightly touching Matty's lips as they make eye contact. Mattheo slithers his hand onto your thigh, you feel the warmth of his hand spread through your skin as you feel the few cold rings he has on mixing with the warmth.
He squeezes your thigh almost the same time Theo squeezes your waist, "you okay, pretty girl? Need anything?" You look at mattheo on your right, "no, I'm okay Matty. You?", "I'm okay. Now that I have you two here with me." He mumbles the last few parts of his sentence, a slight smile appearing onto his lips. Although, he knows you two still heard him.
—> sometimes their clinginess gets so bad where they will not let you get up for breakfast. Good luck convincing them to not miss all your classes as well lol.
—> they love cuddling you and each other but they'd never admit that.
—> they only cuddle each other if you're unavailable or not at school (holiday n stuff).
—> Tiny kisses to the back of your neck, forehead, nose and hand. It's a good excuse to kiss you and they love when you kiss them, too
—> Matty prefers his cheek or forehead kissed, while Theodore his neck, jaw or cheek.
—> tho it'd be better on the lips.
—> they go to the bathroom w you too.
—> they don't care it's the woman's bathroom, they will be guarding your stall!!!!💗💗💗 They can never be too sure.
Reblogs, likes & comments are much appreciated!🫶🏻
#꣑ৎ﹒.₊˚Ꮚ・゜★ deadsnakey's delivery!#slytherin boys#slytherin boys headcanons#slytherin boys x reader#hp fandom#harry potter#slytherin boys imagine#harry potter au#lorenzo berkshire x reader#theodore nott headcanons#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo x reader#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo x y/n#mattheo x you#mattheo fluff#mattheoxreader#mattheo riddle headcanon#theodore nott x you#theodore x reader#theodore nott fluff#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott#theodore nott x y/n#slytherin x reader#poly!slytherin boys#poly!slytherins
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♡ p!links with logan howlett iii ♡
18+ NSFW ☁︎ part i part ii
old man!logan is very gentle with his sweet girl, taking his time to fuck your sweet pussy
old man!logan loves rimming, sloppily licking at your hole, and massaging your pussy pt.2
dbf!logan was trusted by your parents to share a hotel room with you since you two get along well; little do they know you spend your morning sucking his fat cock
sensual mutual masturbation with old man!logan
rimming with old man!logan, because you also have to please your old man, or how else would he relieve his stress pt.2
professor!logan cannot continue to bear your teasing, placing you on his desk and slapping his fat cock on your pussy
going over to dbf!logan's house was always a nice treat
you and dbf!logan get some alone time when the house is empty, and he takes this chance to get back at you for always teasing him around your parents
dbf!logan is so needy, pumping his fat cock while lapping at your pussy like a thirsty little pup.
you give dbf!logan a boob job, and let him fuck you raw while recording so he can watch it with you later
pissing all over dbf!logan's cock, and he makes a mess all over your pussy
ʚ xtras ɞ
giving dbf!logan a rim job, and after he rewards you by fucking you dumb
dbf!logan training your holes to make sure your insides are molded to the shape of his cock
a/n : i’ve started moon knight, and i’m getting ideas might make a little something idk i’ll see. i’m also thinking of making a part two to the bucky barnes p!links soon! hope you all enjoyed🍮
feel free to reblog and leave a comment <3
🏷️ : @wickedscribbles @hiimjulie @whos-mixxie @sweetdolliam @atomicmystery
#logan howlett#wolverine#logan howlett smut#wolverine smut#p links#old man!logan#dbf!logan#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#chuutu
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