#they’ve been really loud the past couple days

[claudvain]

No cute or relevant caption I just want you to Look at them I love them so much

[bellaveux]

be my mistake | n. romanoff x reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 19.8k

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

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

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

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

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

She watched from a distance instead, in silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha only smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not busy.”

There was silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Natasha…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s what Lily wants.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you look away and her smile falls.

Then, Wanda visits on the last day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hate you,” you say again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you speaks.

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

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

And Natasha snaps back to reality. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t lie to me, Natasha.”

“I can’t,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it only deepened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was quiet. Too quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wanda gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for Natasha, that’s more than enough.

note: would you forgive her ?

navigation | n.r masterlist

[writerpeach]

Anytime, Anywhere

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x m!reader

19k words

Happy Minju Day!

---

Read on AO3

“I’m not looking for a roommate, Minju.”

The conversation should have ended there. But it didn’t.

Your front door is wide open and you can’t seem to close it shut. Like there’s something in the way. This something is a girl standing by the open door, carrying a suitcase, looking as pathetic as could be. Her hair is a mess, and the way she's been crying makes her eyes all swollen, nose still red. The only way she could look any more pitiful would be standing in the rain without an umbrella, but here she is with this disappointment on her face because you’ve given her an answer she wasn’t expecting. 

You’ve known Kim Minju since your first year of college. The first person to talk to you during orientation when you were too nervous to even look at anyone. Now you’ve graduated with a stable job that pays well, and moved into your first apartment, a place you can finally call your own—you’re not about to ruin it all. 

Minju was the first person you shared a meal with at campus, the first person you walked to class with that was just as awkward as you were, and you’d practically do anything for her—except let her live with you. 

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!” 

Minju has a strange definition of fun. 

“Fun? One more mess to clean up? Having to buy more ice cream because you’ve eaten it all? Running out of hot water to take a shower with? No thanks. I'm not looking for a roommate.”

The girl doesn’t budge from the doorway, like giving up isn’t a part of her vocabulary. “Hey, I can clean up after myself. And I don’t even eat that much, so I won’t steal your ice cream. You won’t even know I’m here.” 

There’s some truth to that. All those years you’ve known Minju, she’s always been the quiet, demure girl who’s always cleaned up after herself and others without asking. You can’t exactly picture her the type to throw loud parties, and she’s probably the biggest homebody that you know. But still—that’s not enough a reason to let her live here on a whim. You enjoy your privacy, your quiet, your hot showers, and most importantly, your time alone.

“Minju, the answer is still no. The last thing I need right now is a roommate.” 

Your answer is firm and resounding, but Minju expects that to change. Like she’s got this laundry list of ideas that will convince you otherwise. 

“But don’t you get lonely? Look, I can clean. And I can cook. Kind of. And I can—“

“No, I enjoy not having anyone around. And I can cook just fine. I have a housekeeper that comes in twice a month. I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Every last word you’re saying puts a big frown on her face. Minju’s great, a terrific friend, but hearing the word no has never been one of her favorite things. 

“But I—“ she starts, and you can tell there’s about to be a double down you can’t prepare for. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

There it is. The pouty lips, the desperation, the puppy dog eyes. This triple combo intended to make you feel every pang of guilt, yet you’ve seen it so many times over the course of knowing her that you’ve grown immune to it. And you know it’s not exactly true. Kim Minju was always the popular one. Always the one with a plethora of friends. So it’s not exactly like she’s about to be homeless if you refuse her. 

“You had friends. So many friends, Minju. I never got to have lunch with you because you were always spending time with them. What happened? Surely you can live with one of them?” 

Minju looks away and down to her feet, like you’ve accidentally found some weakness of hers. Obviously, something has happened to have her standing in your doorway right now, looking so defeated, but when you’ve barely spoken the past couple of years outside of birthday messages, there's really no way for you to know.

“I’ve lost contact with most of them. The others, they’ve moved on. They’ve graduated, have lives, careers, families…” Minju says, as she stares off into space, like she’s seeing everything play out again right before her eyes. 

“And you think I don’t? What happened to you, Minju? You were top of the class. The most popular girl. And now you’re begging for a place to live?” 

Letting out a heavy sigh, there’s a long moment of hesitation before she speaks up again. “I made some mistakes."

Minju pauses again before delving into details. “I made so many mistakes. I moved in with my friend. Chaewon, do you remember her? Kim Chaewon? She was my best friend. We dated for six months and then moved in together. Then, my priorities got really screwed up, I guess. I focused more on going to parties with her instead of studying, and then that caught up with me when exams came around. Lost my scholarship, my interest in classes, and then eventually—lost Chaewon.”

It's a lot to take in all at once. 

Minju has never struck you as the type to be so reckless that she would let everything else spiral out of control. Not when she's the most hard-working and smartest person that you've ever met. Then again, you haven’t talked to her in years, and people change. But at the end of the day, that's still not enough reason for you to let her stay here. 

“I'm sorry to hear that, Minju." That's the only thing you can think to say, but even that seems to come across as a bit hollow. 

“The only person that offered to take me in was Sakura, said she could get me a job where she works. But… I can’t move to Japan. I don’t want to take my clothes off on camera for a living. You know she's an adult actress now? I can't do that."

“Minju, I understand, but I like living by myself, and I really don't want someone else. It’s nothing against you. Things here are nice and—“ 

“I’ll pay extra rent! I’ll pay more than my share. I’ll make sure the fridge is always full. I’ll…”

It doesn't seem to sink in that you're not interested, that you don’t want this at all, that you value your privacy above all else. “It’s not about money. I'm sorry, Minju, but no.” 

Minju isn’t listening. 

Or rather refuses to hear it, like she can't accept your rejection. So there's only one thing left for her to try as she falls to her knees—begging like her life depends on it. 

There's plenty of neighbors around, and having her on your doormat draws all this unwarranted attention that you don't need. But at this point, Minju still can't seem to fathom that your answer will never be the one that she wants to hear.

“Minju, stop.“

“Please, just for like a few weeks? So I can figure things out? I won’t be a bother, I promise.” Minju clutches onto your legs. It's embarrassing how desperate she looks right now, and the few people that walk by staring while this plays out aren't helping one bit. 

“Look, I’ll call around. I’m sure I have some friends with empty rooms that aren’t even getting used.” 

That sounds like a good offer, the best one you can give—but not to Kim Minju. She just clutches harder, so desperate that her nails are almost digging into your thighs through the thin layer of fabric of your pants. It's only been seconds since you've suggested the idea, but already, Minju is giving her rebuttal.

“But I don’t know your friends. So you want me to live with strangers? With people I’ve never even met? What if they try something weird?” Minju whines while finding a way to twist your words, and any last remnants of pity you have left vanishes. 

“Minju, I said stop,” you say with more authority, but it just makes her cling on even tighter. The iron grip she won’t relinquish almost causes you to lose your balance as you push away, trying to peel her off you to no avail. 

“Get up, Minju. This is beneath you.” 

She knows it is. Minju has always been so composed, and she knows that even if all other options are exhausted, there are less extreme measures to take. But there she is, clutching at your legs like there's no other alternative. Like this is her last resort.

"Minju, you need to leave." This isn’t your fault, and yet, somehow, it feels like it is.

"I can be a good roommate!"

Minju gives up on begging, finally rising to her feet with this adamant look on her face, like she’s going to give this one more dire attempt. “Please. I can give you something that's even better than rent."

It should end there. You should apologize that you can’t help, close the door on Minju, then grab a cold beer out of your fridge and forget this day happened. 

“Look, you still like women, right?”

What an odd question. You have no idea where this is going, and Minju has gone from begging to, well, whatever this is. Either way, you don’t answer.

“Come on, I’ve never known you to be shy. Surely you have needs, desires—and I can help with that. Just let me stay for a little bit while I get back on my feet. I can repay you in a way no one else can."

“Have you lost your mind, Minju?”

Clearly, the desperation has gotten to her head. Minju may sound as coherent as ever, yet you can’t comprehend these words. Maybe you need more sleep, maybe you’re a bit dehydrated—

“We’ve been friends for years… and you’ve never thought about me that way?“ she asks, sauntering closer towards you with this new sense of confidence in her step. Minju, she’s hot—very hot, this supermodel body with an angelic face you can stare at for hours. But that doesn’t mean you’ve entertained such thoughts. 

“Now, tell me. Wouldn’t it be nice if you had someone who gets you off as soon as you walk through that door? Someone who drops to their knees without any command. It must get pretty stressful, living on your own, without anyone to even talk to…” 

“It doesn’t, Minju. I’m fine. I really don’t need anything.“

“You keep repeating that, saying the same thing. You’re gonna tell me you wouldn’t enjoy getting between my legs right in the morning? Or having a way to destress after all those long hours at work? You would never want any of that?"

“Jesus, Minju, I’m not paying you for sex. This is ridic—” 

"That's not what I'm saying at all. All I need is a roof over my head, and in exchange—you can use my body as you wish. It can be as quick or long as you want. As many times as you desire. Anytime. Any day. Anywhere. No strings attached, that's my offer.” 

What an insane offer this is. 

“Get inside,” you beckon, because if the absurdity of this exchange won’t stop, at the very least you don’t want anyone else to overhear these suggestions. Minju follows inside, her suitcase still on wheels dragging along while she shuts the door behind. 

“Sit down, please.” 

Taking off her jacket, Minju takes a seat on the couch and crosses her legs, making herself comfortable. She sits right against the backrest, both arms sprawled wide across it while you wait for her to fully explain this ridiculous proposal. 

“Well?" Minju asks, a big cheeky grin, convinced she’s already won. “Sounds like you’re interested. If you weren’t, you would have kept insisting on me leaving, wouldn’t you?” 

Like you could ever get Minju to leave. 

Without much of a reaction, you sink into the armchair to her right. It's hard to find the words to say because she has a point. There were countless ways you could have asked her to leave, but you chose not to. Or maybe you’re just too exhausted by this whole thing.

“So—“ you pause, because you’re sure if you can call her bluff, this little game can end. “You’re serious?” 

Minju curls her lips. An eyebrow raises. She leans forward and folds her hands in her lap. This devilish little look in her eyes doesn’t have an ounce of doubt. “Absolutely. Just hear me out.”

You let out a sigh at the idea of ever entertaining this. “Explain it all. Don’t leave anything out.” 

Minju can’t help but laugh. “I’ve pretty much told you everything already. For as long as you let me stay here, I’ll be available at your disposal. As simple as that. Whenever you want to fuck me, you don’t even have to ask. I’ll drop everything.” 

“I don’t have to ask?” you repeat back, still in disbelief that Minju is capable of coming up with such an arrangement.

Minju nods. "If we come to an agreement today, then you won’t ever need to ask. You can have me in any and every way that you want. No restrictions."

“None?” 

“None whatsoever. You want a blowjob first thing in the morning? No problem. Need to fuck me at night before I sleep? You just say the word. Whenever you get horny, you can go right ahead and shove your cock in me. No need to hold back, ever."

"And you would be okay with that?”

“I’m the one who suggested it, didn’t I? I need a place to live, and I’m sure you wouldn’t mind some help getting off. So we help each other out.”

This doesn't feel real, to hear the girl sitting next to you is essentially suggesting her body to be a form of rent, and yet, this has been Minju's solution like it’s nothing. 

“And I meant anytime. If you’re hard at two in the morning and you wanna fuck a load into me, well, go right ahead.” 

“Jesus, Minju,” you say, and if you had a drink in your hands, you would absolutely be spitting it out right now. ”I’m not gonna wake you in the middle of the night to fuck you.” 

“Hey, I’m just saying. Totally okay if you wanted to. It’s all part of the rules.” 

“And are there any other rules?” Saying no to Minju is never simple, and this offer on the table seems almost impossible to resist. 

“Nothing too painful outside of spanking. Nothing too out of the ordinary or illegal. That should cover it. I’ll be looking for a job to help out as soon as I settle in, that is—assuming we’ve come to an agreement?” 

Maybe you should think this over, sleep on it even. But Minju, she looks like a goddess, with a banging body to go with it, and hey, she’s a friend, not a stranger, so there’s no way this could go wrong, right? 

“I promise you won’t regret this. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this place, and then whenever you need it—I’ll take care of you.” 

Minju really can’t help but be pleased at herself at that.

“Okay, sure. Fine.” 

“We have a deal?” 

“Yeah. Deal.” 

That's all it takes for it to happen.

“One more thing. We’re getting a contract made, to make sure this is all clear and consensual,” you say, and Minju has no complaints with that at all. It’s not that you don’t trust her, but putting it on paper seems only wise given the situation. 

“Understandable. Whatever you need.”

Pleased that this is all settled, Minju stands up from the couch with relief on her face. Then, with a radiating smile, she makes her way towards you, leaning down until she presses her lips against yours, sealing the deal with a kiss. 

“Thank you. You won’t really regret this at all.” 

✦ ✦

The rest of the night is relatively uneventful. 

It’ll take some time to adjust to having someone else in your place. At first, there’s not much conversation between you two other than an exchange of pleasantries while you help Minju get situated. She doesn’t have much in terms of belongings. A couple of boxes, an extra suitcase, a laptop bag and her purse—nothing that can fill a bedroom, which makes sense given the story she’s told you. 

You lend a hand in bringing it all in, and Minju gets her phone charger set up before running herself a long, hot shower that leaves plenty of time for you to think. This ridiculous arrangement starts to feel less surreal when you look around and find your apartment looking less empty. Yet, you’re not exactly sure what you’ve gotten yourself into. 

After giving Minju a quick tour of the place, she winds up sleeping on the couch, since your spare bedroom has served as storage for months. 

Aside from the agreement, nothing really changes overnight.

The next morning, there’s fresh coffee already made when you head into the kitchen. Minju has taken advantage of your breakfast offerings, pouring milk into a full cereal bowl when she notices your presence. Seated at the kitchen table, there’s this innocent expression on her face as she eats, wearing a white tank top and a tiny pair of black gym shorts that do little to cover those never-ending legs. 

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Minju asks as you sit down across from her, pouring yourself a cup of coffee before adding sugar and a splash of milk from the nearby carton.

“Well enough. Sorry about the couch. I’ll try to empty out the spare bedroom today.” 

Taking a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, Minju smiles and shakes her head, like your apology is unwarranted. “It's totally fine, don’t worry. I could have slept on the floor if I needed to. I’m just happy to be here at all.”

Minju’s gratitude is every bit genuine, and it looks like she got the best night of sleep that she's had in years. Which is hard to believe, given you’ve spent your share of nights sleeping on that same couch and it's nowhere near comfortable. Then again, you weren’t in the same position Minju was. 

“No breakfast?” 

“Not yet. I’ll cook something in a bit. Need to get some coffee in me first.” 

“Oh, I can do it. Anything I can make you? I don’t mind,” Minju suggests, starting to rise to her feet. 

“No, it’s fine, don’t get up. I like making breakfast.” You sip your coffee, and Minju settles back down to start eating again. Because even if you have someone else sitting across from you now, let alone Minju, you can’t break from routine. 

There’s a bit of awkward silence that happens while the two of you eat, as you’re unsure what to really say. But it’s day one of having a roommate, and you don’t regret it. Not yet. 

"So, are you off to work?" Minju asks, as she gets up from the chair and puts her empty bowl and spoon in the dishwasher.

You nod in response as you tilt your head to finish off the last of your coffee. "Yeah. Well, I work uh, here, actually.” 

“Here? Oh, like from home? That must be nice," Minju replies as she sits back down, like she’s waiting for something else to keep herself busy with.

"It's not the most ideal setup, but it's better than having a commute."

"I can imagine. Well, don't let me keep you then. If you need—you know, anything, let me know.” 

That sentence lingers in your mind while you head to your home office. And the workday starts the same way as it always does: meetings, phone calls, answering emails, the same tedium over and over. The only difference is the addition of Minju when you get up to grab a snack, some water, or more coffee—she’s there to greet you with a smile every time. 

The morning drags on, and you end up working through lunch to get caught up, which ends up being a mistake for many reasons. Now you’re this bad combo of stress and hunger, a recipe for disaster, but one of those problems is easier to solve than the other. So you grab a granola bar out of your desk drawer to tide you over, and as the wrapper lands in the trash can, you realize you can fix the other problem rather quickly as well. 

With Minju. 

It’s the whole reason why you’ve agreed to let her be here in the first place. So might as well test it out, right? And yet, you’re not even sure how to go about it. Summon her and say what, you're stressed, start stripping, and get on your knees? That sounds ridiculous to do, to even think about, especially when Minju hasn't been here for more than 24 hours yet.

Maybe the hunger is getting to you, and you should make a quick sandwich before getting back to work. Or maybe—just maybe, you should ask Minju for what she's offered.

"Minju?" you call out as you lean back in your chair, trying not to sound nervous at all. Within moments, a pair of bare feet enter into the room, arriving like she’s been on standby the entire time. 

You survey Minju from head to toe, this gorgeous thing idly standing before you, as if she’s waiting for orders. It takes you a moment to realize you’re just shamelessly staring at her, but who could blame you? The girl is the epitome of perfection: pale skin, these wide, curvy hips that lead to ridiculously long legs down to her painted toes, and tantalizingly creamy thighs that leave you salivating. 

Her tank top hangs just above her belly button, with the outline of her modest tits completely exposed through the flimsy fabric, the barest hints of nipples brazenly displayed, and there isn’t a hint of anything beneath her shorts besides bare flesh. You’re not sure this isn’t entirely intentional, designed to either tease or lure you into testing the waters, but maybe this is just Minju getting comfortable. 

Regardless, it’s working like a charm to ignite a fire inside you. 

"What can I help with?" Minju asks as her hands meet behind her back, nipples poking through the fabric of her tank top even more visible the closer she gets. She looks completely ready for whatever you’re prepared to throw at her, but you’re not even sure where to begin. 

“Are you busy?” 

“Not at all, just unpacking some boxes. But that can always wait.” 

"Good,” you start out as your eyes drift down Minju’s immaculate body, and can’t help but wonder what she looks like underneath those clothes. “I need—“ 

You take in a sharp breath, not used to something like this—or the fact that Minju might be willing to go along with whatever you imagine. 

“Need what?” She smiles knowingly, understanding whatever it is you need, she’ll happily oblige. You pause for way too long, your mouth suddenly feeling dry at the thought of voicing the idea in your head. “Don’t be shy…” 

Easy for her to say. 

“You need me to get you off?” Minju asks in this sultry voice when you don’t say anything in response, and it sounds so natural when she does, like there’s no reservation of putting herself out there like this. Eventually, you let out this pathetic little nod that doesn’t quite pass as a response, but still gets Minju to slowly drop down to her knees. And the realization of what’s about to happen gets your heart racing. 

“So…” Minju murmurs, as she scoots her body in between your legs. Her palm flattens against your thigh in these slow caresses that send a wave of warmth as it slides to your crotch. “You want my mouth? I bet you taste really good.” 

It's far more direct and open than you were prepared for, and has you trying to find an ounce of confidence. “God, yes.” 

There’s way too much desperation in your voice already, but it’s all Minju needs to get to work. Unzipping your pants, she tugs them down as you lift your hips. Already, your cock aches, getting hard, having no chance of hiding under the thin fabric of your boxers. 

When Minju frees you from your boxers, her hot breath against your bare cock makes you twitch. Her delicate hand closes around your erection, and she pumps with these slow, languid strokes, a motion that gets you to full hardness. In a matter of seconds, your shaft pulsates in her hands, leaking a steady stream of precum to coat her fingers. 

“You’re so fucking hard. This beautiful cock is what I get to play with for the next few weeks?”

Leaning your head back, you groan in response. You stare up at the ceiling while Minju strokes your hard shaft, these painful throbs getting instant relief when she moves in short, but powerful motions that draw a few breaths of bliss. It’s unfathomable, how the smallest touch she offers feels so damn good, this firm grasp she keeps coiling up and down your length at a leisurely pace to make you leak more. 

This is certainly a much better use of your time than staring at screens for hours. 

“You must be so pent up. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Minju asks, dragging a lone finger down from the base of your cock upwards to the head, across your slit, teasing her tongue over to taste precum smearing around, offering the briefest sample of what’s coming. 

“But I know you need more…” As she inches even closer, Minju spits right on top and you gasp at the sensation of saliva on your overheated cock. With each stroke, she spreads the fluid along your pulsing shaft, allowing it to drip down and coat your entire length. Her other hand fondles your balls, tugging on them playfully and doesn’t ignore how heavy they feel, as if it’s her new obligation to do something about that. 

“You needed this, didn’t you?” 

Another weak nod in return, because at this point words fail you. You want nothing more than Minju to guide her hot mouth down, swallowing you all until there’s nothing left. And you won’t have to wait long for that. 

Because even without Minju getting her mouth on your sensitive cock, you’re overwhelmed already. It’s clear she’s no stranger to this, the way her fingers tease and squeeze tightly around your dick, working in tandem with that pretty wet mouth that slides across your balls. Sticky drool spills down her tongue as she takes these sweeping licks against each back and forth, giving them individual care and attention in a way that’s granting pleasure you desperately seek. 

“Delicious,” Minju hums, and doesn’t pause for anything, smirking as her tongue drags up, taking swipes and frantic flicks against the underside of your shaft. 

This teasing, it’s insufferable. 

The soft groans that she coaxes out persist, until eventually her lips hover around your swollen head, and Minju plants a series of wet kisses to coat your dick in that gets you throbbing like crazy. Your patience gets tested as she gathers her messy dark hair into a ponytail in this slow, deliberate way. But you know exactly what’s about to take place. 

Her gaze gets locked tight as her warm tongue swirls around your leaking slit—then she lowers her mouth gradually, and takes just the head into her hot, wet mouth. It’s everything you need. Those perfect lips seal tight, and immediately she bobs her head at a smooth and consistent pace. Not too slow or too fast. 

Minju’s lips work their magic as she works a fist around your throbbing shaft, a grip just right that squeezes right beneath the head that keeps disappearing into her mouth. The tension in your body, it all melts as you sit back and enjoy the warmth of her wet mouth. She’s every bit eager to give everything you desire, this deadly eye contact that never yields, with hollowed cheeks as those soft lips slide down your throbbing cock. 

"Fuck, that’s amazing," you groan out, struggling to catch a steady breath. The way Minju handles your cock is nothing short of masterful, those heavenly soft lips wrapped tight around your shaft, and that equally talented wet tongue that flicks back and forth, tracing along every vein, every sensitive spot. 

It's a little slice of heaven.

Words can’t describe how good Minju’s warm little mouth feels on you. It doesn’t take much for her to get your cock absolutely drenched with a thick layer of saliva, this insatiable hunger to take more, increasing with every stroke her lips make. 

"Just like that, god..." Your voice trails off in a moan as your head hits the back of your chair. “That’s perfect, fuck, Minju—you’re so damn good at this.” 

The words hit her just right. Minju loves the praise, and in return, gives more pleasure, the immaculate pleasure that gets sloppier as she quickens the pace. Her gentle suction increases with every pass of her lips, with every desperate lick and slurp. She doesn’t leave any part out, massaging your balls with her free hand as that delicious mouth swallows up more and more of your length with each and every bob. 

“You really needed this, huh? Needed me to make you feel good?” Minju shows no intention of stopping, your shaft glistening from how much of a sloppy mess she's making. Her soft lips have an intimate way of knowing exactly what you need, this tight airtight seal around your cock every time they slide down, while the gentle tug at your balls gives you a perfect mix of pleasure. 

“It feels so fucking good—ah, fuck, Minju," you say, while your moans fuel this sloppy, absolutely mind-blowing blowjob that you never want to end. If this is going to be a common occurrence, then maybe having Minju around won’t be so bad. And you could get used to the sight of your roommate on her knees. 

This craving for more takes hold, but Minju fulfills it as she goes so deep. Her eyes water the further she gets, but this persistence never waivers, almost reaching the very base as she breathes deeply through her nose to take every last inch to the base. Minju swallows you whole in one motion, and shows no signs of backing down, even as she struggles to hold back her gag reflex.

“Minju—fuck,” you say in between sharp breaths as you stay inside this tight throat while the warmth surrounds you, makes you throb more than ever, building up your release. 

It’s impossible not to stare, impossible not to watch your length disappear again and again between those pretty pink lips as her perfect rhythm continues, this desire that only has one exit. 

“Mm, I can feel you're close," Minju says as she slides your shaft out of her mouth with a wet pop, jerking you off at an agonizingly slow pace. "Tell me where you want to cum. My mouth, my face—or somewhere else?” 

You need a moment to gather your voice before you can even think. 

“Your mouth. Wanna cum in your pretty fucking mouth.” 

Minju quite likes that answer. You aren’t given a moment of respite as she keeps up this same relentless pace, slurping on your length with endless amounts of fervor, with a new goal to suck you absolutely dry. She gets you right on the edge of release, eyes begging, pleading to taste it all, waiting for you to spill down her throat at any moment. 

The desperate look she gives while playing with your balls is more than enough to bring you right over the edge. With a low grunt, you empty into her warm, waiting mouth, thick spurts of hot cum coating the back of Minju's throat like this was just what she was hoping for. The more she drains your balls, the harder you moan, cock twitching with every burst of pleasure, and not a single inch of you isn’t unloading into that talented little mouth. 

Minju happily takes everything, her tongue not letting a single drop spill past those heavenly lips. There's no sign of disappointment on her face as she gulps down your load, with a smile that shows no remorse for taking you over the edge so easily.

"What a huge, delicious load," she murmurs after swallowing it all, running her tongue all over her lips. Minju makes sure to clean every inch of your length, from base to tip, licking and kissing every drop of cum until she's satisfied with her work. 

“Feel better?” 

"Yeah..." you breathe out, struggling to gather yourself, let alone find the right words after the intense high that Minju looks so proud of giving. “Much. Fuck, Minju—you’re amazing. Thanks.” 

“Anytime," she says with a soft laugh, as her hand still clings onto your cock, a few light squeezes and strokes that keep it hard. "Just let me know when you need more, okay? I'll be around."

“I—I should probably get back to work,” you say, sounding almost apologetic. With the euphoric bliss still lingering through your body, you’re not sure how you’ll get any work done, but that’s a worry for another time. 

“Yeah, of course. I still have some unpacking to do.” As Minju rises from her knees, she plants one last soft kiss against your swollen head before getting up to leave you with your thoughts, a moment alone to recuperate. You can't stop yourself from watching as she walks away, drooling over those luscious thighs and that minuscule pair of shorts that her ass practically swallows up. 

Work is the last thing on your mind, but you’ll power through with the help of this appetizer you’ve been given. This little sample is just one dish in a full buffet for what Minju can offer, and there’s no doubt that you’re going back for seconds. 

✦ ✦

It's late in the night by the time Minju stops unpacking. You’ve cleared out the guest bedroom, and she’s settled in enough to make it look like her own space. After working later than usual, you’re slumped on the couch, mindlessly zoning out while the TV drones in the background.

“Hey,“ Minju says as she makes her way in, still dressed in the same attire, this tight tank top that looks even more disheveled, exposing more midriff, and the same gym shorts that you swear look even shorter than earlier. Plopping down beside you, her curves instantly draw your gaze, like this outfit was designed to steal your attention. 

The littlest movement makes her flimsy top ride up, and you have no choice but to stare as Minju adjusts herself, lifting her arms overhead to stretch her arms, which gives a teasing glimpse of those perky tits that seem like they’re just destined to pop out. “Finished with work?” 

Now that there’s a light sheen of sweat worked up from unpacking boxes and organizing her room, her milky white skin looks so good. Minju looks nothing but utterly enticing, which has you dying to get to know that body better.

“All caught up. For now.” 

There hasn't been a moment all day when your full attention hasn’t been elsewhere, when you haven’t been thinking about Minju. She takes another stretch, and you’re sure this is deliberate when it draws a little moan that doesn’t normally come from this sort of relief. This time, your eyes are immediately drawn to her toned stomach, and you can just picture tasting it, covering it in little licks and pecks, this devilish temptation there’s no hope to resist. 

“Well, I should really shower,” Minju says as she starts getting up, but not before giving her stomach a slow caress, like she knows you can't keep your eyes off her. 

“Shower?” There’s obvious intention in the way you repeat it, like you have other plans in mind for her. 

“I’m all sweaty. I’ll be quick. I don’t wanna use up all your hot water.” 

Now, there's only so long you can hold back from testing out the waters, and it only takes a moment to throw aside your own inhibitions. You find sudden courage to give into your urges, and the look on Minju's face can’t hide the surprise from your sudden forwardness. “The shower can wait.“

If Minju’s going to take her clothes off anyway, you might as well give her a head start. 

“Your clothes, Minju." You're still hesitating, even if it's been on your mind all day, even after what she did earlier. "They’ll look better once they’re all off.”

“Then shouldn’t you do something about that, then?” 

There’s a borderline annoyance in her tone, like it’s way too easy if she does it, and wants you to take charge to do it instead. So you’ll indulge that, trailing your hands up her sweaty stomach to take in these perfect abs that flex at your touch.

The sweat that drips on her body, her delicious abs that glisten under your fingertips as you slide up to grab her tits, it heightens your arousal even more. She still isn't wearing a bra, so you give her these light little squeezes through her skimpy top, that makes her back arch, but this annoying barrier of fabric has to go. 

So the moment your hands pull up Minju's top, she lifts her arms to let you slip it off and throw it aside, her tits finally revealed as they spring free. And fuck, are they even better than what you had imagined—soft, round, the perfect size for her body, topped with rosy little nipples that just beg to be touched.

“I can promise you the rest of my body is just as good,” Minju assures as she catches you staring for far too long. No doubt you believe her, because this confidence isn’t just for show, but still, you’ll have to investigate on your own. 

Not the least bit shy, Minju shifts into the couch underneath you, flattening her back on the cushions to bring you down with her. Her slender arms lift high above her head, as if she’s daring you to explore her further, willingly inviting your hands to travel up and down to explore wherever you please. 

You'll accept this invitation without a second thought.

There's an inherent magnetism pulling you closer, as your fingertips caress whatever bare skin is in reach. With so many different paths to explore, all these intoxicating features that you want to taste and lick clean, it’s near impossible to pick where to start. While the gears in your head turn, Minju just stares back, so curious as to what you plan to do first.

It’s impossible to make a decision.

This body, this tight body of a goddess demands your utmost attention. These thick thighs perfect to wrap around your head, wide hips that were made for your hands, and this irresistible stomach that practically screams for you to make a sticky mess on. 

That’s all before you get to see what’s hidden underneath those tiny, barely there shorts. 

Minju’s curiosity doesn’t take long to satisfy while you plant your lips on her stomach, peppering the warm skin in kisses and licks as you taste every inch. This light hint of sweat, the sweetness that you can only attribute to Minju's delicious taste, it all comes from just her sexy stomach. It doesn't take much to imagine what other places would taste like.

The soft sighs that she makes encourage you to lick more, to plant messy kisses that cover every bit of her tight abdomen, while you can hear every breath she takes as you ensure you don’t miss a single spot. 

“God, Minju—“ You continue this feast of unapologetic indulgence, kissing your way upwards towards Minju’s cute chest, roaming between the valley of her breasts. “You’re fucking perfect.” 

“Better not forget that.” Minju gets a shy blush on her cheeks, and her nipples react the moment you tease them by playfully pinching them, rolling them, tugging between your fingers. Before her next breath, you get your lips wrapped around them, and then you take these unabashed slurps, these pretty buds that merit your equal attention. 

The cutest whine escapes Minju when your tongue circles the stiff buds, making them stand out even more under your stimulation. She’s so sensitive, and you relish in that, planning to use it to your advantage later. And fuck, there just isn’t a part of her that doesn’t taste absolutely delicious. 

As breathtaking as the girl’s body is, it’s not even the main event. You’re having too much enjoyment sucking on her cute tits, teasing them with your sloppy tongue, but you just know there’s a growing heat between her thighs, one that mirrors the frustration levels of your dick straining against your pants. 

You’ve got Minju’s body all mapped out, and you could spend all night tasting these delicious curves, devouring her breasts, planting as many kisses on her tummy as you can—but it’s unfair to ignore the other appetizing parts of her deadly figure. 

Besides, you can’t wait to peel those shorts off her ridiculous hips. 

A moment to catch your breath is all you need, because there’s no more time left to hold back your lust. You leave her with one lingering kiss on her stomach, and then your greedy hands peel those annoying shorts off with Minju’s assistance when she lifts her butt up. Through that eager smile, she doesn’t spoil the surprise that there's not even a pair of underwear underneath to stand in the way of her naked body—

That silky smooth, shaven pussy is all you can focus on, already soaking wet when she parts her thighs to give a tempting glimpse at those pink lips, and all you can think about is what they'll feel like wrapped around your cock. 

“Do you normally not wear panties, Minju?” you say, taking a moment to admire the sight of her bare cunt in its glory. 

“Depends on the company,” she admits, this faux innocent expression that is anything but that washes over her. You can’t go another second without getting your cock out, desperate for any kind of relief from this persistent ache while you unzip your pants. Minju watches you strip down with the same hunger in her gaze, shirt pulled over your head in one motion, and then your pants slide off along with your boxers. 

"That's much better," Minju says, and gets her fingers wrapped around your shaft, with no intention of doing anything else except for that. “It's so big, so perfect for me..." 

A firm squeeze gets your throbs going, as if you needed any encouragement to be rock hard, and Minju gets this content little smile at feeling it grow even more between her fingers. 

As the moments pass, her innocent demeanor fades, replaced by a longing gaze fixated on your hardened shaft, where there’s only one destination your length needs to sink into. Sprawling out on the cushions, Minju stretches out her long legs that are practically built to wrap around your body. 

Those wet folds, and your throbbing cock, there's only one outcome when they have their first meeting. 

With no reluctance, you position yourself between Minju's spread thighs, feeling how slick her pussy has gotten with anticipation. You run your cock against her dripping folds that glisten, teasing her slit as your shaft coats itself in her wetness. "It'll fit inside you so fucking well." 

You’re too speechless to apologize to Minju for not eating her out first, but judging by the way she’s looking at you, she’ll live. The initial plunge rips a heavy moan right out of your throat, all these sensations hitting all at once. There's no pause when you pull back, then slide in again unabated, pushing more of your thick shaft into this perfect pussy. 

"Fuck, you're so damn tight, Minju, god—"

“Did you expect anything else?” she asks, before another moan tears through her. There's no resistance to impede you, just inviting wet flesh that wraps around your cock in this wetness, your cockhead sliding deeper into the warmth of her cunt with ease.

“Oh my god.” Her walls tighten around your shaft, this overwhelming heat welcoming every inch into her cunt like it belongs there. “This pussy is perfect. I’m going to use it every chance I get.” 

“I sure hope so. That’s what I’m here for.” 

With nothing else but a confident smile on Minju’s face, and nothing but these erotic little moans as her walls stretch to accommodate every inch, until you can bottom her out for the first time. She’s so fucking tight it’s almost painful, this absolute vice grip that squeezes the life out of your cock, ensuring you aren’t going anywhere. “Your cock is so thick, it’s filling me up so well…” 

The urge to just drive your cock as deep inside of her as possible becomes overwhelming, and Minju doesn't give any signs that she wants to be treated delicately. There's no room for restraint or holding back with how well she takes it all, how badly she craves every inch you've got. “Don’t think for a moment I can’t take you all.” 

