#this post has been in my head for like a month

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post fight vibes

meet cute

note: possibly a mini series but idk

after his home and the ring; jungkook's third home is the hospital.

yet, one thing he will never get used to are the bright lights. 

fuck. 

they’re always so fucking bright.

it doesn’t matter if he’s in for nearly busting his brain or if he’s just here for a casual IV drip—each time, the lights are insanely bright.

the hospital room is too white too. 

too sterile for someone like him.

his eyes flicker down to his knuckles. they’re split and bruised, resting against his stomach, rising and falling with each slow breath. his lip is cut, swollen at the corner, and when he rolls his shoulders back, he winces—just slightly—like he's trying not to show it.

suddenly, the doors burst open and his head turns towards it. 

you walk in. 

navy blue scrubs, white doctors coat, and your hair is tied high and back. 

it’s… love at first sight. 

your cheeks are so perfect. that’s the first thing he notices about you. they have this puff that makes him wonder if anyone has ever complimented you on them. next, are your lips. they’re perfectly shaped—so kissable. maybe he’s just that fucked in the head but everything about you looks so perfect. like your eyes are the exact size they need to be. you button nose where your glasses sit so cutely… 

god help him. 

maybe he got beat up a little too much this match. 

jungkook swallows drly as you approach him. you pull out the scans and show him on the monitor. you glance at them and then at him. for a moment, you’re silent and he doesn’t know if he should be saying anything. 

should he introduce himself? 

better yet, can you introduce yourself?

"you're concussed," you say simply.

jungkook blinks at you, like he was expecting more. 

"that bad?"

"you've had worse." you say it simply as you click on the monitor and pull out old scans from months ago. your eyes widen as you look through the ones from the past 3 years. pausing at one scan from 2019, you use your pen to gesture around the areas where he’s been concussed before. “this old one? probably your worst one.” 

he huffs out a laugh, shifting in his seat. 

"my brain is still here, though. couldn’t have been that bad, huh?"

you don’t humor the joke. 

"debatable."

his grin widens, even through the soreness. "harsh, doctor…”

“doctor ___.” 

“___,” he breathes. “that’s pretty.”

“doctor ___.” you correct.

“right,” jungkook folds. then, the moment shifts. he can’t help but blurt; “... you sure you're not just mad you had to sub in for my usual guy?"

"not mad," you say, flipping through his chart. "just not impressed."

he laughs again, low and raspy, like this whole thing is funny. like the fractures and bruising on his scans are nothing more than a bad grade on a test.

"aren't you too young to be a doctor?"

you glance at him, raising a brow. 

"aren't you too young to have this many head injuries?"

his smile lingers, but he doesn’t say anything for a beat like he's trying to come up with a clever response. like he's trying to read you.

"did you win?" you ask instead.

"huh?"

"your fight."

his grin flickers—surprise, maybe. or amusement. 

"yeah. of course."

you nod, flipping the chart closed. 

"is it worth it?"

he tilts his head, the movement slow. calculated. like he's trying to see if you're serious. truth be told, he can’t read you. not your tone or your facial expression. it intrigues him… how could someone be so warm and so cold at the same time? you’re lukewarm… but it’s refreshing. it’s scratches his fucked up brain somehow.

"i'll tell you," jungkook muses, "if you go out with me."

you scoff. 

"that's okay."

he waits.

"some things are worth asking about," you say, pushing your chair back. you stand up and lean over to check over his vitals. as you fix his IV, you squint as you notice his knuckles. for some reason, jungkook suddenly fights to urge to reach for you. his fingers twitch. you see it. you brush it off and say; "some things aren't worth the answer."

you don’t miss the way his lips part slightly, his brows lifting in surprise. 

you don’t stick around to see if he has a follow-up. you grab your clipboard and head towards the door. as you push the door open to leave, you bid him goodbye. 

"rest up, mr. jeon."

the next time jungkook is back, it's not you.

"dr. ___ isn’t in today?" jungkook asks, trying to sound… anything but how it came out.

namjoon doesn’t look up from his notes. 

“you met her?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “can’t get her out of my head ever since.”

namjoon chuckles as he takes out his slit lamp and examines jungkook’s eye movement. as jungkook’s eyes follow the light, nam joon continues;

"why’s that?”

“dunno,” jungkook confesses. 

namjoon can’t take jungkook seriously. he’s never been the type to care about girls since they’ve always come to him one way or another… but knowing you, he should’ve known jungkook would take interest. 

“miss her or something?" nam joon teases. “love at first concussion?”

“not my first concussion… and i was just wondering. shit, man.” jungkook shrugs, trying to move past it. suddenly, he’s embarrassed. 

namjoon hums, like he doesn’t believe him (because he doesn’t).

"she doesn't date patients," namjoon says, flipping a page and writing down notes from jungkook’s checkup. "definitely not ones with a brain like yours."

jungkook blinks. "is it that bad?"

namjoon grins. "she spends her days saving patients who get injured unwillingly. you? boxing? that's a choice. you're her least favorite kind of patient."

"but am i her type?"

namjoon laughs and shakes his head. 

"your brain is fucked up."

when jungkook’s checkup finishes, he says goodbye to namjoon and exits the room. 

then, like fate, he sees you in the hall when he's leaving. you're walking in the opposite direction, clipboard tucked against your hip, eyes scanning over charts.

jungkook doesn’t think. 

he moves.

jungkook catches up to you and taps your shoulder. as you turn your head to respond, he steps forward and in front of you instead. suddenly, you face him.

"you."

you blink up at him, unimpressed. "me."

"i'm not concussed anymore."

"i'm glad,” you smile at him softly before you lower your gaze back to your charts. “have a good day mr. jeon—"

"i won that match," he says, like it's important. like it means something.

you pause.

"i'm a good boxer," he continues, standing taller. "i don’t get injured that much. when you saw me last… i let the guy get in a few hits. whatever… it was for show, i swear to god… but if you go out with me, i promise to always win and never get a head injury ever again."

you stare at him.

he waits.

you exhale, shifting your clipboard to the other hand. then, before he can say anything else, your fingers push into his hair, ruffling it gently.

his breath hitches.

you drop your hand and step past him.

"i think you're still a little concussed," you murmur. 

“i’m not,” jungkook says, voice soft. “one chance.”

you tilt your head at him and for a moment, you really contemplate. his lip looks almost healed. his knuckles are only bruised now… for a moment, you want to give in. 

“do you ever lose?”

he scoffs. “no.”

you nod and begin to slip away. jungkook stands there confused at the growing distance. as you walk away, you tell him; 

“maybe you should learn how to.”

“why? so you can feel better about rejecting me?"

jungkook tilts his head, lips twitching. he lifts his foot to move to you but you shake your head at him. he stops his tracks. cutely, you mimic him and tilt your head too, feigning sympathy. 

"no, so you stop getting concussed."

he grins, sharp and easy. "i told you, i don't get injured that much."

"right… just enough to keep me employed."

his laughter comes quick, like he wasn't expecting that. 

"damn," he mutters, shaking his head. "you got a sharp tongue, doc."

you exhale through your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve given him, and start toward the door. with one hand, you wave him off, like he’s not worth the breath it takes to keep talking.

but just before you step out, jungkook hears you murmur over your shoulder���low, teasing, like you’re indulging him for just a second longer.

"good thing you’re used to taking hits, jeon."

jungkook’s smile lingers long after you’ve disappeared down the hall. for a moment, he contemplates on running after you and continuing to annoy you… and then, for the nth time today… he thinks. 

he’ll be back. 

injured or not—he’s coming back just for you.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Blood Oath - Seonghwa

"you taste... you taste like sin."

pairing: vampire seonghwa x divine entity fem!reader

genre: 18+, vampire au, filth

summary: After centuries of pursuit, you finally surrender to the Lord himself. In the dark of his embrace, he swears an oath—eternal love, eternal possession.

wc: 5.7k

warnings: vampire lord!seonghwa, divine entity!reader, power play, possessiveness, light obsession (he wants the reader forever and has been persistent with winning her over), heavy making out, neck kissing, neck biting, choking, vampire fangs (idk if it can be a warning but), vampire bites, blood sucking, looots of marking, praising & body worshipping, oral sex (both f and m), he ests her out, dacryphilia, biting, size kink, huge dick!seonghwa (he was a vampire after all), overstimulation, missionary, bending over, hiar pulling, deep throating, bloodplay (he fucks her while drinking her blood), manhandling, some aftercare, no hongjoong was not peeking he came in the room after quite some time, completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!!), might edit later.

Author's Note: I ain't even going to hide it anymore. Has anyone thought of the fact that writers always add the bath scene in the end.. but not a lot of them actually detail what happens in that moment of aftercare or if it's actually aftercare..? No more waiting!!! I wrote a bonus scene of Seonghwa and the reader spending some sweet steamy time in the tub, and it's steaming hot. 😋 I can't wait to post it. I love vampires oml.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The castle stood silent beneath the weight of the midnight hour, the heavy air thick with something unspoken. The towering chamber, adorned with black marble and flickering candelabras, felt like a prison, trapping the tension that crackled between you and him.

Lord Seonghwa.

A name that struck terror into men, that sent entire kingdoms to their knees. A name synonymous with power, desire, and ruin.

And yet—You were the only one who had ever defied him.

You stood before him now, bathed in silver moonlight, your arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at your lips as he stared at you—his crimson eyes dark, predatory.

"You’re staring again, Seonghwa," you murmured, voice laced with amusement. "Careful, someone might think you’re desperate."

His jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it crack.

"You think this is a game?" His voice was lower now, rougher. Darker.

You took a single step closer, just enough to let your perfume slip into his senses, just enough to let the warmth of your body make him ache. "I know it is."

He inhaled sharply, his fists clenching at his sides.

You had been tormenting him for months—years, if he were being honest. Every look you gave him, every soft breath, every time you allowed him close but never close enough—you were his downfall, his undoing.

"Say it," he rasped.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Say what, vampire?"

He was in front of you before you could blink. His cold hands seized your waist, pulling you, your body flush against his. His breath was ragged, his control razor-thin.

"Say that you want me," he commanded, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Say that you burn for me the way I burn for you."

You exhaled a soft, teasing breath, your fingers tracing the intricate patterns of his black silk shirt. "Why would I lie?"

His grip tightened, his fingers digging in as a growl vibrated through his chest.

"You cruel thing," he muttered. "You love this, don’t you?"

Your fingers trailed lower, barely grazing his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

"You make it too easy, my lord."

His fangs lengthened at your words. He ached for you. His entire being was consumed by the thought of having you—owning you, marking you, ruining you.

"You don’t know what you’re doing to me," he gritted out, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath shuddering as his hands traveled lower.

"Oh, I know," you whispered, letting your lips ghost over his. "I know exactly how much you want me."

A sharp, broken sound left his lips. He was at his limit.

"You enjoy seeing me like this?" His voice was wrecked, a raw, dangerous whisper. "You like knowing you’re the only one who has ever made me beg?"

Your smirk deepened, and you slowly, deliberately tilted your head, baring the delicate column of your throat to him.

"You’re a vampire, Seonghwa," you murmured. "Starvation is part of the curse, isn’t it?

His control snapped.

In a single, fluid motion, he had you pinned against the grand canopy bed, his body caging yours in. His lips crashed into your throat, kissing, tasting, devouring.

"You are cruel," he groaned against your skin, his fingers sliding up your thigh, gripping hard. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You gasped softly as his fangs scraped over your pulse, a warning—a promise.

"Then take what you want," you breathed, arching slightly against him.

Seonghwa froze. You felt his breath stutter, his hands trembling where they held you.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His crimson eyes were blown wide with hunger, his lips parted, his entire body shaking with restraint.

"Say it again," he whispered, his voice so desperate it sent a shiver down your spine.

You dragged your fingers into his raven-black hair, tugging him closer.

"Take what you want, vampire lord."

A sharp, guttural growl ripped from his throat.And then— His fangs pierced your skin.

A sharp gasp left your lips as molten heat surged through your veins. Your hands tightened in his hair again as his mouth latched onto your throat, drinking you in, consuming you.

A moan rumbled deep in his chest, his grip on you bruising as he finally— finally— tasted the one thing he had longed for.

"Mine," he rasped against your skin. "You are mine."

His lips were relentless, his hands everywhere—gripping, touching, claiming.

You shuddered beneath him, the intensity of his hunger overwhelming, intoxicating.

"Yours," you whispered, your fingers fisting in his hair.

Seonghwa pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips stained with your blood, his breath ragged.

"Say it again," he pleaded.

"Yours."

A sound somewhere between a growl and a groan left his lips before he crashed his mouth against yours, kissing you with a hunger that bordered on madness.

He would ruin you. And you would let him. The taste of you was his ruin.

Seonghwa had thought he understood hunger before. He had believed he knew what it meant to crave, to ache, to desire something so fiercely it bordered on madness.

He had lied to himself. Because this? You? You were his true starvation.

His lips were still stained red, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as he pulled back, crimson eyes wild. His grip on you was bruising, his entire body trembling as if the taste of you had shattered something vital inside him.

"Seonghwa—"

Your voice was breathless, teasing, knowing. And it broke him. A guttural growl tore from his chest, and before you could so much as blink, his fangs were sinking into your skin again.

You gasped sharply, fingers tangling in his hair as he bit into the soft curve of your shoulder, groaning against you like a starved beast. His body caged you in, pressing you deeper into the silk sheets as he devoured you, lips trailing down, fangs scraping, sinking, claiming.

You moaned, your body arching into him, and his grip tightened on your hips, fingers digging in.

"You taste…" he rasped, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue over the fresh wound. His voice was wrecked, desperate, fucked out from nothing but the taste of you. "You taste like sin ."

You let out a soft, breathy chuckle, your nails raking down his back, feeling the way his musclescshuddered beneath your touch. "Then why do you look like you want to drown in it?"

His head snapped up, his gaze locking onto yours.

And you knew. You had pushed him. The last thread of his restraint snapped .

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he yanked your body beneath him, his lips trailing down, lower, lower , his mouth finding the delicate skin just above your heart—

And then he bit .

Harder.

Deeper.

Your back arched off the mattress, a sharp moan escaping your lips.

Seonghwa groaned against your skin, his hips pressing against yours as he drank deep , as if the taste of you had possessed him, made him something darker,hungrier .

"Seonghwa—"

Another bite.

You gasped, a whimper slipping free, fingers gripping his hair as he worshipped you with his fangs, with his lips, with his body .

"You are cruel ," he groaned, his tongue laving over the fresh wound before sinking his fangs into your neck this time, groaning at the feel of your pulse against his lips.

You shuddered beneath him, heat coiling in your core, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. "And you are obsessed."

His hands tightened on your thighs,spreading them apart as his hips pressed flush against yours.

"You're mine ," he growled, voice low, dark,dangerous .

You smirked, tilting your head, offering your throat to him again .

"Then prove it ."

A snarl left his lips—

And then he ruined you. He wouldn't stop. He didn't want to stop.

Your taste was a drug, and he was past the point of no return, past the point of anything resembling restraint. His lips moved feverishly , fangs sinking into your skin again and again—your neck, shoulders, collarbones, wrists—each bite deeper,needier , as if he were engraving himself into your very soul.

Each time he pulled away, his lips were red-stained, his eyes crazed , his breath ragged. " Mine ," he groaned against your pulse, hands sliding under your clothes, desperate, trembling. "I want— need —to feel you. All of you. No more barriers. No more teasing."

His fingers gripped the fabric of your clothing, his hands shaking as if he were on the edge of madness—but still, he waited. He needed you to say it.

And you did.

Soft. Breathless. A whisper against his lips.

" Take me, Seonghwa. "

A ragged moan ripped from his chest as his hands tore at your clothes. He stripped you down slowly , reverently, his fingers skimming your skin as if you were something holy , something meant to be worshipped .

His lips followed every inch of exposed flesh—his fangs trailing , scraping, nipping—marking you with deep red blossoms of possession.

" So beautiful, " he murmured against your stomach, pressing his lips to your hip bone, his fingers gripping your thighs. " So perfect. "

When you reached for his shirt, he let you pull it over his head, let you trace the sculpted lines of his body, your touch so soft, so delicate that he shuddered. And then you looked up at him—those wide, innocent, puppy eyes that made him snap.

" Fuck— "

His hands grabbed your waist, pushing you further onto your back, spreading your legs apart so abruptly you barely had time to gasp before his lips were on you.

A desperate growl left his throat as he devoured you, his tongue moving with deliberate, sinful precision, as if this was what he had craved for centuries.

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his jet-black hair as he moaned against you, as if your pleasure was his own undoing.

"You taste—" he groaned, his grip tightening on your thighs as he sucked at your clit. "You taste like I was made to worship you."

You whimpered, arching against him, losing yourself in the feel of his tongue, his lips, his fangs grazing against your trembling skin—

And Seonghwa just kept going.

Seonghwa parted your thighs with reverence, spreading you open as if you were something holy, something meant to be worshipped.

And he would worship you.

His gaze devoured you, hunger painting his features as he lowered himself, his lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut as if the very scent of you had him drunk, dizzy, wrecked.

Then—

His fangs sank in.

You gasped, back arching as his sharp teeth pierced your delicate skin. The sting bled into something pleasurable, something unbearably intoxicating, as his tongue followed, lapping at the fresh mark with a deep, guttural groan.

"Your blood…" he rasped, voice wrecked, lips feverish as he trailed open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, his fangs scraping teasingly over your hypersensitive skin. "Your taste—it’s going to ruin me."

Another bite.

A sharper moan spilled from your lips as he sucked the wound, his tongue flicking over it in slow, torturous strokes before his mouth moved higher. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his lips ghosting over your core, his breath hot and heavy against your damp heat.

And then—

His tongue flicked against your clit.

A ragged cry tore from your throat, your hands flying to his silken black hair, fingers twisting as he moaned, the vibrations sending a shockwave through your body.

He devoured you.

Lips sucking, tongue lapping, fangs grazing—he kissed you there with the same sensual, ravenous hunger that he had kissed your lips, his hands digging into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you open as he lost himself in the taste of you.

"So fucking sweet," he groaned, voice muffled as he suckled on your swollen bud, his tongue rolling in slow, lazy circles, making your thighs tremble around his head. "So fucking perfect."

Your breath hitched, your hips jerking, chasing the friction, but Seonghwa chuckled darkly, pressing your thighs down as his tongue dipped lower, teasing your entrance, tasting you with slow, languid strokes that made you sob his name.

"Look at you," he rasped against your slick folds, his voice deep, ruined. "Falling apart on my tongue. And I’ve barely even started."

And then he sucked, deep and harsh, his fangs grazing against your trembling skin as he dragged you closer and closer to the edge—

And he had no intention of stopping.

Seonghwa was cruel.

He was slow, teasing, dragging you through the flames of anticipation as he trailed his lips over your trembling thighs, his tongue flicking against your feverish skin between sharp, indulgent bites.

"You shake so beautifully for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, with hunger, his fingers kneading into the soft flesh of your legs as he sucked another deep, bruising mark into your inner thigh. "Are you afraid of how much you need me?"

You weren’t afraid.

But you were losing your mind.

His sharp fangs scraped your thigh again, dragging slow and deliberate before he kissed the mark—before his tongue flicked out, lapping at the wound with a groan so shamelessly sinful it sent a shiver down your spine.

You could feel his smirk against your skin. He knew what he was doing to you.

And he loved it.

Then, just when you thought you’d break, when your hips rolled up desperately seeking his mouth again—

His lips met your core.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as he licked a slow, sensual stripe over your folds, his tongue curling, tasting you thoroughly, deliberately, his groan vibrating against your soaked heat.

"You’re dripping for me," he rasped, his voice drenched in hunger, fascination, his fingers spreading you apart so he could see, so he could taste every drop of your arousal. "So needy. So desperate. And yet—"

His tongue flicked against your clit in a featherlight touch—so soft it made you whimper, made your hips jerk up, chasing the feeling.

He pulled away.

A dark, low chuckle left his lips, his breath fanning over your soaked folds, sending a shiver down your spine. "Look at you," he purred, amused, pressing a kiss right above where you needed him most. "Falling apart before I’ve even touched you properly."

"Seonghwa—"

"Ah, ah…" His fangs scraped your inner thigh again, making you jolt as he bit down, sucked, leaving another violet stain against your trembling skin. "Say it properly, sweetheart."

You whimpered, thighs trembling around his head. "Please…"

His lips curled against your thigh.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice dark with approval—and then, finally, he devoured you.

His mouth closed over your clit, sucking, his tongue flicking against the swollen bud in rapid, merciless strokes.

You sobbed his name.

Your body arched, your hands flying to his dark hair, fingers twisting as your thighs tried to squeeze around his head, to control the pleasure, but Seonghwa didn’t let you.

No, he pinned your hips down, growling as he held you open, drinking in every desperate, ragged moan as he buried himself in you.

His tongue licked into you slowly, teasing before he thrust it in deep, curling, stroking, before dragging up to flick, suck, devour—his pace relentless, his lips and tongue working in perfect sin to drive you straight to the edge.

"That’s it, sweetheart," he praised, his voice wrecked, his lips glistening as he suckled on your clit, rolling it against his tongue with purposeful, agonizing precision. "Give it to me."

Your thighs trembled.

Your back arched off the sheets, your hands yanking at his hair helplessly, gasping, shaking, your entire body a mess of heat and electricity as his mouth ruined you, owned you, claimed you.

And then—

He groaned into you. The sound vibrated against your core, sent you spiraling, sent stars bursting behind your eyes as the coil in your stomach snapped.

A shattered cry broke from your lips as you came hard, your body tensing, then shaking, then melting into the pleasure as his tongue kept moving, coaxing, soothing, lapping up every drop as if he could drink you in forever.

Seonghwa moaned as he pulled away, his fangs gleaming, his lips and chin glistening in the low candlelight.

"Fuck," he murmured, his voice dark, reverent, his fingers stroking up your trembling thighs as he licked his lips, tasting the remnants of your release with pure, feral satisfaction. "You taste better than anything I’ve ever had, sweetheart."

And you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.

Seonghwa was breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling with raw restraint, his fangs peeking from under his parted lips. He was starving. Not just for your blood. For you.

His fingers flexed against your thighs, his body taut with aching desire, with the need to take. To devour. To mark you so deeply you’d never belong to anyone else.

But you—

You just lay there, your body glowing under the candlelight, flushed and ruined, your chest rising and falling with every shallow, controlled breath.

Still playing with him.

Still teasing him even after he’d made you shake, sob, cum on his tongue.

His jaw clenched, his hands tightening on your thighs before he exhaled a shaky breath, dragging himself away from your heat before he lost all control.

His fingers went to the waistband of his pants.

Your eyes followed.

The moment the fabric hit the floor, your lips parted.

His cock sprung free, thick and aching, the flushed tip glistening with precum, standing proud against his sculpted stomach.

You swallowed. Seonghwa noticed. And it fucking destroyed him.

A dark, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he wrapped a long, elegant hand around his shaft, his fingers flexing, gripping himself, stroking slowly—so slow it made his breath shudder.

" What’s wrong, sweetheart? " he teased, voice deep, wrecked, thick with lust. " You look nervous. "

You met his gaze with that same unbothered, innocent expression, tilting your head, feigning nonchalance as your thighs instinctively pressed together.

Seonghwa chuckled, his grip tightening, his wrist twisting with every slow, purposeful stroke.

" Do you want to take care of this yourself? " he murmured, voice dark, indulgent, his fangs flashing as he hissed in pleasure. " Or should I keep going? "

The answer came immediately. You pushed yourself up on your knees, your body fluid, graceful, shifting to the edge of the bed until you were face to face with his cock, looking up at him with wide, feigned innocence.

Seonghwa inhaled sharply, his jaw tensing, his control hanging by a thread.

" Eager now, aren’t we? " he murmured, amusement laced with pure, agonizing hunger.

You didn’t answer. You just licked your lips.

His hand shot to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, not forcing, just holding—just watching as you breathed him in, as your hands slid up his thighs, as your nails dragged over his taut muscles, sending a violent shudder through his body.

And then— He slapped his cock against your lips. A wet, filthy sound filled the air as his heavy, aching length met your soft, warm skin, precum smearing across your lips, marking you, teasing you. Seonghwa groaned, low, guttural, his head tipping back at the sight of your pretty, swollen lips glistening with him.

" Look at you, " he murmured, breathless, desperate, tapping his cock against your lips again, smearing his arousal against the curve of your mouth. " My perfect little thing, finally where she belongs. "

You still didn’t answer. But your lips parted. And Seonghwa lost his mind.

Seonghwa’s patience was hanging by a thread.

You were kneeling before him, lips parted, eyes wide, your breath warm against his aching, leaking cock—and yet…

You weren’t taking him in. You were toying with him. A soft, delicate kiss was pressed against his swollen tip, your lips barely brushing over the precum that had gathered there. A soft, barely-there flick of your tongue followed, innocent, playful, tasting him—teasing him—but never truly giving him what he needed.

Seonghwa’s fingers tightened in your hair, his breath hitching as he watched you pull back just slightly, lips glossy, eyes still full of that damn feigned innocence.

" Sweetheart, " he murmured, voice wrecked, low, dark. " You’re playing a very dangerous game. "

A flutter of your lashes. A mocking tilt of your head.

" Am I? "

Seonghwa growled, the sound inhuman, sending a chill down your spine.

" You think I’ll let you keep teasing me? " His fingers tugged you closer, his cock pulsing in his grip. " You think I’ll let you play with me like this? "

You only giggled, lips grazing his cock again, just barely, your hands sliding up his thighs, light, teasing, before pulling away again.

Something inside him snapped.

" Enough. "

With one firm tug, Seonghwa tilted your head back, forcing your mouth wide open, fingers tightening in your hair as he angled you just right—

And then he thrust in.

The sound that left you was a mix of shock and pleasure, a soft whimper swallowed by the sheer force of him, by the way he filled your mouth, stretching you past your limits.

" That’s it, " Seonghwa groaned, voice shaking, head tipping back at the warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue pressed against his throbbing veins. " Finally behaving. "

Your hands flew to his thighs, nails digging in, trying to steady yourself as he pushed deeper—slowly, purposefully, making sure you felt every inch as he slid down your throat.

Until he hit the back. Until your nose met his pelvis. Until he buried himself completely inside you, the sheer size of him bulging in your throat, a perfect outline of his cock visible against your delicate skin.

" Fuck, " Seonghwa shuddered, his free hand brushing over the bulge in your throat, pressing just slightly, feeling himself inside you.

Your throat tightened around him at the pressure, and he swore loudly, his grip in your hair tightening, his cock throbbing.

" You feel that, sweetheart? " His thumb traced the bulge with dark fascination, a deep, satisfied growl rumbling from his chest. " That’s me— sweetly deep in your fucking throat. "

You let out a soft, muffled moan, your tongue flexing, sending a jolt of blinding pleasure through him.

His breath was shaky, his control hanging by a thread. And then— He pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough to let you breathe for half a second— Before he thrust back in, this time faster, rougher, forcing you to take him completely once more.

Your nails dug into his thighs, your body trembling, eyes glassy as he set a deep, steady pace, fucking into your mouth inch by inch, watching the way your lips stretched around him, the way your throat clenched, the way your eyes fluttered shut with every thrust. He was losing himself in you. You were ruining him.

" Mine, " Seonghwa rasped, his grip unrelenting, desperate, possessive. " You’re fucking mine. “

Whatever restraint he had left had shattered the moment he saw the tears glistening in your eyes, the way they spilled down your flushed cheeks as you struggled to take his impossible length.

You were choking on him, your throat clenching, tightening with every desperate gasp, every helpless little whimper that vibrated against his cock.

And fuck, that only made him thrust harder.

" Look at you, " Seonghwa hissed, fingers tangling tighter in your hair, holding you firmly in place as he fucked your throat open. " Crying on my cock like a good girl. "

You gagged, saliva dripping down your chin, your hands shaking against his thighs as he hit the back of your throat over and over again—relentless, deep, merciless.

Your lungs burned, your body quivering, but you could feel his cock throbbing, the tension in his muscles coiling tighter, the deep, wrecked groans falling from his lips becoming more desperate.

He was close. And then—

Seonghwa’s grip tightened, his hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself deep, making sure you took every inch, making sure you felt him as he came hard down your throat.

A low, broken growl tore from his chest, his cock pulsing, thick ropes of hot cum spilling down your throat, forcing you to swallow quickly or risk choking. But there was too much.

A gasp caught in your throat as the warmth overflowed, dripping from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin, your neck, staining your skin as you trembled beneath him.

Seonghwa groaned, watching the mess he made, watching the way you struggled to swallow every drop, your body shaking with the effort.

" Swallow. All of it. " His voice was low, hoarse, his thumb swiping across your lips, pushing the stray drops back into your mouth.

You obeyed, blinking up at him, teary-eyed, cheeks flushed, mouth still slightly open, a soft pant escaping you as you caught your breath.

And fuck—Seonghwa nearly lost it again.

" You look so fucking pretty like this, " he murmured, voice shaky, his thumb brushing over your lips, pressing down gently before he pulled you up by the hair.

Before he flipped you over.

A gasp left you as you were suddenly bent over the bed, your cheek pressed against the sheets, your body still shaking from how he just wrecked your throat.