So you let the carnal urges take control, grabbing her slender waist and pounding into this heavenly cunt with no remorse. 

“Minju, fuck, your pussy feels so good,” you growl, each thrust only making you want to stay buried in there longer. You’re hitting all the right angles, creating an erotic soundtrack of flesh while Minju's wet cunt swallows you up to the base, squeezing in just the perfect way around every last inch as you pull back and plunge right back in.

“And it’ll feel even better when you cum inside.” 

There’s hardly even any time to think of a response before Minju wraps her long legs around your waist, digging her heels into the small of your back so she can draw your cock in even deeper. “I hope you weren’t expecting to pull out."

Hearing those words is like a shot of adrenaline that makes you pound into her cunt with everything you have, burying your cock balls deep with every long, powerful stroke. 

“Not a fucking chance, Minju. I’m pounding this perfect cunt until I fuck a load inside you.” 

There’s a devilish grin on her face when she hears that, legs tightening to make you backup your words, her dripping pussy clenching harder as if trying to coax that load out sooner. “With how deep you’re fucking me, you better not do anything else.” 

Through all these harsh thrusts, and the rough pistoning of your hips, you need to pull back every once in a while. Only so you can have the perfect view of Minju's body covered in more sweat than before, even more irresistible to not lick the side of her neck, savoring every little taste you can get. 

And the noises she makes only get filthier the harder your hips move, the best encouragement for you to bury your face into the crook of her neck as her beautiful legs keep your body hostage. This pounding is everything you’ve needed, keeping Minju breathless in her moans, a symphony of pleasure that gets siphoned right in your ears.

“This is how I’m going to destroy your cunt when I fuck you. Every single time. Your pretty pussy won’t go a day without getting a huge fucking load inside.” 

“Yeah? You promise?” Minju asks, and you’re fucking her so well, so hard, that she’s getting delirious. “There’s nothing better than getting a nice, thick load filling me up first thing in the morning.” 

That’s all the motivation you need to keep this train of pleasure going. 

Minju can feel it. She can feel how your thick cock twitches with every deep stroke, the pleasure becoming far too much for you to bear. At the tail end of an especially harsh thrust, she wraps her arms around your neck and holds tight, not leaving an inch of space between the two of you while you drill as hard as your hips allow. "Please, I'm going to cum. Keep fucking me, please keep fucking me like this…"

The begging flows freely right into your ears, and these desperate pleas offer another wave of encouragement that pulls you closer and closer to release. And it’s not like you can do much at this point but keep your hips moving, while Minju clings to you, limbs coiled like she never plans on letting you escape.

“Don't stop—I'm going to cum so fucking hard!" Minju cries out, and there's no need to hold anything back as she chases after that release. 

Wanting to speed this up, your lips latch onto Minju's sweaty neck, planting sloppy kisses that make her walls flutter, spilling more wetness while you crash your hips into her. Her thighs can’t stop quivering, breathing frantically until that intense orgasm is almost in range, back arching up in time for the final waves of bliss to crash into her. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ A litany of curses leaves her mouth , filling the room, and then Minju tightens her hold as these messy juices gush all over your cock, unleashing the most unrestrained orgasm of her life that erupts in her body. Through it all, her warm cunt spasms, convulsing, these drenched walls constricting so hard to the point where there's no other alternative than to paint her insides a creamy white. 

“Cum in me, fuck—oh my god, I want it all, fill my fucking pussy,” Minju begs and pleads, her trembling legs with a death grip around your waist. And then she cries out in loud, incoherent moans, only managing to spill out one more thing: "Fucking breed me—"

There’s absolutely nothing that can prepare you for the feeling when you unload inside. Your climax explodes into Minju without warning, several thick spurts of cum flooding deep within her cunt, warm walls squeezing to milk it all out of your balls. Each violent throb is a fresh surge that sends an extra big mess of thick seed into her pussy, an increasing fullness that clings inside while your pulsating cock empties this massive load into Minju. 

During this intense orgasm, Minju’s alluring legs lock you in place, guaranteeing you can't pull out for a second, not until all your pleasure reaches its apex. 

You might be here forever, you think, trapped inside this warm paradise, but you’d be more than happy to never move another inch inside Minju all night. While she basks in the obscene pleasure of her cunt now full to the brim, you can only move enough to pump your load deep, deeper inside her until it finds her womb. 

"That's a lot of cum," Minju says, and she looks absolutely delighted at the mess you've made inside her, like she’s accomplished something grand just by making you explode inside her cunt. 

You have a feeling a hot load inside Minju will be a common sight as coffee being brewed, and it’s almost like she hasn’t drained you once already with this load that’s promising to make a mess whenever it spills out. 

“So, how about that shower,” you suggest, even while Minju hasn't even released the hold from your body yet. She doesn’t have the slightest intentions of getting cleaned up anytime soon, wanting to let this high linger a while longer. 

“Like you said—the shower can wait.” 

There’s never been a better idea. 

"Yeah, it can wait." 

You share a tired kiss as Minju keeps you close, bodies sticky as her limbs finally uncoil and relax. It’s near impossible to not collapse on her from exhaustion, but from the way she gazes at you with thirst lingering in her eyes, there's no such thing as rest. Not when you have this endless freedom to use her as your own personal toy.

When you do eventually pull out, leaving Minju with all of your cum pumped into her tight little cunt, there’s nothing but gratitude on her face to see the results leak out. And when she grabs your cock that’s more than a little sensitive, to give these weak little pumps, you don't have the strength to beg her to stop.

“Minju—“ It feels more like she’s teasing you, rather than attempting to get you back into a proper state of arousal with such lackadaisical motions. "Are you trying to get me to fuck you again?"

“Hmm, maybe,” Minju says, giving you a fleeting glance, and doesn’t mouth anything else, like she’s trying to demonstrate that you can recover earlier than you think, wanting your balls to fill back up sooner than later. “Seems like you might have one more in you…” 

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

With whatever energy is left, you put it into kissing Minju, to explore these lips that haven’t even gotten half the attention deserved. Also as a poor excuse to extend the time you’ll need to recover. Neither of you have any intention of going anywhere during this lazy make-out session, and even while you’re both covered in fluids, you’ll kiss Minju until your jaw hurts. 

“Not bad,” Minju says, a sudden compliment as the kiss intensifies, until her hand slides between your legs to keep pumping your cock, ensuring not a single inch softens. 

“Which part?” you ask, not that you’re particularly interested in anything other than dominating this lip embrace.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she teases, while you plant these light kisses that purposely miss her lips. “But… the part where you’re good at kissing me. And the part where you came inside me. ”

“Sounds like you want more.” 

“Yeah… maybe….” 

“Then consider me convinced,” you say, helping her stand upright, and lead her towards the bathroom—leaving the remnants of your messy load that leaks out of her pussy all over the couch. That’s a problem for another time.

The walk to the bathroom is short, but still gives you plenty of time to stare at Minju’s tight butt, and the mess that clings to her glistening thighs. One of the best features of this apartment is how spacious the shower is, more than enough to fit a second person—or a third, if you were so inclined. 

But neither of you are interested in the shower. 

Minju leans over the sink to check herself out in the mirror, running fingers through her hair to somewhat put herself back together. Staring at her own reflection puts a grin on her face, proud of how disheveled she looks, while also noticing the dark mark in the shape of your lips on her neck.

“You know, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,” she says out of nowhere, attention turned away from herself to the contents of the sink. 

“I can buy you one in the morning.” 

You lean in closer, and your hands snake around Minju’s perfectly slim waist, eager to feel up her tight abdomen once more. That mark on her neck is like a target, and when you take a deep inhale of her intoxicating scent, you make sure to cover her neck in kisses that make her giggle. 

“You came in my mouth. I think you’ll live if we share a toothbrush for one night.” Minju rolls her hips back, grinding against your erection to reawaken your cock back to full strength. These little kisses turn more lustful as she turns her head to connect lips with you for a more sloppy, wet, all-consuming embrace. 

“Fair point.” 

Your hands are far too greedy at this point to do anything but grope Minju’s naked body. The touch of her smooth skin reinvigorates you, sending blood back into all the right places, something that’s blatantly obvious to this naked girl in front of you. 

“I can feel how hard you are again,” Minju mutters, with this shy little expression on her features that’s so out of place. She pushes away from the sink, pressing her lithe figure back, and it's hard not to picture fucking Minju here, slamming your hips hard enough between her shapely cheeks to ripple them. 

“Yeah? Wonder whose fault that is...” The idea becomes more concrete when you squeeze that supple ass, your greedy fingertips sinking into the tender flesh, like her backside was made for your palm to smack as you get in a few light slaps that echo. 

“Do you think my cock will fit in here?” 

Spreading her round cheeks, you get a glimpse at how her puckered hole twitches, already craving you inside it. That bubble butt is absolutely perfect in your hands, and it’s no trouble at all to spread Minju open, as you wonder how it’ll feel to rub your cockhead against her tightest hole. 

"We can always find out.” Minju gets this sultry tone in her voice, hands lingering on the cool countertop as she bends over even further, her ass imploring you to fill that hole. It makes it hard to stay focused with this perfect cunt and tight little asshole both accessible, but there’s only one problem—

“It’s a shame the lube is in the bedroom. And I can’t be bothered to take my eyes off this tight little ass.” 

"Tease.” 

“I would never.” 

There’s nothing in reach that’s anything but a poor substitute, but you’re not going to walk away for something in your nightstand when you’re throbbing so much between the cheeks of such a perfect ass. So, regrettably, you'll have to postpone your plans to pound Minju's ass. It’ll make it worth the wait that much more. 

Without another word, you guide your length back into her warm little pussy, grabbing her curvy hips to slide back in. 

“Oh fuck— ” When your hardened shaft plunges deep between her legs, Minju nearly collapses over the sink. Her hot cunt feels more than ready for you, all this wetness pooled that’s infused with the creamy mess you left earlier staining her walls. 

The second your hips move, those pretty fucking moans from Minju have no trouble echoing around the walls. Her seductive stare beckons you to fuck her like the toy she promises to be, to use her until she can’t take anymore—a temptation too sweet to turn down. 

"Just like that, your cock is so good, god—just ruin me, fuck, please—“ Minju’s eyes widen from how hard you start slamming into her. This time, there’s absolutely no chance to adjust, nothing less but an incessant replay of your hips as you sink into the hilt, pounding her like the warm, wet, wonderful cocksleeve that she is, getting those heavenly walls stretched out all over again.

With no restraint in your thrusts, you can truly pound this tight pussy without mercy. The warmth that smothers your cock, how slick her pussy has gotten—god, it feels so fucking good that you don't ever want to stop, even after you pump another hot load.

“That's it, right there—right there, harder," she says with these breathless whines that are nothing more than unabashed encouragement. Fingers trembling, they dig into the porcelain of the sink, making the entire bathroom resonate with the harsh, wet smacks of flesh colliding together, in unison with each thrust. "Use that pussy—fuck, make me take it all, use me, god, use me, fucking use me—“

Those words, they make it so easy to do so, to keep up these thrusts, to just ram your cock into this hot little cunt that’s aching to be full, clenching down around you like it'll never let go.

And this ass—Minju’s got a perfect fucking ass, that you're already fantasizing about plowing. There's just no end to how much it bounces, the erotic jiggle that fuels your need to smack your palm against it, leaving red marks that'll stay on that pale flesh. 

"You're so fucking wet for me, Minju, god,” you groan out, pulling your cock out just so you can admire all the slick coating every single inch, before shoving it right back in. Minju bites down on her lip, trying to contain her moans with this near blush on her face from enjoying the rough treatment of her body far too much, moaning in bliss every time your thrusts make her hips jerk against the sink. 

“I just can’t help it. Your cock is too fucking big, my little pussy just loves it.” These constant smacks, they make her cunt clench, the pain forming additional pleasure. After your next heavy slap on her ass, your free hand ventures up her bare back, caressing along her spine in a gentle touch. But that gentleness doesn’t last when your fingers form a fistful of Minju's silky black strands—and a firm tug lifts her back so she's staring right into her reflection.

There's something to be said about being able to see Minju's pretty face as you wreck her body. All these priceless reactions she can't hide as she watches herself getting ravaged in the mirror that her hot breath fogs up. It’s an image you’ll never forget. 

You keep a tight handful of hair, each tug and yank rewarded with another moan, and she can barely even keep her eyes open, drunk on bliss as you dominate her body with every powerful plunge of your cock into that drenched warm flesh. 

Minju, through all these rough pumps and strained moans, can hardly keep up. Scrambling to keep a hold of the sink for dear life, she braces for each punishing stroke that reaches into her depths, your deep, rough thrusts that only grow in ferocity as you're both on the cusp of another release.

"Almost there, god—you're so deep, gonna cum so hard," Minju groans out as a euphoric wave hits her body with no chance of escape. "Make me cum on your big fucking cock—make me cum, oh fuck!"

That’s the only warning you’ll get. When the arrival of her violent climax hits, it gets her legs trembling, that sweaty body so close to collapsing that it leaves you to support all her weight as her toes curl into the bathroom rug, walls clamping down around your cock so snug it makes you grit your teeth. You fuck her right through this tsunami of pleasure, hips maintaining the same brutal pace, following the same path she takes until you’re nearly at the boiling point. 

“Minju,“ you growl, and there’s little else that needs to be said to know where this is headed. 

This isn’t asking for permission, but rather giving a final notice that this thick load that’s about to leave your balls desperately needs somewhere to go.

“Where?” Minju asks, struggling to get one little syllable out, and the question lingers as you get your final thrusts in. Without a response, you stare at the reflection in the mirror, pounding into this unbelievably tight girl with everything you have left to offer, until the last possible moment—

“Get on your knees.” 

Pulling out proves to be a challenge, but you've got plans that demand it as you give Minju enough time to collapse down without a shred of resistance, and you can already tell this is going to be a messy finale. The moment her knees touch the cold tile floor, you grab a hold of that gorgeous hair as you furiously stroke yourself in front of her face, squeezing your length that feels absolutely primed to erupt.

You let out a guttural groan of relief when you start to unload all over Minju's pristine features, this massive jet of hot, sticky seed that she doesn’t even flinch at as it lands square in the middle of her forehead, streaking down her cute nose. Your uncontrollable load blasts everywhere, across those pretty pink lips, splattering across cheek to rosy cheek while she stays perfectly still, letting you paint her like the masterpiece she is. 

It just gets everywhere. The beautiful canvas that is Minju’s face, it’s an absolute mess, cum dripping down her chin, a stray strand landing in her hair, more running down the bridge of her nose as you pump it all out and glaze her.

There's just so fucking much that it has Minju looking at you through this hot mess in a stunned silence, wondering how you even managed to have that much pent up inside—this load that has no right being so huge that you almost feel inclined to apologize. But this is really her doing, this sinful body of hers to blame for such a gratuitous payload. 

"There you go, all over this pretty little face," Minju says as she stares in awe, bewildered by how much of you she’s covered in. Your massive load drips down her lips as her tongue catches it, and not a single drop goes to waste. “How do you still have so much—didn’t you just finish inside me?” 

That’s a really good fucking question.

 One without an answer as Minju gives you a long lick of your cockhead before taking it back in her mouth, sucking the rest of you clean with a satisfied hum as it continues to drip down her face. 

“Well—only have you to blame, fuck,“ you groan, and you might just pass out with the way Minju refuses to let that hot mouth off you. “Yeah, this is definitely all your fault. 

Nothing but elation etches Minju’s face when she kisses the tip of your cock one last time, her gratitude for your cum written on her lips. Using a couple of fingers, she cleans up by swirling cum around her lips until it coats her fingertips, then puts them in her mouth, licking them clean, giving an audible slurp as she sucks every last drop down.

Maybe it’s about time for that shower. 

That is, if you could only move. Because even though the shower is only inches away, it might as well be in a whole different neighborhood with how weak and heavy your legs feel. There’s no time to rush, and you don’t mind a few more lingering moments seeing your messy load dripping across this girl. 

“You’re so pretty, Minju.” 

Minju only smiles with those cum-stained lips as the hot water starts. 

✦ ✦

Over the next few days, you’ve gotten quite comfortable fucking Minju on the regular.

This little arrangement already has lived up to its potential, and you wonder how you were ever reluctant about having a roommate—especially with these benefits. The only possible complaint you have is that there just aren’t enough hours in the day to spend balls deep inside Minju. 

There’s no routine to it. When the mood hits. When the clock ends in a seven. When you’re waiting for leftovers to heat up, you’ll seek out Minju to suck your dick, or bend her over whatever surface is closest. 

And it never gets old. 

During work, she’ll sit on your lap, keeping you company during a dull day with your cock all nice and warm inside her, like this little office pet of yours that knows the right moments to keep quiet. In between meetings, you'll bend her over the desk and pump that tight little cunt full of another thick load that she’ll keep inside while she goes to prepare lunch. 

It’s not unusual to be on a video call with a client, with Minju sucking you off underneath the desk, keeping her sloppy mouth on your shaft all the while you carry on business. And the best part—she’ll straddle you, right on top of your office chair, bouncing up and down on your cock with a dozen or so other coworkers on a conference call who are none the wiser. 

Minju is well aware what time you wake up, so almost every morning before you've even tossed the sheets off, she knows exactly what you'll want—a warm mouth deepthroating your cock without being told. 

Later that afternoon, there’s a new book to immerse herself in as she finds her favorite spot to cozy up in when you unbutton her jeans, slipping them off to spread those long, smooth legs so you can feast on her delectable pussy. Minju reads as if nothing is happening, like you don’t have your tongue buried in her cunt, warming up her tight little entrance just enough to slip your cock inside her without distraction. You don’t want to break her concentration too much, so you try your best not to make much noise, but well, it can’t exactly be helped when she feels so fucking warm and wet inside. 

The only acknowledgment given is these subtle moans that slip out when you get every inch of your cock in her, hands holding that narrow waist with a tight, unrelenting grip. But Minju, she’s too lost in this completely different world while you fill her up so perfectly, not even looking up as you fuck her. 

And honestly, sometimes that’s for the best—being able to use her while she’s preoccupied, without either of you muttering a word as you slide balls deep into her incredibly warm cunt. It doesn’t mean, though, that you can’t challenge yourself to get a moan out of her. 

When you inevitably cum inside Minju, a faint smile creeps up on her lips. Otherwise, she doesn’t say a word, turning more pages while you pump a hot mess inside her. She only takes notice of the steady flow of cum inside once you exit her warmth, one hand playing with your load and pushing it deeper into her messy folds, while the other hand continues reading her book. 

The following day, as the coffee brews, your roommate is already on her knees, and you’re fucking her face so roughly that tears stream down her cheeks while she gags around your cock. There’s not any makeup yet on that gorgeous face to ruin, but Minju guzzles down your load and goes about making breakfast, like it's all part of her routine. 

First thing, the next morning during work, you’re railing Minju in your office chair, with her gorgeous, sexy legs perched on your shoulders while you’re taking a short break from another tedious conference call. At this rate, your flimsy chair might give way before either of you cum, but that doesn’t matter too much—you can get your work to buy another one. 

You’re absolutely not paying attention to anything but the pleasure of Minju's tight cunt. 

The breathless moans from her lips are a much better alternative than whatever monotonous voice through the speakers drones on about spreadsheets and analytics. Even though your job doesn’t require you to step inside an office often, your cock buried inside Minju is the only way you can survive these remote meetings—but you continuously double-check that the camera is off and the microphone is muted. That’s a mistake you’ll only let happen once. 

Now that you have Minju all to yourself once the call ends, you lift her body up into the air, cock still buried, and impale her pussy just as hard as before while her legs wrap around your waist. 

She feels so small as you bounce her frame up and down, this weightless girl that’s light as a feather. You could carry Minju around the apartment if you wanted, but this is far more satisfying, a test of how many times you can make her cum while holding her up in your arms, absolutely hammering into her soaking cunt until you fill her to the brim. 

Later on in the afternoon, you get the urge again (as you tend to do), and Minju is sitting comfortably on her bed, laptop out, concentrating on what you presume is finding her next paycheck. Once you walk in, the laptop lid shuts, and she takes those big, cute frames off and tosses them on her nightstand, leaning back onto the bed in anticipation. 

You feel guilty disturbing her search, but you're exhausted from a workday that isn’t even over, so this won’t take long. 

Discarding your pants, you climb onto the bed, hovering your crotch above Minju's face, and pull your cock out of your boxers, as you start to stroke in her direction.

The mere sight of that beautiful face is enough to help you get off without any trouble. A few final tugs and you're there, groaning her name as you spray a pearlescent mess all over her face, thick cum shooting onto her cheek, landing on those pretty lips, a line across her nose, some up the side of her forehead. The relief is instant, the stress of a long day fading away while Minju lies there for you to stare at, your cock resting against her lips as you milk out every drop.

"Thanks, Minju. I needed that," you sigh, taking one more look at your impressive handiwork. “Gotta get back to work now.” 

✦ ✦

Minju hasn’t forgotten to hold up her side of the bargain. 

She’s here to get her shit together, not be a freeloader. While she’s financially destitute at the moment, she pays rent in other ways. Ways that aren’t giving head during a movie or being your personal on-demand fucktoy. Almost every night, without fail, Minju cooks up a delicious meal (and she's equally talented at it as she is at sucking you off). She'll even bring dinner to your office if you're working late and forget to eat. Not only does she do the laundry but also keeps the apartment in order, replenishing the fridge whenever needed.

This all buys you more time to fold Minju in half and unload what feels like a week’s worth of cum onto her flat stomach.

So, it goes without saying that your apartment would be in much rougher shape without Minju. That she’s more than just a warm hole to fuck your load into. She's a pleasure to be around, an ear to vent your frustrations to, someone whose absence would leave a noticeable void. 

Sure, it’s nice to fuck Minju senseless whenever you’re all pent up, but having someone across the kitchen table to talk to during a meal, or someone to watch bad movies with on the couch is just as valuable. 

Which brings you to the here and now. 

It's early afternoon, after finishing a mountain of work, and you go looking for Minju to escape these four walls of your home office that feel like a prison. She’s in her bedroom, sorting through laundry, and stops what she’s doing when you enter. 

Because one glance and she already knows. 

Minju lies on her stomach while you stand in front of her bed, stroking her gorgeous face as she gazes up and gets your cock out. With just the lightest of strokes, her delicate hand pumps the length of your cock, bringing you to full arousal in no time. And once you are, you glide the swollen head of your shaft over her glossy lips, coating them in your glistening precum. 

"You always need my mouth so much, don't you?" she purrs, teasing your cock with her hot breath, tongue dancing across the sensitive underside.

Letting out these little gasps is the only thing you answer, unable to give a proper response as your shaft stiffens unbearably so against the wet tongue caressing you, then her lips part with no further need of words, and invite you to guide yourself into the warm heaven of her mouth. 

A full, deep sigh leaves as those beautiful lips envelop your swollen cockhead. And god, her mouth feels so perfect, so warm while you thread fingers through her hair, holding her in place. She drools down your length, giving more playful licks before starting to devour your length inch by inch, all the way until her nose is nearly pressed against your stomach. 

"Minju—this pretty fucking mouth—fuck," you moan, just relishing her slow, steady bobs as she takes you deep, all of you inside her wet throat, looking right up at you. She savors your taste before saying anything else, lips popping off your shaft with trails of spit down her chin. 

"It feels so good, right? My pretty mouth wrapped around you,” she murmurs, spitting on your throbbing shaft to get it even more glistening, stroking it, rubbing that little sensitive sweet spot she knows you love. “Because your thick cock tastes so fucking good." 

That warm, talented mouth returns, swallowing you whole in one go, and you’re tempted to just fuck her throat to completion—but this blowjob isn't meant for the finish line, even as Minju eagerly deepthroats your length, craving to milk out a load from your balls as soon as possible. 

“Minmin, I—really need to fuck you." There’s a pause in her sloppy movements, to acknowledge the nickname you've called her, like she wants to hear it again. In this moment, you let Minju's warm mouth work her magic on your throbbing shaft, indulging in the sinful slurps she makes, as her tongue lavishes your cock until there’s not a single inch unexplored. But as good as her mouth is, it’s not enough—you need to be elsewhere, somewhere warmer, much tighter, to really satiate this appetite. 

“Stay right fucking there.” 

Minju obliges, staying flat on her stomach, and awaits what’s next with this innocent look full of curiosity as you approach from behind. And while she’s still got on all these bothersome clothes, you quickly rectify that, unbuttoning and tugging her jeans down to her ankles to grant a path to that delicious-looking cunt. 

When you climb on top of Minju, her pussy glistens in anticipation. It takes only a few shallow thrusts to bury your needy cock to the hilt, letting out a strained groan when you're fully sheathed inside her tight warmth. Her little whimpering cries tell you she needs this as much as you did, as her wet folds greedily pull you in, demanding more and more. 

“Oh god, fuck, you fill me up so well,” Minju moans, as you start pounding her tight cunt without warning. No teasing, no mercy. Nothing but a rough, relentless fuck that leaves both of you breathless as she takes every inch, laying idle to accept it all.“Please, just—fuck me, fuck me as hard as you can.” 

Pressing your whole body into Minju's slender figure, you pound away with no restrictions, relishing this prone position that lets you get as deep into this welcoming heat as you please. “Oh my god, Minju—your pussy is—un-fucking-believable."

Here, you can dominate Minju without restriction, and she takes it as well as you imagine. A shuddering groan leaves her lips every time your hips collide, when you plow into her at this rapid pace. While she usually can’t stay quiet while you're balls deep in her, all of a sudden Minju goes silent, not letting a single syllable slip as you ram her cunt with such unforgiving thrusts.

“Hey, uh—“ Minju breaks the silence as you keep her tight frame pinned into the mattress, going as hard as your hips will allow. “Do you mind not cumming inside me this time?” 

Your body takes a pause, and your hips slow down as you register her words. There’s only one instinct, and that’s to empty inside her like usual. It's become so natural that hearing her suggest anything else makes it feel… wrong.

“Asking a lot here, Minju. Do you want me to stop breathing as well?” The audacity of this request when you’ve gone all out at it from the get-go. It’s so sudden and unexpected, because Minju’s the first to beg and beg for you to breed her. 

“It’s just once. I have an interview in half an hour, so I’d rather not have to shower again.” 

She’s really asking for the impossible here. 

“But then I can fuck you again in the shower…” you say amidst all this intense fucking, but the look Minju flashes back tells you that isn’t the answer she wanted. So while Minju’s taking you so hard and fast during this rough fucking, with your full weight on her as you’re pounding away in her slick heat, your cock so eager and ready to explode, yet somehow, you’re expected to pull out—

“Fine. But only this once.” And you can’t believe that you’ve agreed to this the moment those words slip out. 

“Hey, you can still cum in my mouth,” Minju says with this proud tone, like it’s any consolation. “I’ll make it worth your while when I come back. Promise. I owe you.” 

You’re never one to doubt Minju, but this is one big favor she’s going to have to pay back, with interest. Even so, a sigh of frustration escapes your lips when you pull out, flip Minju on her back, and straddle her chest to finish yourself off. 

When you shoot your hot load into her mouth, painting her waiting tongue and lips in these white streaks, it’s a relatively weak and unfulfilling climax in comparison. Despite that, Minju’s still happy to take it, to swallow it all down greedily, like she’s dying for a second one that there’s no time for. 

“Good luck,” you mumble out with a strangled breath as Minju slurps your cock clean with her hungry lips. You can see a mix of satisfaction and disappointment etched on her face that mirrors you, because you both know that load belonged in her pussy. 

“Thank you. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Then you can breed me as many times as you want.” 

✦ ✦

Minju has spoiled you to no end. 

There isn’t a single day when she doesn’t so much as wish good night without draining your balls. Whether you prefer a quick, sloppy blowjob, railing Minju from behind, or watching her fit body do all the work, riding until you finish deep inside her, she doesn’t head to bed without you filling her up.

It’s routine to fuck a load into her first thing in the morning, whether she's brushing her teeth, putting on makeup, or simply eating breakfast. 

This agreement, it's been long enough that you no longer feel the apprehension about using Minju, no qualms about spending every morning with her lips on your cock, to spend afternoons with her face in the couch cushions, drilling her wet little hole while she answers her phone to respond to appointments and interviews.

Nearly two hours pass before Minju returns. The door closes shut with an exhausted sigh, and she sets down her bag, kicking off her heels, and takes a seat right next to you on the couch.

“How did it go?” 

Minju doesn't have an immediate answer. Her focus is elsewhere as she stretches her legs across your lap, settling into a more comfortable position on the couch before responding.

“I…I don’t know. Maybe it went well. Maybe it didn’t. I think they liked me—but that doesn’t mean I’ll get the job.” 

There's a certain hesitation when she answers, like there’s more she wants to talk about but chooses not to. You know firsthand how taxing these interviews can be, as you’ve been on both sides of them, especially for Minju, who tries to look as flawless as can be, only to be passed over because her resumé isn't a mile long. 

“If you don’t, then it means they picked the wrong person.” 

Minju smiles shyly before her eyes drift away. Now, it feels strange to watch someone so usually full of confidence look so unsure of herself. But she shakes that off quickly, like that self-doubting voice doesn’t belong to her, reverting back to that same bright expression. “Whatever happens happens. I'm just thankful you're letting me stay here practically rent free.” 

“Well, you can stay as long as you need. Even if you find a job, there's no need to rush out. This place would be too quiet without you around."

In her black pleated skirt, Minju climbs up and straddles your lap. She leans in and presses her soft lips on your own in a quick kiss, making no attempt to hide her affection.

“So. I owe you a promise."

The insinuation hangs heavy on her words as a shameless smirk takes over her lips. Even after the stressful events earlier, Minju never misses a chance to satisfy your desires, so quick to change from this somber tone into her role as your plaything, like a switch being flipped. 

“If I remember correctly… you keep your lube in the bedroom drawer, right?” 

You’ve done almost everything to Minju; fucking her brains out in every corner of every room, in practically every position imaginable, yet you've done almost nothing to appreciate her exceptional ass. At the bare minimum, you've enjoyed the sight of those perfect plump cheeks as she endlessly rides your cock, but aside from giving them a firm squeeze or some light spanks, it hasn't had the attention it deserves. 

While you have this insatiable hunger to wreck her ass, this is still entirely uncharted territory. So you respond to Minju with a silent nod, getting your hands on her underneath her skirt, grabbing that taut butt through her thin underwear to enjoy this divine handful. 

“I’ll go get it,” Minju offers with a lingering kiss to your cheek, but you grab her wrist to stop her path before she can get off your lap.

“Not yet.” 

Your hold on Minju doesn’t falter as you knead her asscheeks, not willing to part yet. ”Stay here. So I can see how pretty you are.”

Those cute pink cheeks that you covered in your load earlier now have a rosy tint as she looks up, letting you savor this moment a little longer. Your mind races with all the things you’ve yet to do, this perfect hourglass body that’s yours to explore, to use, to do whatever you can imagine. Yet, there’s only one thing you haven’t done to this beautiful girl, one place your cock hasn’t had the pleasure being in—

“What was it you wanted? To see if your cock would fit in my ass?” 

There’s no need for this extravagant fantasy to drag on, so you lift her up still with a firm grip on her ass, and bring her into your bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“I can’t stop thinking about it, Minju.” 

“Me neither.” She sits in your lap as she admits, and with your arms propped back against the mattress, you watch Minju with unwavering attention. 

Every button on her blouse gets undone one by one, tantalizingly slow until it falls open to reveal more pale skin that complements the pink lacy bra you've bought for her. Once that comes off, you take in all that wonderful skin, drinking in those breasts that spill out, and her tight tummy that you've painted with so many loads already. 

“Now the skirt,” you tell her, and Minju flashes a smirk at your impatience. But she obeys, gets off your lap, unzips, then lets the garment fall down those smooth thighs until it lands in a pile around her feet, leaving Minju standing before you in only matching pink lace.

Before her underwear comes off, she spins on her heels to show off this perfect little ass in front of your face, bending over so you can take in the sight of those ample curves that frame your view so nicely. "Care to do the honors?" 

The answer is obvious. 

Giving those cheeks a nice little smack, you hook a finger under the waistband of her thong and slowly peel this little pair of lace down, leaving no detail of her round, scrumptious cheeks unseen, and exposing this tight little asshole you're dying to stretch.

"Hey—are you just going to stare all day, or are you going to put your cock in my ass?”

A difficult choice for sure—with the latter infinitely more enticing. Minju answers the question for herself as you stay perched on the edge of the bed, your focus never shifting from that delicious backside. She heads towards the bedside table, opening a drawer to fetch something. When she returns, you’ve matched her state of undress, getting your own clothes off in a flash. 

Bottle in hand, her gaze trails down your body to see this aching hard length that needs somewhere to sink inside; the sight making her salivate as she reaches for your shaft and pours a generous amount of lube into her hand.

Minju coats your entire cock in the cool, slick lube that only heats up once her hand pumps it, leaving every single inch drenched. This liquid has other plans too, slicking up her fingers before they slip between her own asscheeks, spreading herself and working the lubed digits inside her puckered hole in preparation for what's next.

“You look like you're ready to tear me open," she says, eyes widened at the sight of your big, thick cock, all lubed and primed for her asshole. This isn't an exaggeration as you lie back, watching the beautiful body of Minju straddle over your hips, hovering above you until she finds the right position.

"And you look like you can't wait to have this entire cock inside you."

"Of course I can't," she breathes out, lining you up with her tight asshole. One deep breath later, and she lowers down on you, trying to breach through that taut ring of muscle. You’re not sure how even a single inch plans to fit, and already it feels like it's stretching her beyond what's reasonable. Regardless, Minju still lets out these desperate moans as she tries to work your cockhead inside. 

“Shit, oh fuck—" Minju swears this isn’t her first time taking something up there, but with how tight this ass is, you’re not sure that you believe her.

The intense stretch has Minju crying out in bliss, doing all the work as she takes it nice and slow at first. Her fingers find her plump cheeks, spreading them just a little wider so she can fit more of your girth in. You can feel the desperation, that she really does want more of your thick cock buried in her asshole, and you’re aching to make her take your entire shaft with one swift drop of her hips—but she can barely manage your tip.

"You're really getting all in my ass, aren’t you?” she says with a moan, and you’re getting too impatient with the tease of this tight, gripping warmth as more of you sinks into Minju, disappearing past her puckered rim.

Minju puts in all this effort to take more, but there isn’t enough resistance in your muscles to just sit back and enjoy it. Patience thrown away, your own hips rise to meet her halfway, unable to keep your body from moving at all, getting a good grip as you guide her down, bit by bit.

"Keep going, Minmin, that's it," you encourage, and she does her best to obey, lowering her ass until she has almost every inch of you buried. That final push makes her cheeks come in contact with your balls, and her eyes shoot open.

"Oh fuck, oh my god—" Minju sounds so strained and overwhelmed that it almost sounds painful, but her nails only dig into your thighs, anchoring herself to keep you balls deep in her asshole as she looks over her shoulder to reassure you that she's content being this full. 

It takes a few deep breaths before she's ready for more, to get herself accustomed to having you so deep inside, before beginning to ride your cock with this tight, slick hole. All of this warmth around you, this ass, this tight little ass of hers feels like heaven, clenching around you. Minju can’t stop bouncing herself on you, ass smacking down on your thighs as she fucks your cock into her, impaling herself again and again.