And then— You felt his hands on you. Roaming. Exploring. Gripping.

You let out a soft whimper as he yanked your hips higher, pressing his aching cock against your soaking folds, dragging it along your wetness, teasing you, taunting you. But before he could push in, before he could claim you completely, he did something else first.

He bit you.

A sharp gasp left your lips as his fangs sank into your back, right between your shoulder blades, deep, hard, sending a jolt of pleasure and pain through your spine.

He groaned as your blood filled his mouth, hot, sweet, intoxicating.

His tongue flicked over the fresh wound, soothing, before he sucked harder, drinking you in, devouring you, desperate to have more, more, more.

" Mine, " Seonghwa growled against your skin, his hands tightening on your hips, his cock throbbing against you. " You’re mine, sweetheart. "

And then—He thrust in and he snapped.

The second he buried himself inside you, the second your tight heat squeezed around his cock, he lost it.

" Fuck— " his voice broke, his grip on your hips bruising, his breath ragged against your spine. " You’re… so tight, sweetheart—so fucking tight for me. "

He pulled back, just enough to let you feel the stretch, to let you feel the obscene thickness of him dragging against your walls—

Before he slammed back in.

A cry left your lips as he hit deep, so deep you could feel the ache in your stomach, the pressure, the way your body adjusted around his impossible size.

And fuck, Seonghwa felt it too.

His hand slid down, pressing against your lower belly, feeling the way his cock was bulging through your skin, how stuffed you were, how completely ruined he was making you.

" God… look at you, " he groaned, pressing down harder, watching the way you shuddered, how your walls fluttered around him. " You feel that, sweetheart? Feel how fucking deep I am? "

You let out a whimper, biting your lip, trying so hard to keep your composure, but—

Seonghwa wasn't having it.

With a low, wicked chuckle, he snapped his hips forward, hitting that perfect spot so precisely that you choked on your moan, your nails digging into the sheets.

" Oh, don’t hold back now, " he taunted, voice dripping with hunger, fangs grazing the curve of your shoulder as he thrust into you again—harder, faster, making your body jolt forward with each movement. " You wanted to tease me? Let’s see how well you can take it, pretty girl. "

A wicked idea flickered through your hazy mind—

Between his punishing thrusts, you arched your back, pressing your ass against him, grinding down on his cock, making it feel even tighter, even deeper.

" You little— " His fingers tightened around your throat, yanking you back against his chest, his other hand gripping your thigh, spreading you wider for him. " Do you enjoy testing me, my love? "

You gasped, eyes rolling back as his cock hit that spot again, as his fangs pressed against your pulse, as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

" S-Seonghwa— "

" That’s right. " His voice was dark, possessive, his tongue flicking over your rapidly beating pulse before he sank his fangs in.

The moment his teeth pierced your skin, his hips pounded into you faster, harder, sending you spiraling, sending you straight into oblivion.

You cried out, body tensing, clenching, your orgasm hitting you so violently you could feel the heat explode through your veins, feel your walls fluttering around him, feel the pulsating grip you had on his cock.

And fuck—that was it for him.

Seonghwa let out a guttural moan, his rhythm stuttering, his grip tightening as he bottomed out one last time, cock throbbing, filling you with his hot, thick release, marking you in every possible way.

But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

" One more time, sweetheart, " he whispered, pressing soft kisses against the new bite on your throat. " I need you again… I need to ruin you all over again. "

Seonghwa didn’t move.

Even with his cock buried deep inside you, even with the aftershocks of both your releases still lingering between you, he simply held you close, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky, his lips ghosting over your skin as if he never wanted to part from you again.

But he wasn’t done yet. No—this wasn’t over. It couldn’t be.

His fangs slowly retracted, the predator in him finally soothed, but his hunger for you was far from satisfied.

Not yet. Not until he gave you all of him.

Not until you understood just how much you meant to him.

With a soft hum, he tilted your chin up, his dark, obsidian eyes searching yours, his expression unreadable—until he leaned in and kissed you.

But this kiss was different. It wasn’t full of desperation or lust. It was slow. Deep.

His lips moved against yours with reverence, as if he were worshipping you, memorizing you, pouring every ounce of devotion and love he had for you into that single kiss.

You melted, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer, your heart pounding at the way he sighed into your mouth, like this was all he ever wanted.

He rocked his hips forward. Slowly.

A long, languid thrust that had you whimpering softly against his lips, your walls still sensitive and raw from the last time. But there was no rush now.

No hunger, no desperation—just love. Pure, unfiltered love.

" Let me love you, " Seonghwa murmured against your lips, his hand cradling your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. " Let me show you how much you mean to me. "

Your breath hitched. Because this—this was what you wanted. What you craved from him. What you had teased him for, tortured him for—for him to give in, to devote himself entirely to you, to confess what he truly felt. And he was finally doing it.

You could feel it in the way he moved inside you, his thrusts deep and slow, his cock stretching you perfectly, hitting every spot with precision, making you tremble beneath him.

You could feel it in the way he kissed you, how he took his time savoring your lips, breathing you in, as if he needed you more than blood itself.

And you could feel it in the way he whispered against your skin, each word sinking into you like a spell—

" I love you. "

A sharp gasp escaped you, your hands gripping onto him, your nails digging into his back, because fuck, the way he said it— So softly. So vulnerable. So genuine.

" I love you, " he whispered again, lips brushing over your cheek, your jawline, your neck, his words melting into your skin, sealing themselves into your soul.

" Let me have you forever, " he pleaded, his voice trembling, his thrusts growing deeper, smoother, his fingers lacing with yours. " Be mine, and I’ll give you everything—eternity, devotion, love—everything. "

A choked moan left you, your body tightening around him, your heart pounding wildly, because fuck—you could feel it.

The intensity of his love. The depth of his devotion. He wasn’t lying. He would give you everything. And for the first time—you let go.

" I’m yours, " you whispered, your voice soft, breathy, full of need, and fuck—that sent him over the edge.

His cock twitched deep inside you, his pace stuttering, a deep, broken moan tearing from his throat as his release spilled into you, filling you up one last time.

And the moment he felt you clench around him, the moment he felt your entire body tremble, your orgasm washing over you like a slow, sensual wave, he kissed you again, swallowing every whimper, every sigh, until the both of you were left panting against each other.

—

Seonghwa pulled out slowly, making you whine softly at the loss of fullness, at the way his warmth left you empty, but he was quick to soothe you.

His fingers traced every bite mark, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses over each one, admiring the evidence of his love on your body.

His fangs were gone, retracted, his hunger finally sated.

And now—all that was left was devotion.

" So beautiful, " he murmured, running his hands down your sides, marveling at you, at how thoroughly ruined you were for him.

He wrapped you in his arms, pressing your sweaty, exhausted body against his chest, holding you close, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You were his. Forever.

" Come, " he murmured after a moment, shifting to sit up. " Let’s take a bath. "

You barely had the energy to nod, your limbs weak, but as he moved to stand, Hongjoong’s teasing voice floated through the room.

" Bath, huh? " he mused from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a knowing smirk on his lips. " You sure that’s all you want to do in there, my Lord? "

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but the smirk that tugged at his lips was undeniable.

" Would it be a crime if I wanted one more round? " he murmured, nipping at your ear playfully.

You chuckled, your tired body still buzzing with warmth, and as you snuggled into his embrace, you whispered—

" I think I could handle one more. "

“But let's get you washed up first, my love.”

And just like that—the night was far from over.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[walkingstackofbooks]

IPS/BIL AU where Tain dies before he can send the message. Garak and Worf never go to the gamma quadrant. Julian and Martok don't get rescued.

Back on DS9 the changeling is stopped pretty much just as it was in canon, with Kira and Dax managing to stop the Yukon from reaching the sun, just as it explodes. (Maybe since Garak is still on the station, he notifies Sisko that Bashir has taken the Yukon out?) This time, however, no-one knows it was a changeling, and among all the shock and grief, there's tense speculation about what the hell Julian was doing out there in a runabout with a bomb.

The changeling had planned to never be identified, believing it would sow more confusion and fear in the Federation if they believe one of their own had been secretly allied with the Dominion. And so the changeling had left behind a trail of "Julian" interacting with highly questionable locked-down message-boards such as "Would enhanced individuals be better off under the Dominion?", which would never have been tracked back to him apart from under such scrutiny he's now post-humously receiving. (The changeling knew about Julian's enhancements - to become something is to understand that thing, after all.)

Of course, it is considered whether Julian may have been impersonated by a changeling, but once the link to his enhancements has been revealed - and his parents can't hide it, they confess, and are sentenced to time in a penal colony - it seems very much decided that Doctor Bashir had become an augment extremist, biding his time on DS9 until he could play out his part in the Dominion plot. There's varying levels of acceptance of this among Julian's friends - even if it seems that they have to admit it, it's still almost impossible to believe that Julian could have tried to do that. But it doesn't really matter what they think - life has to go on, and the war's continuing whether they like it or not, and little by little they move on with their now-Julian-less lives.

Time passes. they get a new CMO. The Cardassians re-occupy the station, and Sisko leads the campaign to get it back. Worf and Jadzia get married. Garak gets a message.

A.L.I.V.E. J.S.B.

And no-one knows what to think. JSB can't be... can it? But how...

Garak argues that Doctor Bashir's death is so well-known that no-one would use his name as the basis for some sort of trap. Miles agrees. Everyone else wants to agree. (For a certain definition of 'want'. Julian being alive, not a traitor... that also means he's been doing somewhere in the past ten months, and it's difficult to think about what sort of awful place that might have been.)

Garak and Worf are sent out to chase this signal - in theory, it's recon, but naturally it quickly devolves. They get captured themsleves, finding Camp 371 and Julian, looking ten months worse for wear. Garak learns about Tain's death, and the subspace transmitter he'd began working on and that they'd only just been able to finish, having managed to recruit a recently-abducted Starfleet engineer. An engineer who's currently in solitary, leaving them with a plan to escape now there's a runabout in orbit, but no way to effect it. Unless there's something Garak can do...

And Worf, of course, meets Martok, and is impressed by the Klingon's tale of daily fights for nearly three years. "Almost every day," Martok corrects him. "There have been times when I've woken up with a sore head to find that the doctor has taken my place."

Worf looks to Julian, nodding. "So you are the man we remember," he says. "Your enhancements may have helped you fight, but it was an honourable thing to volunteer."

"My... my enhancements?" asks Julian faintly. "What- what do you mean?"

"Commander, is now really the time—" Garak tries to interrupt but Julian speaks over him.

"No, Garak, I want to know— I-I need to know. What do you mean, Worf?"

And Worf, in his short, succinct way tells Julian how they had believed he had died, and what they had discovered thereafter, and while they know now that he is not an augment extremist, his parents' confession made it clear that he is an augment.

Julian doesn't say very much after that, apart from what is needed to help with the rescue - he calms Garak down, he volunteers to try and figure out what needs doing in the crawl space ("I've learnt at least a few things from tinkering with it over those seven months...") - but otherwise, he's withdrawn and spacey. Garak perserveres - he must get Julian back to DS9, has to hope there's still time to rekindle that light in his doctor's eyes - and manages to get them out, and even locking onto the engineer's life sign in solitary. They make it to the runabout, and escape.

It's a very different sort of homecoming. This time, rather than having only a few hours to get used to the idea that Julian had been missing for a month, they've been mourning him for almost a year, angry and confused and left with so many questions. And they've had almost a week of wondering what's become of Worf and Garak, and to tie themselves in circles wondering if J.S.B really could be Julian Subatoi Bashir.

Garak gets them all beamed directly to sickbay, and it's obvious that Julian's overwhelmed enough by that without having hordes of emotional friends come to greet him. So they're allowed in, one at a time. Miles petitions to be first, and wraps Julian up in what would have been the firmest of hugs - apart from Julian's so gaunt, so... fragile, that Miles find he dare not squeeze too hard. Words gush out - ones that he'd never have thought he'd admit out loud - about how much he missed Julian and how glad he is none of what they said was true, and it takes him some time to realise that he's been blabbering on and Julian's not been saying a word.

Julian has been clinging onto him tightly, though, and that... that's got to be enough, for now.

[writinandcrying]

How does the 2003 turtles react to crushes - part 1

Just a little thing cuz I miss writing, i miss tmnt and I haven’t got the time to do a full one shot or mashup in MONTHS 😔, I’m still on season 1-2 so if anything is a bit too ooc, I apologize! I love reading about crushes, first kisses, first loves, so this is for my puppy love stage lovers out there!! p.s: there's a poll for the next turtle by the end of the headcanon, make sure to vote your favorite! <3

(English is not my first language and I have dyslexia, I try to check everything before posting but sometimes grammar mistakes still happen, I apologize in advance if you find one!)

Leo

That’s some deeply repressed, effortless devotion energy right there, Leo is a pro at pretending that everything is fine, keeping it cool, but on the inside? so freaking nervous it’s not even funny

it's almost creepy how quiet he suddenly gets near you on your first visits, he acts in such a secluded but... odd way that everyone know something is up with him, but no one really knows what.

His younger brothers are all 🤨 over how he’s acting, at first, they noticed tiny shifts in his behaviors, they weren’t big enough to raise a red flag of such change, but when Leo shows how inpatient and careless he has become in training or meditating, then they KNOW something was really off . he has been careless for the silliest things as well, breaking the toaster more than once a week, forgetting to nag them about the open toothpaste, stuff he usually wouldn't miss it, but suddenly he doesn't mind it anymore.

None of them have the guts to ask him (Raph and Mikey might tease here and there, but you know, it’s Raph and Mikey) Don might find himself studying his brother from time to time, interested to why his older brother is being way more introspective than before, he wonders if maybe he’s going through a natural turtle process of some sort April is the only one who truly leaves him be, but as your visits become more frequent, it all clicks when you randomly stop by to deliver some groceries by Master Splinter request.

The pure lovesick look he glances at you when you first enter... you caught him completely off guard as he was leaving the dojo with Master Splinter, his dementor shifted back rapidly to stoic, but April noticed it, her eyes widened slightly as it all made sense, softening right after. Leo helps you with the groceries with agility, as Master Splinter excuses himself after he thanks you, he even dares to make small talk after an extremely long and awkward moment of silence (which he researched his possible lines in his head several times, made up several scenarios in which topic it could lead into, I might add) We have seen how Leo reacts to Usagi in the series (he has a fat crush on each other and I’m right) so you know even if he is indeed nervous, Leo is so dedicated to your well-being, attentive to your needs and inputs to missions or even movie debates, it’s heartwarming to see how inclusive he can be of you. He notices everything – Not in an obvious way, or a loud way, but in a way that means you’ll never have to ask him twice about something important to you. You mention offhand that you like a certain type of tea? He remembers. You’re shivering? He’s already handing you his jacket before you can say a word. The exact moment you get tired even before you admit it.