"That's it, that's it—this big fucking dick. It's so deep.” Minju groans through ragged breaths, keeping the tempo until her hips move faster. She keeps riding, bouncing that tight little ass of hers, addicted to stretching that hot little hole wider as it accepts every single inch of you.

Your cock, her ass, there's no better combination. 

It's an amazing view, watching that asshole get stretched open, so wide around your shaft while her own hand wanders between her legs. This impossible tightness encourages you to thrust into her, drilling your cock, wanting to get in even deeper than humanly possible. 

You know that Minju can manage on her own, but your greed takes over as you lean her body back, hooking your arms under her knees, and pin them to her chest with your cock still inside her ass. Now it's her turn to let you take over, stretching her wider so she can really feel this deepness inside, opening her up in new unimaginable ways. 

The new angle offers much deeper thrusts, with you holding her weight, wrapping your arms behind her neck and slamming up into Minju with little regard for how wrecked she’ll get, balls deep with every drop of your hips against hers.

"Fuck, please—keep, oh shit!" Her voice sounds so fucked out, the delirium taking over her as your cock fills her, every last inch stuffed to the hilt. And the sounds Minju makes during this assault on her ass are unreal, deep whines ripped right out, fucking your entire length at the fastest pace you can into this tight asshole. 

"Your ass loves taking this fucking cock, doesn't it, Minmin?" You barely have it in you to speak at all, and all Minju can offer is another desperate whimper, unable to voice anything beyond swears at how full her tight hole is with your cock. 

"Please, god—don't fucking stop, don't you dare stop fucking my ass—"

This poor, helpless thing that you take your lust out on, legs spread obscenely wide in a v-shape position you've folded her in just pleads and cries for more. She’s unable to do much but take this pounding, and her mouth stays agape through your relentless thrusts, hammering into such a stretched, full, gaping hole.

Her flexibility comes in handy at times like these as she just lets you ruin her tight asshole without a care, feet helplessly dangling midair in the most pornographic display of carnal bliss, using her body to wring out every bit of pleasure. 

"Use me, oh my fucking god, please use my asshole until you fill it up."

As all those words spill out, there's no reason to fight it any longer as you fuck into Minju with reckless abandon, arms locking her in place to do as she asks, not daring to stop for any reason. With no end to your onslaught of violent thrusts, your balls begin to tighten, the start of an inevitable flood in her tight asshole. “So tight, fuck, gonna blow my fucking load right into your tight ass—“ 

Minju offers no response but her asshole clenching around your swollen shaft, urging you to release into her wrecked hole with everything you‘ve got, and nothing can stop this orgasm from building.

And with one last thrust, you can't hold back anymore. Buried deep, your release explodes into Minju, sending your seed shooting deep into her asshole as you fill her up to the brim with these endless spurts. Her desperate mewls escalate as her ass, this perfect, tight warmth milks your throbbing cock until your entire body shakes with pleasure, draining your entire heavy load into her tight little hole.

You savor this feeling, remaining balls deep into her ass, riding this high for as long as it’ll linger. You're breathless and panting when your grip eases, guiding Minju down as she topples onto her back, pressed up against your chest while your cock slips out of her ruined hole. Your thick seed oozes right out of that tight ass, dripping between her cheeks and leaking out onto your stomach, a beautiful mess of creamy white.

"Still had so much inside you," Minju gasps out, barely able to move a muscle after your merciless pounding. Her entire body stays limp on you, a satisfied wreck with cum still trickling out her ruined, gaped asshole. "I knew you would love my ass." 

“Best thing I’ve ever been inside in.” 

Neither of you has the will to move, staying like this just to catch a breath for a little bit longer, until she rolls off and shifts onto her side, tucking herself into your chest. Minju gives that smile of hers, the one where she's content that you enjoy her as much as you do. "I don't think I can walk out of here... "

"Then don't. You look good just where you are," you reply, glancing at Minju, who lets out a tired laugh at what an utter mess you both are. It's almost a guarantee that she’ll share your bed every night after you’ve made a mess inside her. She spends more nights with you than in her own bed, sleeping next to you, limbs tangled together under the covers. 

Other times, after a quickie before bed, Minju will keep you inside her, too tired to do anything but fall asleep in your arms with no urge to move an inch until the next day. It’s a nice tender moment through all this lust, the realization that she’s more than some mindless fuck whenever you need release. 

Maybe this arrangement has shifted into something more. 

And maybe you’ve really taken a liking to Minju. 

✦ ✦

“Yeah, it’s really nice here,” Minju says on the phone in her favorite pink pajamas during a video call from a friend. The TV plays low in the background as she gets comfortable all sprawled out on the couch, playing off the fact that she's been living at your place for nearly a month now. 

This temporary thing was supposed to be just that—Minju staying only until she could afford a place on her own, has now spiraled into something beyond that. Several weeks later, here she still is, wearing your oversized shirts to bed, shampoo and body wash occupying a lasting residence in your shower, and of course, her own toothbrush next to yours. 

And neither one of you is planning to change that.

Minju’s a near permanent addition to your household. While she's picked up some temp work to keep her bank account from reaching zero, you wouldn't exactly call her employed. Though that matters little; even if she doesn’t help out financially, she contributes in much better ways. 

"Hey! No, it’s not like that. No, I don’t, but I help cook, I clean, and I—“ Minju says in this exasperated tone when you join her on the couch. Cheeks growing red, she stays on the defensive, trying to starve off this teasing on the other end that you're attempting not to eavesdrop on.

"No, not like a maid. It's not—no, he isn't making me. Yuri-ya! I said we aren't together!” Minju almost forgets that you're sitting right next to her, remaining just as loud and whiny as she presses her knees into her chest, desperate to defend herself. 

Clearly, this isn’t a conversation you’re supposed to be a part of, so you should probably excuse yourself—but when you attempt just that, Minju pushes you back down with a bare foot from where you were rising, insisting you stay right where you are. 

"It isn't like that at all!" Minju pouts, and the camera captures every cute little flustered expression that makes her friend cackle. There isn't an ounce of persuasion behind those words as her friend shares in this same amusement with you, face growing more flustered by the second. Still, she remains steadfast to deny these accusations, holding you hostage to listen in by the pressure from her heel digging into your leg, pinning you there to hear these hearty giggles at Minju's expense.

You think you like this friend already. 

Minju is clearly more stubborn than she lets on when it comes to these matters, because Yuri refuses to back down. And well, if she wants you here, then you're more than willing to stick around—but you're not going to stay idle. 

"Okay, maybe once. But that was it. I swear," Minju defends, even if it's an obvious lie, and Yuri calls her bluff as her laughter continues from the other side. She's backed the poor girl into a corner, and you're somehow working together with this person that you've never met, all to make your mutual friend as bashful as she can possibly get. 

When Minju's bare feet land on your lap, it sparks an idea. Your thumb presses into the sensitive arch of her foot, massaging the targeted area with care, causing her eyes to plead not to escalate. 

"You've definitely hooked up more than once," Yuri insists, and you're unable to hide a smirk to see that you're on the same page. "There's no way it didn't happen again."

Minju’s got this ticklish spot that you once found by accident, and it’s so easy narrowing it down to send her into an uncontrollable giggle fit. The longer you linger over it, the more she tries to keep her mouth shut, eyes going wide as she panics when Yuri asks what's so funny. 

That's the opportunity for the killing blow as you press hard into the pads of her feet with both thumbs, overwhelming her as she struggles not to burst into laughter, which Yuri only sees as confirmation that she's right. 

"I knew it!" 

"S-seriously, nothing happened. Don't get the wrong idea…“

Minju’s never been a great liar, and it doesn’t help that she can’t hide her flustered reactions on screen. So rather than continue this drip feed of torture, you just spell the entire situation out for Yuri to understand—playing with the waistband of those cute pajamas, your intentions clear as day. 

“Hey, wait—the video is on!” Minju protests in disbelief as you threaten to yank her pants off her hips. But if she really doesn't want this, especially with Yuri there to watch, then all she has to do is say the word and you'll back off. 

"Then feel free to end the call…" 

But no, the truth is, Minju wants this.

Her eyes shift from Yuri back to you, a nervous look on her face—knowing exactly how this'll play out. All it would take is a second for the call to disconnect, one little goodbye, and you can do this privately. But when you work these pajama pants off past Minju’s hips, there's no such thing. Yuri remains right there on the call, watching on camera while you finish the job and strip your roommate below the waist, leaving her half-naked in the middle of this video call. 

There's a darker redness on her face, looking mortified to be exposed so easily in front of her unseen friend. She struggles for words, and you do the same to her upper half, unbuttoning her pajama shirt as you slowly peel it open, tossing it aside to leave this impeccable body entirely bare. 

With this display of her nude beauty, Minju stops any charade of denial the instant you slide a finger inside, and then a deep groan rolls from her lips at having your finger penetrate her in front of another person's eyes. 

"M-maybe it's happened more than a couple of times,” Minju admits, divulging this secret she no longer has the desire to hide. There's no point holding back, not when you're going to have her moaning on camera. 

"A lot more than that…" you say as you tease her tight entrance with another finger before your pants come off, hardness poking at your boxers until you toss them away as well.

"Hey!" Minju says as you spread open her gorgeous pussy with two fingers, exposing that warmth that's ready for you to sink into. "It's n-not a lot."

"Four times yesterday isn't a lot?" 

Minju just tries her best to not completely dissolve on camera at your immediate betrayal—but it’s not like she doesn’t want it either, as she guides the tip of your cock between the heat of her slit, teasing up and down before the inevitable push. 

“I knew it. Come on, no secrets," Yuri says on the other end as Minju lays there obscenely spread, already whining pathetically, when your throbbing cock demands to slip inside her warm, welcoming pussy. 

“Hey, if you’re going to watch—then no talking.” 

"Not another word,“ Yuri promises her, and that silence holds as you sink inside Minju, so deep and hot inside your roommate. 

A soft groan escapes from her the instant she's so deliciously stretched around your cock. With this additional pressure to perform for a new set of eyes, that makes the arousal much more palatable as you bury your full length into that slippery, wet warmth.

"Oh f-fuck, you feel so good," Minju whimpers, eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head. You can't help but bottom out in her cunt as she looks right into the camera, sharing this moment with Yuri who stays true to her word, not interrupting a second. 

All your initial strokes are anything but gentle, and Minju makes no attempt to keep any moans in that make it to the other side of the video call. It’s something so out of the ordinary, this girl that’s usually so timid, so reserved, watching her crumble underneath every deep pump, her folds absolutely dripping with honey to help guide the friction. 

Even so, it’s not quite enough. While this is all great and everything—it could be even better. You’re supposed to be giving Yuri a show, and you might as well give her a good one.

Minju has no complaints, only uninhibited deep moans when you lift her legs up, knees up right by her shoulders as you fold her up in such a vulgar display of her flexibility, plunging more of yourself to wreck this little hole. 

"So deep—fuck, I can feel you so deep in me,” she mutters out as she takes it all, barely able to hold her phone still in such a vulnerable position, utterly helpless while you're demolishing her tight little pussy with no mercy. You've done this to Minju more times than you can count, this perfect position designed to bottom her out in the easiest way possible—to fuck a massive load right into her pussy in no time. 

"It's so good, please, it's so fucking good—“ Minju becomes nothing more than a whimpering mess, head thrown back against the pillows as you keep pounding into her cunt, thrusting deeper in a rough, erratic pace that's more showing off than anything, and all she can do is keep taking it. 

It's just too easy to fuck Minju like a toy, especially when you've got a show to put on.

"Look at you taking me like this, Minju, oh my god," you groan, watching this warm little hole spread wider and wider around your throbbing cock as it disappears into her depths.

Her cunt feels tighter with each thrust, squeezing your shaft in a slick, unrelenting grip that brings you closer to the edge as she loses any semblance of decency. You don’t let up as she struggles to stay on camera, nearly dropping her phone while trying to hang on through all this ecstasy. 

“Keep going, oh fuck, keep pounding my fucking pussy,” Minju begs, and it's impossible to even focus with how deep her sloppy cunt swallows you back up inside. She lets out all these throaty, helpless moans from the animalistic fucking she's taking, perky tits bouncing from the force of you bottoming her out in front of her friend. 

And again, Yuri plays her part by being a viewer and nothing else. 

Minju, this wet little toy, lets you hammer into her cunt without remorse, and each impact of your heated bodies sends her jolting against the cushions, turning into such a lewd metronome. 

You're close, already so close—all thanks to those eyes of hers, filled with a desperate need to have you shoot your hot cum deep where it belongs. "I'm gonna fucking breed you, Minju—fuck, gonna dump this thick fucking load right in your cunt.”

Minju lets out a long moan of approval, equally on edge from having your shaft thrust right into her slick depths, ready for your balls to empty and pump her full of all your seed. 

“Give me that load, don’t cum anywhere but inside—“ That’s the last thing Minju says before this unavoidable release, face red from being so vulnerable on camera while her legs dangle up in the air, toes curling with every rough pump. 

You're so worked up that it doesn't take anything else but burying your cock into her sopping cunt one final time before you burst, unloading everything your balls have stored up. Your release triggers her own, that peak making her legs tremble in the air, writhing underneath your weight. Both of you let out a collective moan that competes in volume as your combined release gets milked into her womb, spurt after spurt until there's nothing left to empty inside of your roommate. 

Shallow thrusts drag out the pleasure, making sure not a drop of your load isn’t fully deposited inside Minju’s sticky folds until you stay there buried to the hilt. 

While you both pause to catch your breath, there's an unfamiliar satisfied moan of pleasure that you realize comes from Yuri on the other side of the phone call.

“F-fuck,” Minju breathes out, while you still have every inch throbbing inside her delicious warmth. ”Yuri, did you really just get off to this?"

"What? No, of course not," Yuri says, an unconvincing denial of a lie. "Maybe. Did you really expect me not to?"

Minju smiles as best as she can. "I can't blame you. God, there's just so much cum—he dumped his whole load inside me…" she says in smug satisfaction when you reluctantly pull out. 

Her poor little cunt is a wreck, all soaked in her own arousal and yours, this hot load eagerly dripping out onto the couch cushions while just laying there spread in such an obscene way, phone still in her hand, held out to display every detail.

Yuri doesn’t quite know what to say when she sees her friend like this, Minju the innocent angel being fucked absolutely senseless on camera, with a thick, creamy mess that oozes out between her legs.

"So, maybe we've done this a lot," Minju finally confesses to Yuri, who still struggles to respond to all this despite witnessing it moments ago. 

"Maybe?" Yuri replies. 

"Don't act all innocent now." Minju shifts her position on the couch to get a better angle, so the camera can get a good shot of the sticky semen running down her cunt. "You got off to it."

"Maybe. A little bit," Yuri admits, with a low voice shaky in response. "So what if I did?" 

“And maybe I jerk him off when I'm on the phone with you..." 

"Minju!"

With a hand covering her mouth, Minju laughs, unable to hold in her amusement. “You don't have to sound so ashamed. It's just you."

“That doesn't mean I need to hear this!" Yuri responds, the embarrassment coming through in her voice. "Oh my god, I can't believe I was talking to you like normal—while you were doing that? Ah, Minju!"

Minju's smile transforms into a devilish grin, enjoying every second of this like she’s earning revenge for Yuri’s earlier teasing. 

“Doing what, Yuri?"

“I—need to go, talk to you later, Minju!" Yuri stammers out, her cheeks brighter than a tomato. The video call immediately ends, with only Minju's soft laughter remaining in response. Looking at the end call icon on her phone for a moment, Minju sets it to the side on the coffee table, then lays her head back into the pillows.

“It's just you and me again," Minju says in her sweet voice, almost like she’s not the least bit exhausted after the rigorous fucking you've put her through. “What now?"

"Maybe we should clean this couch..." you answer, aware of the mess you and Minju have created all over her legs and the fabric, something that certainly can't be ignored.

"Later," Minju says, as if she could even care about that—at least for now. "Right now I need a shower. A nice long, hot one. Come join me. It's not fun washing off all by myself..."

Yet once again, neither of you make it to the shower. 

You follow her right into her bedroom, into the bedsheets that are still warm from earlier today. She doesn't have a chance to clean herself up, still dripping down her thighs when she pins you down into those same bedsheets and has you deep inside her in no time.

“Round two,” Minju says, as if it's not even a question, like this is how it’s going to go for the rest of the night.

“Minmin—wait. Give a guy a moment, fuck."

"No time to rest," she says, with another wicked grin on her face, and you're not used to being on the other end of this. You're the one that keeps the ecstasy going, the one that always makes the first move. This girl, she’s never been so forward like this before, not in the way she takes complete control, so shameless to get what she wants. Certainly not in the way that she grabs your arms and pins your wrists over your head with strength that you didn't realize she was capable of.

"I see why you like using me so much." 

Minju holds you down so tight that you can't even fight this. You're at her mercy now, pinned right under her in this vulnerable state with the weight of her body pressing into you while you can't help but feel like you’re the one who’s a little plaything.

And honestly, you like it.

"I get it now,” Minju purrs while you stay right under her control, a finger caressing the outline of your jaw. She has you helpless, completely trapped by this lust that's making you ache for more of what Minju's offering. "You know, I found a job. One of my friends recommended me, Hyewon. I think you’ve met her before. And it pays well. I'll be able to finally support myself. But you'll let me still stay here, won't you?" 

"Of course, Minju. You know I wouldn't—"

"Good," she says, cutting you off as if there's not any chance of rejection. "But I won't be around in the afternoon like before." 

Minju trails a finger right down the center of your chest, tracing circles along your abdomen. "So that means I'm going to need my fix every morning. And maybe even before I go to work, when I come to wake you up for me."

You've never seen Minju like this, so brazen with her desires as she tilts your chin up and makes you face her directly. 

"And as soon as I get home, I'm just going to jump on your cock for hours, until your balls overflow my little pussy again and again. How does that sound?"

"That—that sounds—"

"Great. It's settled then." Minju gives you the cutest smile as she kisses her way down your neck, lips lingering around your collarbone as she nibbles gently on the skin, leaving her mark. 

"Maybe it's a lot of fun being used by you. But maybe it's even better to use you, right?"

Biting her lip, she slides off your shaft that's still glistening in the mix of her mess and yours, leaving it throbbing in the air. "Oh my god, your poor cock. So fucking hard. And there's nothing you can do about it, huh? It must be torture for you. All this build up inside and nothing to take it out on."

"Minmin—"

"Now I understand—it’s so much fun to fuck you like a toy," Minju interrupts, right as she slaps your cock with her palm to watch you wince in response from how sensitive you are, doing it over and over again, these utterly relentless smacks that make every part of you quiver. 

"What's the matter? Don't wanna cum again?" 

Without waiting for a response, she slams back down on you, taking you to the hilt in one easy, fluid motion that doesn't leave you without her warmth for long. Even as spent as you are, Minju rides this aching cock of yours like it's the first time you've been inside her today.

"You’ve got my greedy little cunt addicted. I can't live without you filling me with this hot cum every single day. How many more times can I get you to breed me today? Three? Four? Maybe five?"

"Jesus, Minmin, please—" You groan at the thought. As much as you love finishing inside Minju, there's no way you'll be able to survive that—you're exhausted after this round and your body hasn’t gotten anywhere close to recovering. But she just carelessly continues, head thrown back in bliss as she fucks herself on you, spreading her walls that still drip with your load, and yet so needy to have another thick one fill her up to the brim once more.

"I can't wait to find out. You're not going to run out of cum, are you? No, I don't think your balls could do that. They're always so full, just for me, right? Maybe we'll have to keep going until we make sure."

You don't think your poor cock can stand that, but there's nothing to do but watch helplessly while Minju bounces on top of you, using you as nothing more than a toy—a nice hard cock that she can just ride into ecstasy over and over again.

And maybe you'll allow her to do just that.

---

No, I didn't finish writing this fic the day before realizing her birthday, shut up, this was definitely planned all along.

#BreedMinju

[manias-wordcount]

Divine (Sherlock Holmes)

Kinktober 2023 Day Twenty-Two: Rough Sex

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

John tells you that you have the patience of a saint. You tell him that you know, every single time. But it still surprises you how far you’re willing to go for the sake of one man sometimes. 

For instance, right now.

You had barely a moment to prepare when he slammed open the door to 221B and locked it behind him. You tried to greet him with a smile. With a softness that could ease the pain, you knew your beloved was feeling. But he was slamming down the morning paper with the latest update about the Lord of Crime onto the ground before he stalked over to you. You couldn’t get a word in before he kissed you harshly- one hand hovering dangerously over your backside with the other combing itself through your hair to keep you near and to keep you close. And when he was done kissing you? When he was done stealing away your breath to make it his own?

He had begun stripping you down. Pulling off your dress and helping you step out of it. Exposing you to the rest of the apartment as he all but tore off your undergarments between stolen kisses. You’re ashamed to admit that you weren’t much better than him in this moment. After all, you didn’t once bother to speak up about bringing this little moment into the bedroom. You were far too busy tugging his hair out of his holder and letting it flow through your own fingers as you held him against you.

But now you’re past all that. Past the stripping and the kissing and the oh-so-dangerous way Sherlock liked to press his face between your thighs and lap at your core like no man had ever done before. Now he’s got you folded in half on the couch with your legs up on his bare shoulders. His shirt and suit jacket are on the ground by the couch. His trousers are down to his ankles. Or maybe they’ve been kicked away- possibly in the same direction as your clothes. But does that really matter? Does that really matter now that he’s sliding his erect manhood into your opening with very little resistance? Does that really now that’s making you moan and gasp and cry out so loudly and with so little restraint?

Does that really matter now that he moving faster? Going in harder? And harder? And faster? And harder? And faster? And harder? And faster? And-

You cry out suddenly. You cry out loudly. You wonder if it’s the walls or the world that is spinning or if it’s just the rapid beating of your heart. You wonder if the people outside of these walls could hear. If they could know. Of just want the great Sherlock Holmes does to you- to your body and your womanhood. But there is little you can do now that your beloved is slamming into you like you aren’t made of glass and fine china. Like he’s sure you won’t break.

And he’s right. You won’t. You’ve been in this position before. You’ve been here before. You’ve survived it then. You’ll survive it now. You’re Sherlock’s saint, John told you. And the divine don’t break so easily.

But they sure do whimper and whine and moan.

And your only saving grace was that you knew it’d be another couple of hours before John would return to the apartment. But even then, a little privacy will hardly save you from the soreness between your legs that you’ll feel tomorrow morning.

“Sherlock…” His name falls out of your mouth with a loud moan you struggle to hold on to him. It doesn’t serve its purpose. It doesn’t capture his attention or snap him out of his fervor. It doesn’t even get him to falter. To slow down. No, instead he keeps going. He just keeps slamming and pounding and thrusting away at your most precious place. His face buried in your neck, and his hot breath spanned your skin. “Sherlock, ah~!”

You whine again- the sound loud and high in your throat as he manages to make contact with that spot inside you that never fails to get you even louder than before. There’s no calming his mind when he’s in this state. There’s no calming him. Not now. Not until he’s come back to you. 

“Sherlock, please~!”

This time, the call of his name earns you a growl. Guttural and low, it tears out of his throat and into the open. But the sound doesn’t cause you to shrink away. It shamefully only spurs you on. Instinctively tightening around the manhood he has and locking it between your warm, wet walls. Instinctively reaching up and reaching out to dig your nails into the skin of his back- no doubt leaving bright red marks against his warm skin that will be left for him to in the early tomorrow morning. That action gets you another growl. But more than, that it gets him to pull his face away from your neck. It gets him to look at you- dark eyes swirling with so many emotions. 

Frustration. Lust. Anger. Desire. The face of a madman. But the face of your man. Your beloved. Your Sherlock. 

So you clutch even harder at whatever you can grab. 

Because when he looks at you, he doesn’t slow down. The intensity is all there- alive and well. But his movements- they grow more purposeful. As if he can see past the red and the anger and the frustration to give into the lust and the desire and greed of how he makes you feel. Because when he looks at you, he looks at you. He takes in your every expression. He watches as your eyes screw close and as your lips part to let through another gasp. He lets the dark expression on his face melt away into something more soft. Something more sweet. As he forgets about his troubles. As he forgets about the Lord of Crime. As he forgets about his brother or John or his rent or any of his other troubles before this. Because he has something else to look at. Because he has something else to think about. Because he has something else to do. 

You. 

To pleasure you. To lay with you. To kiss you. To hold you. To pray to you. Because you’re his as much as he’s yours. And what’s a saint without a follower to stand behind? What’s a follower without a saint to lead them? What are you without him? Him without you? 

Simple. It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Because what is the purpose of being divine?

If there is nothing there to prove your divinity in the first place?

[ironspiderfics]

this is supposed to be a vacation

for @meilz

by @iron--spider

~

Tony loves this kid.

It’s a montage at the beginning of a movie—Tony was crazy about Peter almost immediately, couldn’t accept it, his own damn daddy issues courtesy of Howard Stark, then he had to accept it because the kid kept trying to die, then things settled, they worked together, then they unsettled and the kid dissolved in Tony’s hands, and a year of heavy-drinking and nearly exploding himself in the lab wound up with all the dissolved people undissolved and the kid back and Tony in a hospital bed. Three-week coma. Whole screaming celebration when he woke up loud enough to bust his eardrums and restart his heart.

But Peter was there. Peter was there. 

Time slowed to a crawl, sped up and slowed down again, and Tony tried to recover. He knew Peter and his friends went on that European trip—he encouraged it even though Peter was worried about leaving after everything. May and Happy chaperoned, and then everyone nearly died because Quentin fucking Beck decided to roll out of Tony’s past to try and kill off someone he loves. He failed, because Peter is Peter, and Fury and Happy shut down the false allegations Beck tried to put out there before he was arrested, and everybody came home.

It’s been about two months, since then. And Tony had just gotten back on his feet a week or so before Peter left, and he’s even steadier now. Getting steadier by the day. 

But he loves this kid. More now, than ever. The son he never had. He loves May, he loves the kids that come along with his kid, he loves everything Peter has to say and everything he doesn’t, he loves keeping an eye on his missions, he loves the way he fits so snug into Tony’s little family. 

And he loves him enough to know when he’s crashing. When his eyes are tired and his patrols aren’t as succinct and punchy as they usually are. When he needs a vacation from his recent vacation. As if nearly being killed by some asshole in London is the vacation any of them need. 

So, Tony makes a couple decisions. 

After all the shit they’ve gone through, what the hell could go wrong with a break?

~

Peter knew Tony was planning something, because he isn’t secretive when he’s excited, and he found out what he was planning when Tony asked if Ned and MJ’s families would mind if he took them out of the city for a few days.

And about a week later, they were heading upstate to Mohonk Mountain House.

And Peter hasn’t been complaining, at least not to Tony, but his tiredness has been bone-deep since he got back from London. Since before that, really. Coming back from the dead can do that to someone, and he doesn’t even like to call it dead, and apparently they were all tiny particle souls inside that infinity stone but it doesn’t matter because that’s a whole other can of worms and he gets more tired and more weary every time he even thinks about any of that. 

He swung right into a wall the other day. Slap right into it. He almost broke his nose again. He feels like that might have been the moment Tony decided on this vacation—Peter could tell by the look on his face when he told him that he’d crossed some kind of line. 

They walk inside the main lobby of Mohonk and Peter keeps hearing Ben’s voice in his head. You’re gonna catch flies, Pete. But he can’t stop gaping at everything. Like…he’s been in a Hilton and this is so much better than a Hilton. 

“This place looks straight out of a Hitchcock movie,” May says, and she knocks Tony on the arm.

Tony laughs, and Pepper turns around, raising her eyebrows at May. “Let’s just hope we don’t have any Hitchcock-type events happen while we’re here.”

“What would that mean?” Ned asks, catching up to the group and trying to whisper in Peter’s ear. “You’ve seen Hitchcock movies. I remember you watched that weird apartment one a hundred times.”

“I love that movie,” Peter says. Rear Window. He never wants his leg to be broken. He knows he’d go insane just like that.

“You haven’t seen Psycho?” MJ asks Ned, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder.

Ned hums a little bit. “No. I know about it though. No crazy Grandmas for me.”

“That’s not what happens.”

Leather couches and tall ceilings and intricate carpeting and columns and everything somehow looks really rich but really comfortable at the same time—

“No,” Tony says, turning around and pointing at them. “No, no, and no.” He points at May too. “No. No Rear Window, no Psycho, no Vertigo—maybe a little bit North by Northwest—no, you know what, no. Not that either. This is going to be the lamest movie you’ve ever—this isn’t even gonna be a movie, there’s no—there’s no plot, this is just—a family video. A home movie. That’s it.”

Family video feels warm, and Peter grins.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“It’s gonna be fine—”

“Absolutely nothing—”

“Listen, I’m hitting that buffet—”

“I’m just gonna sleep,” Peter says, as they approach the huge front desk. “Just the entire time.”

Tony smiles softly at him, and he winks. “You deserve it,” he says, and Peter can tell that he means it. 

They hear crashing, something that sounds expensive hitting the ground somewhere behind them, and they all turn around and see a bunch of employees running around to try and take care of it. A whole big production and two guys trying to hold up a big bear statue that’s trying to fall over.

“Okay, step to,” Happy’s voice says, and Peter hears him before he sees him, and then he breezes by, striding out in front of them. “Let’s go, come on, follow me, let’s get this in the books—”

“Oh, there he is,” Tony says, patting him on the shoulders. “There he is.”

~

Peter and May could never afford a vacation like this. They could never even afford to imagine something like this. Peter feels like they would have charged him if he’d even looked at photos of this place. A big, historic, mountain resort in upstate New York, on the edge of a cliff overlooking a lake? 

But now they’re here. They’re here with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Peter was able to bring two friends. Happy drove them all in a big plush rental van. They’ve got a line of suites on the sixth floor and they had steak and lobster for dinner on their first night. 

It feels unreal. But things feel unreal a lot. Especially things involving Tony, involving Spider-Man. Any of it. Like he’s having a long, prolonged dream before Ben wakes him up for school.

Peter stands on one of the terrace balconies with Tony while the others are arranging activities for tomorrow, and he stares off at the lake and the way the moon hits it. Light rippling on the water. 

“You really think you’re gonna sleep the whole time?” Tony asks, leaning on the railing. “Because nobody would judge you for it. Kayaks can wait. Ballroom dancing can absolutely wait, as can all of May’s Dirty Dancing comparisons, because I can feel them building up, like an aura around her—”

Peter snorts. “No,” he says. “But I probably will mostly just…relax. Take it easy. Just sleeping, no alarms—”

“You deserve it, like I said,” Tony says. “It’s thrilling to me that you’re even giving yourself a break.”

“Look who’s talking,” Peter says, giving him a look. “You were trying to get down to the workshop when your arm was still holding on by one string of muscle.”

Tony’s entire face contorts. “That is a terrible, disgusting image, Mr. Parker—”

Peter snorts again, choking on his laughter. 

Tony knocks him on the arm. “You’re awful, a menace, making fun of an injured old man—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Peter says, swatting him back, and still laughing. “You’re the one who needs—needs this. Like Happy always says, I’m a ‘spring chicken’, I—I can bounce back.”

“I had enough bedrest for the next ten years,” Tony says, and he’s giving Peter that look again. Concern. Like he’s trying to read his mind. “You—I know you like to act like it all doesn’t affect you, but you were going through hell on the daily before that purple asshole snapped his fingers. Then there was all that, and the right after that, and the coming back from that, and me wasting away in front of you—and then Quentin Beck flaunting his dickheaded tendencies on your school trip—that was supposed to be your relaxing time and it got away from you too and I just—like I said, you deserve your time. You need it. Don’t—you’re not selling yourself short if you say you need some rest. You put everybody first all the time, yourself last—you deserve to relax, that’s all.”

Peter blows out a breath. He doesn’t even really try to deny it in his head anymore. He doesn’t try to compare himself to other people who have it worse. He’s tired. He’s beat. He feels older than he is. 

Tony clicks his tongue and looks out at the lake. “I know this place is kind of old, kind of dated, rooms kind of look a little bit like grandma was head decorator, but—I, uh—I’ve got fond memories here. Mom used to bring me, when Howard was, uh…in some of his dicier moments. And sometimes we’d just relax, too. Recover from…knowing him.”

Peter is just kind of staring at him, because it always takes him off guard when Tony starts talking about Howard. They’re close enough now that he hears stories about his personal life all the time—his growing up, his insane college years with Rhodey, meeting Pepper meeting Happy and everything in between, but Howard is still…something they don’t really talk about, past flippant comments about Tony striving to be a better father figure than he ever was. 

“Then I’m glad you brought us here,” Peter says, his voice cracking a little bit. “I’m glad you brought me here.” And in his head he hears I’m glad you brought me back. Because he thinks about that all the time. 

Everyone’s back because of you, Peter. He never gave up on bringing you back. It was about saving you.

Tony looks like he’s about to say something else when there’s a bunch of rustling in the trees below them, and a loud thump, and more rustling. They both peer over the railing, and Peter can see the trees moving, but not anything else.

They share a wary look.

“Probably just a skunk,” Tony says.

“Oh, great.”

“Or maybe a band of feral cats.”

“Okay that’s better. Hopefully not too feral. Like, I hope they’re receptive to petting.”

They keep staring down at the trees, but it all seems quiet again.

~

Tony and Pepper have one room, Peter, MJ and Ned have the one in the middle, and May and Happy are on the end in a single room together even though Peter is refusing to acknowledge what that means or what might be going on in there. Tony mentioned that the rooms were dated, but they feel more like what a royal castle might look like inside, and for the longest time Peter is worried about wrinkling up the sheets. And then eventually it’s Ned’s snoring keeping him awake.

And then, when he’s finally mostly asleep—

“Peter.”

MJ’s voice. Peter’s in the bed with Ned and she got the other huge bed all to herself, but she sounds like she’s right next to him. He turns over onto his side, towards her voice, and then she’s—

On the ground right next to his face—

He startles a little bit, and she grabs his hand.

“MJ what—”

“There’s someone in the room.”

She’s whispering, and his heart speeds up a little bit. What the hell? There’s no way.

“Are you sure it’s not Happy?” Peter asks, as Ned lets out a rip of a snore. “Sometimes he likes to do perimeter checks—”

“It’s not Happy!” she whisper-yells.

Peter blinks, and she’s already pulling the sheets off him and yanking him out of bed, and he feels like he’d be more paranoid if something was actually happening, like he’d feel it pulsing and burning in his head, and she’s tugging on him and they’re stumbling over to the wall and—

“MJ—MJ—”

She flips on the light—

And Peter only sees him briefly—a man, standing over by the bathroom, and Peter barely gets to see what he looks like before the lights go out again. 

But he wasn’t Happy he wasn’t Tony he wasn’t supposed to be here, and Peter’s heart rockets into his throat and he hears MJ gasp and he hears feet moving and Ned is still snoring, and Peter rushes towards where the man was and tries to catch him tries to fight, but he only meets open air. 

MJ yanks the door open and she’s already running out into the hallway, yelling Tony’s name, yelling for Peter to follow her. And the hall light is streaming into their room now, and Peter looks around, breathing hard, trying to find the guy—

Nothing. Nothing.

Nobody’s here.

Ned is still snoring.

~

Tony stands next to Peter while the manager shows them the video footage. He watches their doors, completely still and closed from the hallway cameras, and then he watches MJ race out, and Tony and Happy run in a few minutes later. Followed by Pepper and May a few minutes after that. And then Ned finally looming out into the hallway, still half asleep.