One day at training after sparring, you absentmindedly rubbed your wrist. You didn’t say anything, didn’t complain at the pain you might have felt, but later that night, you find a perfectly wrapped bandage roll left on top of your bag. No note. No explanation. You glance at Leo, and he’s just calmly cleaning his takana, pretending like he has no idea what you’re looking at. He’s not the type to shower you with words, but his actions speak volumes. He makes sure you always walk on the safe path while coming back from a mission or scorting you back home, he picks whatever condiment out of your food because he remembers you don’t like them. He’ll “coincidentally” be around when you need help, even if he acts like it’s no big deal. He's gentle, kind, and a true gentleman, he makes sure his presence is there. He effortlessly puts so much thought into you, it’s just how his mind works.

He disliked how nervous he first got around you, but after a while, he didn’t even realize how he had grown used to thinking about you. He grabs an extra bottle of water without thinking because you might be thirsty later. His brothers joke that he’s got favorites, and he just denies it, but deep down? Yeah. It’s you. Eventually, he has to talk to someone, and he chooses to confide in April about… well, everything? regarding feelings, about how to be sure, what does it feel like to love someone and how should he react to it? wait, did he say love? How can he stop his hands from getting so sweaty? this is ridiculous, should he feel anxious and at ease around you all at the same time? From time to time, he tells himself he doesn’t like you like that, that he’s just looking out for you because you’re part of the team, part of the family. that's just him being a leader, That’s all it is.

his train of thought is broken as he hears Mikey chuckle “Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

Leo stiffens, cleaning his throat as he turns he page of his book a bit too slow “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you SO do.” Mikey grins. “The ‘eyes-follow-them-every-time-they-leave-the-room’ thing? The ‘silent-knight-hovering’ thing? classic move, real smooth.”

Leo exhales through his nose, forcing himself to focus on back his book. It’s not like that. It can’t be. "Maybe you should tell them, who knows, they might be looking back right at ya" Mikey winks at him, biting on this apple as he sits on the couch, turning on the tv. Maybe he was looking at you too long, maybe he wasn't as subtle as he thought he was, or his brothers just, unfortunately, know him too well and finally caught up. He prided himself and his control, his calm exterior, carefully managed. but maybe you slip through the cracks. He can't help but to continue notice how eyes shine brighter when you smile, remembering every little thing about you, doing things that only you get to see. Deep down, he knows. He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet.

[2-shots2-thehead]

- I don’t see what anyone can see in anyone else.. But you -

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Summary : Dating Spencer headcanons bc I luv him n wanted to write smth smosh related >-<

Pairing : Spencer Agnew (Smosh) x GN!Reader (Use of Y/n)

Warnings : suggestive joke, other than that pretty much just fluff

A/N : the spencer brainrot is real oml 🙏🙏 im so fruity

- oh my god

- it took this man SO LONG. to ask you out

- like im talking working together for YEARS

- but once he finally did, it came off as like the most casual thing ever

- even if he was psyching himself up for this for MONTHS

- “hey, y/n, maybe after we’re done filming y’wanna grab lunch? like..as a date.?”

- he only started showing his nerves once you actually said yes

- he looked visibly surprised and then just nodded shyly without another word and walked off

- ever since that little interaction, you guys were together

- constantly.

- never seen without the other.

- “where’s y/n?” “well, i just saw spencer in the games studio so probably there”

- pretty much every single social media post since when you started dating has been about you

- CATS.

- you guys have at LEAST one cat

- you cannot convince me otherwise

- but hopefully more because you can never have too many, right ?

- always just bringing you random shit to work

- we’ve all seen the smosh mouth TNTL where spencer just keeps pulling random drinks out from under the table ?

- there’s just always little treats like that at your desk where you occasionally edit

- more often than not they’re drinks he grabs from the gas station, along with a kickstart for himself, of course

- just how you two are always inseparable, it increases by about 10 billion percent at parties

- i mean, let’s be real, there’s never a day where he’s at a party and wouldn’t rather be home playing a video game with your cats

- if he doesn’t know anyone else at the party, your hand is in his the entire time and he’s talking your ear off

- speaking of which, hand holding.

- so. much. handholding.

- like he wouldn’t be big on pda, but it’s just the little things like that

- him carrying you for many a TNTL bit

- or just putting your head on his shoulder while he’s streaming (we all know what i’m talking about)

- aside from the little surprise drinks, there are more often than not little sticky note messages on your desk

- especially at times where you’re editing and he’s filming and that means you’re apart for however maybe hours

- on days like that, he’s making it everyone’s problem

- “yeah, so then we-“ “y’know, this would be fun with y/n”

- yet another person who uses horrible pickup lines as a joke

- sometimes the sticky notes are the most poetic, sweet, romantic thing you’ve ever read

- ..and sometimes it’s “are you a beaver ? because DAM”

- “are you my laptop ? because you’re really hot and i’m a little bit concerned”

- “my favorite pokémon’s beedrill because i’m gonna bee-drillin’ y-“

- you guys build lego sets together all the time

- sometimes they’re little roses

- sometimes it’s the millennium falcon

- but his personal favorite is the hedgehog picnic date ⬇️⬇️⬇️

- they are now sat atop a very high, fancy shelf in your shared apartment

- you guys watch movies n shows together all the time

- you have a specific show though that you always and only watch together

- “you didn’t watch it without me, right” “don’t worry, I turned it off when you fell asleep”

- you guys play video games together all the time

- maybe you’re not as good as him, but he’s always open to teaching

- you guys practice instruments together if you play

- if not, he just plays guitar for you

- never too loud, but you can hear it of course

- he picks special songs he thinks you’ll like and learns them

[irondadmadlads]

Irondad Prompt #269

The following is a transcript of a (fake) Reddit post.

Video games I can play with my mentee?

I’m not sure if this is the right subreddit for this, but here it goes. I’ve been mentoring a teenager (male, sixteen years) for a few months now. At first I was just doing it out of obligation. He earned his internship, it was my responsibility to make good on that deal.

But after the few months we’ve been working together I realize I care about him. A lot. Like he’s my own kid. I thought I hated kids but he’s different.

I know him well when it comes to his academics and work. I guarantee he’s going to be a C.E.O. one day. Yet I realize I haven’t spent anytime with him outside of those internship days. I want to change this!

Kids like games, right? What games would be good for my intern and I to play together? He has the personality of a golden retriever if that helps at all. He also loves Star Wars and the Avengers (his favorite is Iron Man). He’s also super easy going and will probably enjoy any game we play. But nothing with guns please!! Kid has trauma around them.

Or is this a bad idea and I should quit while I’m a head…?

[bishovapls]

Undercover - Part 1: It is all an act…

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff

Summary: This is a two-part story in which Wanda has been living at the compound for months, she is lonely, sad, and nursing a growing crush on a certain redheaded assassin. It doesn’t mean anything, of course, she’s just touch-starved… or so she tells herself. But when she and Natasha are sent on an undercover mission, posing as an engaged couple at a luxury resort, Wanda is faced with a new challenge. Can she keep her feelings in check, or will Natasha completely shatter her self-control?

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Angst. Unresolved Sexual and Romantic tension (maybe it will be resolved?). Mentions of HYDRA and Red Room abuse (not detailed). Slow burn but also not? Eventual smut (part 2).

A/N: I have to be honest, I read a fic where Clarke and Lexa (from The 100) did an undercover relationship thing, and I could not stop thinking about WandaNat. The chances that this has already been done are very high, but once the idea got stuck in my head, I just had to write it.

Also, it’s Wanda’s birthday, so really, what better time to post a new fic, right? 🎉

Part 1 starts below the cut, you can also find the fic on AO3.

Part 1: It is all an act…

Part 1 summary: In this part we’re introduced to Wanda and the mission, getting a glimpse into her life at the compound, lonely, uncertain, and full of angst. As the mission begins, Natasha’s relentless teasing and flirtatious words start to wear Wanda down, making it harder for her to keep her emotions in check. (11k words).

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Wanda wakes to the low hum of the compound’s ventilation system, the sound barely enough to fill the suffocating quiet. The early morning light seeps through the curtains, painting pale streaks across the ceiling, but she doesn’t move. She never sleeps past 4 a.m.…not since coming here.

At first, she convinced herself it was just the nightmares, the way they clawed at her mind the moment she let her guard down. But she knows it’s more than that. It’s the silence. The unbearable, oppressive silence of this place.

Before the compound, it had never been quiet. Her childhood had been filled with noise, gunfire rattling in the distance, bombs shaking the ground, men barking orders in sharp, guttural tones. Even in the cramped space of their tiny apartment, there was always something. Her mother humming an old lullaby. Her father murmuring to her mother in hushed voices late at night, trying to pretend the war wasn’t creeping closer. The distant rumble of tanks rolling through the streets. 

And then, the war took them, and the streets of Sokovia became home. There, the noise was different, harsh voices echoing from alleyways, the clatter of market stalls, the distant hum of a radio playing somewhere unseen. And always, always, the sound of Pietro. His steady breathing beside her when they slept on the cold ground. The way he never truly stopped moving, even in sleep, shifting and mumbling in a way that had once annoyed her but now haunted her.

And then, there was HYDRA. That noise was something else entirely. Raw, agonising screams that never seemed to stop. The metallic clang of doors slamming shut, the hum of machinery, the harsh crackle of voices through speakers, detached, emotionless. The sharp, echoing ring of gunfire, and the inevitable silence that followed. Noise meant life. Noise meant she wasn’t alone.

But here, in the compound, the silence stretches endlessly around her. It presses in on her like a thick fog, making the space feel too big, too empty. She has settled into a routine now, though it feels more like existing than living. Most of her day is spent alone, save for training, time spent with Vision, and the team dinner in the evening. She clings to those fleeting moments of companionship, the rare times when she isn’t just a ghost moving through the compound. But she never asks for more.

She could. She knows that. She could walk up to any one of them and ask to spend time together. They would say yes. They always try to make her feel like she belongs. But Wanda has never quite accepted it.

Not when she was with HYDRA. Not when she let them twist her into something she barely recognises. Not when she invaded the minds of the very people who now sit at the same table as her, pretending not to remember what she did to them.

Each morning begins the same. Wanda wakes, stares at the ceiling for far too long, and fights the pull of exhaustion that never seems to fade. Eventually, with a slow exhale, she forces herself to move.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed, presses her feet to the cool floor, and rubs the lingering haze of sleep from her eyes before making her way to the en-suite bathroom (an absurd luxury she’s never had before but one she’s quietly grateful for).

Her routine is quick, almost automatic. A hot shower to shake off the stiffness in her muscles. Brushing her teeth, tying her damp hair back, smoothing on a light layer of makeup, just enough to make her reflection look a little less pale. Then, as always, she pulls on her gym clothes before heading to breakfast.

Pepper had filled her wardrobe the day after she arrived, an entire collection of carefully chosen clothes in soft fabrics and expensive cuts. Anything she could ever need, neatly folded, waiting for her. But most of it remains untouched. She hasn’t left the compound in four months and hasn’t needed dresses or heels or anything that belongs to a life outside these walls. So she lives in gym clothes, in sweatpants, or in pyjamas. The elegant wardrobe remains pristine, tags still attached, but she’s thankful for it nonetheless.

Despite most of the Avengers being early risers, the compound still feels eerily empty when Wanda makes her way downstairs around five. The kitchen and common area are silent, the kind of heavy quiet that makes the space feel even larger than it already is.

As she steps inside, FRIDAY flicks on the lights and starts the kettle without being asked. Wanda appreciates it, just enough warmth and movement to make the silence feel less oppressive. She moves on autopilot, pouring herself a cup of tea and wrapping her hands around it, letting the heat seep into her fingers. She lingers there for a while, staring out at the darkened landscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, listening to the faint hum of the compound waking up around her. Eventually, she grabs a piece of toast and some fruit, something small just to get her through training.

The next step in her routine is always the same, back to her room, book in hand, waiting for 7 a.m. That’s when the world finally stretches beyond the suffocating silence, when she gets her first taste of human interaction for the day. She never knows who will be training her until she arrives, but it doesn’t matter. Any interaction is better than none.

Steve is patient but firm, guiding her through endurance drills with quiet encouragement, always pushing but never breaking. Tony, in his own chaotic way, has taken an interest in refining the precision of her powers, integrating tech into her combat style, occasionally dragging Vision in as an extra set of hands.

Training with Natasha, however, is something else entirely. It’s an exercise in control, not just of her abilities, but of herself. Natasha is always a step ahead, sharp and calculating, teaching Wanda not just how to react but how to anticipate,

Every session is a battle of wills, Wanda fighting to keep up, to match Natasha’s effortless precision, to ignore the teasing smirks and pointed remarks that make her pulse stutter. She tries not to let the warmth rise to her cheeks when Natasha watches her with that assessing gaze, sharp and unreadable, or worse, when she smiles, slow and knowing, like she can see the effect she has on her.

And when Natasha has her pinned, bodies pressed too close on the mat, Wanda has to will herself to stay focused, to steady her breathing, to pretend the heat crawling up her spine is from exertion and not from the way Natasha’s breath ghosts against her skin. Because Natasha is everything she is not. She moves with an effortless confidence, like she belongs in every space she enters, like she owns the very ground beneath her feet.

It’s infuriating.

It’s fascinating.

It’s distracting.

It’s fucking hot.

Wanda had known Natasha was beautiful from the moment she first laid eyes on her. It was an undeniable fact, something that struck her immediately but had remained distant, nothing more than an objective observation. But the more time they spent together, the harder it became to not notice. The teasing smirks, the taunting little “keep up, Maximoff” whenever Wanda stumbled, the way Natasha would pin her to the mat with a smirk that made it impossible to think; it all chipped away at the fragile barrier Wanda had built between admiration and something dangerously close to desire.

She had tried to convince herself it was just the physicality of it all. Training with Natasha meant constant contact, fingers brushing against skin, bodies pressed together in a fight for dominance. Wanda wasn’t used to that. She had spent years isolated, first in HYDRA’s cold, unfeeling grasp and then in the uncertain limbo of joining the Avengers. Between the two, there had been very little warmth, and even less female company. 

That had to be the reason why she felt Natasha’s presence so much, why it lingered even after they had stepped away from each other. And if she sometimes whispered her name with her fingers buried inside herself during her post-workout shower? Well, it wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t feelings. It was just proximity, just touch-starvation. That was all.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Wanda has always known exactly who she is. Even with her past, there was never a moment of doubt, never a struggle to understand herself, she has liked women for as long as she can remember. It isn’t complicated, isn’t something she wrestles with. It’s simply a fact, an unshakable truth woven into the fabric of her being.