“As you can see,” the manager says. “No one entered the room.”

Peter can feel Tony’s anger simmering beside him, and he takes it as a compliment that Tony is all-in on believing that they saw someone, even though he didn’t see him himself.

“Can I get the outside view again?” Tony asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

They switch to the outside view again, which they’ve already seen about three times. The cameras aren’t great out there, and Happy found out they’re in the process of an upgrade. Peter can see their floor from a distance, he sees a little flash of light that they can’t identify, and then nothing else. No one scaling the building. Not in a way they can see, anyway.

“When will the upgrade be complete?” Tony asks, his tone clipped.

“After your stay, sir, unfortunately.”

Tony huffs, and doesn’t say anything else, and he turns and takes Peter’s arm and leads him to the door. They walk out into the hallway, where MJ and Ned quickly back up.

“Don’t need to listen through the wall,” Tony says.

“Uh, we weren’t,” MJ says. “We were just—”

“Looking at the wallpaper,” Ned says. “It’s—so cool.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says. He moves so they’re in a little circle, and he grips Peter’s shoulder. “Do you want to leave?” he asks, looking around at the three of them. “Because we can leave. We can go somewhere else, figure something else out. Or we can move rooms, we can go down to the Grove Lodge so we can all be closer together—we can do whatever we want.”

Ned’s eyes go wide. “I mean, I didn’t see anything, I was sleeping—”

“It’s fine,” MJ says, fast, glancing at Peter. “I feel like we—Peter and I must have been—I mean, we’re—everything that happened, we’re always thinking about it, and Mysterio was about like—making us think we were seeing things that weren’t there or were there but different—it’s fine. Joint hallucination. Or maybe I made him think he saw something because I was saying I saw something.”

That would normally be a Tony joke cue, but he just looks at her intently. “You don’t have to make excuses,” he says. “I don’t want you guys feeling…unsafe. Despite the presence of, uh—enhanced individuals. Unnamed.”

“It’s okay,” MJ says, and she looks at Peter and nods. 

Tony looks at him too. And Peter knows that if he said anything about being worried, Tony would move them in an instant.

What the hell did he see? 

Were they really just tired?

Did he think he saw something because MJ thought she saw something?

“It’s okay,” he says, slowly, because…he isn’t entirely sure. But MJ seems sure and Peter doesn’t want to blow up the trip if they were just in a PTSD-addled nightmare. It is their first real vacation since that shit with Beck happened, it still feels like a knife in his gut sometimes.

“You sure?” Tony asks, and he shakes Peter’s shoulder a little bit.

Peter looks at MJ, and she nods at him. 

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I’m sure.”

~

They go back to bed after that without any more incidents, but Peter mostly stays awake, staring off into the darkness. MJ is awake too, through a lot of the night, and they text because Ned is sleeping and snoring like there’s nothing wrong and there’s never been anything wrong, ever.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to you either. Nerd :)

Over breakfast, Tony lets them know that Happy is setting up Friday to do sweeps and is doing his own personal perimeter checks.

“I want him to enjoy his break too though,” Peter says, pushing his waffle around on the plate.

“He’s enjoying it,” May says, through a mouthful of eggs.

Peter frowns at her. “I don’t like that. I don’t—I don’t need—”

She shrugs. “Well.”

“Okay, Miss Kiss and Tell,” Tony says, laughing as Pepper sits down next to him. “But it’s good. He’s on it, and I’m on it too.”

“Here,” MJ says, coming back from the buffet and sitting down next to Peter. She puts a cinnamon bun on his plate, smiling at him. “They just brought them out. Ned is trying to barter for more.”

“They can’t deny him,” Pepper says. “It’s all inclusive.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “And after last night, we should be getting extra—I still think they sent someone in to check on something and didn’t want to admit it. I’m not gonna go all I’d like to speak to the manager on them, even though I did—do that—but either way—”

Peter hasn’t landed anywhere on it yet. He keeps trying to think back on it, trying to remember exactly what he saw. His spider sense, newly minted, is usually pretty bang on if something isn’t right, if he feels like he’s in danger, but he’d just woken up, he’s foggy in the mornings sometimes—

He figures his mind was just playing tricks on him. But MJ too?

She rubs his leg, like she knows he's agonizing over it, and he reaches down and holds her hand.

“Okay,” Ned says, walking back over holding a plate. “They let me take five of them. They’re all really warm and gooey, I feel like this is a promising start to the day.”

~

Peter isn’t exactly a spa guy, so he doesn’t join May and Pepper when they decide to go there, even though he feels like it might help him if he ever figured out how to relax. But going there is supposed to help him relax, so how can he ever relax enough to get to the point of going there—either way, he goes out onto the lake with Tony and Ned and MJ.

MJ and Peter both get their own kayaks, and Ned and Tony are in a canoe.

“He wouldn’t get into one of these,” Tony yells. “Honestly, if Happy’s not still doing security shit, he’s probably golfing. He’s terrible at it and he never likes to do it when anybody he knows is around. I’ll message him in a little bit and make sure but that’s probably where he is. Ned. You have to keep that thing on just in case we turn over.”

Peter snorts, looking back at them, and he sees Tony adjusting Ned’s lifejacket on his shoulders.

“Happy’s just afraid of racing,” Peter yells, cutting his oar through the water. “MJ remember when—”

“Yes,” she says, a little out ahead of him, and she’s already laughing. “I don’t even know why he was trying to chase you in New York traffic. While you were swinging in the air above him. You didn’t have any cars in your way, nothing was stopping you—”

Peter snorts again, bending over and laughing a little bit. “He was so mad. He didn’t talk to me for a week. He made me talk to Friday specifically.”

“I gave him shit for that!” Tony yells. “He shouldn’t have been trying to chase you. The gas leak had nothing to do with you. He’s always tossing blame around willy nilly.”

“Yeah he still blames me for the time those columns collapsed on that old garbage building,” Ned says. “A line of code can’t do that, that building was old I didn’t do anything there was no way he should have yelled at me at all let alone for twenty minutes—”

“He’s just dramatic,” Tony says.

“He just gets worried,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder at their boat. And Ned makes big eyes at him, because yeah, uh, they’ve seen why he gets worried. They’ve dealt with why he gets worried. And now, after last night, Peter feels like he’s making himself worried. He needs to stop, they’ve already moved past it, they’re still here, it’s all fine.

“Yeah, I imbued him with a worrying virus that will never be cured,” Tony says. “And now the next generation has to deal with it. Here we are.”

Peter shakes his head, smiling. He’s gotta relax. The sun is shining on the lake bright and beautiful, and May is actually getting a massage for the first time in years and everything is fine. It’s fine. 

He hears Tony chastising Ned again about his life jacket, gently, and Peter starts rowing out and around the outside of the lake. They’re the only ones out here right now, and he wonders how long that’s gonna last. He wonders if that’s something the resort set up, because it’s Tony, because of what happened last night, because Happy’s been intimidating people, and Peter simultaneously appreciates it and balks against the special treatment. But he’s with Tony, he should know it’s gonna happen.

He feels like he’s going a little faster than he should be going based on the way he’s rowing, like he’s really moving along. He glances over at MJ and she’s even further away from him, moving in the direction of the hotel.

“We’re not racing yet!” he yells, and he feels like Happy—constantly worried. But he’s worried about her in a different way and actually starting things with her in Europe made the whole thing worth it in a way, and now they’re together and it’s amazing but he’s just so worried all the time.

And now he’s stopped rowing all together, and he should be slowing down, but he’s still moving. Moving….fast. Maybe even getting faster.

Should that be happening? He doesn’t really kayak. He shifts around a little bit and looks down, and feels a little bit tucked in here. 

“Hey!” Tony yells. “You’re moving like you have a motor on you!”

Peter’s brows furrow, because he is, and he’s not rowing, and he should have lost any propulsion at this point, and he looks up and he sees MJ looking back at him, and she’s not moving anymore, and he glances back and both Tony and Ned look concerned—

And he gets the worst feeling in his chest, like an alarm, like his spidey sense but more warped and panicked, and he tries to get up without toppling over, because the kayak is still moving for no reason, speeding along and it’s going faster and faster. He drops his oar, and balances precariously for a few seconds before he leaps into the water.

Bubbles all around him, and muffled calls of his name—

And he’s only submerged for a couple seconds, because of the life jacket pulling him back to the surface, and he comes up just in time to watch the empty kayak lift up into the air, careening into the forest and disappearing into the trees. 

And he floats there, treading water, staring.

“What the fuck?” Ned yells. “Peter? Peter?”

“Peter!” MJ yells.

“Pete, we’re coming!” Tony yells. “Hold on!”

But Peter is just sort of. Staring. Staring off, at where the kayak disappeared. He stares over there. He stares. 

No thoughts, just. Insane.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Peter asks, his voice squeaking. “Is that—MJ you should probably—you shouldn’t be in there if you’re not, uh, prepared to go—flying—did anybody see it explode? Did it explode? Or did it just shatter, uh, well, wooden—wooden kayak, was it wooden? Or plastic? Either way I bet it’s not a full kayak anymore—”

He feels himself being lifted out of the water, and it’s Tony pulling him into the boat. He doesn’t know how they got here so fast but to be honest a kayak just went full fighter jet on him so he can’t be that confused. 

His shock has him gripped and he just sort of lays there like a rag doll as Tony and Ned pull him up, and he sees MJ rowing over to them. Thankfully, she’s still in her kayak, and it’s not—flying through the air.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, once Peter isn’t in the water anymore. He’s got both arms around him, and Peter is laying against his chest, and Tony is patting his cheek and trying to peer around and meet his eyes. Ned has his hands on Peter’s knees and he’s just staring at him. 

“I just got a defective one,” Peter says, pointing over at the forest. “It’s okay. It was just—a flying one, we didn’t make sure we didn’t get a flying one. I hope MJ doesn’t have a flying one and it’s just not like. On a time delay I don’t know. MJ, just—hurry over here—” He waves her over. He wants her to hurry up. 

“Peter,” Tony says, and he pats Peter’s chest. “Are you alright? Did you twist anything when you jumped out, can you breathe—”

“Are kayaks supposed to do that?” Peter asks, feeling like he can hear his own voice echoing everywhere. “I didn’t think that was, uh, the case—”

“It’s not the case,” Ned says. “No. It’s not. It’s not the case.”

“Peter.”

MJ finally rolls up alongside them—

“I think you should get out of there,” Peter says, pointing at her. “It’s unsafe—”

“Something is going on,” MJ says, and she’s not looking at Peter. She’s looking at Tony.

~

Tony loves this kid, and this is supposed to be a fucking vacation. Tony loves this kid, and he believed him when he thought someone was in his room, even if the hotel was trying to sway them away from the idea. Tony loves this kid, and he just had to watch him abandon his kayak because said kayak was lifting off and destroying itself somewhere on the property. And kayaks don’t just fucking do that.

Tony stands close to Happy, well into his personal space. He’s got his hands on his hips, like a stern stance is gonna bring him any closer to an answer, and Happy sighs.

“I’ve done ten sweeps,” he says. “There’s nothing going on. There’s nobody here that isn’t supposed to be here. We even looked at the remains of the goddamn kayak and I didn’t find anything wrong with it.”

“There was something wrong with it,” Tony says. “It was flying. It was flying, speed wise, without Pete even rowing, and then it was flying, literally, after he had to abandon ship.”

“I know. It was in a million pieces.”

Tony sighs. They moved down to the Grove Lodge after it happened. Nobody told Pepper and May why, because Peter was insisting on not telling May, and he was also insisting on not leaving even though Tony wanted to leave, because if they left then they were leaving danger behind for the poor unassuming Mohonk guests. And if they leave, danger will probably follow them anyway, and Tony doesn’t know what move to make. 

He’s upset, because this was supposed to be a relaxing break for all of them, but especially for Peter, after everything he’s goddamn gone through. He’s upset because this place felt like his place, his haven, a place where he could get away and be secluded and safe, and now something is pursuing them here. Something is trying to hurt them.

“You haven’t found anything?” Tony presses. “Nothing?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Happy says, and he glances back at the front door of the lodge again. “I’m still looking, I’m not giving up, and I think we should be better located down here because we rented out the whole house and I told them not to come in for room service or cleaning or anything. I know we lose the nice high-up view—”

“It’s fine,” Tony says, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s afraid to even be discussing this in public. Anybody could be anywhere listening.

He doesn’t like feeling like he can’t protect these kids. 

“It looks like they’re targeting Peter,” Tony says, as quietly as he can. “And I can’t tell if that’s because of me, that they think—I mean the whole goddamn world thinks he’s my love child at this point, thinks May is my secret mistress or the sister of his secret mother, God knows, I don’t know what the most recent story is. But I can’t tell if they’re targeting him because of me or because of the other thing—”

“And the other thing is worse—the spider thing—”

“I didn’t specify on purpose, Hap,” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Right, right—the innocuous other thing—”

“We’re lucky we got out of Europe with the other thing intact—”

“Yeah,” Happy says, shaking his head, and Tony wishes he had been there with him, had been there period. He would have torn Beck in half had he laid eyes on him. 

Why do they always target people he loves? Why not him? Blow him up. Kidnap him. But he guesses he’s been there already. He guesses they’ve done all that and it’s old hat to these assholes to go to him directly.

But this could be about Spider-Man too. There could be people that know who he is. People always find out, no matter how hard Tony tries, and Peter has made plenty of his own enemies. His own gallery of rogues looking to take him down.

“Just don’t tell May, if she asks,” Tony says.

“Oh, and don’t tell Pepper either?” Happy asks, in that stupid voice he uses to make fun of Tony. Tony glares, and Happy glares back. “They know by now something’s going on. They’re not dumb. They’re just not saying anything. But May will beat someone to death with anything she can get her hands on and so will Pepper, so maybe we should be sticking close to them.”

Tony sighs. “I just wanted—”

“I know—”

“And now—”

“I know,” Happy says. “We’re on it. We know it’s real, now, even if these people won’t cop to anything. I’m in their walls. Literally. Maybe I’m doing some things I shouldn’t be.”

Tony steps up onto the porch. “Don’t even tell me.”

“I won’t. But maybe I am.”

~

“Ned, why are you in here while I’m in the bathtub?”

“She’s in here!”

“I’m dating her.”

“Wow, that’s great,” Ned says, not making any move to get up from his spot on the gold lounge chair. “That’s great, I see how things are going. I see what direction we’re heading in.”

Peter scoffs. He warmed up a long time ago, and he’s getting really pruny, but he doesn’t want to get out just yet. He feels like something is gonna happen if he gets out. Like it’s all gonna start up again and maybe the house is gonna explode or their fridge is gonna grow arms and start trying to fight them or something. 

And he isn’t lazy. He’s always ready to fight.

Maybe he’s a little lazy. But not usually. He thought Europe was gonna be a Spider-Man free trip and look how that turned out. And he thought this was going to be calm and relaxing but now it’s become suspicious. And worrying. And he’s torn between leaving and staying and telling May and not telling May and he doesn’t know if she’s in danger too and sometimes he feels like everybody would be safer if he lived out in Alaska somewhere and nobody knew him.

Peter sighs, and MJ rubs his shoulder. Ned is still giving him that look and Peter ignores that look. He’s never been in a little claw-foot tub like this before. Tony doesn’t even have these in the compound. And a bubble bath? He hasn’t had a bubble bath since he was a kid and Ben was still alive. It almost distracts him from… whatever the hell is going on here.

“We’ve got two more days,” MJ says. “And we’re sticking it out.”

“We’re sticking it out,” Peter says. “I got my webshooters, I guess I’ll wear them if we go hiking tomorrow.”

“Someone is gonna push you off a cliff,” Ned says, raising his eyebrows. 

“We’re all going together, so nobody is gonna push anybody,” MJ says. She leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Okay let’s leave so he can—get out.”

They both get up, and Peter watches as they argue.

“Oh, you’re not gonna help him?” Ned asks.

“Oh, you’re not?” MJ replies, nudging him as they move towards the door. “I thought that was your job, guy in the chair—”

~

They have dinner in the main building, and Peter watches his back. He only jumps once, when someone drops a tray full of plates, and he winces at the shattering and runs over there to help clean it up before they usher him away. They visit the horses in the stables, and Peter checks every nook and cranny to make sure somebody isn’t hiding in there. They watch May and Happy bust into the late jazz class that’s going on in the ballroom and Peter forgets to do anything because he feels like his face is going to catch on fire from all the blushing.

And he remembers to be paranoid when they get back to the Grove Lodge, and he can tell May is suspicious and they’re all watching him like hawks and he gets worried that Tony is the real target of whatever is happening here and he’s just a distraction. 

He can’t let anything happen to Tony. He can’t let anything happen to any of them.

Or maybe nothing is happening. And nobody was in their room. And the kayak was just—Parker luck. Too much strength, or something. 

He wakes up around three in the morning because he can’t stay asleep, and he sits down in the ‘great room’ and stares out into the darkness of the night. 

“Don’t jump,” Tony’s voice says, but Peter jumps anyway, twisting around and seeing him on the stairs. “You jumped! I said don’t jump! You heard me, I said it—”

Peter snorts, shaking his head. “You can’t just tell me not to jump and expect me not to jump—especially if you’re stepping out of the shadows—”

“There’s no shadows,” Tony says, stepping off the landing. “No shadows. I’m fully illuminated—”

Peter sighs. “You can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Tony says, walking over quietly. “Sleep and I, we have a very contemptuous relationship.” He shakes his head. “I just feel like shit because you can’t have a normal vacation. Whatever the hell is or isn’t going on here. You just deserve—Jesus, a full day, at the least, without something happening you have to question.” He sits down next to Peter and lets out a sigh.

“It’s not your fault. At all.”

“I mean—it might be. We’ve seen Europe as an example of very much my fault.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him. “That wasn’t your fault either. You know it wasn’t your fault, idiots blaming you for their own stupidity is not your fault—”

A huge crash outside. It sounds like one of those big weird planters falling over and knocking into the other planters and then it sounds like a bunch of feet shuffling and this isn’t Parker luck, this isn’t a hallucination, this isn’t a kayak doing non-kayak like things—

They both leap out of their chairs. The noises don’t stop and Tony is immediately stepping in front of Peter and holding his arm out, as if to shield him.

“Kid, go back upstairs—”

“No,” Peter whisper-shouts, grabbing his arm as the two of them move forward very, very slowly towards the back porch doors. “You almost died recently—you’re wearing pajamas and a house coat—”

“You don’t even know what a house coat is—”

Another crash, more skittering feet, and Peter focuses—he can hear separate heartbeats from the hearts he loves in this house. Two of them.

“Tony I’ve got my webshooters on—”

“That doesn’t matter you’re wearing pajamas too you’re not prepared—”

And when they’re just close enough to open the door, there’s a flash of bright white light. And Peter closes his eyes against it, and he can feel Tony turning around, trying to block him from it, and it must be more than just light because he hears a loud bang and the windows are shattering and it feels like a cataclysmic boom is pushing them through the air. The two of them fly backwards, and hit the far wall, and the last thing Peter hears before his head snaps back too far is 

GOD DAMMIT ALFIE YOU’RE TWO SECONDS TOO EARLY WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS JUMPING THE—

~

Peter gasps awake. His gasp echoes, and he sits up, and looks around, and he’s…nowhere.

He scrambles to his feet. He’s alone, and he’s nowhere, there’s nothing but blackness and his ears are popping like he’s high up and he sees—

He sees—

A kayak? Flying through the darkness? 

He watches it, cascading like a majestic bird, and he stares at it, and then it just—blinks out of existence. Like it was never even there.

Maybe he’s just dreaming. Maybe he never even woke up and went downstairs and talked to Tony. Maybe none of that happened at all. Maybe he’s still asleep and Ned is snoring somewhere and MJ is saying not beets in the salad in her sleep again and maybe—

God dammit, Alfie, I swear. I swear I’m gonna whack you in the head.

Peter spins around, in the complete darkness. He can see himself, his own body and his hands and his pajamas and his webshooters, like he’s got a spotlight on him. “Hello?” he calls. “What the hell is—whoever that is—”

And then the London Bridge appears huge and massive above his head and he starts to duck, nearly collapsing in on himself, and there’s no way this is actually happening this isn’t real and he shoots a web at it and it goes right through it and it hits—somewhere—somewhere in the darkness, it sticks, it—

ALFIE I THINK THEY’RE BOTH—

I KNOW IT I CAN TELL OKAY I’M NOT MORONIC—

It clicks in Peter’s head. This is someone using Beck’s tech. It’s someone using Beck’s tech. That’s what this is. This is some idiots using his tech and not knowing how to use it properly and—

Peter starts yelling. “Whoever you are, you’re—you’re not good at this—this isn’t gonna work out for you—”

The bridge disappears, and Peter starts running. His spidey sense is going berserk, and he can’t tell where the danger is, what direction, how far. He can’t tell what’s underneath his feet, it feels—crunchy, and a little old, maybe? All he knows is he needs to get the hell out of this illusion. It feels unstable.

He starts shooting his webs everywhere, and most of them fly away without hitting anything, and that makes him wonder where the hell he could be with so much space—

STARK IS DOING SOMETHING WITH HIS AI—

Peter’s heart lurches.

“Tony!” Peter yells, still running, and he holds his hands out and tries to find something, anything, and he shoots webs fucking everywhere, and then—

SHIT—

He runs right into someone. And they push him off, and then he gets a brass-knuckled fist to the face before he can get a hit off of his own. He stumbles backwards through the sharp pain, wrestling with the instinct to just fight even though it’s only darkness all around him and he can’t see who the hell he’s fighting with. 

Instead, he spits out a line of blood and keeps running.

Pulsing, face pulsing, beating with ripped skin and metal—

A massive kayak blips into the air briefly, and then it disappears.

Peter narrows his eyes, shaking his head, and what the hell is with the kayak—

He runs smack into something, like a train going accordion against a wall, and he stumbles backwards again, clutching at his crushed nose and trying to stay on his feet. The punch and the goddamn running into whatever that was has him dizzy, has him mangled and seeing stars in this manufactured darkness and then he hears Tony hollering his name at the top of his lungs—

“Peter! Peter!”

He sounds like he’s behind him—

“Tony!” Peter yells, all nasally. “Tony! Hey I’m over here—”

He turns around, changing his trajectory. And the darkness blips, breaking in large pixels, and Peter keeps running towards Tony’s voice and the darkness blips again, turns bright white, and then—

The illusion, or lack of one, breaks all at once, and Peter can see—

He’s on the roof of the main Mohonk building—he can see the lake, and the forest, and the mountains, settled in the calm of the night that feels decidedly not calm for him in particular, and he skids to a halt because he’s nearly running off the roof—

And he feels someone grab his arm and tug him back, and he spins around and it’s Tony, thank God it’s Tony—

“Hey!” Tony yells, and Peter looks at him and grabs his arm and they both look up and—

There are just two guys standing there. Two guys, both on the shorter side, definitely unkempt, and they’re holding a little gray box and they’re both just hitting it and hitting it and hitting it—

Peter aims his webs and just starts shooting. He feels like he shoots the most amount of webs he’s ever shot. The two guys fly backwards and get stuck to one of the upraised red parts of the roof, and they’re both gritting their teeth and trying to get out like they’re Scooby Doo villains.

“They must be associated with Beck,” Peter says, trying to catch his breath. His entire mouth tastes like blood. “They’ve gotta be.”

“I figured, with their shitty illusion attempts,” Tony says, and he sounds angrier than Peter’s ever heard him. He glances at Peter, starts to glance away, but then he looks at him again, fast, his brows furrowing severely. “Jesus Christ, you’re—bleeding everywhere—”

“Yeah, it feels—it doesn’t feel good—they didn’t hit you?” Peter asks.

Tony takes Peter’s chin gently, tilting his head and wincing. “No,” he says. “They didn’t goddamn hit me—”

“Well, the nose was from—running into something—I think that, uh, I think that’s a chimney over there, I think I ran into it—you didn’t run into anything—”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Oh, that’s great—”

Tony looks like he’s about to breathe fire, and he lets go of Peter and starts stomping towards the webbed bad guys.

“Why the hell would you be loyal to a moron like him?” Tony asks. “Beck? He couldn’t even keep a job at Stark Industries—”

“Yeah, buddy, because you stole his idea,” one of them hollers. They’re both still wiggling around, trying to get out.

Tony sneers. “He worked for my company executing an idea I designed and commissioned and decided to weaponize it when it was created to help deal with trauma and mental health—have you never had a job, an occupation—you know what, I don’t care, I don’t care—”

“Well he didn’t say that, he didn’t say any of that exactly,” the other guy says, the one with the longer hair. “He just said—”

“Nothing he says is true,” Peter yells, wincing when he touches his nose. “That guy is a liar, and a freak, and you believed him enough to follow us on vacation and—screw up every attempt you made to kill us—it was one of you guys in my room—”

“No, that was just testin’, that was just—we was just testin’, it was—you guys acted really dramatic—”

Peter scoffs. “Dramatic?”

And the two guys start giving each other nasty looks, even though they’re webbed shoulder to shoulder. “Maybe if you hadn’t dropped that dart gun in the lobby when they first got here—”

“Maybe if you hadn’t fallen out of the tree—”

“Maybe if you had made the goddamn kayak explode instead of fly—”

“Stop!” Tony yells, cutting his hands through the air like an angry teacher. “Stop. Stop. I’ve never wanted to hear Boston accents less. Stop. You’re arrested. We’ve arrested you.”

“You can’t do that, the Avengers aren’t cops,” the shorter one says. He’s got a tattoo on his neck that says GOLDBARES with a Haribo bear icon and Peter squints at it and he feels like his entire face hurts worse just from seeing it.

“You’ve committed several crimes,” Tony says, still pointing at them. “It’s—my personal security already—”

There’s a click. A very loud click. And both guys clam up real quick.

“What was that?” Tony asks.

Peter’s spidey sense is—ratcheting up, clear into his teeth—

“Tony!” he yells, because it feels like something is coming, and, just like in the Grove Lodge, there’s a big boom and they’re blown backwards by a seismic wave—

And they’re launched off the roof, and it feels like they’re moving in slow motion, through the dead dark of the night and the reflection of the lake, and Peter screams like a moron. He just screams, and then he shoots a web right at Tony and pulls him in with it, and then he shoots a web at the building and swings back around with him. 

They don’t land well, because Peter’s brain is on the backburner and there’s nothing on the front, and they roll in a heap, Peter tucking his face into Tony’s shoulder. When they come to a halt Tony pulls back, sitting up and touching Peter’s cheek.

“You in there?”

“I’m in there. Here,” Peter says, and he feels like he’s bleeding worse, somehow. “Did they blow up? Did those guys blow up? It sounded like they blew up.”

“We didn’t blew up we’re still over here but maybe I wish we woulda blew up because—”

And they start shouting at each other, but Peter tries to tune them out.

“Thank God you brought those things,” Tony says, tapping Peter’s wrist. “Thanks, bud.”

Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head and still just. Laying there. “Oh yeah, no problem. All good, just—completely normal.”

Tony sighs, and his eyes cut to the side. “Any other late traps ready to explode?” he yells, over his shoulder.

They stop arguing with each other. There’s a brief silence. 

“Uh. I honestly got no idea. We just brought the whole bag of tricks, I don’t know. There’s shit everywhere.”

Tony looks at Peter, slowly shaking his head.

“Fantastic,” Peter says. “Wonderful.”

~

“So, you weren’t in there watching us when we were getting our nails done in the spa?” Pepper asks. “I thought it was weird. I told May it was weird. That was these guys—”

Tony scoffs, and he feels like he instantly gets a headache, a migraine—

“Of course I wasn’t—of course—you thought I was just standing there? Staring at you in the spa? You didn’t think that was out of the ordinary—”

Pepper gives him a look, and Peter laughs from the hammock behind them.

“Yeah, when I went to get my nails done later you kept walking in and out,” Happy says. “But I thought you were just—I don’t know what I thought. But then you told me about the kayak thing later and I thought—well—I attributed it to that.”

“Happy went and got his nails done,” Ned whispers, somewhere behind Tony, too. “We could do that?”

“Who’s stopping you?” MJ says, quiet.

“Well, the whole—the whole situation stopped me, I guess, but I didn’t really think about it—”

“I’m glad it wasn’t you staring at us,” May says, standing near the railing and peering out into her binoculars. “Pepper said it was normal, but it was concerning me.”

Tony glares at Pepper, but she just bats her eyes at him like the picture of innocence.

“Sometimes Peter does that to me,” May says. “Just stares at me from behind a Lucky Charms box in the kitchen. That’s how I know something’s wrong.”

Tony snorts, and he turns around as soon as Peter starts protesting.

“I do not!” Peter says, shifting around in the hammock. “I do not do that.”

“It sounds like something you’d do,” Ned says.

“You’ve done that to me,” MJ says, clearing her throat.

Peter huffs, and everyone laughs at him, and Tony tries not to laugh too hard, because this started with his own wife acting like she thinks he’s capable of acting like some weirdo who stands around staring at people.

Tony sighs. He turns around, walking over and peering down at Peter. He braces his hand on the tree his hammock is attached to. “How’s the nose?” Tony asks.

“Broken.”

“It’s not broken anymore, we reset it.”

“It knows it was broken. I know too.”

He’s still got the butterfly bandages on the bridge of his nose, and it’s bruised and angry looking. He’s got a burst blood vessel in his eye, and the white part is dipped with red. Tony feels like shit because he got out of the whole ordeal relatively unscathed. Just a few bumps and bruises. Some whiplash. But Peter broke his nose again.

They hiked up to the Sky Top Tower, and the kids wanted to hang out once they got up here. They all thought Peter had earned the hammock. Happy refused to come, and he’s in charge of the security situation, anyway, so he couldn’t exactly abandon it to do a hike he didn’t want to do. 

They had to clear the whole damn resort out to get rid of any remaining traps and illusions. Tony had to bring in a whole team. Rhodey made fun of him on the phone when Tony told him, laughing for a good five minutes.

And sure, it’s stupid. Those guys are stupid and they had no idea what the hell they were doing, they couldn’t even attack properly. But that’s what happens when stupid people follow more powerful stupid people. They hold grudges. They make up shit in their heads. They cause problems.

And it’s never really funny when Peter is bloody at the end of it.

“I feel like I’m sinking,” Peter says, his brows furrowing.

He reaches out his hand, and Tony takes it, and he pulls him out of the hammock as MJ and Ned push on his shoulders. Peter groans like he’s a hundred years old, and Tony claps him on the shoulder.

May looks away from her binoculars. “How you doing, honeybunch?”

“Fine,” Peter says, letting go of Tony’s hand. “Incredible. Amazing.”

“Just a normal day for a hero,” Pepper says. “MJ, you’ll get used to it, May, you’ll never get used to it—”

“And Ned,” Ned says to himself. “You will be there every step of the way.”

Tony looks at Peter, and he wants to apologize. For all of it, for being a hero at all, for the goddamn radioactive spider at Oscorp and everything that came after. For stupid morons like Quentin Beck, who know the quickest way to hurt Tony is to attack this kid he’s nearly adopted as his own.

He doesn’t know what the hell to say, because Peter wouldn’t accept his apologies anyway. He never would. Peter is just appreciative of every moment. Even if the moments aren’t ideal.

“We’ve got the whole place to ourselves,” Tony says. “How about we have a pie bar when we head back down there? I can tip the kitchen staff two hundred percent when I ask. I don’t think anybody would be pissed off.”

He sees May smiling softly at him over Peter’s shoulder. Trust in her eyes, even after all this bullshit.

“Can there be…at least four key limes?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Four or five,” Tony says, ruffling his hair. “Or six or seven. Depending on the number of ovens in the joint.”

Peter grins at him, still bright and lively, despite everything.

Maybe they can salvage this vacation yet.

[thestalwartheart]

if you're still taking prompts from the list:

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Hey @dude-watchin-with-the-brontes! Thank you so much for this prompt, and apologies for taking so long to get something written! Here's a short little prompt fill for you. Enjoy 💙 Read it below or on AO3.

drunk.

When they emerge from the pub, it’s still light out, which seems like madness until Q remembers the recent turn of the clock. Daylight savings. The most wonderful time of the year. The night sky is a haze of pink and orange, and if he were a different man, Q would call it romantic.

“It is.”

“Hm?” Q turns to the man beside him. Bond. The last man standing, as ever. He looks remarkably sober for having polished off an incalculable amount of hard alcohol.

“Romantic,” Bond says. “The sky. I was agreeing with you.”

“Right. Yes. I definitely—” Q swallows a small burp. “I definitely meant to say that aloud. Christ. I’m ratarsed.”

Bond laughs. Laughs. It’s such a rarity that Q closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to seal it into his memory and lock it away with everything else that should only be declassified in seventy-five years.

When he opens his eyes, the sky is even pinker, and Bond is standing in front of him. His eyes are lovely, but lovelier are the laugh lines around them.

Deep, they are. Well-worn.

Q knows it’s just genetics. DNA-sequencing. A pinch of his mother, more of his father. The creases of his face don’t mean Bond’s laughed so much in life, really, and yet he smiles easily when they’re like this: drunk under London’s sky, meandering through the city, usually while it’s raining. Thank goodness it isn’t tonight. Q hasn’t an umbrella on him, not even a dangerously experimental one.

“All right, Q?”

“Fine. Yes. Lovely.”

“And ratarsed.”

Q wobbles on a loose paving stone. Bond’s hand steadies him.

“Mm. But a merry sort of ratarsed. I think the fresh air’s helped.”

A laughing couple walk past. They’re handsy, all over each other, and their loud public affection might normally prove annoying, but it isn’t tonight. The sky is lovely, and the company is even lovelier, so why shouldn’t everyone kiss where they like?

Why shouldn’t Q?

He leans in.

But Bond’s hand moves from his arm to his chest, and Q is kept at bay.

“Q.”

“What? But we—” Q breaks off, frowning.

They’ve done this before. They’ve done this in Q’s office, and they’ve done it in Bond’s. They’ve done it in a hospital, and they’ve done it once in Cyprus amongst the olive trees. Infrequent as it is, Q’s habitual drunken snog with Bond is one of the two constants in his life. The other constant is the cats, and he can’t very well snog them.

“I know.”

“Is there someone else?”

He cringes as soon as he says it averting his eyes. He sounds like a desperate wife concerned about Bond’s mistresses—all those overseas trips, the late nights at the office. It’s nine o’clock. Where’ve you been? Absurd, if only because Q’s the one who’s always staying late.

So. They’ve snogged a few times. So what? Q shagged a man named Iain a few weeks ago. Bond’s fucked three women with three different names since. Q forgets them. He’s sure Bond hasn’t.

There’s a messy, drunken taxi line forming outside the pub. People waiting for their Ubers, give their friends one last hug, then two, then three. A weight sinks in Q’s stomach and sloshes about amongst seven pints.

“Too many people, then?” he ventures.

“Q, look at me.”

He does.

“I’d have you in front of a football stadium if that’s what you wanted.”

Q’s breath feels punched out of him.

Bond steps closer, slides his hand up Q’s jaw. Their foreheads touch; Q’s messy curls, greasy from the day, pick up the clammy sweat on Bond’s forehead. Bond’s lips are so close. They look cold. Q wants to warm them.

“I’d just prefer to have you sober,” says Bond.