But she hasn’t shared this with the Avengers. Not because she’s ashamed, she isn’t. It’s just easier this way. There are two reasons for it, the first being the most obvious: she doesn’t know how they’ll react. Not that she thinks they would care, not really, but she’s spent too much of her life being treated differently. She doesn’t want to give anyone a reason to see her as anything but Wanda, and so she keeps it to herself.

The second reason, though…that one is a little more complicated. If Natasha knew, then suddenly, Natasha would know. And with that knowledge, every sparring session, every moment where Wanda’s chest heaved beneath the weight of Natasha’s body pinning her down would take on an entirely different meaning to the widow. No longer would she just see exertion, no longer would it just be an effect of training. And Wanda can’t have that.

Luckily for Wanda, everyone seems to think she’s involved with Vision. It’s not true, of course, but she doesn’t bother fully correcting them, she neither confirms nor denies them. She spends a lot of time with him, not because there’s anything romantic between them, but because he’s a source of comfort in a place that often feels too big and too empty. He’s not human, but he’s more than just a machine, even if Natasha jokingly calls him a "toaster," (Wanda can’t help but crease with laughter every single time).

Vision listens to her in a way no one else does. He asks her how she’s feeling, genuinely wants to know what’s on her mind, even discusses things that have nothing to do with the Avengers or their missions. He doesn’t rush her, doesn’t pressure her to speak when she’s not ready. When the weight of everything gets too much, he’s the one who offers her a quiet hug, his arms steady and warm in a way that feels safe.

Wanda can see why people would think there’s something more between them. It’s easy to mistake the closeness, the time they spend together. But she’s never tried to shut down the rumours. It’s simpler this way…let them believe it, let them see what they want to see. 

By the time evening rolls around, Wanda’s favourite part of the day has arrived. The quiet of the compound transforms into the low hum of voices, and for a few precious hours, she feels like she’s part of something, like she belongs. Dinner is always when the team gathers, the chatter filling the air, and for the briefest moment, she forgets the weight of the silence that usually follows her around.

Wanda started cooking for the team about a month in, after realising that they survived mostly on takeout. She couldn’t sit back and watch any longer. She wasn’t going to let her skills go to waste, especially when she knew the food she made could bring something different to the table.

But when the meal is over, when the laughter fades, and the hum of conversation dies down, everyone goes their separate ways. Even Vision leaves to work with Tony in his lab. Slowly, the room empties until she’s the only one left, the only one still sitting at the table, feeling the weight of silence press in.

She tells herself she doesn’t mind. She’s gotten used to it. The quiet, the stillness, the space where once there was chatter, warmth, and comfort. It’s a routine now. She’s fine. Really.

That’s why it was so damn shocking when, after months of her routine staying exactly the same, she was called to the meeting room by FRIDAY. Her heart leapt into her throat as soon as she heard the request, and a cold sweat began to bead at the back of her neck. The first thought that spiralled through her mind was simple, yet terrifying: They’re getting rid of me.

Her pace was fast, and she could feel the tension in her chest tighten with each step she took. Her hands instinctively clenched at her sides, trying to keep her nerves in check. She tried to calm herself, but the fear gnawed at her. 

When she stepped into the meeting room, though, the confusion hit her like a punch to the gut. Director Fury, Maria Hill, and Natasha were already there, waiting. Wanda’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it.

What is going on? Why is Natasha here? What could this be about? She had no answers, just a thousand questions flooding her brain.

Fury gestured to the seat across from Natasha. "Please sit, Maximoff," he said, his authoritative voice smooth but carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.

Wanda nodded quickly, her heart pounding in her throat, and made her way to the seat. As she lowered herself onto the chair, her gaze inadvertently met Natasha’s, and she gave a nervous, tight smile. But Natasha’s response was a smirk, like she knew exactly what this was about, like they were already one step ahead of her. 

“What’s going on?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady, but her nerves made her sound smaller than she’d hoped.

Fury spoke again, his eyes never leaving her. “I need you for a mission.”

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. Shock hit her so hard it felt like the air left her lungs entirely. A mission? Me? Her hands twisted nervously on the table, her fingers twitching as if trying to find something to grip, something solid. She had barely been training for a few months, and her powers still felt like they were slipping through her fingers half the time. She didn’t trust them, didn’t trust herself. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stumbled out. “W...what? Me? No I—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Natasha cut in, her voice soft but reassuring as she reached across the table. Her hand gently covered Wanda’s, stilling the nervous fidgeting of her fingers. The warmth of Natasha’s touch grounded her for just a moment, and she dared to look up at her. Natasha’s smile was small, almost knowing. “You can do this,” Natasha said, her tone strangely gentle, her eyes steady. “Just hear them out.”

Wanda nodded quickly, swallowing her anxiety, but still felt the uncertainty cling to her like a second skin. She turned back to Fury and Maria, who were both watching her with expectant eyes.

Fury continued, his voice unwavering. “We need you to go undercover. Now, I know you haven’t been training long, but this isn’t a combat mission. It’s an intel mission.”

Wanda’s eyes went wide, her mouth hanging slightly open. The shock had her frozen, still trying to process the words. The thought of doing anything that involved her out in the field made her stomach churn. She was still so new to all of this. She had barely scraped the surface of what it meant to be an Avenger, let alone take on an undercover mission. She opened her mouth again, but no sound came out.

Maria, noticing Wanda’s silence, continued in Fury’s place, her voice firm but kind. “We’ve been tracking a few HYDRA agents. They’re known for their involvement in the arms-dealing ring. Recently, they booked a stay at a high-profile luxury villa. It could be nothing, maybe they’re just on holiday. But we suspect it’s a front for something else.” She leaned forward slightly. “It’s your job to get into their room and extract any data they have. We need to know what they are doing, when and why.”

Wanda sat there, her mind blank. Her body stiffened, her heart hammering in her chest. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The fear gnawed at her. This wasn’t just some undercover mission to steal a few papers or gather some information. This was about HYDRA. The people who had controlled her once. People who still haunted her nightmares. The idea of putting herself in the middle of that terrified her.

She could barely get the words out, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I don’t know if I can do this.”

Natasha’s hand, still resting on hers, gave a slight squeeze. Wanda looked up at her, but Natasha didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. There was understanding in her eyes, and something else too, something like quiet confidence.

Maria’s voice brought Wanda back to the present, though the weight of the conversation was still pressing heavily on her chest. “Look, Wanda. We know this is a lot. We need someone who can get close without raising suspicion. You’ve been training, and you’ve got the skills to do this.”

Her stomach twisted, and her heartbeat quickened as she fought to steady her breath. Her eyes flickered to Natasha, who was sitting so effortlessly across the table, cool, collected, confident…everything Wanda was not. Natasha’s gaze met hers, unreadable but steady. Wanda swallowed hard. She felt small in comparison, like she was standing at the edge of a cliff and didn’t know how to climb down.

“Why can’t Natasha do it?” she blurted out, her voice trembling before she could stop herself. “She’s the best for this. She’s... experienced. She’s—”

Fury cut her off, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Natasha is doing it,” he said with finality, his voice as steady as ever. “You’ll be going with her. As a newly engaged couple, for cover.”

Wanda felt the air leave her lungs in a rush. Her chest tightened, and the room felt like it was closing in around her. She almost couldn’t breathe, her mind reeling with the shock of it all. The thought of having to pretend to be Natasha’s fiancée sent a rush of panic through her. The idea of getting that close to Natasha, of acting like they were something they weren’t, it was suffocating.

"Why... uh, doesn't Clint, Tony, Steve, or anyone else, really do it with her?" she asked, her voice higher than she wanted it to be, the words tumbling out too quickly. "They have way more experience than I do."

Maria rolled her eyes at Wanda’s questioning, clearly losing patience. “Because it’s a gay resort, Wanda,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The cover only works with you. You’re the one who fits.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath Wanda’s feet as Maria’s words sank in. Wanda had never felt more out of her depth in her entire life. “What if I can’t do this?” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking as the weight of the situation hit her full force. “What if I mess it up? I…I’m not ready. I can’t.

Natasha’s expression softened, but there was no pity in it, only quiet confidence. Natasha’s eyes met hers, and Wanda could see the silent understanding in them. Natasha knew how hard this was for Wanda, how out of her depth she felt. But there was no doubt in Natasha’s gaze, she was ready. Natasha believed in her.

“You can do this,” Natasha said softly, her voice steady and full of assurance. “Just follow my lead. We’ll be fine.”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The fear was choking her, suffocating her, and for a moment, she couldn’t even breathe. Her mind was racing, spinning in a million different directions, but none of them made sense. 

She wasn’t ready for this mission but she knew she had no choice. Taking a shaky breath, Wanda finally nodded, her throat tight. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she whispered, though the words felt foreign on her tongue. She could barely get them out. “I’ll try. I’ll—” Her voice faltered, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

For all her doubts, for all her insecurities, the mission was real. There was no backing out now. She couldn’t let the fear swallow her whole, no matter how badly she wanted to retreat to a safer place. This was her chance to start doing good, and she was definitely going to take it.

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Three days later, Wanda and Natasha found themselves at the entrance of a luxury resort, stepping out of the sleek black car that had been arranged for them. The moment they stood in front of the grand doors, Wanda felt the weight of their cover press against her, every step feeling heavier than the last. 

Their outfits screamed expensive, carefully selected, flawlessly put together and their luggage was no different. Bespoke suitcases, gleaming and pristine, made them look like two wealthy tourists with no care in the world. To top it all off, the oversised engagement rings on their fingers caught the sunlight, drawing attention with every movement. 

Natasha walked ahead, confident and poised, her posture perfect as she approached the check-in desk. Wanda followed closely behind, trying to match her step, though she felt like a clumsy shadow beside the seasoned widow. 

As Natasha stepped up to the counter, she reached for Wanda’s hand, intertwining their fingers with a practised ease. Wanda’s pulse skipped as Natasha’s touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. Natasha was in full control, her smile wide, her voice smooth as she slipped into her persona.

“Room for Jones?” Natasha said, her tone warm and inviting, a hint of playfulness in her words. She was already playing the role, perfectly.

The woman behind the counter looked up with an immediate smile. “Ah, our newly engaged couple! Welcome to you both,” she said, beaming at them with a sincerity that made Wanda’s stomach twist.

Natasha returned the smile, her eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous charm. She pulled Wanda’s hand toward her, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. Wanda’s heart raced, the kiss lingering far too long, and it took everything in her to stay calm. She could feel the warmth of Natasha’s lips against her skin, the gentle pressure that had her pulse skipping erratically.

“Thank you so much,” Natasha said brightly, turning her gaze to Wanda, her smile widening. “Kate and I are so excited to be here! The reviews and photos of this place look amazing.” Natasha’s words flowed so naturally, the excitement in her tone convincing enough to make anyone believe this was just another vacation for a happy couple.

“I know I’m biased,” the woman behind the counter continued, her smile broadening even further, “but this place is great. You two will have a lovely time. Your room is 412, fourth floor.”

“Thanks!” Natasha said, her voice smooth and casual, never faltering, as though she had done this a hundred times. Wanda’s gaze flicked over to her, but Natasha was already looking back at the attendant, nodding gratefully.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, to say something, but all she could manage was a smile. She felt utterly paralysed by the weight of it all, the fake ring, the fake smiles, the fake love she was supposed to be selling to the world.

A porter stepped forward to take their luggage, interrupting Wanda’s spiralling thoughts. Natasha led the way toward the customer elevator, pulling Wanda along with her, still holding her hand firmly.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and Natasha stepped inside without hesitation. Wanda hesitated for a moment, taking in the sprawling lobby around them, the high-end furnishings, the wealthy guests milling about, the buzz of luxury and relaxation that seemed so foreign to her. She stepped in, the doors closing behind them.

“So… Kate,” Natasha said with a teasing smirk, leaning against the elevator wall, her eyes scanning Wanda. “What do you think about this place?”

Wanda chuckled softly, a little breathless. “Well, Natalia,” Wanda replied with a playful grin, trying to mask her discomfort, “it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, the smile on her lips growing more amused. “Really?” she asked, her tone light but with that underlying edge of amusement that Wanda couldn’t help but notice.

“Yeah, didn't get much time for luxurious holidays while I was at HYDRA,” Wanda whispered, her voice cracking slightly, though she pushed through it. “Everything’s so… perfect here.” She glanced at Natasha, the words laced with more than just observation. Every time Natasha looked at her with that easy confidence, she was reminded just how far out of her depth she was. How unprepared she felt for this, pretending to be Natasha’s partner, in public, in a place like this.

Their names and personas had been meticulously chosen to ensure they fit the cover. Natasha had become Natalia Jones, a US national, energetic, a fitness enthusiast, and a lawyer, an easy character for her to slip into, almost second nature. Wanda, on the other hand, was Katarina “Kate” Novák, a book reviewer from Slovakia. Close enough to Sokovia for the accent to make sense, but far enough removed to avoid suspicion. 

Natasha stepped closer, her gaze lingering on Wanda for a moment longer than was necessary. The flicker of something unspoken passed between them, but Wanda couldn’t place it. Seemingly without warning, the elevator dinged softly as they reached their floor, and Natasha stepped out first, glancing over her shoulder with that quiet expectation in her eyes. 

She held her hand out to Wanda, a simple gesture that made Wanda’s heart stutter in her chest. For a split second, she forgot everything, forgot the mission, forgot her nerves, and everything that was at stake. All she could focus on was the warmth of Natasha’s fingers, so close, so easy.

This is just an act, she reminded herself, forcing her fingers to straighten, to reach out, to accept. Natasha wasn’t offering her hand because she wanted her to take it. She was doing it because it was part of the cover, to sell the illusion that they were a couple. Nothing more. 

Her heart was still racing, and she tried to force a smile, masking the nerves that threatened to spill over. "Right," she murmured under her breath, making sure nothing seemed off. She needed to act like she belonged in this world, like she belonged with Natasha. 

They made their way into the suite, and Wanda stopped just inside the door, taking it all in. It was huge, bigger than anything she’d ever seen, bigger than the rooms in the compound, even. The bed was massive, easily the size of a small kingdom, and the suite was filled with plush sofas, flat-screen TVs, and a walk-in wardrobe that seemed to stretch on forever. 

And then it hit her. Her stomach lurched. There was only one bed. Of course there was. They were supposed to be engaged, pretending to be in love. She could feel her pulse quicken as she stared at the bed.

As Natasha casually threw herself onto the side of the bed closest to the door, Wanda froze. Before Wanda could even react, Natasha spoke, her voice casual. "I assume it’s okay for me to take this side, right? I just like being close to the door.”