“Oh. Yes.” Q digs his hand under Bond’s jacket and urges him closer. Behind them, someone lets loose a catcall. “Yes.” He bites his bottom lip. “Perhaps one for the road, though? While I sober up?”

Bond smiles. He turns his head until his lips meet Q’s cheek—or rather his jaw—and there is nothing chaste about the kiss he places there. It’s louche and incendiary in the way of all Bond’s actions. Q’s body does not know the meaning of whisky dick.

When he surfaces from the haze of the last few minutes, an MI6 driver is waiting to take him home. He climbs into the car with Bond, knowing that when he gets out, he’ll be getting out alone. The thought doesn’t smart like it might have on some other night. He creates a reminder in his phone for the following morning — CALL BOND - DATE?? — and leans back against the headrest.

Bond’s hand is waiting for him; it tangles in Q’s hair. Outside, the day disappears into a navy blue sky.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 33 Where’s my mind?

Chapter 33 of Cherry

A/N: sorry?

Warning- Angst, swearing, fluff?, mentions of death, and violence and ptsd, suggest nfsw, cliffhanger

Takes place during- The final chapters special 2

Pairing- Jean Kirstein x fem!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*A COUPLE MONTHS LATER. MARLEY*

“A punishment must be imposed! They are from Paradise!”

“They helped save humanity! We are alive because of them! They deserve to be honored Marleyeans!”

They’ve been arguing over the same thing for the past couple of months, the battle between Titans and humanity ended and the first thing they focus on is whether they should punish every remaining Eldian, or honor you as the heroes you are. It’s a stupid fight, a childish argument that’s taken too long to discuss.

Besides Marleyan and Eldian? Does it matter now that Titans are extinct?

No, so their answer should be simple. If they don’t want to accept that it was because of you that their hearts are beating and their lungs are taking in another breath, then they're the real monsters.

Then again you don’t really care what they call you anymore, you don’t care if they continue to argue for the rest of their lifetimes. You don’t care if you’re celebrated and honored, you can’t care about much as of late. It’s weird, isn’t it?

All you can care about, all that matters is if they’ll choose a punishment or not. You just need to know if they want to lock you back up in their stupid underground cells or not, because you can’t go back there, you can't let them touch you again. You can’t.

The doctor that would perform all the experiments on you is dead, you killed him with your own hands, but there’s still more like him. You can’t go through that again and see their smug faces as they overpower you, a strong soldier. A soldier who kept their strength even after the Titans died. You can’t be trapped in the dark again, you can’t be hit and chased. You can’t. No, no…

…It’s happening again. The shortness of breath, racing heart, and panicked mind trigger the bad memories to flash and grow loud until the point you can’t hear what’s around you, you feel your body stiffen and everything go numb, even that once racing mind. It’s like you’re isolated, and feeling your own time slow down.

You need to collect yourself and focus.

Focus on Jean sitting beside you barely paying attention to what people are saying. Focus on the fact that you’re free right now, that you’re surrounded by your friends who wouldn’t let your worst fear come true. Focus…

Focus.

Yet as try to catch your breath the door opens and that doctor walks in. That same doctor who would hurt you, the same one you killed. He’s walking in….

“No, no, no,” you mouth under your breath and sit back as you grip onto the table's surface in front of you and squeeze your eyes shut.

When you open them again the doctor is gone and you notice that it was actually a woman. Your mind just tricked you…

Fuck. Damn it.

You loosen your grip on the table and stand up abruptly to walk out.

“Y/N?” Jean whispers.

“Outside,” you quickly throw out and slip past your friends watching you leave with concern.

But you can’t help it. You try to be better, but ever since the war ended your days have become longer as it’s filled with whatever tranquility means now; nothing. You have nothing to do now that you don’t have to fight, so those nightmares have turned into actual torture during some unexpected parts of your days.

They say it’ll go away, but it’s been months and you’ve gotten worse. You feel yourself getting worse, it’s why…well, it’s why you’ve come up with an important decision in your life. Something you can’t imagine will go well for one person in particular, but you have to make it. You just can’t handle what you’re suffering through whilst staying here.

Who knows if making your decision will make anything better, but you can’t even catch your breath when you’re outside. You can’t…you can’t find beauty in anything like you used to. It’s all so dull and bleak, so ugly. So you hope making that decision will help. It has to. Plus you're not only making it for you, but for a promise you made Eren…

Eren…who sacrificed so much, but you’re here unable to breathe and mad at the world. You're unable to find any motivation to seek the life you can now have, the life you want.

He’d be so mad and annoyed…Tsk.

You proceed to drop your head and notice your heartbeat calming down, and your breaths go in and out normally. Your mind still doesn’t let go of those bad memories, but you slowly push them back and just bask in the silence. For a while anyway.

“Cherry.”

You quickly turn around and see Levi approaching you on his feet. “You need to be on that chair,” you scold him.

Levi rolls his eyes. “I can’t stand sitting down all damn day,” he snaps back.

You don’t argue, instead, you skip over and plop yourself on his wheelchair. “Well when you’re not using it don’t haul it around, you look insane pushing nothing around.” You snicker.

“Tsk. Aren't you supposed to be inside listening?”

“Aren't you?” You retort and sit back before you begin kicking your feet back and forth as he begins to push you away from the meeting tent.

“We should find a hill so you can push me down it on this thing,” you suggest lightheartedly.

Levi scoffs. “Yeah and see you die when you fall off the damn thing,” he counters.

You chuckle softly and begin to fiddle with your fingers before you blurt out your trouble. “I’m thinking of going back to Paradise.” You swallow thickly and shut your eyes as you expect an angry protest.

After all, you’ve lived with this nagging fear that either of you could die when the Titans existed, and when the war was ramped. So now that things have calmed down and you don’t have such a nagging feeling poisoning your mind, you can finally live together with ease.

“When are you guys planning to leave?” He asks nonchalantly. He doesn’t sound upset, he doesn’t stop pushing you in his wheelchair either, and he sounds like what you said didn’t bother him.

It’s good. You need that. You want that from Jean too.

“No, just me,” you correct him. “I'm planning to leave alone. I don’t want to pull him away from this, it’s hard but he likes doing this. And I can’t stay here anymore, I just…need to get away from here. I need to…find myself, I don’t know,” you mumble and keep looking at your hands.

Levi finally stops moving the wheelchair and lets out a deep breath. You expect some protest, something that will make you feel bad.

“All right,” he says in comprehension and catches you off guard. Even though it shouldn’t, he’s accepting, he tries to understand even if sometimes that does come late.

“I mean I know you’re not asking for permission,” he continues. “But I think it’s the right thing for you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you can’t help but let a soft smile tug on your lips.

“I’ve just seen you struggling here, returning might be nice. And you won’t be alone, Mikasa is there, as well as Historia.”

You hum. “I know. I’ve written to them both, Mikasa says she has a room in her apartment. And Historia is working towards my pardon.”

Levi stays quiet for a moment before he interjects. “So is this more of a goodbye?”

You shake your head and look up at the bland land ahead ruined by the rumbling. “No, I’ve been indecisive. I don’t want to leave Jean behind, or you.”

“You don’t worry about me,” Levi quickly rebuttals. “Nor do you need to worry about him. Worry about yourself, that’s all that matters. If he can’t accept your choice in the right way that you deserve then he’s not right is he?”

You frown and try to defend him. “It’s not that, he’s just you know…protective, he’s headstrong, and stubborn.”

“Well, regardless,” Levi sighs. “He needs to accept your choice. Is that why you’re holding back from deciding?”

You hesitate but nod since you still continue to be a terrible liar. “Yeah,” you whisper and lift your head, managing to catch a group of young adults to the far right side of you glancing over here and murmuring to each other.

“Then stop,” he says sharply. “He’s just your boyfriend. If he loves you he’ll understand.”

You slowly peer back and flash Levi a smile. “What is this? Love advice? And you’re good at it. You sound like Pieck.” You giggle.

“I'm good at a lot of things,” Levi mutters and averts his gaze. “And I did raise a girl, so it was required.”

You chuckle. “20 years late.”

“Whatever.”

You face ahead again and sit back with an amused smile on your face and with this sense of relief comforting your hesitation and fear over telling Jean. You also feel a bit of bliss that Levi accepted without causing an argument or protesting.

However, that simple bliss vanishes away quickly as you see that same group looking over here and pointing as they smile and laugh, and instead an unfamiliar raging anger replaces it.

“You’ve got a fucking problem!” You snap at the group and hastily push yourself off the chair.

“Cherry,” Levi tries to calm you down, but you storm towards the group of men before he can even lift his hand.

“Yeah, you!” You sneer and point your chin at the main man who had been gawking like a schoolgirl. “You have a fucking problem!”

The blond man puffs out his chest and his friends grow quiet, but you see their smiles trying to peek through their serious demeanor.

“Nothing,” the blond man brushes you off. “Just talkin’.”

You huff out and shoot him a glare before you roll your eyes and turn away. You’re about to join Levi again, but then one of his friends mutters under his breath.

“Eldian—”

You don’t let him finish, you spin around and charge at the friend to grab him by the collar. “Say it!” You seethe and shove him back on the ground. “I saved your fucking life! So say it you fucking cunt. Say it!” You stomp over there and want to throw a punch, but then arms wrap around you and you’re getting pulled back.

“Relax, relax, just ignore them,” Jean tries to calm you down.

You squirm in his hold and point at the guy. “Say it!” You bellow between your heaving.

The guy's friends help him, and their teasing smiles and puffed chests are gone now. They look at you with disbelief and disgust.

“Just leave it,” Jean whispers in your ear.

You continue to burn your glare into them until Jean manages to turn you around to face Levi and the rest of your friends watching with concern.

“Just breathe,” Jean whispers. “Breathe.”

You drop your gaze and feel pissed that he pulled you away, but you don’t argue, you just do as he says and begin to realize that you let your anger get to you again.

You tried to fight it and not escalate to such an extreme, but this blinding anger is something so new. You’ve never felt it to such an extreme in your life. It’s so overwhelming that you can’t help but get lost in it. And you never realize how you’ve reacted until after.

“I’m okay,” you huff out even though you haven’t gotten to actually being okay with it yet. He just won’t let go until you say it. “I’m calm.”

Jean slowly lets go of you and walks around to face you. “What was that?” He asks.

You lift your gaze and meet Levi’s gaze, and you both know that what you want is the right thing to do.

“It was…nothing,” you brush Jean off and meet his concerned-filled gaze. “Just facing ungrateful people.”

Jean grabs your shoulders and leans in closer. “Well, sweetheart, they barely tolerate us as it is, so just look the other way okay? It’s hard I know, but please.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smile and you lift your hand to caress his cheek. “The role of leader still suits you well.” You flatter him.

Jean holds your gaze and his eyes squint to try and read you, but he doesn’t take long because he accepts this as your defeat and strokes your chin. “Come on, we're done for today. Let’s go get ready for our date, yeah?” He smirks.

You hum and offer him a feigned smile before he goes to your side and throws his arm around your shoulders to begin dragging you with him and your friends.

“You okay?” Connie asks you.

You meet his curious gaze and nod stiffly. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” You shoot him a smile and pull away from Jean to rush over and push Levi’s wheelchair now that he’s sat down.

“Tell him,” Levi whispers with certainty so you know that he fully agrees with your plan. Now more than ever.

“I will,” you sigh and drop your head. “I will.”

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

The date went on like the previous ones, short, and unmemorable at least to you. You try to have fun like you would before, you try to laugh and make him laugh. You try to be your best and forget all your burdens for that moment, but it's a heavy weight so the date was short and it ended up the same, with you under him trying to at least feel something during your night of passion.

But you just mostly please him.

Can’t he see though? Can’t he see that you’re not really there, that you’re like a ghost?

Then again you don’t want him to see you, you want to be okay. And you don’t want him to treat you any more differently than he already is. So you don’t try to let him see, you play your part as best as you can. You let him leave a trail of sloppy kisses down your neck, you try to help him pull your panties down to your ankles, and gasp as you feel his kisses travel further down your body.

Do you feel pleasured though?

No. No matter how you try you can’t feel that same warmth in your stomach, you can’t feel eager or desperate to have him already be inside you. You just play a part. And he doesn’t notice.

Or at least he didn’t until now.

“Y/N?”

You snap your eyes down and watch him drag himself over to face you. “What’s wrong?”

Perhaps it was the need to tell him that you want to leave that gave it away this time. You can’t stop thinking about when you’ll tell him, or how you will, and how he will react.

“Yeah,” you lie and nod softly. “Sorry, I was lost in the moment.” You offer him a soft smile and he looks into your eyes, making you grin and grab his face. “Keep going, or I will flip you around.” You giggle.

Jean leans closer to your lips and parts his own lips, but he doesn’t commit the act of kissing you, so you lean forward and capture his lips with yours to try and make him feel that burning desire again. You don’t even seek an invitation to shove your tongue past his lips.

However, before you can deepen the gesture he rips himself away and sits up. You follow him and see him drop his head and frown down at his hands, so you pull your panties up and lean towards him to grab his arm.

“Jean, what’s wrong?” You ask cluelessly on purpose.

Said man mutters, “you tell me….do you not love me anymore?”

You gasp and grab his face to turn his head so he can face you. “Why would you say that? Of course, I do! I love you.” That’s the truth. The only truth you’ve said.

“Then how come it doesn’t feel like it? How come right now I don’t feel like you’re happy or like I’m pleasing you,” he argues and slowly narrows his glossy eyes. “Tell me, be honest.”

“I love you,” you assure him. “I love you. I am in love with you. You’re my everything, you’re my best friend and the love of my life. I love you. I can’t live without you.”

Jean holds your gaze and draws in a deep breath before he drops his gaze and nods slowly as he lets it out. “Then,” he continues in a quiet voice. “What’s wrong? I just feel like you’re not here sometimes, and when you are you pull stunts like the one earlier.”

You swallow thickly and stiffen as you get proven wrong about him not seeing you.

“So tell me,” he whispers and lifts his eyes to meet yours with a pleading and hurt look. “Is it this war ending? Because it’s hard I know. But we get to be happy now, we can’t change what happened to humanity.”

You nod softly. “I know that,” you whisper.

“Then?” Jean presses and grabs your cheek so you can hold his gaze. “Is it Eren? You guys were close—”

“No,” you cut him off softly. “It’s not Eren. I'm grieving Eren pretty well, I’m used to losing friends, so I can deal with it.”

Jean exhales and keeps pressing. “Then?”

You can’t tell him. This is not how you’re supposed to tell him. But he’s giving you an opening. The moment is here and you don’t have to squirm and try to encourage yourself to bring up the subject.

It’s here. Do it…

Do it!

“I,” you utter nervously. “I…I’m thinking about—no, I’m going back home,” you finally spill out.

“What?” Jean chuckles and slowly lets your cheek go, making you begin to fiddle with your fingers.

“I’ve thought about it,” you continue to explain without meeting his gaze. “And I’m going to do it. I’ve already let Mikasa and Historia know, they’re going to help me, and I’m going to go find myself again. I’m going to get better.”

“Find yourself?” Jean mumbles in disbelief. “What? What the fuck does that mean?”

You blink and steal a glimpse at him, noticing how bothered he’s beginning to look. However, you continue. “I need to go back home to heal. I can’t do that here. And I miss home. I miss it every day, and there’s a promise I need to keep for Eren. I can’t do that from here.”

Jean nods softly and snaps his eyes up to meet your gaze. “Okay, so when do we leave?”

You swallow back nervously and exhale deeply. “No,” you break it to him. “You’re not coming with me. I’m going back home alone.”

Jean's eyebrows furrow and he lets out a nervous laugh before he shakes his head. “No,” he stammers. “You’re not. Levi—”

“Is okay with it;” You assure him. “We talked, and he agrees that I should leave.”

Jean shakes his head again. “No,” he repeats. “No.”

“Jean,” you whisper and grab his hand. “I need to do this on my own, and besides maybe you can find someone else here,” you share with no ounce of pain, and that hurt him—“you can experience more of life now. You know? And who knows maybe, after this work takes you back home, maybe we can rekindle what we had.”

Jean pulls back and looks at you horrified. “Rekindle? Y/N, we’re supposed to get married. I love you. And you love me. So why-why are you saying this crap? Why are you pushing me away?”

It feels so much easier now. Even if you see him hurting it all feels so much easier to say.

“Because I need to do this on my own,” you tell him. “Because even if I love you, I know that having you there with me will only hold me back. Not because you’re a nuance, but because you’re my comfort, and in order to heal I need to not stay stuck where I am. Do you understand?”

Jean parts his lips but he just gapes like a fish before he drags himself out of bed.

“Jean?” You ask for clarification. “What are you doing?”

Jean begins to change back into his clothes and snaps back coldly. “Just think about what you’re saying. All this crap is stupid. So just think about it.”

You slide off the bed and grab his arm. “No,” you protest. “No. This is what I feel, I have been okay with it for a long time. I just didn’t want to break it to you because I knew you’d react this way.”

“How else do you expect me to react y/n?” He spats. “Do you want me to pat your back and say I’m happy you’re breaking my heart?!”

“Yes…No!” you quickly snap back and pull him to you. “No. I want you to be okay with it because you love me. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stay here. I can’t. It hurts too much, I need you to understand that.”

Jean huffs and grabs your wrists to pull you close. “Then tell me. If it’s about what happened at Marley then tell me. Please, my love. Baby. Don’t leave.”

“Jean,” you mutter with your annoyance growing at an unexpected rate that even catches you off guard. “Just listen to me!”

Jean freezes and steps back.

“Just,” you heave. “Listen.”

Jeans takes heavy breaths and his eyebrows slowly furrow as his mouth curls.

“I have to leave, don’t make this hard. It’s not supposed to be hard,” you cry between anger and anguish.

Jean scoffs and steps back to finish changing, you try to stop him but he pushes your hands away and takes a big step back. “No. No! Just leave then, if that’s what you want,” he hisses. “Then leave. I don’t care.” He turns around and storms out leaving you to look at the door frantically and in disbelief.

Yet it doesn’t change your mind, it just aches more that’s all, especially because he left you alone in the room. Which sounds pretty pathetic as someone who's already afraid of the dark, but you can’t help it, now you’re afraid to sleep alone, so you quickly change and find Levi. Luckily he’s awake too.

“What’s the matter?” He asks.

You meet his gaze and tears immediately begin to roll down your cheeks. “I told him,” your voice breaks. “He left.”

Levi exhales deeply and points at the edge of his empty bed. “Sit,” he commands.

You walk in and do as he says.

“You did what you had to do for yourself,” he adds softly. “Jean is a stubborn and hard-headed guy, but he’ll come around and if he doesn’t then that’s his fault.”

You blink repeatedly to push away your tears and respond in a quivering voice. “I yelled at him…I never do that. I was so angry that I was scared of myself,” you whimper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Levi’s breath catches and he wastes no time walking over to sit beside you. “It’s not your fault. You’re just…” he sighs deeply. “Traumatized. It’s why if you want to go with no baggage then do it. Just choose what’s right for you, if it’s a mistake then learn to live with it.”

You slowly lift your watery gaze and look at him with a trembling lip. “Why don’t you go with me?” You ask. “We can go back home for a while. And then go back above ground.”

Levi averts his gaze and murmurs. “Cherry…it’s not my turn yet. But I will go back home when it’s time for me. You understand?”

It’s hard to grasp but you don’t argue. “Yeah,” you whisper with disappointment even if you had known the answer prior to asking.

“Now,” he whispers and pats the spot behind him. “Sleep. You look bad with those eyebags on your face.”

You muster a breathless laugh and drag yourself back to lie down and just stare at the ceiling. “I don’t sleep,” you share. “At least not anymore. So I guess I’m like you.”

Levi scoffs and gets up to sit back on his desk chair. “Aren’t we a pair?” He chuckles softly.

You watch the ceiling and sigh deeply as you dread leaving only because of the explanations and goodbyes you’ll need to give. You want them to be simple, and they probably all will, but will he want to say goodbye?

You hope and hope. And keep on hoping, but every day that week that leads to your final day, Jean never comes up to talk to you, he avoids you, he doesn't even have lunch if you’re there too. He's acting childish and you understand why.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though. It doesn’t mean you don’t want to talk to him. But when that day comes for you to leave, for you to pack up your stuff you remain distant like never before. You don’t want to make him any angrier than he already is, so you avoid talking to him first.

You’ll say goodbye, but if he doesn’t want to speak about it you can’t force him. Maybe you’ll write to him when you get home, or a year from now when you’ve begun to heal.

Nevertheless, just as you are packing someone walks into your room.

“I’m almost done Levi,” you mutter without looking since you know you’re late. “Just wait okay?”

“Y/N,” you hear Jean utter.

You drop what you have in your hand and spin around to face him in disbelief. “Jean,” you whisper.

Said man holds your gaze as he heaves. “Don’t,” he says between his heavy breaths. “Don’t go.”

You drop your gaze and sigh deeply. “Jean,” you murmur displeased. “I told you I can’t.”

His footsteps approach and before you know it his hands fall on your cheeks and he lifts your head so you can face him. “Please,” he pleads. “Please, don’t go.”

You grab his hands and look at him with glossy eyes and discomfort as you have no choice but to give him reasons why you can’t live here a day longer. “I can’t stay, Jean! I can’t physically be here another day. Do you know that every day since you left I’ve gone to sleep with Levi because I’m terrified that someone from Marley is going to come to get me? I can’t walk down the street without looking over my shoulder every few minutes. I wouldn't even do that underground,” you cry and step back to hold your hands together as you feel them begin to shake.

“I don’t sleep,” you continue and meet his gaze with tears rolling down your cheeks. “I don’t eat. I can’t stand being alone, I’m angry, and I’m not an overly angry person, Jean. I’m terrified…absolutely terrified of going back, so much so that I carry…I…carry something that will end my life in a matter of seconds. That’s not okay. It’s not, I’m not okay.” You exclaim and watch him shake his head with his eyes filled with tears of pity and guilt, whilst also looking upset.

“And do you think I have it any better?” He argues. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now that it’s all over. So it’s not easy for me either, we can heal together. Just let me come with you, or stay.”

You shut your eyes and draw out a deep frustrated breath before you open your eyes and close the gap to grab his hands. “Jean, I can’t do this with you. I need to do it alone. Please understand. I love you, I’m in love with you. I will always love you, but please let me go. You love me so please let me go.”

Jean holds your gaze for a moment before he sniffles and nods softly in comprehension before he walks away, throwing away any chance at a good goodbye.

But you expected his goodbye, so you save your tears for later, wipe the current ones still rolling down your cheeks, and finish packing to finally head out. And of course, Jean is missing from the lineup, but everyone else is here.

“Could you look after my mom?” Connie comes up to you first.

You nod. “Of course I will,” you assure him and grab his shoulder to entrust something to him too. “Look out for him please.”

Connie doesn’t hesitate to nod, making you smile and step forward to embrace him tightly. “I’ll see you. Take care okay? I’ll write.”

“You better,” he quips. “And don’t be going around being stupid.”

You laugh and nod before you pull back and pat his cheek before you move on to Armin. “Keep fighting, a bit longer okay?”

Armin nods softly. “I will. And you…will look out for Mikasa?”

You smile and nod. “Of course I will. I promised I would.”

Armin is the one to give you a hug first, letting you let out a deep sigh as you slowly hug him back.

“He’ll come around,” he tries to assure you. “Just give him time.”

“I hope,” you whisper and rub his back before you pull away.

“Here,” he adds and shows off a letter. “It’s for Mikasa. Could you give it to her?”

You take the letter and secure it in your bag. “Right as I get down,” you assure him lightheartedly and step down the line to face Annie and Reiner.

And even if you’ve forgiven Annie, things are still awkward, and Reiner…well you still can’t forgive him or face him so you simply offer them something short. “Goodbye, you two. I’ll see ya.”

Reiner nods and steps forward as he raises his arms, but you quickly swerve his attempt at an embrace and face Pieck last.

“Goodbye, my friend. I will write because I do enjoy your company,” you let her know with a soft smile. “So expect them and write back.”

Pieck smiles and nods. “I will,” she says. “So I will expect them too.”

You shoot her a grin before you give each other a short embrace because in truth over the past couple of months, you’ve been together, you’ve gotten very close, especially because you didn’t have Mikasa, and Sasha is gone…so you became friends with her. And you’re happy you are.

Now, nevertheless, Levi is left, and you can’t embrace him like you want to because of his wounds, but you try your best with what you have.

“I love you,” you mumble. “I’ll write often, so I apologize in advance. And please write back or I will worry.”

Levi huffs. “Of course I will. I want to hear from you too,” he says softly as he caresses your back. “I want to see pictures. With that fancy thing, you took.”

You giggle and nod. “I definitely will take pictures.” You squeeze him a bit and inhale deeply to not forget his smell. “I’ll miss you.”

Levi hums. “I will too, but I’ll write, okay?”

You nod and pull back to face him with your eyes gleaming with tears. “Bye, Levi.”

“Bye, Cherry…I love you.”

You grin and feel content to leave with those three wonderful words. Yet you still look around for Jean when you ascend the ship, and find him leaning against a pole in the distance with his eyebrows furrowed and his frown deeply formed. He’s not happy but he’s there, so you’re content. You leave content.

——

*1 YEAR LATER*

To, Levi,

Today was a good day. I went out today, past the city and into the forest. You know the one by the old Survey Corps Headquarters? The one we arrived at when we first got above ground? Yeah, that one.

I didn’t realize how much I missed exploring. But, it was hard. Not because I got tired of walking, but I couldn’t make myself walk to that special tree. I couldn’t find the beauty in the simple things like the colored autumn leaves decorating the earth. I couldn’t see the colors as brightly as I used to, no matter how much I tried. No matter how many hours I spent waiting for my body to move.

I got so angry with myself, it’s so frustrating, I just want to see the world as I used to. I fell and cried until I couldn’t shed another tear. It got late when I could finally make myself walk away, so I camped in the ruins of our old headquarters. I can still remember all of them. I hear them in my memories. They can rest now, all of them.

Nonetheless, there’s an upside to my depressing exploration, my therapist says that it was a step in the right direction. Going back. He says that everything happens slowly, so please don’t worry. I’ll go again. I’ll make it to that tree. My nightmares will subside. The trauma I live with won’t be forgotten, he says, but it will hurt less. I will see all those colors rush back into my eyes, I will smell all those earthy smells, and find beauty in the birds melody.

Everything heals in time, I know I will. I have faith now. So don’t worry, okay? And please don’t tell anyone what I write, especially not Jean. I don’t want anyone to worry. Thank you again for listening…reading! My letters!

I should let you know though, I won’t be keeping you posted on my problems. I don’t want to dump all my shit on you. Just know I’m trying okay? I really am. That’s why I came back home, not only because I couldn’t handle being in Marley.

Anyway! You! Tell me more about this new Marleyan General! Are they good-looking? From what you’ve written they’re one of the nice ones. You should get to know them better, maybe invite them to some tea without the prying ears of your children. Haha. Get it? Making friends is a good thing, I am! I hope you’re doing well, tell me if you need anything, tea, pain reliever. I love you so much. I’ll wait for your next update.

Maybe let me know how Jean is doing. Okay?

Yours truly, Cherry.

P.S. Was it you who gifted me the kitten? Mikasa gave her to me and said she was only a delivery girl. No matter how much I asked my beloved cousin to spill who the sender was she chooses to be fucking true to her word of silence.

BUT P.S.S. We’re going underground soon, I’m taking Mikasa to go see it for herself, and I want to finally start helping, so I need to return to our roots first. Oh! and I’ve found land to buy. Cool right? You’ll have to come over and find out where it is though.

——

“Come on,” you encourage Mikasa inside a long-standing cantina you would go to often with Levi and the others when you were young.

It’s rundown, but it’s always looked that way considering it’s underground. From an outside perspective, it doesn’t look friendly, and sometimes people aren’t, but it’s home. You felt that the moment you walked in and heard the folk music being played on stage, as you saw the people minding their business around the bar, tables, and on the dance floor dancing without a worry. It doesn’t smell the best, but it’s an odd comfort after being away and missing the underground for so long.

“If you mind your business, and don’t look for trouble, we’ll be fine,” you let Mikasa know as you stop at an available table in a far corner of the cantina.

“Levi would bring you here?” Mikasa asks as she sits next to you to keep a watchful eye.

You smile softly and nod. “Yep, as long as he wasn’t workin’ he’d take me with him everywhere, he felt better that way.”

Mikasa nods and drags her cup towards her as she keeps her eyes dancing around the room.

“Relax,” you try to comfort her. “We’ll be okay.”

Mikasa glances at you, and it's at that moment that her eyes aren’t darting around the room that a tall guy with a black buzz cut begins walking to your table.

“12 o’clock,” you warn Mikasa with a faint amused smile.

Your cousin's grey eyes snap over in that direction, and the guy doesn’t falter. As he gets closer you see he looks not much older than you, he’s probably a standard built, but it also means he’s not from here, or he’s rich so he can afford food here. His eyes are the same color as yours, and his eyebrows are black and thick. He’s even got this cocky look on his face as he approaches the table.

“It looks mighty lonely over here,” the guy breaks the silence and reveals a soft-spoken voice.

“Yeah, we like it that way,” you cut off any attempts at a friendly conversation. “So please go.”

The guy meets your gaze and then glances at Mikasa. “First,” he says. “You wanna dance, miss?”

Your eyes snap to Mikasa and a teasing smile tugs on your face. “Yes, she does,” you don’t let her answer and push her off her chair.

Mikasa glares back and you offer her an innocent shrug.

“Just one dance and then I want her back or I’ll break your face,” you threaten the cocky guy.

“Alright,” the guy chuckles and leads a hesitant Mikasa to the dance floor to dance to the upbeat folk song playing. Now you’re alone but you don’t mind, not here, not at this moment. You actually watch Mikasa dance with a beaming smile.

That is until a tall woman sits next to you.

You ignore her and keep your eyes on Mikasa and the guy dancing with her.

“You around here?” The woman asks.

You sigh and mutter to the stale air. “Doesn’t matter does it?”

The woman lets out a soft chuckle and leans over the table so her face is clearer to you. “No matter how much people hide it you can always hear the accent. I can hear yours.”

You snap your eyes to her and the first thing you notice is her eyes that are the same colors as that guy that took Mikasa to dance. However, where his eyes carried a spark, the woman’s eyes carry evil and a spark of familiarity.

“What do you want?” You sneer.

The lady offers you a smug smirk and raises her chin to exert her confidence. “I came to introduce myself, I’m Marie. Your mother.”

.

.

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Tagged- @expectoscamander @greenygreenland @that-soft-lesbian-friend @dai-tsukki-desu @usernamehere91 @avocadopoosae @romancried @victor-criss-bish @moo-moo-meadow @stareatceiling @padfootii @ravensleepyeyes @thanosisadilf @dawneee @babyyblueey @leahseclipse @ifimnotabushimnoone @luvelyxp @ameliabs-world @dragon-master-kai

[therealhousewifeofharrystyles]

Whatcha doin’, Step-Bro?

*Part 1*🔞

Pairing: Harry Styles // Y/N (Step-Sibling EU)

**READ PREQUEL HERE**🔞

**READ PART 2 HERE**🔞

Word Count: ~ 1k words

NSFW -> 18+ Readers Only!!🔞

🔞*Warnings*🔞: adult language, FILTHY masturbation(M), voyeurism/exhibitionism, taboo step-sibling dynamic

Reblogs/shares are welcome!!! Also, request away! My inbox is open!💕📥😇

Also-also, please like, comment, and follow! I can’t know whether you want more if you don’t show me 🥺👉👈 xoxo

💕💖 ~ R

“Sup, lil sis.” Harry says deeply in your ear, startling you as you’ve been washing dishes in the sink for a while now, having been completely alone in the kitchen. You jump out of instinct. “AHHH! Harry!” You gasp. You grab a towel to dry off your hands and then turn around to face him. A stupid smirk covers his stupid, cocky face, but you can’t help the low tingling you feel trickling down your abdomen and stopping at that special place between your legs.

Your parents—his mom and your dad—have been overseas in the UK attending a wedding on the Styles side of the family, leaving you and Harry at home to take care of the house and the cats.

You and Harry technically got along just fine. You made your parents assume so, at least. But behind closed doors, Harry was a constant pest. He’s always gone out of his way to antagonize you. Whether it was sneaking up to you and spooking the living hell out of you, or making gross, perverted comments that only you could hear, he loved to piss you off. You slowly got used to it over the past couple of years, learning that no response was the best response when it comes to Harry and his big mouth. However, sometimes it could be really hard to ignore him even a little bit.

It's been especially difficult for you as the two of you have spent way too much time alone in the house since your dad and step-mom left for the airport. They’ve been gone for only 2 out of their 10-day trip, but you were nearing your limits prematurely.

The first night, he bid his evening ado’s with, “Alright…I think it’s time that me and my three pretty pussies go to bed.” If you weren’t already used to his lewd language, you’d have kicked him in the balls right after the words left his mouth. But this time, you just sat there on the couch and stretched your arms up before picking up one of your cats and heading towards your bedroom. You acted unfazed.

Alas, Harry thought he was so funny. The following morning at around 11am, he called out your name from his bedroom. You were somewhat concerned by how late he’d slept in because he typically preferred to start his days early with an obnoxiously loud work out—beginning by running up and down the stairs and doing push-ups right outside your bedroom door for 10 minutes straight. The absence of your usual, unsolicited morning alarm was pleasant at first. You woke up gently instead of abruptly and you didn’t have to dodge out of Harry’s way when making a break for the bathroom across the hall. Everything was smooth-going. But that obviously began to feel odd…something wasn’t right…maybe Harry was sick, you thought. And surely enough, as you were thinking back to whether he’d touched any of your food within the past 24 hours, his voice echoed from his room, down the hall, and all the way down the stairs to where you were standing at the kitchen island.

“Y/NNN!!!”

What the hell?! Just when you thought you were gonna have a decent day without any interruptions…ugh!

You trudged up the stairs and knocked on his door. “Uh, Harry…?” You announced from the outside of the door. He then replied soon afterwards, “…Yeah…” It sounded like a groan, like he was in pain, or something. You’re squeamish around blood, so you were extremely hesitant to come to his rescue if he’d injured himself in any way. He could be a whiny little bastard, though. So if he’d gotten hurt, he would’ve been throwing much more of a hissy fit than a little groan. Wait…What if he hit his head?! You panicked due to your mind assuming the worst.

Slowly pushing open the door, you peeked inside to check on him. What you saw was not at all the image you were expecting. Not even remotely close. There he was, spread out with his covers pushed down to his feet, his eyes shut and lips parted. One hand was resting on his chest as the other slicked itself up and down his naked length. It was all slippery and shiny. Each stroke made this filthy, wet, snapping sound. It looked as though he’d been at it for a while, as his cock looked painfully hard and his pace was agonizing. He looked to have been edging for the past 2 hours, at least. You just stood there and watched him. It was as if your legs wouldn’t allow you to leave that spot. Your eyes just devoured him in all his vulnerability—studying his rhythm, the noises he made, and the way his tattooed chest, arms, and abdomen flexed sporadically. He was beautiful. Not only was he mesmerizing to watch, but his pants and moans sent electric currents through your lower stomach. You felt sensitive. Similarly to the way the head of Harry’s gorgeous cock throbbed, so did your hidden clit.