Wanda blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. “Oh... uh, yeah, you can have the bed?” She phrased it as a question, her voice uncertain, unsure. She wanted to add something, to make it clear that she didn’t mind sleeping on the couch hell, she’d sleep on the floor if she had to, but the words wouldn’t come.

Natasha chuckled, leaning back against the pillows as if the entire situation were no big deal. "You can stay with me. This bed is huge, and it’s so comfy.” before her voice dropped into that familiar teasing tone. “And I promise I won’t bite,” she said with a smirk, “… unless you want me to.” 

Wanda’s heart leapt into her throat, hammering against her ribcage so violently that she was sure Natasha could hear it. She felt her face flush, her breath catching in her chest. The silence hung heavy between them, and Wanda stood there, frozen, unable to form a single word. She couldn’t look away from Natasha’s relaxed form on the bed, from the casual way she sprawled out, as if this were just another day, another mission. To Natasha, it is. 

Natasha’s voice broke through her thoughts again. "Oh, come on, Maximoff. You’re not sleeping on the sofa. Come here, before I make you.”

Wanda felt a strange kind of relief, but it was mixed with panic. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed her things, walking slowly over to the other side of the bed. “Thank you…” Wanda said quietly, her voice soft, almost lost in the air between them. 

“No problem,” Natasha said, her smile was soft, almost unreadable, before she stood up and made her way toward the bathroom. "I’ll be quick," she said casually, her voice smooth as she disappeared behind the door. Wanda nodded, even though Natasha couldn’t see her, and forced herself to focus on unpacking some of her things.

It was already late, and the fatigue from the long journey was starting to settle in, making her feel heavy-limbed and disconnected from her thoughts. As Natasha showered, Wanda forced herself to take slow, measured breaths. I can do this, Wanda told herself. I can sleep in the same bed, be normal. Friends share beds. it. Is. fine.”

She thought she had her panic under wraps, until the bathroom door opened again, and Natasha walked out. Wanda’s breath hitched in her throat as she tried not to react. Natasha emerged wearing a small pair of pyjama shorts and a loose, baggy top, her damp hair still clinging to the sides of her face as she absently dried it with a towel. It wasn’t the kind of outfit Natasha usually wore, there were no tight black clothes, no leather, no sleek, dangerous allure. Instead, it was something... softer, something that felt so domestic, so real in a way that made Wanda’s heart stumble in her chest.

She’d seen Natasha in skin-tight clothes a hundred times, but this... this was different. And the sight of her, looking so effortlessly relaxed, so human, made Wanda’s mouth dry. Her thoughts scattered, and a heat flooded her body, quickly moving from her cheeks all the way down to her core. 

Wanda’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. Get yourself together, Maximoff. Wanda bit down on her lip, forcing herself to look away, to focus on anything else. You do not like her like that. You don’t. It is just the room…the dim lighting, the lingering warmth of the shower still clinging to the air. It is the mission, the forced intimacy, the way we have to play pretend. That’s all it is.

It isn’t Natasha. It isn’t the way she moves, effortlessly graceful even in something as simple as drying her hair. It isn’t the way water is trickling down her throat, catching the hollow of her collarbone before disappearing beneath the oversized shirt. It isn’t the damp strands clinging to her skin, the scent of soap and something undeniably Natasha filling the air. 

No, it isn't any of that....Except….fuck….It is.

She couldn’t even lie to herself anymore. It took one day, one day with Natasha and she had already thrown out her excuses, one day, and she knew she was absolutely fucked. This was a crush and she was going to go down with it.

Natasha slipped into the bed, the soft rustle of the sheets breaking through Wanda’s thoughts. Wanda grabbed her things and rushed for the bathroom, barely keeping herself composed as she made her way towards the door. The second she was out of the room, she let out a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The door closed behind her, and she leaned against it for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, her pulse still racing.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not for Natasha’s proximity, not for this situation, not for the way her heart refused to listen to reason. Wanda shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away as she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower letting the hot water wash over her, desperate to clear the fog from her brain. 

The shower did wonders for Wanda, washing away most of the tension and calming her nerves, though the heat still lingered under her skin. She managed to get herself out of the bathroom and into the bedroom without any further incidents. As she entered the room, she found Natasha lying on her side of the bed, her eyes focused on the screen of her phone. She seemed utterly at ease, scrolling through something without a care in the world. 

She slipped under the covers quickly, keeping her eyes trained on the bed as she turned away from Natasha and faced the wall. Wanda had hated the quiet of the compound, and she had to be honest, the gentle rhythm of Natasha’s breathing, the soft rustle of the sheets as she moved, it was oddly comforting. It made the stillness less suffocating. 

It reminded her of the nights she’d spent with Pietro, just the two of them, sharing the space without words, with the quiet comfort of simply being together. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the ache that spread through her chest at the memory. This felt like being home, it felt like she had someone again. This was dangerous.

Just as she began to drift off, her exhaustion pulling her under, Natasha shifted in the bed, settling fully. Despite the enormous size of the bed, Wanda could feel Natasha’s presence like a weight on her back, almost like she was pressing against her. She felt a flutter in her chest as Natasha’s breath brushed against her skin, sending goosebumps racing down her arms. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore it, but her heart wouldn’t settle.

“Do you think your boyfriend will be mad that you’re sharing a bed with me?” Natasha’s voice was teasing, light, but Wanda’s heart skipped a beat.

She groaned quietly, already halfway to sleep as she turned over to look at Natasha. “I do not have a boyfriend, Natasha,” she muttered, but the words were out before she could think. The moment she said it, her mind screamed at her to shut up. She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive. And she hadn’t meant to forget that she wanted Natasaha to think that they were together, or to at least suspect it. 

Natasha chuckled softly, the sound sending another jolt through Wanda’s already frayed nerves. She could practically feel Natasha studying her, her sharp eyes reading between the lines. “No?” Natasha replied, voice still light but with a knowing edge. “What about the toaster?”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless chuckle that she always had whenever Natasha called Vision that. Wanda shook her head, trying to brush off the sudden rush of heat. “He is not a toaster, Natasha,” she said, her words faltering slightly. “He’s basically a man,” she added, deflecting from whether she was his girlfriend or not.

Natasha smirked, clearly not letting the conversation go. “A man, hm?” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Seems like you’re a little defensive of your boyfriend.”

Wanda wondered why Natasha wasn't letting it go, did she know something? Nonetheless, she rolled her eyes, trying to play it off, but she could feel the blush creeping up her neck. “You are my fiancée, so I can’t have a boyfriend,” she said, once again trying to deflect.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You’re very good at deflecting, Maximoff,” she said with a playful tone that Wanda couldn’t quite decipher.

Wanda didn’t know how to respond to that. Natasha’s gaze met hers, soft yet knowing, and Wanda’s heart fluttered again, against her better judgment. The tension in the room felt thick, and Wanda wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to do this. There was no chance she could fool a spy who read people for a living, not when stuck so close. She just wanted to sleep and stop making a fool of herself, so she closed her eyes, cutting off the conversation before she could say something else she would regret.

“Goodnight, Katarina,” Natasha said teasingly before she turned over to face the opposite way.  

Wanda’s heart skipped again. “Goodnight, Natalia,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. 

-----

As usual, Wanda woke up before 4 AM, despite only having fallen asleep around 11. She lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, her mind buzzing with thoughts. She listened to Natasha’s steady, soft breathing beside her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest that somehow made the silence of the room feel less oppressive. Wanda felt her mind slowly quieting, just listening to the rhythm of Natasha’s sleep. 

For once, she found herself falling back to sleep, her body sinking into the bed like it belonged there. She slept deeper than she had in what felt like forever, and she didn’t wake again until 6 AM when Natasha stirred beside her.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, and she was met with the sight of Natasha already awake, green eyes trained on her. The gaze was steady, almost predatory, and Wanda’s heart skipped a beat. “Good morning, fiancée,” Natasha said, her voice teasing, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “How are you?”

Wanda blinked, disoriented for a moment before answering. “Good,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep. “This is the latest I’ve slept in months. I feel rested,” she added, not mentioning the nightmares that usually plagued her nights, or the fact that the silence of the compound often made her feel like she was crawling out of her own skin. She didn’t need to mention it, especially not now, with Natasha beside her, her presence so steady and calm. “How did you sleep?” 

Natasha stretched with a lazy smile, clearly more awake than Wanda. “Good,” she said, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep. “Ready for breakfast though. I’m starving.”

Wanda smiled, glad for the distraction. “Me too,” she said, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. The first day of their mission was meant to be spent casually, lounging around the resort, waiting for the targets to arrive. It was the perfect opportunity to get close to them, to strike up a conversation and gather intel without raising any suspicion.

Wanda quickly got out of bed and grabbed a bikini from her bag. It was a pale blue colour, simple but flattering. She got ready in the bathroom but as she finished changing she realised she’d forgotten to bring in her sundress that she planned to use to cover her bikini, at least for now. 

She sighed, shaking her head, then took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom, hoping to get to the dress as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention. But as she reached for it, she felt Natasha’s gaze land on her. The air seemed to shift. There was something in the way Natasha’s eyes darkened, something that made Wanda’s stomach flip. She could’ve sworn Natasha licked her lips, though the moment was gone in an instant, replaced by that teasing smirk Wanda had become all too familiar with. You are seeing things, Maximoff, she scolded herself. 

“Wow,” Natasha said, her voice smooth and light, “Natalia is one lucky woman to have Kate on her arm.” She winked at Wanda as she made the remark, and Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. It made sense now though, Natasha was just getting in character.

Wanda quickly turned away, grabbing the dress with shaking hands and muttering under her breath, “Shut up. Natalia doesn’t need to flirt in the room where no one can hear us.”

Natasha chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. “Can’t I compliment my fiancée?”

Wanda laughed, trying to keep the teasing mood light. “When you get one, sure,” she said, though the flutter in her chest made it harder to keep the sarcasm in her voice. Natasha was getting to her, and she hated how easily it was happening.

Wanda slipped into the sundress quickly, trying to ignore how her heart raced more than it should have as Natasha looked at her. But then Natasha, seemingly unaware of the chaos she was causing in Wanda's mind, slipped off her robe, revealing a stunning red bikini. Wanda’s breath hitched, and she felt as though she might choke on her own air.

Her gaze was drawn to Natasha’s every movement as she stood up, pulling a makeup bag from the side. Wanda couldn’t tear her eyes away, and she realised, far too late that she’d been staring. She quickly forced herself to look away, but it was too late. Natasha caught her, a knowing smirk spreading across her lips. “I’ll just be a minute,” Natasha said casually, as if the effect she had on Wanda was nothing out of the ordinary.

Wanda’s cheeks burned, but she tried to push the heat down, pretending like she hadn’t been caught. “What’s that for?” Wanda asked, glancing at the makeup in Natasha’s hand, desperate to change the subject.

Natasha pointed toward her stomach, where a darkened mark was visible just above her bikini line. It was shaped like a bullet wound, and Wanda felt a pang of sympathy before she could stop it. “Before makeup,” Natasha said, her voice almost too casual, “it was ‘bye-bye bikinis.’ But I’ve figured out how to cover the big ones now.”

There was a strange, almost imperceptible shift in Natasha’s expression as she spoke, something Wanda couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t anger, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something that felt almost like... hurt? Wanda’s heart squeezed at the thought. 

“Well,” Wanda said quickly, trying to lift the mood, “I’m sure Kate appreciates that the bikinis made a comeback.” She smiled weakly, hoping the attempt at humour would lighten the atmosphere.

Natasha’s lips quirked into a teasing grin. “You are right. I think Kate can’t take her eyes off Natalia,” she said with a wink. It was clear from her tone, from the look in her eyes, that Natasha was well aware that Wanda had been staring.

Wanda’s face flushed, her heart skipping a beat as she stammered, “H...hurry up, I want breakfast.”

Natasha’s smirk softened just a little, and she nodded, not pressing any further. “Coming right up, honey,” she teased. Wanda tried to regain her composure, but the words still felt heavy in her chest.

As Natasha finished with the makeup, Wanda fought to steady her breath, trying to drown out the warmth that lingered from the teasing, from the closeness, from the undeniable attraction that Wanda couldn’t shake.

She had to focus. This was a mission. But with Natasha so close, pretending had never felt so impossible. Natasha had slipped into her own dress for breakfast, a sleek, understated choice that somehow managed to look effortlessly amazing. Wanda couldn’t help but glance at her again as they made their way down to the hotel restaurant, their hands of course intertwining as they walked together to keep up the act. The proximity of Natasha beside her, the warmth of her hand in hers, sent a familiar jolt through Wanda’s chest, but she tried to focus on the task ahead, forcing herself to keep her thoughts in check.

As they sat at their table, the waiter greeted them with a bright smile. “Good morning, ladies. What may I get started for you today?”

Natasha smiled warmly at the waiter before replying. “I’ll have a black coffee and an omelette, please,” she said confidently, her tone smooth and relaxed. She then turned to Wanda, her eyes softening as she placed her hand on top of Wanda’s. “What would you like, my love?”

Wanda felt her entire body short-circuit at the words, her heart thundering in her chest, her breath hitching in her throat. She tried to speak but no sound came out. Her mouth went dry, and she shook her head, unable to form a coherent response. 

Natasha chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect she was having. “Forgive us,” she said to the waiter, her voice warm but laced with a hint of amusement. “She’s not a morning person.” Natasha turned back to Wanda, giving her a playful squeeze. “She’ll take a tea, some toast, and maybe some fruit too, please,” she added, her tone now soft and sweet, as if she were ordering for a beloved partner.

The waiter smiled at them both. “Coming right up!” he said cheerfully before walking off to place the order.

Wanda was still frozen in place, trying to regain her composure. When she finally managed to speak, it came out in a soft, slightly stunned whisper. “How did you know?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she leaned in just slightly, teasingly. “How did I know what?” Her voice was light and playful.

Wanda blinked, still trying to collect her thoughts. “What I have for breakfast?” she whispered so others could not hear, the question coming out almost incredulously.

Natasha tapped her nose, the playful glint in her eyes intensifying as she winked. “I know my fiancée very well,” she said with a teasing tone, clearly relishing in Wanda’s reaction.

Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. “You are impossible,” she muttered, her voice a mixture of frustration and affection, though she couldn’t deny how much she liked this side of Natasha, her confidence, her teasing, the way she made everything feel natural, easy.

Natasha’s smirk softened into something warmer, a quiet satisfaction in her gaze. “Not impossible. You are just predictable,” she teased, leaning back in her chair and giving Wanda a wink. “But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Wanda shook her head, still trying to shake off the feeling of warmth that had taken over her. The whole situation felt like too much, too real, too close and yet, there was a part of her that wanted to stay lost in this. In Natasha. 

The waiter returned with their drinks and breakfast, and Wanda could only hope she would have the strength to keep herself under control throughout the day.