His pace grew more desperate, more intentional, more calculated—no longer was he just lazily jerking off. He wanted to cum. Before you could even realize how much time had passed by with you just gawking at him at the doorway, his eyes blinked open and he looked right at you. He was already well-aware of your presence. He knowingly invited you to his little show. It was like he was holding it in for hours just to save it all for you. As his eyes locked onto yours, they refused to break contact. His brow furrowed with intense pleasure and he moaned out, “…Fuuuck…”

You were frozen in place. It wouldn’t even matter if you could move and get the hell out of there because you’d already witnessed it all. Well, almost. Harry’s breathing quickened and so did his sliding fist. He was close.

“…ah, shit…I’m gonna cum…I’m…I’m gonna cum, baby…”

A whimper escaped your lips and your thighs clamped together. The little noises he made merged together into one solid string of groans and profanities, his hips thrusting up to fuck his hand roughly as ropes of white cum spurted out of his cock and all over him. He kept cumming until his body shook from overstimulation, his eyes slowly flickering back and forth between you and his hand throughout the entire finale.

A giant smirk washed over his face after he’d taken his fingers and swiped up some of the warm, sticky cum that coated his glossy skin. He held his hand up as if to gesture an offering towards you and spoke, “…Wanna taste?” Your eyes widened, and you felt the skin of your cheeks heat up. You’d just been a voyeur to your step-brother’s morning masturbation session. To say you were humiliated would be an understatement. How would you ever live this one down? How could you ever live something like this down?

You had no clue what to say to him, what to do at that moment. And so you just pulled his door to a slamming close and bolted down the stairs and out the door. You got in your car and drove to the mall. Retail therapy seemed distracting enough for you to temporarily forget about what just fucking happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Part 2 Here

Oofta🥵 well, you know what to do! Let me know what you wanna read next, if you want more parts, or something completely different. Just give it to me, baby 😜😘

xo - Regan

Also—pls follow me, as well as @harrystylessmuttyfics where @victoria-styles and I are creating a deliciously smutty collection of Harry writings just for you 😘😏 xoxo

[sadhours]

late night phone calls

harringrove smut

The shrill tone of the phone ringing forces Steve out of bed abruptly. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, grabbing onto his alarm clock and seeing that it’s barely past three a.m., which has him panicking because only under emergency circumstances would someone be calling at this hour. Images of dark tunnels and monster-like dogs flood his mind. Where’s his bat? Not within reach. It’s in the trunk of the fucking BMW. He trips over his feet as he climbs out of bed, clutching onto his deck to catch himself before his face meets the hardwood.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, the distraction short lived as the phone lets out another loud chime.

Steve props himself upright, gripping the phone perhaps a little too hard because he feels a sharp pain shoot up his wrist as he picks up the receiver and shove it against his ear.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asks, frenzied, stomach turning in knots.

“I am not overly competitive,” it’s Billy’s voice on the other end and Steve sinks to the ground in relief, sitting down on the floor with a happy sigh as he listens to Billy’s irritated voice ramble on, “And actually, you’re just a little bitch and a sore loser.”

“Hargrove,” he exhales, letting his eyes fall shut, “It’s three in the morning.”

Billy ignores him, “I won that game of horse fair and square, you’re just mad because you suck.”

The tilt in Billy’s voice makes Steve think that he’s been stewing on this since they left the park. And their relationship is… frustrating. Because Billy can be fun but then take offense to the smallest comment that Steve made with absolutely no venom behind it. Usually, Billy will stalk away, all pissed off and not talk to him for a couple of days— a week at most. Him calling in the middle of the night is new.

“I’m flattered you’re thinking about me so late into the evening,” Steve quips, the flirtation dripping from his words.

The lines silent for a few beats and then Billy speaks again, quieter, “Yeah, well don’t be, I was just thinking about what a big baby you are.”

Steve can’t help himself, the lower tone of the other boys voice is enough to get his dick interested and he palms himself over his briefs. He could turn this into that direction really quickly, but that’s no fun.

So instead he asks, “Oh? And what makes me such a big baby?”

Billy grumbles, “You lost. And instead of taking it like a man, you have to talk shit and accuse me of cheating.”

“It was just a harmless game. You got all gloaty like it’s a big deal or something, that’s why I said you’re overly competitive,” Steve supplies, “But that’s fine. Gotta put all that pent up excitement somewhere.”

“Excitement?” Billy laughs, “What’re you saying, pretty boy?”

Hook, line and sinker. Steve’s won and he didn’t even have to fight for it. He smirks to himself, squeezing his half hard dick slightly.

“Oh, nothing. Just that there’s another reason you’re calling so late,” Steve replies, easily. He hears Billy inhale sharply over the line and he preens at it. “So why don’t we just get straight to it, Hargrove? You got your dick in your hand, or what?”

“Maybe,” Billy can’t keep up the game long, they’ve moved way past that at this point.

“Yeah?” Steve breathes, perking his ears up and trying to hear any indication that Billy does in fact, have his dick out. “Mines not. But it’s hard.”

“Do you always get hard when I’m telling you how much you suck at basketball?” The breathlessness of Billy’s words confirms to Steve what he suspected.

“Not always,” he whispers, stroking himself through the thin material of his underwear. “Depends on how mean you are about it.”

“You like when I’m mean?” Billy sounds needy, now and Steve has to push his underwear down and get his cock out.

He wouldn’t admit this to Billy under any other circumstances, “Yeah.”

“Your dick in your hand now?” he asks Steve, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Mhm,” Steve pushes out after swallowing, he opens his eyes and looks down as he strokes himself, he’s leaking an absurd amount. His pre drips so much, he might not even need spit. He imagines Billy’s strong hand around him, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips involuntarily jerk up. “Keep talking,” he pleads.

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

Steve could tell him the same thing, he’s starting to suspect Billy was already jerking off when he called. Like maybe it was the whole reason he called and not that he was actually still mad. As much as Billy will act like he doesn’t love this as much as Steve does, he knows it’s not true. Steve catches all the looks Billy tries sneaking. He purposely avoids Billy in the locker room since they started fooling around. Not because he’s ashamed but because he’s scared of his dick getting hard in front of the other guys.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “Stop messing around. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Billy gasps, soft but not too quiet that Steve can’t hear him. Steve wants all the raunchy details, wants to know exactly how Billy is touching himself, what position he’s in, everything.

“I’m lying on my bed,” Billy grunts out, “I’m naked. My.. fuck… I’m so fucking hard.”

“Where’s your hand?” Steve blurts out, closing his eyes tightly as he pictures Billy.

Billy chuckles again, it’s breathy though and Steve has to squeeze the head of his cock at the sound.

“Gotta know every detail,” Billy grumbles, but answers his anyway, “The base of my cock.”

“Shit,” Steve gasps out, “Just holding it?”

He giggles over the line, giggles and Steve wants that sound recorded so he can listen to it over and over again.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m kind of.. close and I’m trying to hold off.”

Steve snickers, cheeks flushing at the thought of Billy so turned on by him.

“So you were jerking off before you even called,” Steve insists, cheeks aching a bit with how big he’s smiling.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“Wanna know what I’m doing?” Steve asks, shyly.

“Uh-huh,” Billy replies and Steve can hear him spitting, wonders if it’s into his hand or straight on his cock.

“I’m on the floor,” Steve explains, his pitch shifting higher as he strokes himself, from the base to the angry head, squeezing when he reaches the tip. “I have a shirt on, though.”

Billy tsks, “What a shame. Where’s your hand?”

“The head,” he chokes out, “I’m squeezing it. I’m so wet.”

“Always are,” Billy comments with a growl, “Would love to taste it.”

Steve moans softly, the thought of Billy’s tongue on him has him pulling at his cock. “Want to be in your mouth so bad…”

“Me too,” Billy grunts out.

It gets pretty desperate after that, they’re not really saying much besides pants of encouragement and little noises of pleasure. Steve focuses just under his tip, slightly curving his hand on each upstroke until he’s whimpering.

“Billy… gonna cum,” he blubbers, desperate to hear the other boys voice.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” and with that, Steve’s shooting his load, thick ropes of cum spurting out and landing on his shirt and bare thighs. He cries out, perhaps a little too loudly but he can’t help it and hell, no one’s home.

Steve can tell Billy’s doing the same thing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathes out, much quieter than Steve had been and then he’s panting into the receiver.

They stay on the line for a moment but once they’ve both come back down to earth, Billy’s saying, “Talk to you later, Harrington.” and hanging up.

[iameliseposts]

Deafening - Diavolo x Fallen Noble!MC

In which MC, a noble fallen from grace is engaged to the future Demon King. The slander they hear behind their back is loud, but the silence in their office from being too busy to see Diavolo is louder.

So… it’s been a while… 😭 I’m really sorry for not being more consistent. I’ve been really busy with school and been in a writing slump. I’ll be trying to post more once finals end, so I hope you enjoy!

Bags under their eyes, MC drags the pen across the paper. Their study was eerily quiet, as it was most of the time. MC didn’t know what was worse, their family accidentally blowing up the study or having to work endlessly in silence. Their lady in waiting claimed it was silence.

“Could you all resist the urge to blow up my private study every time I leave?” MC asked, wrinkles forming on their forehead, “Or at the very least, not have this occur every week?”

“Come now! Isn’t the silence working alone deafening?”

Such was true this time. The sound of their pen scratching the paper wasn’t enough for their head. Their study was filled with papers left and right. Documents lined their cupboards and dressers. Scattered around, there was an accessory left behind by the fifth born or a pen gifted by the eldest.

They missed the vibrant sound of laughter after they got electrocuted by a suspicious sticky note by their desk. They missed the gasps and hushed whispers (which turned into whisper shouts) after certain people dropped some documents.

They missed the prince’s arms around their shoulders at the end of the day, dragging them to bed. They were stuck in their room for the past couple days, focusing on the paperwork in front of them. A dispute of sorts between two powerful noble houses. One was a side-branch of Mephistopheles’ house and the other was a prominent figure in external Devildom affairs. Ugh, they’ve been at it for how long? Yet now, this problem has become a serious issue.

The noble in charge of external Devildom affairs has been withholding certain goods from the other house, causing throngs of issues. Conferences between both houses have been heated. Hell, even conferences not about either house or external issues in general have the two houses arguing. And who got the short end of the stick? The people who deal with the aftermath of a group of petty nobles.

Worst of all, no matter how much work MC does, how much effort they put in, it’s always ignored. They’re just the leftovers of the more important nobles or so they say. Neither house were all too happy with MC taking over their problem, which pissed off Diavolo more than he’d admit to any noble. In his words, ‘Why complain about a problem, then proceed to complain about a solution presented in your hands?’

What could MC do other than work harder? They needed their social position to improve, so whatever could they do? They didn’t even have a debutante ball like all nobles do during their first step into high society. They was invited to gatherings, only to listen to nobles ramble about Diavolo. It was tiring, but nothing could be done because of MC’s house circumstances. And it was something they never could have controlled and never can be fixed.

Another document done. Too many left to go. All the while the sounds of the castle being drowned out of the room with the soundproof door. They’ve been doing nothing but eating, working and sleeping for the past weeks. They barely have time to go to the House of Lamentation and it breaks their own heart.

Even Diavolo has been busy with the same problem. He’s been in his personal study, dealing with this, the exchange program and probably even more shit. And while MC does understand; they truly do, they wish the situation didn’t suck ass. The emptiness in the room was deafening on MC’s ears.

MC barely registered the sound of the door opening as they focused on their work. Calculate these numbers, write this down, feel a warm presence on your shoulder… wait what? The hand on their shoulder gripped tight enough to make MC’s shoulders relax, but not hurt them. They felt their will to keep working weaken and wither away as their fiance massages their stiff shoulders. If only their work wasn’t urgent.

Diavolo bends his head down into the crook of MC’s shoulder. “You should rest, my monarch.” He whispers into their ear. “You have been working for long hours for several days.”

“I can’t.” MC shakes their head, shrugging their shoulders away from Diavolo’s hands. “I need to fix this situation as soon as possible.”

Their head hurt, like a burning pit within the depths of their brain. It’s the stress, it’s usually stress. Back to back long work days take a toll on people, even on demons. It was an ache that doesn’t leave with sleep and stayed for a while. Ouch.

“Now, this work isn’t more important than your health…”

MC believes he’s still speaking. They thinks so at least. They can’t hear him, but they feels his mouth against their ear. They feel light. Their head feels light.

“...care…don’t…”

Hurts. Hurts too much. The headache hurts too much.

“M… MC!”

Lights dimmed then went black. MC felt their body fall forward, but some hands held them up.

…

The lights started to flicker in rays. Slowly the rays multiplied, leading way to MC’s surroundings. Their vision, at first blurry and gradually becoming clearer, depicts Diavolo looking horrified.

“Oh- thank goodness you’re awake MC! I’m.. so thankful…”

His last couple words came out hitched. He held MC’s upper body up beside him using his arm supporting the front of their shoulders. MC noted they was still on their chair, meaning they blacked out briefly. They leaned back.

“Careful now…” Diavolo gently reclined them, cupping the back of their head with his palm.

“Sorry, did I worry you?” MC asked, massaging their temples harshly. Their headache was a bit fainter, yet persistent. How irritating.

“Worry me- MC you just passed out! Surely you believe you need the rest now.” Diavolo firmly said. It was clearly a statement rather than an option.

“...no.”

“MC-”

“No, I need to finish this.”

Diavolo stands in between MC and their desk with his hands on their shoulders, looking into their eyes. “I understand you need to get it done. However, running yourself ragged like this-”

“Is a necessity.” MC cuts him off, trying to maneuver around him to reach their pen. However they was stopped by Diavolo taking their hands in his. It would have been a romantic gesture if tensions weren’t high. MC’s headache intensified, spinning and squeezing, clearly doing a number on them.

“Enough MC.” His voice was completely serious. To anyone who didn’t know him personally, it would have sounded menacing. “You shouldn’t work yourself to the bone.”

MC put their head down into their hands, trying to blunten the pain in their head. “But I need to.” They felt the stress getting into their head, seeping deep.

“You don’t need to-”

“YES I DO-” They had cut herself off with a sob. The pain, stress, work. It’s day in, day out torture that hurts. They took a breath, hiding their face with their hands away from Diavolo, “If I don’t, neither House will respect me nor my solution.” They tried taking more gasps of air, but it ended out as airy sobs. “Then I won’t be able to take a place by your side. My name is disgraced, but I won’t allow yours to be as well.”

Diavolo stood there, listening. He was silent, but heard them clearly. They needed to talk and he’s happy to listen. He kneeled in front of them, placing his hand on their knee. He squeezed their knee, comfortingly.

He only wished they’d brought this forward sooner.

“..What about this compromise? You go rest for now,” He held up a hand before they could interject, “and I’ll go over it myself at the end. This way, this will be your work, but pre-approved by me.”

MC pursed their lips. “...Wouldn’t that be more work for you?”

“If it’s your report, I know it’ll be interesting.” Diavolo laughed loudly.

At least the room wasn’t deafening anymore.

[dawn-moths]

“Scarlet & Serenity”

Tomura Shigaraki x Female Reader

word count: 11,800+

(Tomura’s never been one to celebrate birthdays, especially his own. But you’re insistent on making sure he has a good day, wanting to do a few things for him that could mark the occasion as special. Although he’s resistant to the idea at first, he slowly begins to come around, and at the end of the day, whether he’ll admit it out loud or not, it’s a birthday that he’ll always remember.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! mostly fluff with some smut at the end, aftercare, soft Tomura, established relationship, reference to past sexual harassment in the workplace, mentions of stealing to survive.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Serenity.

Like feeling the gentle weight of sleep settle over you after a long day, body swaddled in warm blankets and mind sated by the slow drip of oncoming unconsciousness.

Like laying under a sky full of stars and suddenly feeling so insignificant, like, as a tiny spec in the universe, maybe the problems you thought you had weren’t so bad after all.

That’s what you felt like to him.

Or rather, that’s how he felt being around you.

It was your quirk, not you, you were constantly reminding yourself of whenever the two of you got a little too close for a little too long. Serenity was the name of your quirk, and it did just as its title implied.

For anyone within a five foot range of you, no matter how they were feeling or what they were going through, if they stayed within your invisible bubble, all they would feel was a sense of overwhelming calm.

Some people had told you it felt a little like being high, easy to become addicted to if you didn’t set boundaries with certain individuals, while others compared it to the safest sensation they’ve ever known, reminded of how they remember being held and comforted by their mothers if they’d been lucky to have a good enough relationship with them.

Tomura had cued into your quirk almost instantly, back when you two had first crossed paths. For someone that was always on edge, whether from the itching or the intense, paranoid focus he needed to carry out the League’s plans, the moment he passed you on the street and felt that weight lift, it had almost brought him to his knees, exhausted by the phantom that clung to him, unable to shake it off no matter how hard he tried.

Until you.

Things had moved pretty quickly after that and, in some ways, over the past couple years you’d convinced yourself that it was all probably meant to be. You’d been pretty down on your luck right before you encountered him, so when he’d invited you to join the League— to belong to a family of misfits who’d been forgotten or cast out by society just like you— well…

It hadn’t been a hard decision to make.

And you fit in here, with the League. You fit in with the mishmash of personalities and tragic pasts and quirks that, in another life or different hands, might’ve been deemed good instead of evil.

Your quirk, of course, was a lot easier to lend itself to the heroes who romped like celebrities about the streets and, while you might not’ve been able to go pro with it, at one point in your life you’d seriously considered using it to help people, like going to work for a hospital in the ICU, sitting bedside by the floor’s worst patients, subduing their agony even if only temporarily.

But that had all changed when you’d lost your job, your boss firing you after you’d rejected his rather forward attempts to get a little closer to your quirk.

But, surprisingly, that time it hadn’t even really been about your quirk, you’d later come to find. He’d just been a creep who wanted to get close to you or any of the other young new interns, as if he wasn’t already handsy with most of the women in the company.

Part of you was glad to leave that place, but after he’d made a false report that you’d used your quirk on him to get yourself a raise— the very same raise he’d tried to use as the trade off for letting him sleep with you— comparing what you were capable of to mind control, there was a black mark on your reputation and your resume for any other job you’d tried to apply for after.

You’d lost your nice apartment on the safer side of the city, but even after your move to a cheaper, dingier place, month after month passed with no way to pay the bills. Eventually, when you started receiving notices threatening to turn off your heating and water, you’d been forced to turn to your last resort.

If they wanted to paint you as a villain, then you’d become one.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t used your quirk’s effect on people to get what you wanted before, though it was still a far cry from “mind control” as your previous boss had testified, so convincing night shift cashiers at local convenience stores to let you walk out with arms full of food and supplies you’d sweet talked them into believing you didn’t need to pay for became your regular method of survival.

What you’d been guilty of before joining the League was kindergarten compared to pretty much all of the other members, and Tomura had tried to keep you away from the brunt of the violence and the bloodshed. He liked to make sure you were kept safe and ready to help ease his mind the moment he returned to the hideout, falling into your arms battered and bruised and not getting up until you either convinced him to let you clean his wounds or he fell asleep and you carefully shifted him onto his back on the mattress you two shared more nights than not. You’d go clean yourself up, sometimes tending to a few of his more minor injuries while he slept before curling into his side and letting your energy invade his dreams.

Though, Tomura had told you before, when he slept next to you he didn’t dream. It was the best he could hope for, as most nights before you he’d been plagued by vicious, gruesome nightmares. Horrible memories that repeated themselves over and over and over again in a tortuous loop. He would be awoken by them with a sudden, panicked jolt, though usually he couldn’t even recall the dreams until he was plunged back into them again.

So, yeah. You’d become a regular occurrence in all the members’ lives. But everyone knew that you did far more for Tomura than you did for anyone else. No one would say it, but everyone knew that you might be the only weakness their leader had, a crutch that, if taken away, could spell catastrophe for all of them. Meanwhile, it was a theory that you and Tomura tried to ignore, acting like there was nothing special between you two and just living day by day.

***

“Hey…” You greeted Tomura with a crooked smile as he walked into the bar. It was past noon, but he was usually a late sleeper. Especially since he tended to stay up till the early hours of the morning, whether by getting sucked into some new game or tossing and turning through the night. Most times you slept in with him, slowly but surely having fallen into his sleeping schedule the more time you spent together, but today you’d risen early (as in an hour ago, just moments before AM switched to PM) in order to begin preparations for a very special surprise.

“Hey…” Tomura returned the greeting, his voice a little raspier than usual. He cleared his throat and gave his neck a few light scratches, trying to pull his hoodie higher to hide the deeper, redder tracks that he’d etched into his skin when he’d woken up to find the space in bed next to him empty. “What’re you doing?”

You tried to hide the beaming grin you felt your face wanting to make. You were never a great liar, but even so you replied with a slightly lilting, “Nothing…” as he approached you, letting out a quiet hum when his hands took careful purchase on your hips and pulled you closer to him, nuzzling his face in your hair and allowing himself to linger in your calmness until the anxiousness that crawled beneath his skin subsided.

You let him hold you like that for as long as he wanted. Always. You knew how much he needed it, and for someone who felt like you did the least for the League as a whole, you took how much you knew you did for Tomura individually as your consolation for that fact. Besides, without the leader, what was the League?

Tomura mumbled something into your hair, and you looked up at him and asked through a breathy chuckle, “What?”

“I said, what’s all this?” He repeated, only putting enough distance between you two so he could look you in the eyes, his arms still encircling your waist. He nodded his head towards the back counter of the bar, glancing at the opaque plastic bags that sat there.

“Oh…” you rolled your eyes, cracking a wider smile, “That…” Then you narrowed your gaze at him, mischievous. “That’s a secret.”

Tomura’s chapped lips curved up into his own brand of mischief, his three fingered grip flexing slightly on your hips. “C’mon,” he tried to pry, giving you a light shake, more of a sway, really. “You know I hate surprises.”

Now it was your turn to eye the bags, knowing full well what was inside. You’d worked hard to steal each and every one of the items over the past few weeks, after all.

“It’s not a surprise,” you corrected, nuzzling your head back into his chest, taking in the familiar scent of him— the scent that had slowly become your own. “At least, not if you know what day it is today.”

Tomura’s sparse brows pinched slightly as he tried to decipher your words. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked at a calendar or even bothered to check the date on his phone. He was pretty sure it was about to be April. Or, wait, maybe it already was…

He let out a sigh caught halfway between despondency and annoyance, shifting to lean his back against one of the counters, pulling you along with him and nearly causing you to stumble. “Shit…” he droned, throwing his head back a little while wearing a look that was blatantly unamused. “Don’t tell me this is about—”

“It’s about doing something nice for you,” you cut him off, already having gotten the sense Tomura wouldn’t be very receptive to anyone— even if it was you— celebrating his birthday. Hell, he didn’t even want the day acknowledged. 

You knew this, and yet, you couldn’t help but try.

“How’d you find out?” he asked, staying still and letting you clasp your hands behind his neck, shifting some of your weight back onto your heels and tugging him forward an inch or two.

It was Toga. Obviously, it was Toga, though you had no idea the method she’d used to discover the birthday of the most feared villain in Japan. On second thought, for all you knew, it might’ve been just as easy as Googling it.

“Not telling,” you sung out, voice still low and playful, raising yourself onto your tippy toes for a second to plant a quick peck on his cheek before parting from his grasp and circling back around to the bags on the bar counter, peeking inside to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. “But I do have a few little things planned for you, so stop sulking and just humor me, alright.”

When you turned to face him once more, Tomura stood with his arms crossed, staring you down with silent interrogation.

“Oh, come on,” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms to mirror him. “It’s only one day out of the entire year. It’ll be fun.” You flashed another one of those quick, fleeting smirks, still trying to contain your excitement, despite the fact that it wasn’t rubbing off on Tomura the same way your Serenity did. “Trust me.”

“Whatever you say…” he sighed, pushing off from where he was leaning and beginning to pad out the way he came with bare feet against the cold, unswept floor. “But this is just another day for me. Birthdays are a pointless tradition anyway. I never even liked them, so don’t expect me to start caring now.”

“Tomura—” He was already halfway to the doorway.

Cutting you off and swiveling on one heel, pointing a finger at you, he accusingly ordered, “And no singing. No cake either.”

You were captured in a moment of shock, but then found yourself again as you placed your hands on your hips and smirked, cynically joking in a deadpan tone, “Oh, but what do I tell the barbershop quartet that’s delivering the three tier cake in an hour? They’ll be so disappointed.”

Tomura turned the corner, disappearing out of sight, but called back from down the hall. “No singing! I mean it!”

In response, all you called back was, “Ok! But I’ll be coming to find you in an hour regardless! So don’t come out here until then, alright!” He didn’t respond, but when you heard the click of the bathroom door shutting and the hiss of the shower turning on, you figured you better get to work.

He’d come around, eventually. Because, sure, there wasn’t a cake to eat or presents to open, but you were still determined to gift Tomura a day that was above average, at the very least.

You hauled the bags off the counter and around the corner into the tiny side kitchen, dumping one of them over and catching the ingredients that almost rolled off the table before setting everything out and taking stock of your supply. There had only been one spice you hadn’t been able to procure, but it wasn’t make or break when it came to preparing the dish you had in mind.

Honestly, you just hoped you remembered how to make it. It had been your childhood favorite, something your mom used to make you every year on your birthday. You hoped Tomura would like it too. It wasn’t very often he— or really any of you, for that matter— got to enjoy a nice, home cooked meal. If there ended up being enough, you’d leave some for the other League members to pick at or fight over. But for now, you had to see if you could find anything that resembled a measuring cup. If you couldn’t, this whole thing could end up turning into a disaster.

***

Two years ago, while walking home late at night from your latest convenience store run (read: robbery), you’d noticed a little too late that a strange shadow had fallen in step with your own.

Throughout your life, you’d often found it ironic that, while your quirk gave those around you a sense of calm, the aura didn’t extend to yourself.

You wished it would, especially in times like these when your heart began to race and anxiety began to creep in, slowly flooding you to the point you’d be drowning in it. It wasn’t like that was the first time some weirdo had tried to follow you, but there was something about the wary atmosphere that time that had struck you as different from the others.

You were used to people wanting to use your quirk for their own benefit, not so much regard for you as a person so long as they could feel the high of relief that came from being in your proximity. There was usually a lot of convincing and pressuring and guilt tripping when people tried to request your quirk’s services, as if you owed them somehow despite most of them not even knowing your first name. But that time, it felt more dire. Like, if whoever was trailing you didn’t reach you fast enough they might die. So you did what you always did when something like that happened.

You used your secret weapon.

Used to traveling through the maze of back alleys, you knew the twists and turns by heart. You knew which ones were shortcuts and which ones held dead ends and which ones you’d stashed weapons down.

You also knew which ones would greet you with escape routes.

So you took a sharp left turn, then a right, and then, standing amidst a brick barrier on three sides, the fourth now blocked by a lanky, hooded silhouette, you turned to face him.

The first time you’d seen Tomura, you hadn’t felt threatened, weirdly enough. And maybe it was because you didn’t yet know the real danger he posed, or who he really was. Or maybe it was the fact that you could see pain and desperation shining in his eyes, pleading for even just one more second of ease from what it felt like to live in his skin on the daily that he’d been granted for the fleeting moment you two had crossed paths on the street.

“What do you want?” you’d asked, and, if he hadn’t been so distracted from chasing that feeling of peace, he might’ve found it a little odd that your voice was void of any trembling trepidation. You’d sounded sure of yourself, like, despite your odds, you held the upper hand here.

And you did, you knew. Because behind the rusted old dumpster pushed against the wall a few feet behind you, there was a perfectly you-sized hole that led into the abandoned shopping center that composed part of this maze. You’d be able to slip through and disappear within a matter of seconds. Y’know, so long as the guy standing before you didn’t have some kind of teleportation quirk.

Tomura hadn’t quite known what to say, honestly. He’d honed in on you and now that he nearly had you, for once he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could take you by force, he figured, but the closer he got to you the more he started to think maybe that wouldn’t be the best approach.

Just barely skirting on the edge of your quirk’s five foot range, he felt his hammering heartbeat begin to slow and his uneven breathing smooth out. He felt his shoulders sag and the usual race-around skin crawling that ate away at him endlessly from the inside out subside.

He looked straight into your eyes and asked, “Who are you?”

With your posture now rigid and ready to run, you replied with hostility, too confident for your own good, “More trouble than I’m worth, if you try anything.”

Tomura took another shuffling step forward which caused you to take two steps back, like a magnet pushed away by a similar pole.

“Wait—” His raspy voice cut through the cold, quiet night air, giving you pause as you prepared to whirl on your heel and dart into the escape route. “This feeling… It’s your quirk, isn’t it?” You remained silent that time, half of you intrigued by him, catching a glimpse of those big, red eyes from between all that pale, fluffy hair that was half illuminated by the silvery moonlight. Meanwhile, the rest of your better judgment just screamed at you to run, run, run.

“And what if it is?” you answered, a disgruntled tightness to your tone, tired of being used by strangers for something that you had no control over and couldn’t even reap the benefits from. You felt like your body belonged to everyone else but you sometimes. You weren’t about to let another person— especially someone who’d been brazen enough to stalk you— take what they wanted for free.

Tomura took one more cautious step forward, putting himself back into the radius of your aura, and tugged down his hood, giving you a better look at him, at the scars and the scaly, dry patches around his eyes and forehead, the angry red scratch tracks scored into his neck. He said, “How much?” and for a moment you’d thought you hadn’t heard him right.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“For your quirk,” he clarified. “How much for you to…” he chose his next words very carefully. “How much for you to lend it to me?”

You shot him a scowl and a skeptical squint. “Lend it to you?” you repeated, sounding almost offended. “Look, buddy, I’m not for sale. So why don’t you just hurry along before—”

“I saw you rob that store,” he leveraged, threatened, somewhere between the two. “You’re down on cash, yeah? Well, maybe we can reach some kind of…” His hands fidgeted from where they were tucked inside his hoodie pocket, putting you on higher alert and causing you to flinch closer towards the hole in the wall. Then he sighed, seeming to grow frustrated with himself, and simply stated, “Just give me five minutes. Name your price, and I’ll pay it. Only five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

Similar to being followed, this also wasn’t the first time someone had tried to hire you for your quirk. If you really needed the money and the stranger didn’t seem too sketchy, you’d usually take the offer. But those deals were made by daylight, in public, usually sitting beside them on a park bench or walking with them through the city where, if they tried anything, there would be witnesses.

Here, in the middle of the night alone in a vacant alley, you thought to accept the deal would be a poor business decision. Besides, money wouldn’t be worth very much to you if you were dead.

But he was right. You needed money. You knew each store you robbed would only let it go unnoticed for so long, and even as the night-shifter manning the register would inevitably fall for the lull of Serenity and your meticulously practiced sweet-talking, once the effect wore off and their boss chewed them out for letting some random girl walk out without paying time after time, well…

Previous mishaps had made you make a rule that you’d only hit each store twice before moving onto a new one for a reason.

You were running out of chances and out of local konbinis to steal from, so you figured it was now or never. Plus, it’s not like you couldn’t pull the knife you kept on you and bolt if this guy tried to get a little too handsy. His blood would hardly be the first the blade had tasted and you were faster than you looked.

“Forty-thousand,” you said, part of you thinking there was no way this guy had that kind of money while the other half of you hoped against hope that somehow he did. “Forty-thousand yen for five minutes and you have yourself a deal.”

The mysterious stranger then said he had to step away to make a quick phone call, not even attempting to negotiate a lower price, which made you wish you’d asked for more, and within the minute he was back, rounding the corner with a duffle bag in hand.

Tomura dropped it with a satisfying thud on the pavement before you and it was then you couldn’t hide your shock and confusion any longer. You told him to step back while you checked it, and upon kneeling down to unzip the bag, you were met with the colorful array of bundles and bundles of yen notes.

You didn’t bother counting it. Even if this wasn’t forty-thousand, it was still more than enough for you to live on for the next couple of months. It even made you consider letting this guy be a repeat customer, if he came searching for your services again. But, on the other hand, you doubted anyone who could fork over this much cash at a moment’s notice could be the upstanding citizen type.

It’s not like you were either. You were just trying to convince yourself that stealing to survive and stealing for luxury were on two different planes. But cash was cash. And everything cost money. And it turned out it was true when they said that everyone has a price.

“Just stay back,” you ordered, Tomura beginning to reapproach once you’d slung the heavy bag over your shoulder. “You can just stay right there and the effect will be the same. I’m going to keep time. And after five minutes if you try anything I’ll—”

“Be more trouble than you’re worth,” he repeated your earlier warning, a slight, dare you call it charming smirk appearing at the corner of his cracked lips for a moment. “Don’t worry. I got it the first time.”

And so, as the most wanted villain in Japan stood five feet away from you, your eyes darted from the timer on your phone back to his face over and over again until his five minutes were up.

“That’s it,” you announced once the countdown reached zero. “Time’s up.”

And, just as promised, Tomura abided by the deal that had been made. However reluctantly, he stepped back and out of your quirk’s range, the weight of his crumbling world visibly settling heavily back on his shoulders with the way he flinched and tensed and began to scrape at his scabbed-over neck again lightly. The biggest surprise was that he didn’t demand more from you.

After that, you bid him farewell, wanting to make sure he exited the alley before you slipped in through the secret tunnel, and the only thing he said to you before leaving was an almost prideful, “Next time, ask for more.”

You must’ve stood at the end of that alley for ten more minutes, staring down into the darkness until the weight of the bag slung over your shoulder began to ache and you blinked out of your trance.

Finally, you just whispered a perplexed, “What the fuck…?” to yourself and then slipped in through the hole in the wall, clutching the duffle bag the entire way home.

***

“So this is the special surprise, huh?” Tomura said after you instructed him to take a seat at the tiny, two person table. He was trying to lay the mockery on thick, you noticed. Deep down though, you knew he was, at the very least, extremely curious as to what you’d managed to make. And, if the smell coming from the biggest cooking pot you could find over the rusty old stove was anything to go by, it was going to be good.

“Your food will be ready momentarily, Sir,” you said in an overly-sweet, fake waitressing voice, procuring two mismatching bowls and spoons from the limited kitchen supplies and scooping a serving for each of you. Then, back to your normal tone as you turned to face him, a bowl in each hand, you said with only slight disappointment, “There’s supposed to be this really good homemade bread, too, but I didn’t have time to bake it…”

Setting the soup in front of him before taking your seat across with your own food cradled between your hands, palms warmed by the bowl and heart warmed from good childhood memories, you watched and anticipated what you hoped would be a good reaction once Tomura tasted the first bite.

He knew you were eagerly waiting, taking this moment of suspense to tease you a little bit. “I dunno about this…” he said, grimacing a little as he poked around the contents with the edge of the spoon. “It looks kinda…”

Your eyes widened, suddenly horrified, thinking you’d already fucked up somehow. “What?” You stood from the table, tried to lean in to see over his bowl. “What is it? Is there—?” When you caught the prideful mischief on his face, you plopped back down into your rickety chair and gave a sarcastic, “Oh, ha ha…”

Then you took up your own spoon and had a taste for yourself. It was exactly as you remembered, aside from that little hint of spice it was missing and that crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside home baked bread. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were back in your mom’s kitchen, dappled sunlight streaming in and dancing across the hardwood floor.

Your satisfaction with your hard work must’ve shown on your face, because Tomura scoffed out an almost disbelieving, “That good, huh?” before finally trying the soup for himself. “Damn…” he muttered under his breath, all previous derision faded to the soft contentment that usually filled him when snuggled up close to your quirk. He met your eyes for only a moment, but that was all you needed to tell. The gratitude was there, no matter how hard he wanted to hide it.

“Told you it was gonna be special,” you said, intertwining your ankles with his under the table.

Tomura let out a quiet chuckle, swallowing the next spoonful before saying, “You shouldn’t have let me know you could cook like this. Now I’m gonna want it all the time.”

“Well maybe next year if you don’t put up such a fight then you’ll even get to try the bread too,” you joked, smiling at him with the spoon still in your mouth. He nudged your calf with his foot and you knew that was as close as you were going to get for a thank you from him. But it was enough. It was enough.

“So…” Tomura began again, trying to keep himself from wolfing the whole bowl down in one go, though as you two traded some banter and chatter between bites you’d made sure to remind him there was plenty left if he wanted more. “What about you?” he asked. “I’m guessing your birthday’s were pretty good, if this is what you got, huh?”

“I have a few I can still remember pretty well,” you admitted, searching your mind for the memories of your old life, of a little girl who didn’t yet know of hardship or pain. “But the older I got, I dunno…” You gave him a guilty look, concluding with a slightly shaky, “I guess I can’t fault you for looking at it as just another day. Especially if you’re spending that day alone.”

The narrow room fell silent for a while then, the pair of you finishing the soup with only the sound of slurping and the spoons clinking against the bowls as you both tried to catch every last drop that gathered at the bottom. Then Tomura said, “I’m gonna get you back for this you know,” which caused you to give him a confused and maybe even slightly startled look from across the small table.

“What…?” You asked when his smile— one you couldn’t tell if it was cruel or teasing— didn’t falter.

“When your special day comes around,” he clarified with a sly raise of his eyebrows. “I’m gonna get you back for this.” Now you wore a real smile. You couldn’t help but become curious about what kinds of surprises he’d plan for you, and suddenly you were looking forward to your next birthday more than you had in years.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you remarked, playfully pointing your spoon at him. He told you not to expect any home cooked meals though. In return, you pointed out that he could barely make a piece of toast on his own, forget about pulling off something with multiple ingredients.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, standing from the table and heading over to the pot on the stove, serving himself another full bowl before peering over his shoulder and asking if you wanted more as well. You held out your bowl for him to take and let him scoop some more in for you, every bite even better than the last somehow.

And so the two of you sat there and talked and ate until you were both full and feeling a little sleepy. With the added element of your calming quirk, Tomura could’ve probably dozed off right at the table, but there would be plenty of time to rest later. For now, you still had half a day left to ensure his birthday was a memorable one.

“Ok, so I lied earlier when I said there weren’t any surprises,” you admitted as you placed both your empty bowls in the sink. “There is one teeny, tiny present I might’ve been able to get my hands on.”

Tomura was back in your orbit again, never leaving the pull of Serenity’s gravity for very long, whenever you were around. He stood behind you, circling his arms around your middle and hugging you close to him. “Yeah…?” he whispered, voice sounding like he was drifting off into a dream. “Well what if I told you my present’s right here?”

***

Two weeks after that first night, you saw him again. Only, this time, it was prearranged and he’d paid you in advance.

You met him at your favorite cafe, one in the part of town you used to live in. Y’know, back when you’d had a real job and a nice apartment instead of an old, drafty one and dreamed of helping people rather than robbing them.

“Here, let me,” Tomura offered as you approached the counter to pay for your order. You just gave him a slightly skeptical look, but didn’t protest as you stepped aside and let him thumb through some crumpled cash he pulled out from his back pocket before handing it to the barista. You two remained mostly silent as you stood side by side and waited for your drinks to be made. You were tongue tied because you felt a little awkward, but Tomura was just quietly enjoying the effects of your quirk from a foot away.

You were fine with him being closer this time, since there were other people around.

“So…” You began once you two were seated across from each other, warming your hands on the hot beverage nestled between your palms while he kept a three fingered grip around his paper cup. “Do you wanna talk or you just wanna stay silent the whole time?”

Tomura perked up a bit then, eyes widening a fraction as if he’d just remembered something important. “Oh…” He cleared his throat, took a cautious sip of his coffee. “I mean, whatever you usually do is fine.”

As you sampled your own drink, you considered him with more of that wary skepticism, eyes squinted as if trying to blur his edges and unveil some hidden image amidst all that scarred, alabaster skin and silvery hair falling into his eyes.

“I dunno… It sort of just depends on the customer,” you shrugged, absentmindedly picking at the frayed edge of the cardboard cup holder as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “But I guess we could talk, if you want…”

As you both took another uncomfortable sip of your drinks, avoiding direct eye contact, you were starting to fear this might become the longest hour of your life. But then Tomura spoke up, asking, “So, what are you into?” and for a moment you weren’t quite sure how to answer that.

“You mean, like, hobbies and stuff?” you clarified.

“Sure,” he gave a tired half shrug and elaborated, “Hobbies, music, movies, whatever.”

You took a second to conjure up the topics you wanted to divulge to him, then listed off a few of your favorite bands and a couple good documentaries you’d seen recently. Eventually, you turned the question to him and mostly gleaned that he loved video games. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lit up as he spoke about various RPGs and MMOs and all sorts of other terminology you’d only had a little experience in grasping.

But you were relieved that, once you guys got onto his favorite topic, he did most of the talking and the hour passed fast. When it was time for you to go you thanked him for spotting your drink, wished him a good day, and were about to be done with the exchange until Tomura caught the edge of your sleeve, the fabric pinched lightly between his two fingers, and he asked in an urgent, almost pleading way, “When can I see you again?”

You let a few beats pass before exhaling the breath you’d been holding in, already wondering if you were going to regret this before the words even left your mouth. Then you said, “If you’re willing to keep paying this much, then you can see me whenever you want.”

Tomura looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t considered that possibility, and as you tugged free of his grasp on your sleeve, you added on, “Same place and time next week, if that works for you?”

He seemed to search his mind for a moment before giving a satisfied nod and a quiet, “Yeah…”

And so your regular meetings with him began. Every week— sometimes a couple days in a row if you both were free— one hour at the cafe around noon, the new rate of sixty five-thousand yen in cash each time paid in advance.

At least, that’s how things went for the first few months.

***

Standing in the middle of the small kitchen, Tomura was almost unrecognizable when he was like this, peppering tender kisses from the crown of your head to the apple of your cheeks, across your jaw and down your neck.

At least, he’d be unrecognizable to anyone that wasn’t you.

That’s why he usually sought out Serenity in private, behind some closed door or when no one else was occupying the hideout. You two had never talked about it, but he knew you’d noticed.

That didn’t mean he was afraid to stand close to you during meetings or that the others weren’t aware of your unique relationship, but still. To openly express just how much he wanted you— needed you…

That had been a terrifying realization back when it had first occurred to him. He’d tried to push it down, push it down, push it down for as long as he could, smother any semblance of positive emotion that dared spark itself inside of him. Because he knew what would happen if he let it take kindling and catch flame. It would consume him. Body and mind and soul.

Some days he wondered if it already had, if the wildfire of your presence had already scorched him from the inside out like Dabi’s quirk was in the process of doing to his body every single day. Others, Tomura forced himself to douse his feelings for you in ice water, to take a step back and separate the effects of your quirk for which he so often sought you out for from you as a person.

It could all get so confusing, causing him to spiral into bouts of anger or anxiety and end up coming back to you just to calm it all down like withdrawal from a powerful drug.

You made this all so hard on him when you never turned him away. When you always greeted him with open arms no matter how dirty or broken a state he returned to you in. You’d hold him, or let him hold you, for as long as he needed until something or someone came around to remind him to pick up the heavy weight of his reality and keep pressing forward.

He’d tried to keep you as his own little secret for the first few months after you’d agreed to join him and the League, though knew eventually he’d have no choice but to introduce you to his Sensei, whether through the blinding brightness and crackling audio of a computer monitor in a dark room or, a less than ideal scenario, in person. Face to disfigured face.

The screen had sufficed, luckily for Tomura, and after convincing his ominous yet revered Sensei how much you did for him— how much you did for the League as a whole, which you knew was a stretch, as much as you wish his words were true— the older man had let you stay.

Though, even if AFO had disapproved, Tomura would’ve found a way to convince him. Because, like one of those who’d described your quirk like the lulled sweetness of a high, he was addicted. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without you and he hoped he’d never have to find out.

“I’ll meet you in our room in a minute,” you coyly hinted, taking a step back from him and shielding one of the plastic bags from his view. “There’s just one more thing I gotta do first.”

This time, Tomura didn’t try and argue. He still rolled his eyes, sure, but he was smiling while he did it. Telling you to hurry up before heading out of the kitchen and presumably to the aforementioned location, fighting the urge to scratch with every step further from you he took.

You didn’t want to keep him waiting either, so you hastily grabbed his gift from the bottom of the bag as well as the old newspaper and duct tape you’d found lying around the hideout.

As much as you wished you had some cool, shiny wrapping paper or at least a halfway decent gift bag to put the present in, you figured Tomura wouldn’t be one to care what the packaging looked like. If his impatience for getting the things he wanted was any indicator— like how quickly he got you undressed and underneath him on a night when you both needed to satisfy your more carnal cravings— he’d tear it to shreds and toss the paper to the floor to get at the prize that was inside.

So you only bothered to fold it up in the newspaper and secure the two ends with duct tape before heading off to his room, part of you tempted to tape the entire thing just to give him a challenge, though then figured he might decay it out of frustration, only to find him sitting in front of his gaming PC, having gone to farm for some weapon enhancement materials while he waited for you.

“That was fast,” he remarked as you strolled closer, the poorly wrapped gift held behind your back with one hand.

“Guess what it is first,” you said.

Tomura paused his game, swiveling in his chair to better face you, fingers laced before him as he wore a look of minor curiosity, actually playing along for once. “Uhhhh… Wait, don’t tell me—” It was rare for him to actually indulge in one of your “pointless little games” as he often called them. But the moment his expression dropped back to that usual, unamused look, you realized a second too late that now he was the one playing with you. “It’s a pony, isn’t it?”

Flashing him a disapproving glower you lightly scolded, “Tomura. Come on. That’s not a real guess.”

“Fine,” he said, turning back to his monitor and continuing to beat mobs, picking up whatever it was they dropped so his character’s sword could level up or whatever. “It’s that new dark fantasy MMORPG that came out a few months ago. Y’know, the one with the super cool graphics made by the same company that did that other game I really liked…” His back was still facing you, so he couldn’t see the frown that had crossed your face. He said, “How’s that for a guess?” right before you dropped the package into his lap. When he turned to face you next, you didn’t look pleased.

“You looked in the bag,” you accused, voice low and annoyance beginning to simmer. “Didn’t you?”

He picked up the bundle of newspaper and duct tape that had landed in his lap and carefully turned it over in his hands. “Wait… You mean…?” He shot you a skeptical glance, trying to read your expression before eagerly tearing into the package. When you didn’t budge, still giving him that suspicious glare with your arms crossed over your chest, he began to rip strips of the newspaper off, the first corner of the gift being exposed confirming that his guess had been right.

“Happy birthday, fun killer,” you remarked, though there was a notable softness etching its way back into your words, a small smile spreading across your lips as you caught the awestruck look painted on Tomura’s face as he held the game up to the light to better study the cover art on the sleeve.

In his rare moment of distraction and stupor, you wandered closer to sling your arms around his shoulders, half your body leaning over the back of his gaming chair as you nuzzled your cheek lightly against his, feeling the roughness of his skin but finding familiar comfort in it.

“You like it?” You finally asked, pulling Tomura from his daze.

“Yeah,” he replied, that crooked smile cracking across his face for a flicker of a second. “I just can’t believe you actually managed to get your hands on a copy. It’s been sold out everywhere for weeks since it came out.”

You squeezed him a little tighter, placing another peck to his cheek before saying, “Had to travel three prefectures over and scam a kid who thought he was gonna be able to resale it to me for triple the price, but it was worth it.”

“How long did it take to convince him to let you have it for free?” asked Tomura, a hint of cruel delight lacing into his question.

“Mmmm…” you hummed, recalling the exchange in your mind, “Maybe like, five minutes, tops. But what do you say? You wanna play it?” you prompted, as if the question even needed asking in the first place.

After Tomura gave an obvious, “Uh, yeah I wanna play it,” he reached forward to pop the disc into the computer underneath the desk that held his three screen monitor display. Meanwhile, you were about to go grab an extra chair from the bar so you could sit next to him.

“Wait,” he beckoned you back before you could open the door. You paused and looked over your shoulder at him with a hint of confusion. But then he was waving you over, giving one of those grins you’d come to learn were reserved only for you, and patted his lap as he pushed his chair back from his desk, “Just c’mere.”

You gladly settled into the space between his loosely crossed legs, his arms draping over your shoulders so that he could hold his controller in front of your chest, your own controller resting in your lap and at the ready as you both waited for the game to load.

“Try not to get too frustrated when I absolutely annihilate you at this, ok,” Tomura teased, tinkering with some of the settings before launching you both into the pixelated world.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, already starting to run ahead of him on your section of the split screen where some low level mobs had just spawned. “Just try and keep up.”

You two spent a little while exploring the world and collecting supplies before you tried your hand at battling each other. Much to your dismay, but not to your surprise, Tomura was indeed “absolutely annihilating you” when it came to 1v1 fights, even when you tried to fight dirty.

And, even with your quirk in uncontrollable, constant effect on him, Serenity did nothing to slow down the rate at which his fingers flew over the buttons on the controller, hitting combo after combo with only a couple hours to learn and familiarize himself with them. In fact, you began to think maybe Serenity was making him better at playing, like the calm was clearing his mind of all other distractions so he could focus solely on the task right in front of him.

But you’d never been able to beat him, no matter what type of game you were facing off in. Still though, as he claimed the final victory in the last round you two agreed to play together, there was still a part of you that was frustrated you hadn’t been able to win against him just once.

“Want another round?” he dared to ask, that cocky air of confidence snagging on the edge of his words.

“So you can beat my character into a bloody pulp again? Yeah. I’m gonna have to pass on that one.”

“I warned you,” he said, a slight lilt in his raspy reminder.

“If I hadn’t been sitting here with you the entire time,” you began as Tomura wrapped himself tighter around you, now peppering gentle kisses to your head and looping his arms around your ribs, hugging you closer to his chest like he liked to do, “then I would’ve accused you of using cheats, but—” You tilted your head back to rest in the crook of his shoulder, gazing into his eyes and getting lost in all that scarlet. “I’ll hand it to you. You’ve probably never had to use hacks in your life, have you?”

A quiet hum of amusement vibrated in Tomura’s chest and you felt it echo through your own body for a moment, his kisses finding your neck and making you melt into him a little further until you’d both abandoned your controllers and you’d changed your position to straddle his lap, facing him so you could kiss him properly now.

“‘Course not,” he stated in between kisses, his voice lowering to a whisper as his hands began to carefully navigate the familiar planes of your body, palms running over your soft curves and grazing over the areas he knew would drive you crazy later, once there were no clothes between you two and you were laying vulnerable and bare beneath him.

He swore Serenity was always strongest when you two were skin to skin, no barriers, no matter how thin, there to hinder the flow of all that tranquility. The first time you two had slept together, you’d been surprised how gentle Tomura had been, how careful the most deadly hands in the country had held you.

Tomura could get lost in those moments, mind clouded by the calm, any and all worries he’d ever had disappearing among the fog. He didn’t want to admit how hopelessly addicted he was to you, how he was afraid of the feeling that might come crashing back in if he spent too much time away.

Sometimes you wondered if he’d still like you even if you didn’t have this quirk, if somehow you two could’ve still ended up like this, if you would’ve lent him some quality of halcyon just by your presence alone, unaided by the tranquility that endlessly emanated from your being.

Before you could dwell on it too much though, Tomura was standing with you, guiding you to the bed, and pinning you to the mattress, both of your clothes beginning to shed like a skin no longer needed.

Tomura was muttering things against your neck and into your hair as he continued to kiss you, sucking a few bruises along your pulse and making you squirm, and at one point you could’ve sworn you’d heard the words “I love you” amidst all the incoherent mumbling.

But you must’ve imagined that, right? Because neither of you had been brave enough to say those words out loud to each other before, even if you’d heard them echoing inside your brain more and more frequently with every passing day.

Yeah, you must’ve just imagined it.

“Hm…?” You tried to prompt as you carded your fingers through Tomura’s silvery hair, catching a few loose knots and combing through them until he met your eyes again.

Through the dim dark of the room, the only light being that which glowed from the computer monitors, his birthday present on pause, the red of his eyes was bright and alluring, a dichotomy between danger and desire.

But something about seeing them tonight was reminding you of the first time you’d met that gaze. Back when you two were strangers crossing paths on the street like ships in the night, you unaware of all he’d ever done and him acutely cued into the sudden and startling shift in the energy around him, pulled into your orbit.

He looked at you like you were a rare treasure he’d been searching for all his life, astonished by the reality he’d long thought to be a myth, driven only by unexplainable faith and the payoff of the proof right in front of him.

“Wha’cha lookin’ at?” you lovingly asked, cradling his face in your palms. He seemed to snap out of the intense stare, melting back against your form and allowing himself to become drunk on the scent of you, on the warmth of your skin, being content just to hold you close if that’s all you’d give him, just like he had in the beginning of all this.

“Just you…” he breathed, his steady breath fanning over your neck. “Only you…”

***

“I want you to join the League,” he’d said, plain and simple and, as far as you were concerned, completely out of left field.

You’d almost choked on your current swig of coffee, quickly composing yourself before giving him a bemused look and asking, “What did you just say?”

You knew exactly which League he was referring to, but still, you weren’t convinced you’d understood him right.

You knew who he was by then, same as he knew you, at least by name. Because, while neither of you had ever exchanged that information directly, you both had a habit of doing some digging behind the scenes. He’d found you a lot faster, given his expertise on navigating the technological back alleys of information stored within systems like the quirk registry and other private digital catalogs.

You, however, had found out his true identity the hard way.

Since you’d grown accustomed to seeing him on a regular basis, you’d recognize those pale tufts of wavy hair anywhere— even on the shaky, blurred footage shown on the news where his face was covered by a grim, grey hand.

You had to give him credit though. For being the most wanted villain in all of Japan, he sure was bold to wander out in public as often as he did.

And at first, you’d felt the familiar stomach sinking weight of dread that came with the realization that you’d been having almost weekly cafe dates with a known murderer. The fact that you knew your generous patron to be Tomura Shigaraki had made those first few days— well, ok, those first few weeks— after uncovering the information incredibly stressful for you.

You found it hard to take your eyes off his hands— the hands that could turn you to dust before you’d probably even have the chance to let out a scream if he wanted to. All it would take was all five fingers to close around you and you’d be gone. Yet, at the same time, all he’d done was show you the utmost courtesy and consideration. Though, perhaps you had your quirk to thank for that.

He kept his distance, only came closer when you explicitly allowed it, and never tried to pressure you for more than you’d give him. He’d offered to walk you home a couple of times when your sessions had been pushed to after dark, and when you refused, he still said he hoped you made it back safely. He kept buying your drinks or your lunches or whatever other extra expenses the locations you two were meeting at involved.

And, as much as you hated to admit it, part of you was falling for him, no matter how evil or dangerous the media painted him to be. And sometimes it felt like maybe he was falling for you too, but once you’d find yourself alone again, and usually sixty five-thousand yen richer, you were reminded that all of this was just an exchange.

If it wasn’t for your quirk, he’d have no reason to want anything to do with you.

“I said I want you to—”

“No, I heard you,” you cut in, holding up a hand to further signal his silence. You held his gaze, trying to search his eyes for any hidden agenda, but felt a further sense of unease when it seemed he was being genuine.

You sighed to yourself, raking your fingers back through your hair as you tried to catch a single thought that was racing through your mind. Once you finally managed to snag one, you regrouped and said, “Look. This thing—” You quickly pointed a finger from him to you and back a few times. “Whatever you wanna call what we have going on… It’s—” You made a short, sort of choking sound, scoffing at the words you hadn’t yet chosen, finding yourself speechless for a moment.

This time, as you looked back to him, trying to remain… What? Composed? Professional? Guarded? You laced your fingers together atop the table and simply stated, “My quirk can do this to people. It can…” Again, you searched for the right words, your eyes darting back and forth from where your hands were clasped in front of you to his which were starting to fidget with the strings of his hoodie. “It can make people start to think things or feel things that, once out of Serenity’s range for long enough, they realize aren’t actually true.”

You paused for a moment, giving him space to say something, to give any indication that maybe he wanted to reconsider. To confirm that, the moment he was more than five feet away from you, he’d perhaps crack one of those crooked smirks he liked to wear and admit, “Y’know what, you’re right. Forget I even said that,” and things between you two could carry on as they normally did.

But Tomura didn’t say anything. Instead, he stood from his seat, turned his back, and walked out of the little hole in the wall noodle place you two had discovered not that long ago— your new favorite late night meeting spot.

You sat there, even more at a loss for words and no less confused, and began to replay everything you’d just said over and over in your head, trying to figure out where you’d offended him so greatly.

But then, only a minute later, your phone began to ring, lighting up with the contact name 65,000. A little joke to yourself, a nickname you’d called him by in your head before learning his true identity.

“I want you to join the League,” Tomura’s familiar rasp crackled through the phone. You turned and looked out the window, seeing him standing on the other side of the street, staring you down through the fingerprint-smudged glass of the restaurant’s front window. “You think I haven’t had plenty of time to think about this while I was away from you?”

You felt like your world was spinning, slow and swaying like the dizziness from a headrush. You opened your mouth to speak, closed it, swallowed, then opened it again to reply with a single syllable.

“Why?”

“Why?” Tomura repeated, like the answer was obvious. “Because I—” Now it was his turn to consider his next words carefully, his voice tapering off into a quiet squeak at the end with what remained of his original sentence quickly dying on his tongue. He leaned against the brick wall of the building behind him, still staring at you from across the street, hood pulled over his pale, fluffy hair. “Because I think you’d be good for all of us. Your quirk, it’s… unconventional. Especially when taken into consideration as to how it’d fit into our party but…” He shrugged, and you thought you could see him crack a small smile, though weren’t completely sure from that far away. “I mean, c’mon. If anything, we could use your convenience store robbing skills.”

You could tell he was trying to use humor to put you at ease, but even so, you could feel your heart beating in your throat and your hands start to go a little numb as you prepared to utter your next statement to him.

“But…” you began, a slight tremble to your voice. “You guys kill people, don’t you?”

You could rob convenience stores to survive, sure. But killing someone…

You didn’t think you were capable of something like that.

As Tomura began to fumble for an excuse or explanation as to why certain drastic measures were often necessary in his position, you continued to sit at the tiny table tucked into the corner, absolutely beside yourself.

“Tomura—” It was the first time you’d called him by his name and it tasted bitter in your mouth. “You tried to kill kids.”

“Yeah. And so what if I did?” Even with this much distance, you could tell his eyes were alight with an all-knowing breed of mischief, almost like he was proud of this fact and not horrendously ashamed like most people would be at just the mere thought.

“I’m being serious!” you blurted out, then remembered you were the only one in a very tiny establishment, catching a few odd looks from the cooks behind the counter. You lowered your voice, though with no less sense of scolding, and continued, “I not going to— I can’t—”

“Relax…” he’d spoken over your ramblings of denial, taking a few tries before you finally seemed willing to hear him out. “You’re not gonna have to kill anybody. Your job will be strictly post-mission remedying. Maybe some occasional reconnaissance if absolutely necessary. You have my word.”

“Yeah, and you think I’m just going to take you at your word?”

Looking back, agreeing to willingly join what many had deemed a domestic terrorist organization hadn’t been a line you ever thought you’d cross. And you had never had a habit of letting people talk you into doing things that every fiber of your being was urging you to stay away from.

But there was just something about the way he’d sold it to you, how he’d made you feel important, made you feel wanted, that seeped its way into your better judgment and convinced you that yeah, maybe having a place and a people to belong to and help was what you’d been looking for for a long time. So you let him take you to the hideout, were introduced to the other members of the League, and when push came to shove, you decided you’d stay.

It didn’t take long for the others to warm up to you— a perk that no doubt had more to do with your quirk than you as a person, as you felt was normally the case— and after a few months, you felt like one of the fucked up family.

You’d come to see sides of all of them that they’d probably never shown anyone else, at least, not within the group. You’d held them late at night and let them drift off to sleep in your arms, sat with them for hours after a battle to ease the pain of their injuries, and gave them comfort when tensions were high.

The first time you shared a bed with Tomura, everyone else was out. He’d sent them scouting or scavenging or something so you two could have some time alone. It was the first time in months that you two had gotten some time alone, and it sort of made you miss the weekly cafe dates from the beginning of your strange, transactional relationship.

And that was the first time you thought maybe he liked you for more than just your quirk. The way he’d handled you was more careful and gentle than you’d ever seen him, and it made you think maybe things had always been meant to turn out this way.

The world outside that room could be decaying to ruins and neither of you would’ve noticed or cared when you were skin to skin. All you could focus on or think about was the feel of each other’s bodies, the way you moved in tandem, pulling moans and whines from each other with every drag of your visiting hips, the taste of his mouth on yours, the way he looked with all that pale hair framing his face as the hooked moon cast a soft, silvery glow through the tiny window.

You weren’t ready to admit it back then, but you knew that was the defining moment in securing the fact that you weren’t going to leave. No matter how things ended up or what turns the future took, you’d be in the League for the long haul, with him, both of you swaddled in a natural kind of serenity.

I think I love you, you’d thought as you felt his breathing slow, both of you curled together and dozing off once the high had come down and the room returned to its previous silence. I think I love you and I don’t know what to do.

You were ok keeping that to yourself. Better to not get hurt that way. But the more time that passed, the more you began to wonder if you’d be able to hold in such a heavy realization forever.

You never thought he’d say it back. Didn’t think he knew how. But you’d wait.

You’d wait until he was ready. Until he was sure he could truly mean it.

***

The room felt smaller now than it had a year ago. It was almost like everything beyond the old, blanket strewn mattress pushed into the corner on the floor didn’t exist.

With the computer monitors now faded dark and the absence of the usual muffled hum and clattering of the other League members moving throughout the rickety building or getting rowdy in the bar, the place was as still and silent as a graveyard.

That was, until the only two ghosts left lingering stirred to resume the haunt.

“Tomura…” you sighed, voice cracking with a whine of pleasure being plucked within you like a taught guitar string. He was already nestled between your thighs, slowly pushing his way deeper into the tight, wet, warmth of you. He had a habit of taking his time when it came to this, unlike the way his patience usually dwindled down to nothing like a fire eating away at a piece of paper, temper red hot and quick to flare whenever someone kept him waiting.

But, when it came to you, his patience burned more like a candle, slowly melting, savoring the experience, steady on the wick until the flame disintegrated it down to delicate ash and he’d have no choice but to wait for the wax to resolidify and start all over again.

You two didn’t talk much during this act. All your usual banter and sarcastic, teasing little comments were put on hold just until you were both stated and recovering from the come down. But still, that didn’t mean you didn’t catch him muttering things under his breath the further he carved out a home in you, all the little strained feels so good’s and god, you’re perfect’s that he whispered into the crook of your neck between leaving a trail of tender kisses there.

He’d work you up slowly, try to outlast until neither of you could take it anymore, and savor the way your core pulsed around him as you both tried to catch your breath and merge back with reality after letting everything go.

He’d let you run your fingertips over his back, sending little shivers across his spine, and lightly scratch at the back of his neck as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your shoulder, breathing in your scent like a sweet, calming drug.

Sometimes you’d hum to him, recalling simple, melancholy tunes you’d heard in your childhood or slow songs that had simply gotten stuck in your head. He’d usually drift off for a few minutes, only coming to with a deep inhale when he felt you inevitably stir beneath him. Then it was his turn to take care of you, to clean you up and witness as you were lulled by his touch, perhaps the only person who knew what his hands were capable of who’d ever let him touch them.

As you two lay side by side now, staring into each other’s eyes, admiring the color of each other’s gaze, you smiled at him and brushed a few misplaced strands of hair from his forehead, brushing your fingers down the line of his cheek, following to his jaw before slowly pulling your hand back and closing your eyes, feeling like it was only a matter of minutes until you were asleep for good that night.

But that’s when you heard it again.

“I love you,” he stated, as if it were a fact as simple as saying the sky was blue, indisputable. You opened your eyes, blinked at him, brows slightly knit together and mouth tugged down in a crooked frown as if about to deliver bad news to someone you cared about.

“Tomura…” you sighed, a slight, sympathetic lilt to your words. Though, whether it was sympathy for you or sympathy for him, you weren’t quite sure. “You’re only saying that because—”

Before the excuse had time to fully be spoken into existence, Tomura suddenly sat up and forced himself to stand from the mattress with a quiet groan. You watched as he walked from one end of the room to the other, now out of the range of your quirk. He looked you in the eyes as he said it again, the shadows of an almost pleading expression crossing his face, like he was begging you to believe him.

“I love you,” he repeated a third time, and by then, you were starting to think maybe he did. You almost felt like you might tear up, because when was the last time someone told you that and really meant it? When was the last time anyone had told Tomura? Had he ever said those words to someone else before?

“C’mere…” You beckoned him back into your embrace, and once he was in your arms again you began lazily running your fingers through his hair, gently tugging through a few more knots and feeling his breathing synchronize with yours. “I love you, too…” you muttered into the crown of his head before placing a chaste kiss there.

He looked up at you, eyes wide and full of some kind of innocent desperation, as if he were a little kid seeking approval and couldn’t believe he’d finally gotten it. Again, the notion broke your heart, knowing he hadn’t been loved properly in his childhood, but then the relief of realizing that you could maybe make up for some of it by loving him now filled you.

“Oh, and, by the way…” you smiled, a new kind of brightness shining in your tone. “Happy birthday.”

Tomura cracked a grin then— a real one, genuinely happy— and while he didn’t say it as he lay his head back down on your chest, finding healing in the steady rhythm of your heart beat, he knew that this would be a birthday he would remember forever.

***

(Aaaaaahhhh!! Guys!! I’ve been wanting to write something new for Tomura for so long and am really happy with how this one turned out :)

Honestly, this was originally meant to just be short and sweet and the to the point since I wanted to do something for his birthday but, like usual, I got too self indulgent and it sort of spiraled out of control lol.

Anyway, happy birthday to our favorite gamer boy, who deserves all the love and good things <3

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you next time!)

[sanguineerose]

katawaredoki

Yuji arrives back at Jujutsu High sore and exhausted. He drags his feet through the building, one hand reaching over his own shoulder to rub the aching muscle, wishing nothing else but to take a long, warm bath. Judging by his weary, defeated state and the sour expression plastered all over his face, one would think he’d just spent the past hours exorcizing curses. Yuji almost wishes that was the case, because he genuinely doesn’t remember the last time a mission has left him as tired as going on an all day long shopping spree with Nobara.

As he makes his way through the deserted corridor, daydreaming about that sweet strawberry cheesecake he saved for later, Yuji spots Megumi on the porch. He seems unusually peaceful, sitting in a chair with his head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. Did he doze off? His chest rises and falls slowly, steadily, and he shows no sign of noticing Yuji only a couple feet away. The sinking sun paints everything golden, including Megumi’s clothes, his dark hair, his skin; even his thick lashes, which cast ridiculously long shadows over his pale cheeks. He looks almost ethereal like this, practically glowing in the soft lights of the sunset.

“Are you going to stand there and stare at me all night?”

Yuji jolts, heart skipping a beat. So he wasn’t sleeping, after all. Megumi’s eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t bother sparing him a glance. He only turns his head once Yuji walks to the porch, who figures that it doesn’t really matter now as he’s already been called out.

Yuji doesn’t deny. Instead, he asks,

“How did you even know that it was me?”

“Your footsteps,” Megumi replies shortly.

“You recognize the sound of my footsteps? That’s weird,” Yuji says. A part of him is confused, while another part feels more than a little giddy knowing Megumi has picked up on something so - seemingly - insignificant.

“Your shoes are squeaking on the floor,” he states flatly, shifting in his seat, sitting up straighter. “It’s annoying.” 

Yuji pouts, mainly to at least try to hide the smile that inevitably lifts his lips, because that’s the Fushiguro Megumi he knows. He’s prickly like a hedgehog; been like that from the very first moment they’ve met, curling himself up into a spiky little ball and stabbing when he feels threatened. Back then, Yuji often wished Megumi was less snappy, less cynical, but he had to learn the hard way that he would take anything over his silence. Recovering from all the horrors has not been easy. It’s still a journey, challenging all of them over and over again, but perhaps Megumi had the hardest time crawling out of that deep, dark hole. Yuji would not move from next to him. He could take his fury any time when Megumi couldn’t handle his raging emotions, shouts loud enough to rattle windows. He swallowed down his harsh words, thrown in the heat of an argument, sharp enough to cut Yuji until he bled. He held his hand and gave a shoulder to cry on, finding his own comfort in it, too. The days when Megumi stayed quiet, eyes empty, having no energy to climb out of his bed—those were the worst, because Yuji had no idea how to help. 

It’s been a while since Megumi had a day like that, but the memory is still too fresh, and Yuji cherishes every crumble, every glimpse he gets of how things used to be. 

He pulls a chair closer to Megumi and practically falls into it, watching as the sun slowly dips below the horizon. The colors shift to a mix of pink and orange, but Yuji’s gaze doesn’t stay on the sky for long. He finds himself staring at Megumi, once again, taking in every tiny detail of his pretty features.

Yuji couldn’t tell when he started seeing Megumi in a different light. Did it only happen recently, since the two spent even more time together than before? When did he notice that there are a few, faint freckles dotted across Megumi’s cheekbones, or that his eyes are an even lighter, clearer shade of green than he used to think? Days and emotions and memories blur, and Yuji can’t remember a time when he didn’t think that Megumi’s lips looked so invitingly soft.

The thought, though it’s definitely not the first time crossing his mind, makes Yuji blush. He averts his gaze, trying to focus on something else, but he can’t keep his eyes off Megumi for long. Instead of gazing longingly at his lips, Yuji lets his eyes wander, eventually settling on the scars over his otherwise unblemished skin. A reminder of the most horrible period of his life, now forever etched into his face. Megumi doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t show it, but Yuji knows it’s bothering him, always tearing his gaze away when he catches his own reflection in a storefront window. He makes a sour face each time Nobara pulls them closer for a selfie; his hair is even messier than it used to be, as he doesn’t like spending much time in front of the mirror. He never changes with anyone else in the same room, hiding the rest of the marks Sukuna left on him.

If Yuji could switch places with him, he would. He wouldn’t mind the scars, especially if he could ease his friend’s pain.

“They aren’t a nice sight, are they?”

Megumi doesn’t look at him while he asks that question, voice small and quiet, and Yuji silently scolds himself. He should’ve known better than to stare at him so shamelessly while being aware that Megumi feels bad about his appearance.

The words leave his lips before he could think them through.

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

Megumi lifts his gaze back at him, eyes widening, as if Yuji just slapped him right in the face.

“I—what?”

“I mean… you’re good-looking, right?” Yuji asks, a poor attempt to try to save himself from this impossible situation. He feels his skin flushing, and unfortunately, his blush isn’t as pretty as Megumi’s, who gets red across his nose and his cheeks. No—Yuji’s entire face turns crimson like an overripe tomato on the rare occasions when someone manages to make him feel embarrassed. He can feel it now, burning him up to the tip of his ears. “Objectively. You are—you look good. Your scars don’t change anything.”