-----

They settled onto two sun loungers by the pool, the bright sun beating down on them, the sound of the water rippling gently beside them. Natasha was effortlessly playing the role of the doting girlfriend, her movements graceful and confident as she laid out a towel for Wanda, arranging it just right. She went so far as to fetch a cold drink for her, placing it carefully beside her, the ice clinking softly in the glass. Next to them, each sun bed was taken, couples were everywhere and it was crucial they blended in.

Wanda settled into the lounger, trying her best to ignore the soft fluttering of her heart as Natasha's eyes skimmed over her, taking her in. “God, I am lucky to have you, babe,” Natasha said, her tone genuine, as if it were completely real. She is so good at this.

Wanda’s cheeks warmed instantly, but she played it off with a grin, responding in kind. “Not as lucky as I am, darling.” Her words carried a softness in them that she couldn’t quite control.

They both lay down on their sunbeds, the warmth of the sun comforting. Natasha put on her sunglasses, scanning the area with practised ease. To anyone else, she would have looked like just another woman enjoying the resort, relaxed and casual. But Wanda knew better. Natasha’s eyes were constantly moving, assessing, looking for anyone out of place. Looking for their marks.

Wanda settled into her spot, trying to focus on the feel of the sun on her skin, but Natasha leaned closer to her, her body nearly brushing Wanda’s as she whispered softly in her ear, her breath warm and tantalising. “No sign, keep an eye out,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and intimate. Then Natasha kissed her cheek to sell the illusion, the soft press of her lips sending a wave of heat through Wanda’s body.

Wanda physically shuddered, and it didn’t escape Natasha’s notice. The corner of her lips curled into a smirk, but she didn’t comment on it. She pulled away, sitting back and applying sun cream to her arms. Wanda mirrored her actions, though it took a lot more effort to stay calm, to pretend that this was just a normal day at the resort.

It was fine, at least until Natasha turned to her, the playful glint in her eyes never leaving. “Let me get your back?” she asked, her tone light but with an edge of affection. It was a simple request, one that most couples would share without a second thought.

Wanda froze. She had to do it. She had no choice. Couples do this, we need to do this.

Wanda nodded, her voice barely above a whisper as she mumbled, “Thank you.” She turned and laid flat on her front, trying to push away the rising panic in her chest.

Natasha climbed onto her with the fluid ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, sitting with casual confidence on the swell of Wanda’s ass. The shift in position was entirely unnecessary, it felt too intimate, too close when Natasha could have just rubbed the cream in from the sunbed next to her. Natasha began rubbing sun cream on her back, her hands smooth and firm as they moved across Wanda’s skin, leaving trails of cool lotion behind.

Wanda could feel the heat pooling in her body. Her mind scrambled for control, but it was useless. The weight of Natasha on her, the warmth of her hands, the simple but intimate nature of the act sent a rush of heat straight to her core. Every movement of Natasha’s hands, every shift of her weight, made Wanda’s heart race, and she couldn’t stop the way her body reacted, betraying her.

When Natasha finished, she didn’t move right away. Instead, she leaned down, her lips grazing Wanda’s spine as she planted soft, lingering kisses down her back. Each press of her lips sent a tremor through Wanda, and she let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding. Natasha’s lips were soft, but the feeling was anything but innocent. This is an act, this is an act, this is an act, she repeated in her mind, hoping to quell the thoughts and feelings. 

“Thank you, Natalia,” Wanda whispered, almost a plea, trying to dismiss the widow and get her to stop torturing her.

Natasha pulled away, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Come on, Kate,” she said with a teasing smirk. “My turn.”

With a sigh, she climbed onto Natasha just as Natasha had for her, her hands shaking slightly as she worked the sun cream into Natasha’s skin. But unlike Natasha, she didn’t linger. She didn’t want to. She focused only on the task at hand, her movements quick and efficient, anything to avoid the closeness, the tension between them. When she was done, she didn’t wait for Natasha to react. She gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, trying to make it look more intimate than it actually was. As she pulled away, she quickly retreated, heart still racing in her chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. But it did. And Wanda couldn’t escape it. 

The day had settled into a familiar rhythm. Wanda had her book in hand, lost in the pages, while Natasha soaked up the sun, her relaxed posture looking like she belonged in this world of luxury and ease. Their mission hung in the background, but it was a quiet tension, the waiting. They both kept an eye out for their marks, though nothing much had happened for most of the day. Time seemed to stretch on.

Wanda adjusted in her lounger, flipping a page of her book, but the words had long since stopped registering. Her eyes kept drifting over the pool, catching the way the sunlight reflected off the water’s surface, distorting the blues and golds into something almost hypnotic. 

The distant hum of conversation mixed with the soft rustling of palm trees in the breeze, but none of it could settle the anxious energy thrumming beneath her skin. She was too aware of everything, of the mission, of the weight of the engagement ring on her finger, of the fact that Natasha was lying beside her, looking impossibly relaxed, as if this entire situation didn’t affect her in the slightest.

Wanda exhaled quietly, willing herself to focus on the book in her lap, but her gaze wandered again. It was then that she saw the two women at the bar. One blonde, her hair styled neatly, her frame petite but with a confidence that made her seem larger than she was. The other was taller, dark-haired, striking in a way that immediately commanded attention. The way they carried themselves, the effortless ease of their presence, sent a jolt through Wanda’s system. She hesitated, carefully studying them, but it didn’t take long for her instincts to confirm what her brain already knew. This was them.

She turned her head slightly, leaning toward Natasha, keeping her movements natural, careful not to make it obvious. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Natasha caught it instantly. “At the bar.”

Wanda watched the shift happen in real-time. One second, Natasha was lounging as if she had no care in the world, and then, in the next breath, she was all precision, her body still but alert, her muscles coiled beneath her skin like she was ready to pounce. Her head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable as she took in Wanda’s words, before she nodded once and sat up, adjusting herself with a casual grace that made it seem like she was merely stretching in the sun.

Then, just as effortlessly, she softened again, slipping back into her role like it was a second skin. She reached out, the tips of her fingers brushing against Wanda’s wrist, the contact light but intentional. When she spoke, her voice was honeyed, “Shall we get a drink, my love?”

Wanda barely had time to compose herself before she nodded, pushing past the ridiculous way her heart reacted to something that should have been nothing. “Yeah, I’m really thirsty,” she murmured, forcing herself to sound casual despite the absolutely explicit images her mind conjured up to deal with said thirst.

She stood, shaking her head to rid the images from her mind, extending a hand towards Natasha to help her up, an instinct more than anything else, a simple, natural gesture. But Natasha didn’t just take it, she held it, wrapping her fingers around Wanda’s. She used it to guide Wanda forward, pulling her closer than necessary, their bodies barely an inch apart before Natasha finally stepped ahead, leading them both toward the bar. Wanda’s skin burned under the weight of Natasha’s grip, her mind screaming at her to get a hold of herself, but it was impossible when everything felt like too much.

By the time they reached the bar, the two women were engrossed in their own conversation, unaware of their presence, and Natasha ordered herself and Wanda a drink with a confident ease, as if their marks were not stood right there. And then, before she could even register what was happening, Natasha moved. It was subtle at first, just the faintest brush of fingers against her side, light, teasing, barely there. But then Natasha pressed in just enough to tickle, and Wanda’s body jolted before she could stop it. 

“Ahh! Nat, stop! Stop!” Wanda squealed, twisting away from the touch, half-laughing, half-panicked as she swatted at Natasha’s hand. She could already feel the heat rushing to her face, the mortifying realisation that her reaction had been exactly what Natasha wanted. “Natalia!” she growled, trying to sound stern, but the amusement in Natasha’s eyes only deepened.

Natasha didn’t let her pull away. Instead, with a fluid motion that was too smooth, she yanked Wanda back against her. The movement stole the breath from Wanda’s lungs, and before she could process what was happening, Natasha leaned in, her lips pressing softly against the side of Wanda’s neck.

Wanda’s entire body froze, every nerve suddenly alert, her skin burning where Natasha’s lips had just been. Her breath stuttered, her chest tight, and she knew this was all for show, that Natasha was just playing a part, making them look natural, drawing attention to them in a way that would make it easier to strike up a conversation with the marks.

But knowing didn’t change the way her pulse jumped at the warmth of Natasha’s breath against her skin, didn’t stop the rush of heat flooding through her, didn’t stop the way her stomach clenched at the sound of Natasha’s voice. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” Natasha purred, her lips still impossibly close, her voice dripping with amusement. “You’re just too easy.”

Wanda’s body betrayed her once again, shivering under Natasha’s touch. The laughter of the two women at the bar broke through her daze, and suddenly, Wanda remembered where they were, why they were here. She forced herself to regain control, to focus. The mission. Their targets. Not Natasha’s lips on your skin, not her voice in your ear.

The blonde grinned at them, her eyes warm. "You two are so cute. Ah, to be young and in love," she sighed dreamily.

The brunette snorted, shaking her head. "Excuse me, I’m still young and in love," she teased, pressing a soft kiss to the blonde’s cheek.

The blonde laughed. "Darling, we’re in our forties. That is not young." She turned back to Wanda and Natasha with an amused smile. "Look at these two! Babies! Especially this cutie." She pointed at Wanda, her eyes raking over her in her bikini, lingering slightly too long on her breasts.

Wanda flushed, trying desperately not to let it show just how much her body was still reeling from Natasha’s touch. But Natasha wasn’t helping. Instead of brushing it off, instead of allowing Wanda a second to compose herself, Natasha only pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s waist and pressing their bodies together.

"She is very cute," Natasha said, her voice light, teasing, but there was something else there. Something Wanda couldn’t name. "And very mine."

The words sent a full-body shudder through Wanda before she could stop it. A small, breathless sound, barely more than a whimper escaped before she could swallow it down. It was quiet, barely noticeable, but Natasha heard it. She felt the way Wanda tensed, the way her breath hitched.

And Wanda knew, in that moment, that Natasha had caught her reaction. Wanda barely managed to recover. She reached for her drink in a desperate attempt to ground herself. "I am all yours, my love," she murmured, though the words felt heavier than she intended.

The brunette smiled, clearly enjoying the interaction. "We haven’t seen you two around before," she said. "When did you get here?"

Natasha responded, her tone light and full of warmth. "Oh, late last night. It’s our first day here. We’re so excited!" She turned to Wanda with a soft, loving look. "We just got engaged and thought, why not, you know?" she said, her eyes holding Wanda’s for just a second too long. Wanda couldn’t help but smile back, the affection in Natasha’s eyes pulling her deeper into the moment. 

The brunette raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Oh, you have to join us tonight for drinks to celebrate!"

Wanda glanced at Natasha, waiting for her response, and Natasha nodded smoothly. "That would be lovely, if you don’t mind, of course!" she added with a warm smile.

The blonde spoke up again, clearly delighted by their acceptance. "Nonsense! You two seem fun, even if your fiancée is a little quiet," she joked, laughing lightly.

Wanda blinked at the comment before responding. "Well, you see, Natalia speaks so much I don’t tend to need to," she said, rolling her eyes for good measure. 

"Behave, Novák," Natasha growled softly in her ear, her lips brushing against Wanda’s skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "Or you won’t be the future Mrs Jones," she added with a playful nip on Wanda’s ear.

Both women at the bar laughed at the interaction, but Wanda felt her heart race in her chest, the pounding thrum of it echoing in her ears. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this act up, not with Natasha so close, teasing her, kissing her, making her feel things that were far too real, far too intimate for comfort. This is a fucking nightmare.

Before she got the chance to process further, the brunette smiled at them, introducing herself. "Oh, by the way, I’m Johanna, and this is my wife, Zoey."

Natasha smiled back, all charm and confidence, and introduced herself and Wanda in turn. "I’m Natalia, and this is Katarina."

"It’s lovely to meet you both," Johanna said, flashing a warm smile. "We’re going back to our room to change and get ready for dinner and drinks tonight. We’ll see you later!"

Wanda smiled back, trying to shake off the heat she could feel crawling up her neck. "See you later," she managed, her voice far too strained. Natasha nodded, her expression smooth.

As soon as the women turned away and began walking toward the elevator, Wanda immediately pulled herself away, her breath shallow as she downed her drink in one go, not caring about the burn of the alcohol. Natasha noticed, her gaze softening with concern. "What’s up?" she asked, her voice quieter now, an edge of worry creeping into her tone as she observed Wanda’s behaviour.

Wanda quickly plastered on a smile, "Nothing," she said, trying to sound unaffected. Then she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping low. "We should follow, yes?"

Natasha blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. It didn’t take long for Wanda to realise that Natasha hadn’t thought of it herself. Natasha cleared her throat almost awkwardly, as if she’d been in her own world, not entirely present. "Yeah... yeah, we should," she agreed, her voice a little flat as if the idea had only just come to her. 

Wanda's stomach churned, why didn't Natasha think of this? She is the professional here but she nodded anyway, a quiet unease growing inside her. They moved quickly but carefully, hanging back in the lobby as they kept their eyes on the two women. The elevator doors closed, and the women disappeared from view.

They saw the elevator was headed to the fourth floor. “They are staying on our floor. Let’s go,” Natasha commented. Wanda felt a twinge of anxiety, but Natasha's grip on her hand was firm, almost possessive as they quickly made their way to the stairs.

When they reached the fourth floor, they slowed their pace, listening for any sound that might give away the women’s whereabouts. Natasha peeked around the corner, her movements calculated, like a predator watching her prey. Wanda felt a shiver run down her spine at the way Natasha’s posture shifted, all business.

Natasha’s head turned toward Wanda as she whispered, "They are two doors down from us."

Wanda nodded, heart pounding again. She felt the familiar flutter of nerves, but she pushed it down. This was their mission. This was what they were here for. Still, the heat in her chest didn’t fade, and her thoughts continued to spin.

"Let’s go to our room," Natasha said, her voice quieter now, more controlled. She pulled Wanda along once again, guiding her with that firm grip. When they got to their room, Natasha’s hand was still holding hers, though her grip had loosened slightly. It felt almost... intimate. They stepped into their room, the door clicking softly shut behind them, and Wanda let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, it came out as a large sigh. 

"Wands, please. What’s wrong?" Natasha’s voice was quieter now, softer. She hadn’t let go of Wanda’s hand, her thumb absently grazing over her knuckles, a touch so small yet so utterly overwhelming that Wanda thought she might actually combust.

Wanda forced herself to look away, anywhere but into Natasha’s impossibly green eyes, because she knew if she met them for too long, she’d lose herself entirely. She swallowed hard before finally pulling her hand free, the loss of warmth immediate and almost painful.

"Oh, nothing," she lied, her voice steady enough to be convincing, even as her pulse raced. "Just nervous, I guess."