Megumi watches him a moment longer, before he bites the inside of his cheek, and turns away without saying anything else. At least he’s no longer looking at Yuji, who feels like he can finally catch his breath, free of his analyzing gaze. He relaxes a bit, but he still desperately wants to fill up the silence before it could become awkward. Yuji racks his mind for something to say, something that wouldn’t just make everything even worse, while he keeps his eyes on the setting sun. The colors change rapidly, until the deep blues swallow up all those warm shades. Only a few pale rays peek through the growing darkness, before they quickly disappear, too. It’s not dark yet, some light still lingering in the west, while the first stars shine brightly above them.

“Did you know that there’s a superstition about this time of the day?” Yuji asks. “When it’s neither day nor night.” 

Megumi gives a slow nod. “When the boundary between worlds blur and spirits and demons roam free?” Megumi asks, glancing at Yuji. “I think you and I both know that they don’t need any special time of the day for that.”

“Yeah. But I wasn’t talking about that,” Yuji replies. Megumi frowns, tilting his head and waiting patiently for Yuji to continue. “Some people also think that during this time, the souls of the fallen can be seen, dancing among the living.” 

There’s a skeptical smile tugging on Megumi’s lips, and Yuji can tell he’s two seconds away from rolling his eyes. “You don’t really believe in that, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Yuji asks, and Megumi scoffs, this time actually rolling his eyes. It doesn’t discourage Yuji from continuing. “After everything we’ve seen and been through, this doesn’t really sound like a stretch to me.”

That silences Megumi up, his grimace vanishing. He turns away once again, chewing on his lower lip. The gentle breeze blows through his hair, carrying the heady scent of some kind of flower that carries the promise of warm summer nights.

“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” Yuji speaks up as the silence stretches on, drawing Megumi’s attention back. There’s a vulnerable glint in his gaze, listening to Yuji’s words. “Knowing that the souls of the departed are still with us, in a way. I always thought this is why we feel a sense of peace during twilight.” 

Megumi’s eyes bore into his, an almost invisible smile lifting up the corner of his lips. “You always find something good in everything, right?”

Yuji laughs. “And you always think about the worst."

“Good thing I have you to remind me.” 

Yuji’s heart thumps faster in his chest, every beat louder and heavier than the previous. Time seems to stop, and Yuji starts to think they’re holding each other’s gaze longer than friends should. It’s not the first time it happens, but so far, someone has always looked away before the tension could grow too heavy. Yuji doesn’t want to let that happen now. Damn, it’s a miracle they’re still alive, why is he still wasting his precious time?

Then, before he could change his mind and chicken out, he leans in and kisses Megumi. 

Frankly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he knows is that he wants to get close, and closer, and he gets excited because Megumi isn’t pulling away, and he can’t stop himself from deepening the kiss. It’s clumsy, and feels weird, and just as Yuji starts to think that maybe he should slow down, he feels Megumi’s hands on his face. He pulls back, and to Yuji’s horror, he starts laughing.

“That bad?”

“Yes.” 

Yuji would feel warm all over hearing that rare, sweet sound, if the cause of it wasn’t his non-existent kissing skill. “Sorry… I haven’t kissed anyone before.”

Megumi watches him silently, a smile still lingering. He keeps his hands on Yuji’s cheeks, as if he’s trying to hold him back like he was an overeager puppy, and, well, maybe that’s fair. That soft pink blush Yuji loves so much spreads across Megumi’s nose, leaning back a little closer.

“Me neither,” Megumi breathes out. He closes the gap then, and Yuji lets him lead, hoping he’s better at this than him, and, oh. Megumi’s lips move gently against his, testing, tasting, finding a rhythm so effortlessly as if they’ve been doing this for an eternity. It’s like a soft whisper, a secret language between the two that no one else can understand, and Yuji thinks that this is it—this is exactly how a kiss should feel. This is how everything should feel. 

Yuji lets out a shuddering breath as Megumi pulls back, forehead pressed against his. He wants to kiss him again, and again and again and again, and Yuji really doesn’t know how he’s going to stop himself from pulling Megumi into him from now on. He almost understands those gross couples who can’t keep their hands off each other even at the most crowded, public places. 

“I didn’t think it was possible to shut you up.” 

Yuji hums, tilting his head. His nose brushes against Megumi’s, lips only an inch away from each other’s. He doesn't even want that cake anymore, filled to the brim with the softness and sweetness of Megumi's kiss. “You can do it as much as you want to. Shut me up."

“I’m going to hit you.”

Yuji laughs, catching Megumi’s eyes, the affection sparkling in there nearly making him melt out of his chair and onto the floor. There are so many things Yuji wants to say, but words seem to fail him. Instead, he kisses Megumi again, bolder, deeper, using this newfound language to pour his heart out to him. 

[bullet-prooflove]

Heaven in Hiding: Mike Duarte x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Holiday Party!

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @mysoulisasunflower @resonmalvo @@littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks

Part of the Crossing Lines Arc:

Crossing Lines - Mike tells you how he feels when he’s high.

Worth Waiting For - Companion piece to Crossing Lines

Mike Duarte is hiding. He’s leaning against the printer in the dark copier room whilst the Gang Unit’s Annual Christmas party is in full swing outside in the Squad Room. He hates these things, he hates how loud they get, how raucous. The same people making fools of themselves over and over again because they’ve had a little too much to drink.

 If he’s honest he hates the season, he has too many memories of a cold house, a thread bare tree, and paper Christmas decorations that degenerated more and more, year after year. His Mami had tried her best but with three kids and a husband that was consistently gambling against the house, there was barely any money to put food on the table, let alone pay for the heating.

He looks up when the door clicks open, you slip through the gap closing it swiftly behind you. There’s only a couple of feet between the two of you, the room is small, barely more than a closet. The scent of your perfume floods his nostrils, it’s light and floral, jasmine, he thinks. It reminds him of the first few days of spring. He’s tried to keep his distance, ever since that thing with the cocaine, when he’d gotten a little high and told you how he felt.

 “I don’t wanna be your Captain, I wanna be the man who makes you come.” He’d told you.

You’d smoothed it over a few days later.

“We need to talk.” He’d said when he’d summoned you into his office. “About what I said, and what I did.”

You’d shrugged your shoulders.

“It happens.” You’d responded.

That had been over a month ago and his feelings haven’t changed. He’s still attracted to you; it goes far beyond physicality. It wouldn’t be such an issue if it was just about that. The problem is he actually enjoys spending time with you and that messes with him.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” You say, leaning back against the door, blocking his exit.

“Yea.” He says swiping across the video on his screen in order to turn down the volume. “Out there isn’t really my scene.”

“Mine neither.” You say with a small smile. “It’s my first one, I thought I’d be social but it’s barely past ten and the majority of them are already a mess.”

“It gets worse.” Mike tells you, the edges of his mouth tipping up. “So much worse.”

“So, I guess that means we’re going to be hiding out here for the rest of the night…” You sigh, shifting so that you end up taking up residence alongside of him. Your arm brushes against his and he feels the heat from your skin searing against his own before you gesture towards his phone. “What were you watching?”

“My niece Amelia,” He says, showing you the video. “She had her Christmas play tonight, that’s her, the angel on the right.”

“She’s got that trademark Duarte scowl.” You laugh as you lean in close.

“She wanted to be the Christmas tree.” He reveals as he points to boy in a handmade costume. “This kid is now her nemesis.”

“And there’s the wrath.” You tease as he returns the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m guessing it’s a family trait.”

You’re still smiling when he tilts his head toward you, it’s that smile that ensnares him. His eyes meet yours and for a moment everything just falls away. All of that worry, all of that doubt, it falls away and he’s left with an intense sense of longing. He wants you, Christ he wants you more than anything, but he just can’t make himself take that step.

Your fingertips ghost along the line of his jaw and he closes his eyes, savouring the sensation because he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like his. Your lips are soft as they brush over his, there’s a tenderness in you that’s never he’s felt with any other woman and Mike revels in it.

When you draw away, he doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing. He sees the conflict in you, the uncertainty that crosses your features.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly. “I thought…”

You laugh, your cheeks colouring with embarrassment as you reach for the doorhandle.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell him before you pull the door open and head back into the fray. “Merry Christmas Captain.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[draculasfavoritewife]

Sleepless

Summary: Even the most intimate couples had to have a first late-night conversation.

Pairing: Emma Frost x Scott Summers

Warnings: Scott Summers is synonymous with angst. Innuendos and suggestive humor. Strained relationships, a bit of the absolute fluffiness that is two sad people commiserating.

Here it is, the last of my Emma/Scott fics (for now) that has been languishing in my drafts! There are few things I love writing more than first meetings and impressions, and Scott's PoV, as I've mentioned before, is personally delicious. Plus, as an insomniac myself, insomnia-coded characters always hold a special little spot in my heart 🖤

“Scott. A word?” 

Scott Summers sighs as the Professor beckons him into his office. “Of course. Do you need something from me?” 

The older man studies him from behind tented fingers, expression unreadable as always. “I merely wanted to remind you that Ms. Frost will be arriving soon.” 

“I hadn’t forgotten.” New faculty didn’t come to the Xavier Institute often, did the Professor really think such a detail had slipped his mind? 

“My choice to hire her may be…controversial. And the others, they look to you as an example. I hope you will keep an open mind and welcome her with open arms, so that the transition goes a little smoother.” 

Scott nods briskly. He’s nothing if not professional. “Anything else?” 

“That is all. Thank you, Scott. I always rest easier, knowing I have you to depend upon.” 

He leaves the Professor, only to find Jean waiting for him barely outside the door. “Hey,” she greets him softly. “What did the Professor want?” 

“Nothing. We were just talking about Ms. Frost’s arrival this afternoon.” Scott lengthens his stride, his mind already working through his meticulously arranged schedule for the rest of the day. 

She’s not convinced. “You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you.” 

“I do know. Everything’s fine, Jean. I just have a busy day ahead of me.” 

Her eyes narrow. “I’m worried about you! You don’t have to be so brusque.” 

And you don’t have to mother me all the time! I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. He tries to stuff down the ungrateful thought as soon as it takes shape, but it’s too late.

Her scowl tells him better than words that she heard it, loud and clear. 

“Jean, wait!” he calls after her retreating back, but she’s vanished into a nearby doorway already. He knows from many past experiences that it’s better if he lets her cool off for now. Talking to her and trying to iron things out right away will do more harm than good. 

Cursing under his breath — too softly for any passers-by to pick up — he continues on his way. 

The day is off to a great start already. 

He knows Ms. Frost has arrived when he sees the crowd of students and fellow instructors gathered around the front windows. And he understands why they’re all staring when he sees her car parked in the driveway, long and sleek and pale and probably some European brand half of them have never heard of. 

And then Ms. Frost herself steps out of the car and struts up the front steps to ring the bell, and the excited whispers immediately die off. She looks like she stepped off the cover of a magazine, and one that is likely “not suited for younger readers”. 

He seems to be the only one with ears all of a sudden, and takes it upon himself to answer the door. That’s when he at last sees her face, and for a moment, even stoic Scott Summers is off his game. Slyly tilted eyebrows, heavily lashed eyes that couldn’t possibly be any color but a frosty blue — he can tell even through his tinted glasses — and that smile, that lioness smile rimmed with curvy silver-painted lips. 

Scott knows this woman. Not in the awkward I-was-drunk-we-hooked-up-once kind of way, that’s never been his style.

No, they’ve crossed metaphorical swords on the battlefield many times before. 

The last time he saw that smile, she was trying to turn his mind into so much scrambled egg. 

Really, Professor? You hired the White Queen and didn’t think I needed ANY warning? 

She, for her part, is utterly cool and collected, and he gets the feeling she saw him through the window long before he saw her. Momentary lapse of focus gone, he sizes her up like the threat he knows she is.

By personal experience, he knows that underestimating Emma Frost is a deadly gamble. 

Her hair -- long, straight, and so blond it hovers near white -- runs down her back, disappearing into the fluff of her extravagant white fur coat. Aside from the coat, she leaves nothing to the imagination. Snug white pants are tucked into over-the-knee boots with five- or six-inch stiletto heels. He’s not sure how she didn’t die on the brief walk to the door. 

And she’s wearing a top that can barely even be classified as such. 

How do her clothes even stay on? 

Double-sided tape is a woman’s best friend, Darling. But they don’t have to stay on…. 

He’ll have to be much more careful.

“Ms. Frost. Welcome to the Xavier Institute. Won’t you come in?” 

The fur coat chooses that particular moment to slip, baring slender shoulders and quite a few inches of what’s between them and the gravity-defying contraption that only just prevents indecent exposure. 

“Why thank you, Mr. Summers. I’m ever so pleased be here. I have a feeling you and I, at least, should get along just fine.” 

She stalks past him, and he watches her go, the crowd of intimidated students and hostile instructors parting like the Red Sea for Moses. 

What has the Professor gotten us into? 

He’s left alone in his room tonight. Jean holds grudges, and he hasn’t seen her again aside from dinner, when neither of them felt like talking to the other. Insomnia is his partner in bed instead — he can honestly say that relationship has been lifelong — so he finally gives up trying at one in the morning and heads down to the Danger Room, in the hopes he can either work himself to exhaustion or at least be productive with his time, instead of letting his anxiety run wild in the dark.

The latter seems far more probable. 

It’s not until he’s done, changed into sweatpants and left the locker room, still drying his hair with a towel, that he realizes he had an audience. 

“Bravo, Mr. Summers, that was quite the show you put on.” The White Queen is leaning against a console in the control booth, a glass of red wine in hand and her goddess figure quite prominent in a lacy white slip. 

He shouldn’t be surprised that even her nightwear is as revealing as possible. 

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he says curtly, pulling a jacket on to cover up his bare torso. Just because she’s so comfortable flaunting everything doesn’t mean he has to join her. 

“You’ve always had a certain…flair…for battle, and I should know.” She smirks and hands him a second wine glass. “Here. When I got up and sensed I wasn’t the only one wandering these halls at this ungodly hour, I brought a spare.” 

Normally, he would wonder what she’s done to it, but this is already a strange situation, so he just takes it from her with a nod of thanks. 

“You know, from that very first time I got inside your head, I pegged you as the insomniac type.” Her eyes flash over the rim of her glass, sharp with satisfaction. “Looks like I haven’t lost my touch when it comes to woman's intuition.” 

He can’t tell if she meant that comment as a double entendre or not. He’s certainly not rising to take the bait if she did. “I have a lot on my mind.” Taking a sip of his drink, he glances back at her. “And you?” 

“Oh this isn’t a usual occurrence for me at all, Scott. Most nights I sleep like the dead and only rise in time for lunch.” She sniffs. “I have a very sensitive constitution. The first night in a new bed? I never sleep.” 

Scott throws her another, this time incredulous, glance. 

“I do have a sensitive constitution! I’m a purebred Boston Terrier Bitch, Darling.” 

He snorts at her choice of words, and it could almost be called a chuckle. 

Frost fake-gasps. “Ladies and Gentlemen, believe it or not, Scott Summers CAN laugh.” She draws closer to him, her face upturned towards his, and he realizes that her lips are a natural color without her lipstick, after all. 

He imagines they must be pale pink. 

“What’s my prize for making you laugh?” she purrs. 

“What would you like?” he asks without thinking, and then mentally kicks himself for it. This is no ordinary woman he’s talking to, after all.

He has a suspicion there’s a reason she dresses like a dominatrix. 

Wicked delight plays across her face. “Oh, there are so many things I would like from you, Scott. But let’s start off with a professional tone, shall we?” Her free hand comes up between them, plays with the zipper pull on his jacket. “So show me around. Where do you go when you DON’T want to focus on everything that’s going wrong in your life?” 

He’s not really sure how to answer that one, but he ends up taking her outside, and somehow they end up standing on a footbridge in the garden, and the night is cool and the moon is beautiful tonight, and he HAS put all his problems out of his mind for the time being. 

“Do you like New York?” he asks her, leaning back against the railing. 

She shrugs. “Well enough. I do miss Boston, though.” 

He didn’t think he’d ever hear such an admission leave her lips. “Why move, then?” 

“Just because you love a place doesn’t mean you should stay.” Emma's face suddenly looks gentler, almost younger. “There’s far too much history knotted up in the places we grew up, I think.” Her star-filled eyes turn to him. “And I think you agree. You hardly ever go back to Alaska, much as you miss the wind and water and cold.” 

She has a point. He can’t quite unravel this sensation rising in his chest. 

“I wasn’t digging around in your head,” she is quick to reassure him. “The sky tonight is making your old longings positively radiate from you, like too much Dior.” 

He sighs. Sometimes he fantasizes about going back, about starting over and running away from his problems with Jean, and everyone’s expectations and standards and pressures. Leave it to the new arrival to be the only one who picks up on his struggles, well as everyone else thinks they know him. 

Sometimes he just feels so damn alone. 

“You know,” she murmurs, swirling the last of her wine around in the glass. “You and I are so alike, Scott. No one else could ever truly appreciate what goes on beneath the surface.” 

He stares at her, disbelieving. We couldn’t be more different if we tried…. 

“We handle it in different ways.” The wind ruffles through her silky hair. “I coped with the expectations, the lack of validation, and the depressing notion that I would never be good enough for anyone by stripping — excuse the wording — myself of everything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. I have no inhibitions, I buck social norms, and I take pleasure in subverting people’s image of me, because I know I can never fulfill their standards.”

She eyes him up and down. “You cope in the opposite way, covering up the goods, physically and emotionally, so you can pretend to be their perfect white knight. But if the cards had folded differently —” she finishes her drink, “— we could be standing here in each other’s shoes, instead.” 

“I never did get the hang of walking in heels,” he deadpans, and this time it’s her turn to laugh. Although he doesn’t say so, she’s right.

And his chest tightens strangely, at the realization that he’s finally met someone that understands what he’s going through. 

It takes his thoughts a bit to return to earth, but when they do, he notices that she’s definitely not dressed to be standing out here. He takes his jacket off and holds it out for her to take, and he’s not completely sure why, but he doesn’t feel quite so exposed without a shirt around her anymore. 

Having someone dissect your soul can do wonders for your self-consciousness. 

She smirks as she takes the offered garment and drapes it around her shoulders. “The cold and I are old friends,” she muses, tone slightly melancholy. “But I’ve always had a soft spot for old-fashioned chivalry.” 

He can feel her eyes roaming over his now bare torso. “And I must say, even that navy spandex didn’t do you justice. You’re a fine-looking man, Scott Summers.” 

What does one say to that? 

He settles on nothing, for the moment. But they stay there on that bridge for a while, mostly enfolded in a silence that is surprisingly comfortable. 

Finally, he nods back towards the mansion. “We should turn in, Ms. Frost.” 

“Emma, Darling. You’ve earned it.”

They fall into step together, and as they are about to enter the quiet household once more, she smiles up at him. “I’ll see you at lunch then, Love.” 

Scott can’t help smiling back. “No, you’ll be seeing me bright and early for breakfast, Emma. Most of us are up by seven around here. Personally, I prefer six.” 

“Ugh. How inhumane.” She tosses her hair and walks away from him, still wearing his jacket. “Chances are I’ll still be dead. Come and drag me out of bed if you must, Darling, but for heaven’s sake do it with your own hands and don’t send that philistine Logan, or I’ll kill you both.” 

He watches her disappear down the shadowed corridor, and for some reason, he doesn’t call after her for the jacket. 

Sleep comes easily for him after that. 

[shadowofahope]

Gone Once More

Warnings: hurt/no comfort

Pairing: Idol! BTS x friend! (f)reader

Premise: Too many mistakes. Each one a new regret. The only hope for you to not be seen.

Author’s notes: Sorry loves, I promise to try to come back as soon as I can! I'm currently 33wks pregnant, so my mind has been all over the place. I'm also trying to move at the same time. I know, I know, all very poorly timed on my end. I'll work hard on completing my WIPS and getting them up for you! 💜

Word count: 823

masterlist

Your body feels heavy as you sluggishly make your way through the throng of people. It had been a long couple of days setting up for this event. Thankfully you and your coworkers had managed to finish with a couple hours to spare. Last-minute final touches had been placed and as the idols and actors began to turn up, you had all been dismissed. 

Walking past the last building, you begin to place your head phones in your ears. Ready for your walk home. However, you hear something that makes your heart stop.

You hear the familiar voices from somewhere in the crowd. Catching a glimpse of a face you had wished to forget.

You back step quickly rounding the corner to hide from the figures headed your way. Holding your breath you close your eyes and beg for them not to see you. Willing yourself to be one with the wall. A sense of relief plummets over your like a cold bucket of water on a hot day as you finally hear their voices pass. 

You barely catch a glimpse of their backs as you hastily push through the thickening crowd.You don’t want to appear panicked for fear that would draw attention to yourself. 

Swiftly you approach the crosswalk, legs trembling more for every second you wait for the light sign to change. The road in the process of being closed down for the event today. You remain steady on your feet, but your body delays briefly as it finally changes and you walk within the other people.

Reaching the other sidewalk, against all the screaming in your head, body shaking, air burning your lungs you stop. First mistake. Second was benign unable to not turn around and stare blatantly at the group you had hidden from. You needed to see them, even if it hurt all over again.

Standing across the street, you cant find it in yourself to keep moving. To finish your escape successfully. The few cars passing by and the strings of people do nothing to obstruct your focus. 

The pain from past memories seeps from the floor up your legs, like an iron chain holding you down. 

Eye contact, the last mistake you made. Pairs of eyes turn to you one by one, survey your figure. The uncertainty etched into their faces, were you really there or were they just hoping to see you again.

The world slows around you, breathe slow and deep. An almost calm settling over you, atleast outwardly calm. Your mind flashing through your anger you thought you had long forgotten when you left those years ago. But somehow in this moment it all felt so fresh, a wound that never healed, easily reopened. 

One of them takes a step in your direction, your name said out loud appearing on their lips, snapping you out of your stasis. Before they can truly believe you're there, you turn to sprint down the path to the parkway. You hear your name called again, this time over the blood pumping in your ears. Without slowing you push yourself forward, calves feeling as though they will spilt in half after being on your feet for so long. But you don’t stop, you don’t falter. Your lungs sting as your breath comes out ragged and sharp.

You know they’ve followed, you can feel them behind you. Dashing through a throng of people casually going for a stroll, you take a dramatic turn towards a small wooden bridge. Hoping the mass of people would create enough confusion. You all but fling yourself down the shallow bank, stumbling to your knees on the rocks and dirt. Without stopping, you roll yourself under the wooden structure. 

Barely a moment passes and you hear the approach of many shoes on the cement path. Your name screamed by many voices. Voices that have haunted you for too long, ones that used to only carry sweet words, but by the end carried the poison that deteriorated your self worth. Like a venomous snake bite, one that wouldn’t kill you but left you crippled, no amout of anti-venom could stop the affects.

The footsteps rush off away from your hiding spot. You stay there, long enough to catch your breathe. Your heart rate finally slowing down again, allowing the blood flow back to your head. Giving you enough strength to sit up, peaking your head out, ears on full alert for any sounds of them reapproaching. Hearing nothing, you slowly crawl away from the shadows. When you finally drag yourself back up you realize you’ve not only ripped the knees of your jeans, but blood soaks your right pant leg. However, you don’t feel the pain, mind still distracted by getting away secretly to your home before anything else can happen.

Limping in the other direction of where they ran, you make your way praying that these ghosts will be gone once more.

masterlist

[courtonfire]

Wangxian friends to lovers 🥰 (this my first time posting here, sorry if the formatting turns out weird!)

Wei Ying has a habit of kissing his best friend, Lan Zhan’s, cheek all the time. Lan Zhan, who has been in love with him for years, is steadily dying inside, but has absolutely no intentions of stopping it.

And apparently he doesn’t have to, because Wei Ying has suddenly stopped on his own.

It’s been a couple days since they’ve seen each other, which usually means Lan Zhan gets double cheek kisses. But this time, he gets none.

Lan Zhan is at a loss. Wei Ying is acting normal otherwise. He doesn’t seem angry or upset or out of it - nothing to suggest a cause for this change. Lan Zhan, on the other hand, can barely focus on the conversation. He wants to ask, but he’s not sure how to do so without sounding desperate or giving his true feelings away.

Wei Ying, of course, notices.

“Lan Zhan, you’re so out of it today!” He cries with a pout.

Lan Zhan wants to deny it, but he has no clue what Wei Ying may have been talking about the past several minutes.

“Mn,” he admits guiltily. “My apologies, I have a lot on my mind today.”

Wei Ying gives him a complicated look, but quickly covers it with a smile. “Ah, that’s alright! I’m being selfish, talking so much about myself! Especially when I know you have some big news to share with me, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows and nudges Lan Zhan with his elbow. Lan Zhan is, once again, at a complete loss. He wracks his brain for any ‘big news’ he should share with Wei Ying, but the only things that come to mind are:

1. Confessing his love

2. Confessing his despair at having not received a cheek kiss

3. Both. None of which are things he would actually like to share right now. Or things Wei Ying would know and ask about so casually.

“I am not sure what you are referring to,” he says instead. His heart drops at the hurt that flashes across Wei Yings face. “Ah, really? Are you keeping so many things from me you don’t even know which one I might be talking about?”

“Wei Ying, I am sorry, I’m not -“

Wei Ying cuts him off with a loud, obviously fake, laugh.

“Haha, I’m just kidding! It’s fine, Lan zhan! No big deal!”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth to express that it is, in fact, a big deal if Wei Ying thinks he’s keeping so many secrets he can’t keep track, but Wei Ying doesn’t give him the chance. “I just don’t really get it, you know? I mean, it’s not like you two are keeping it a secret - he’s telling anyone with two ears that you are together - but it’s fine!!” He hurries to add, like anything he’s said makes any sense at all. “Wei Ying, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have no idea what you are talking about. Who am I not keeping a secret with?”

Wei Ying’s raises his brows.

“Uh, your boyfriend? Who you’ve been seeing at least a week now?”

Lan Zhan blinks at him, dumbfounded. “My what?”

“Your boyfriend!” He repeats with an exaggerated eye roll. “Su she? Come on, Lan Zhan, how do you forget that?!”

Lan Zhan fights down a wave of nausea at the thought of dating Su She of all people. Where could Wei Ying have gotten that horrible idea? He holds eye contact with Wei Ying, determined to resolve the hurt he still sees there.

“Wei Ying, I have no idea how you got that idea, but I do not have a boyfriend. And if I did, it would absolutely not be Su She and you would be the first to know.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says dumbly, irritation visibly draining from him.

“Mn.”

“But… I heard him! Su Sh’s been telling everyone you two are together!”

Lan Zhan narrows his eyes in distaste. “He is lying. I will have a word with him tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says again. Lan Zhan nods and leans back, giving him some space to process things.

After a couple more minutes of stunned silence, Lan Zhan decides to be brave.

“Wei Ying,” he calls, then stops. Wei Ying watches him expectantly. Lan Zhan takes a Deep breath and continues. “Does this, perhaps, have anything to do with why you have not kissed my cheek today?”

Wei Ying quickly looks away, but Lan Zhan can still make out the flush spreading across his cheeks. “W-well duh! Obviously i cant kiss your cheek if you’re dating someone! I didn’t want to ruin your relationship!”

“I see,” Lan Zhan says. “And now that you know I am not in a relationship…?”

Wei Ying squeaks and whirls to face him. “Lan Zhan! What are you suggesting, huh?”

“That I am owed a kiss on the cheek.”

Wei Ying does his best impression of a fire truck, color and wailing siren included. At a velocity close to the speed of light, he leans over to peck Lan Zhan’s cheek and returns to his spot on the couch, pointedly facing away. Ears feeling understandably warm, Lan Zhan reaches up to brush a finger along the spot Wei Ying kissed. A soft smile stretches across his face. He decides to push his luck.

“Is that all?”

Wei Ying jerks around, face twisted in disbelief. “You want more?!”

“You did accuse me of lying,” Lan Zhan points out. Wei Ying barks a laugh.

“Oh so that means you get two?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes, but he’s obviously fighting back a smile. “Aren’t you greedy today, Lan Zhan. Fine, two kisses! Only because I feel bad for believing you would keep something from me.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Lan Zhan rushes to say. “It was an understandable confusion.”

Wei Ying scoots closer, until their thighs are touching.

“Hm,” he disagrees. “I should not have doubted you. After all, my Lan zhan would never keep something from me, would he?”

Just his undying love, Lan Zhan thinks.

“Mn,” he says. Wei Ying sways closer, nosing along Lan Zhans jawline, effectively vanquishing every brain cell he had left.

“Of course he wouldn’t. My Lan Zhan is so good to me, isn’t he?”

Lan Zhan can only nod, wondering where all of Wei Yings shyness and embarrassment from earlier disappeared to. Wei Ying chuckles, his warm breath brushing along the ridges of his throat. Lan Zhan shivers.

“My Lan Zhan would never make promises he can’t keep, right?“

“Mn,” he tries to agree, but it comes out an embarrassing croak. Wei Ying chuckles again and mercilessly brushes his lips up to Lan Zhan’s ear. The touch is feather light, but it burns through Lan Zhan like a wildfire.

“So tell me, Lan Zhan, how you can promise I’ll be the first to know when you get in a relationship, hm? Wouldnt the other person know first?“

Lan Zhan freezes. No. No way Wei Ying picked up on that little subtlety. He’s probably just teasing him, but all Lan Zhan can think is that he knows, he knows, he knows -

“They would be the first,” he admits. He feels Wei Ying grin against him.

“Oh? Do you admit to making false promises then?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head lightly. He should say yes, tell Wei Ying to get on with it, tease him, something, anything, but apparently his heart is tired of hiding. It pounds against his ribs so hard its cries echo out through his mouth.

“I did not,” he denies. Wei Ying pulls back a touch, not enough for Lan Zhan to see his face, but enough to clear some of the fog from his brain.

“Are you playing with me? If they know first, then how can I know first?”

Lan Zhan tries to swallow down the words, but it’s no use.

“It’s possible because that person and you would be the same.”

Wei Ying jolts back as though he’s been physically shocked.

“I - what?”

Lan Zhan forces himself to face him head on. The words are already out there, he only needs to be brave enough to own them.

As he takes in Wei Yings face, he’s relieved to see he looks shocked and confused, but not disgusted. It’s a good start, at least. He draws on all his courage and discipline and forces himself to elaborate.

“If I were to enter a relationship, it could only be with you, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shakes his head - not a promising action, but it could mean anything.

“Lan Zhan, what are you saying?”

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath.

“I am in love with you, Wei Ying. I have been for some time now.”

The words hang in the sudden silence between them. His entire world narrows down to the complicated series of emotions flitting across Wei Yings face, desperately trying to catch and interpret each one. His heart races in his chest, simultaneously trying to run to and away from its fate. Wei Ying’s face settles into something Lan Zhan can’t read, then he looks away. Anxiety twists his insides. He narrowly holds himself back from prodding for a response of some kind, anything to relieve the suspense. His internal chaos comes to an abrupt stop when a quiet sob slices through the silence in the room.

Wei Ying is… crying?

Lan Zhan reaches a shaky hand towards his shoulder, but hesitates before touching him. He has no idea what kind of sobs these are, it would be better to proceed with caution, lest he make things worse. He lets his hand fall.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying startles, like he forgot Lan Zhan was there, then rounds on him.

“Lan Zhan, you absolute fuddy-duddy!” He cries. “Do you have any idea how upset I’ve been the past few days?”

That is… not what Lan Zhan was expecting him to say. Bewildered, he shakes his head stiltedly. Wei Ying scoffs. “Of course you don’t! Listen, there I was, enjoying a pleasant walk between classes, thinking how i can’t wait to see my favorite person, my darling best friend, love of my life, when all of the sudden some guy I’ve never met - never even heard of -

Starts talking about his amazing, incredible, sexy ass boyfriend, LAN FUCKING ZHAN, right there in front of me!! Do you have any idea how upsetting that was?!”

Lan Zhan, who is only about 20% certain he is both awake and alive, shakes his head like an idiot. “I was distraught! Devastated! Shattered! Overcome with despair! Not only is my best friend and the man I love seeing someone else, but he didn’t even bother to TELL me about it!!”

“Wei Ying-“ Lan Zhan tries to cut in.

“I AM NOT FINISHED YET!”

Lan Zhan wisely shuts up. “After that, I had to avoid you for TWO days to pull myself back together - which you didn’t even notice! And now, here you are, telling me you’re still single, demanding cheek kisses and confessing your love?! That you’ve apparently felt for ‘a long time”? Just like that?!”

"Unbelievable," he huffs. Lan Zhan waits a few seconds to make sure he's done. When only the sound of Wei Ying's heavy breathing fills the room, he risks reaching for his hand. The second he makes contact, Wei Ying grabs onto him like it's a lifeline. Lan Zhan softens and gives it a comforting squeeze. There are many things to unpack from Wei Ying's rant but are two things from it that require immediate attention.

"Wei Ying, I am sorry for upsetting you. I should have told you sooner, but I was a coward. I thought you would not return my feelings and I would lose you completely."

Wei Ying slumps against his shoulder, still clutching his hand tightly.

"Of course I do, silly," he mumbles. "Why do you think I kiss your cheek all the time?"

Lan Zhan shrugs helplessly. "I thought they were friendship kisses."

Wei Ying sits up to give him a look. "'friendship kisses' Lan Zhan, really? I don't kiss my other friend's cheeks!"

"... best friendship kisses?" Lan Zhan tries, half-joking. It works. Wei Ying laughs lightly and returns to his shoulder.

They sit in comfortable quiet for a moment. "I love you too, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says eventually. Lan Zhan's heart swoops. Wei Ying has confirmed his feelings multiple times now, but hearing him say it so directly is different.

"I kind of said it before," Wei Ying echoes his thoughts. "but I want to be clear on that."

Lan Zhan's feelings are too big to put into proper words, so he only hums and pulls him closer.

Wei Ying curls into his side, his warmth comforting and grounding.

"So what now?" he asks. "Are you my boyfriend?"

Lan Zhan smiles. "If you want to be."

Wei Ying tilts his head back to grin at him.

"Of course I do silly!"

Lan Zhan chuckles. "Then we are boyfriends. And you are the first to know."

Wei Ying throws his head back in a laugh. "As it should be!" His grin turns mischievous. "You know, being boyfriends comes with a lot more cheek kisses."

"Oh?"

"Mhm, and not only that," he leans closer until their breaths mingle, lips separated by a maddening couple inches. "It comes with mouth kisses too, if you want."

"I want," Lan Zhan growls and closes the distance to seal their lips together. It's a long time before they pull away again.

"I love you, boyfriend" Wei Ying whispers against his lips. Lan Zhan moves in for another peck.

"I love you too, boyfriend."

End 🥰

Epilogue:

Su She is informed of his non-existent relationship with Lan Zhan via stumbling on Wangxian making out in the very same place Wei Ying heard him lie

It is an effective tactic, especially when coupled with Wei Ying's possessive glare as Lan Zhan mauls his throat.

Thank you so much for reading!! I had fun writing this and I hope you all enjoyed it! I originally posted this on Twitter and I wanted to move it here as my first written post! Will probably clean it up for AO3 soon as well 🥰