Nervous. That was the understatement of the century. Nervous didn’t cover the way her body felt like it was on fire, the way her skin still tingled from Natasha’s touch, the way she ached actually ached, for something she couldn’t have. She wanted to hold Natasha, to kiss her, but to actually do those things as Wanda, and not Kate.

Natasha studied her for a beat too long, her expression unreadable, though there was something in her gaze that made Wanda feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she liked. Wanda held her breath, waiting, heart hammering. 

And then, Natasha sighed, her face dropping slightly clearly realising she wouldn't be getting the answer she wanted.  "Well, you’re doing great," she said easily, as if that was all that needed to be said. "Tonight will be fine. We are just hanging out, and hopefully finding out their schedule for tomorrow so we can find a way to sneak into their room.” Natasha moved closer, her eyes showing nothing but warmth, “You’ve got this, Little Witch."

Wanda barely managed a nod, mumbling a quiet, "Okay, thanks," before turning sharply on her heel and heading straight for the bathroom.

She needed to get out of this conversation. She needed out of this mission. And more than anything, she needed to get out of her own damn head, because she could not keep wanting Natasha Romanoff.

-----

Part 2

Part 2 summary: The mission is in full swing, and Wanda is doing everything she can to resist Natasha’s charm. After all, it’s just an act… right?

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi, white aspiring author here! I've been tinkering with a story for years (coming up on 10... Eek!) and the main characters have shifted around a lot. Currently the cast is a Black princess and a red-headed witch! I was reading through your hair posts and trying to think about how the princess's class and standing, especially relative to the other kingdoms, would impact what kind of hairstyles she would be most likely to have, and which she may not even have access to. A few context bits I have regarding her story:

- the setting is so post-modern it wraps around back into pre-electricity (so, no one probably has straightened hair unless they have magic...?)

- her kingdom is objectively the most important due to heavy contributions to continental agriculture access

- her kingdom is culturally snubbed due to bias against connections to nature (there was a Humans vs Nature vs Magic war - tentative peace rn but aftermath is still palpable)

- she is loved and trusted by the citizens of her kingdom, and she trusts the people who work in the castle and as her handmaidens

- she is frequently on the go, especially as a child, but in recent years she's had to focus more on royal diplomacy

- her parents are trying to set up an arranged marriage due to the cultural tensions, so she's getting dressed up a lot (unwillingly)

- the plot really starts when she leaves the castle to adventure with the witch

So I'm thinking about like... How her main hairstyle is probably going to change pre-plot versus mid-plot! Before leaving the castle she has the time, wealth, and help for something like microbraids, or even microbraids that make bigger braids. But I'd imagine that'd get very difficult to maintain after a week of hiking around the woods and up and down mountains, much less months of traversing the continent. Another thing I'm wondering about is if it'd be more reasonable to assume she has enough basic practice and skills to maintain her hair with a lower maintenance style on her own after leaving, or if that's something she's starting from near-scratch with, having her hair done by someone else her whole life thus far? As in, would it be more realistic for her to remember her childhood styles and try the twist out, or would she have self-braiding skills as a young adult? She has a great amount of dexterity in general, but I'm not sure if general dexterity translates to braiding dexterity (mostly because I've tried braiding my own hair and suck at it, despite being good with things like knitting). I'd imagine that's the kind of thing where practice goes a long way?

Anyway I apologize for the wall of text but thank you very much for that master post, I'm going to keep reading through it because it's really helping me conceptualize this character a lot more in-depth, and it's helping to give context to minor world building considerations too! Really developing the details like this is my favorite thing to do, because once I have enough everything just kinda clicks and springs to life on its own! So I hope this isn't too long ;;

Hot combs don't require electricity, so people could have straight hair! It's just gonna take longer.

This really depends on your character. If you give her the skill to do her own hair, she'll have it lol. If you're implying that she always had servants who did it, then she won't. So if what you're saying is she's doing it from scratch, then no, she won't know what to do. No one just has good braiding skills lmao, you have to practice on yourself and on others. There's a reason doing hair is such a community experience.

Microbraids is a hell of a style to get stuck with when you don't know how to do your own hair 😅 they'll be fine while having them, but getting them down by herself at some point is gonna be a BITCH. I'd rather cut my shit off fr 😭 but that's why I never got micros, I'm far too impatient. Can the witch do hair lmao? Is the witch trusted enough to help take it down or magic it out? Does she get to come back to the castle every now and then for new styles, or is she just out and about? And for how long? Because if she wants more flexibility, the braids are probably not it.

I think everyone struggling with this sort of question should have their characters practice doing four simple plaits or cornrows on their head 😅 like it's gonna suck the first time, but practice makes perfect.

[aftgficrec]

Hi! Wanted to ask if you have something that deals with Neil as a parent ( something like the hope was a dangerous disquieting thing?) I really love to see the way having a kid changes Neil and the course of things in the books

Thanks in advance! I really love your page and been waiting to catch you guys open for so long:) have a good day🤍

There’s plenty to find for Neil with a child.  Not all of it with him as a parent, and some of it takes place post canon or in an AU, but for this post we’ve collected mostly canon divergent fics where Neil comes to Palmetto with a kid or a young sibling in tow. -S

previous recs:

Neil/Andrew with a kid before they meet here

Andreil with kids or siblings here

you may also like:

Andreil & kids here (for a large mix of post-canon, canon divergent and AU fics)

canon divergent fics:

‘El Corazón’ and ‘We’ll Both Be Fine’ (updated) here

‘The F-Word’ here

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

AUs:

‘Drop In, Drop By’, ‘Reckless’ (updated) and ‘Whose Your Daddy’ (completed) here

‘Eighteen Wheels And Three Beating Hearts’, ‘Tales from a Quirky Small Town’ and ‘what now?’ here

‘Sunflower, Vol. 6’ here

‘Oliver.’ and ‘Growing With You’ here

‘Being So Normal’ here

‘Pinch of Salt’ here

‘Blood and Diamonds’ here

Neil has a child:

Hope Was A Dangerous, Disquieting Thing by BisexualChaosDemon [Rated M, 439920 words, complete, 2024]

Previously rec’ed here

When Neil was fourteen, his father caught up to them in Seattle and he got separated from Mary. Unfortunately, neither of them escaped unscathed, but they did escape dispite all the odds. They manage to reunite at one of their emergency rendezvous and take off running. That's where their luck ran out though because they only made it to California before Mary's injuries finally bested her. In the end, his mother couldn't go on but she made Neil promise to keep running because one of them had to make it. With no other choice, Neil burned her body, buried her ashes on the beach, and did what he had promised. Then, impossibly, things went from bad to worse — After a month of just sort of drifting in his grief, Neil found out he was pregnant.

tw: violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: ptsd, tw: abortion

We’ll Both Be Fine by Sarah_Lee25 [Not Rated, 211772 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2025]

Previously rec’ed here (includes art)

“I have baggage.” “All my foxes have baggage. You won’t be the first.” Wymack said. Neil doubted any fox in all Wymack’s years has carried the same weight as Neil when it came to baggage. “That's not what I mean.” “Go on. Let’s hear it then.” The coach waited patiently for him to continue. It should have been comforting but Neil was far more scared than ever. “I have a son. His name’s Milo.” ____ OR what if Neil had a kid when he was on the run?

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: transphobic language, tw: homophobic language, tw: murder, tw: dissociation

The Reality Of A Bruise by Oli_Stans_Andreil [Rated E, 100600 words, incomplete, last updated Oct 2024]

“Hi pumpkin.” He said, giving her a kiss on the nose. Neil scooped her up in his arms and turned back to Andrew, Kevin, and Wymack. “You have a kid?” Andrew asked again. “My dad had a kid.” Neil corrected, running his hands through her hair. She giggled and did the same to his black curly hair. “Sorry to disappoint you but I can’t go without Jo. Womp Womp I guess.” “Womp womp!” She copied, glaring at Kevin. “No fucking way he’s coming to my court with a kid,” Kevin said in disbelief. “It ain't your fucking court, Kevin. Get your head out of your ass for five seconds.” Wymack snapped. OR Neil Josten gets recruited by the Palmetto State Foxes like normal, but he drags along some baggage, his little sister, Jo Josten. A small little blonde-haired blue-eyed three year old that thinks Neil is the greatest thing in the whole world.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse,  tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: attempted sexual assault, tw: panic attacks, tw: scars, tw: nightmares, tw: nonconsensual drug use

A Child’s Heart by AllAngstNoComfort [Rated G, 18039 words, incomplete, last updated Aug 2024]

“Is there anything else that I should know about before I leave?” Wymack asks. Neil takes this as the opportunity it is “There is one thing” Neil says hesitantly. Wymack hums in approval for Neil to continue. “It wouldn’t just be me,” Neil says slowly. Wymack cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “I have a kid. He’s 18 months old. His name is Oscar. The school doesn’t know about him but I can’t just leave him behind”

tw: violence

NB: find title art for this fic by the author here

Running on Empty by Andriel_4evermore [Rated M, 34655 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2025]

Neil Josten is a chaos. Secrets swirl around him like a second skin, each one more dangerous than the last. For someone on the run, those secrets are more than baggage—they’re a death sentence. Hiding from his father. Running from his past. Escaping the truth of who he is. It’s the life his mother taught him, and the only one Neil has ever known. But then everything changed. His mother is gone, and Neil isn’t just running for himself anymore—he’s running for his son. Which secret will destroy him first? That he’s the Butcher’s son? That he’s an Omega in hiding? Or that Neil Josten, the boy who was never meant to exist, is now a father? The Foxes think they’re recruiting a talented striker with a bad attitude. What they’re really getting is a storm in human form—one that will either shatter their fragile team or force them to face the wreckage Neil’s been running from his entire life.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: panic attacks

Just trust me, you’ll be fine. by jxnkiee [Rated M, 27105 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2024]

When Andrew accompanies Coach and Kevin to a town in the middle of nowhere to recruit a striker, he didn't expect to run into his old friend and the first person I ever loved, Alex. Nor did he expect Alex (now Neil Josten) to have a son bearing his own name, Joseph Josten.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: transphobic language

Neil with a sibling:

The Sun Still Rises by mordax [Rated E, 548083 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2025]

Previously rec’ed here

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: murder,  tw: anxiety, tw: panic attacks,  tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: drug use, tw: involuntary sedation, tw: reenactment therapy with noncon

NB: find fanart for this fic by @elidanus on Twitter here

I left you alone in a house, not a home by ohhhhmygod [Rated M, 114147 words, incomplete, last updated Aug 2024]

AU plot change where Neil has a little brother, Liam, who comes to stay with the monsters for the summer after Neil's freshman year.  Neil finds he might not mind being a brother, and Liam finds a new home.   Disclaimer: Heavily character driven, minimal plot realism, all for the dramatics

tw: violence, tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: eating disorders, tw: implied/referenced forced cannibalism, tw: vomiting, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced emotional manipulation 

AU:

Is this it? by Badkarmadaddy97865 [Rated T, 8546 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2023]

When Neil Josten was put into foster care he was 15 and his daughter was 2, now hes 16 and Lenora was 3. He had apparently ran away to many times and has to be taken to The Wymack group home, hes heard that its just a place that fucked up kids go. But he stays he decides it not as bad as he thinks.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Four, three, two, one by foxyroxi [Rated G, 5753 words, complete, 2023, locked]

Part 2 of Formula One shenanigans

Andrew didn’t win the championship that year, but he left the season with a boyfriend and his daughter and a mental binder of happy memories with Neil and Vivienne.

maybe you're the light by lemonnie [Rated T, 3490 words, incomplete, last updated Feb 2021]

when andrew decides to take a voyage across the ocean, hoping to find well, andrew doesn't know exactly what he's searching for yet - shit hits the fan quick and andrew's life is flipped upside down.  he learns how to live again, how to trust and most of all, how to love.

tw: injuries 

A different kind of danger in the daylight (I can never let go) by NotNeilsCats [Rated T, 6790 words, complete, 2019]

When Neil Josten's child shows up unannounced to their eight year anniversery of Neil's death, the former Palmetto state Foxes has to face the fact and small hope that maybe, just maybe, he isn't dead after all. And his daughter is a ghost of their friend with his mennerisms and face and they miss him violently

tw: presumed major character death

Art

Neil holding sleeping Arlo art by @/bluelake_art (formerly @/solemnlyswear_art) on instagram (more Arlo here)

[storm-and-starlight]

farewell, wanderlust

I don't know if I'm ever gonna finish this fic or even even really post it, but just like Meteoric, here's a section that I think stands well alone and that I really quite like. Dick finds Jason post-Bruce's "death" in Final Crisis. Operates off of UTRH movie canon.

Dick had the courtesy to find him in person, plainclothed, appearing out of nowhere at a tea shop Jason still stops in at, sometimes. It's one of the places Alfred buys from, a sharply astringent Earl Grey -- Jason, he'd said, low and soft at his shoulder, and Jason had turned on his heel and left without paying, boots thumping oddly on the cobblestones (Old Gotham, god, he hates this part of the city, pretending like the battered streets and ancient buildings are somehow charming, pretending it's someplace sweet and touristy and safe, pretending like it hasn't got just as much rot as the rest of the place -- Scarecrow attacked this street six months ago, gassed half the market, and now all that's left of that is a handful of signs in various shops saying "respirators sold here!"), chilled to the bone even in the summer swelter. The city had already recovered from the alien invasion or zombie apocalypse or whatever-the-fuck-it-was that had the League all over the place a week ago; the rest of the world might still be reeling, but not Gotham.

Jason! Dick had said, loud and surprised, and then gentler, cut to carry, Jay, little wing-- and Jason had frozen where he stood, middle of the street, crowd splitting around him like a running river until Dick had found him again. He'd been dressed in civvies: black tee, battered leather, worn jeans, perfectly nondescript. Hair a wild tumbledown mess, windblown and ragged. Hadn't slept in at least three days, but he'd had a bright-burning clarity to his eyes; Nightwing, clinging on to sanity when the rest of the world's gone mad.

Jason hadn't seen him this close up in years -- he'd been a shadow at Bruce's heels, a bright figure against the skyline, always at least arms-length and the barrel of a gun distant.

He was-- so much shorter than Jason thought he remembered.

Don't, Jason had said, sharp -- there's a gun under his jacket and Dick's here in civvies and this is Gotham, after all, what's a little mid-street-weapon-pulling to a native, and Dick had said We need to-- we should talk.

So talk, and Dick had flicked a glance out at the heaving crowd around them and said not here. At-- do you remember Wilhelm? and Jason does, only a single bright flash of a memory but still there despite the holes the Pit ate in his head -- Dick, younger and shaggy-haired and larger than life, dangling one-handed from the talons of the saddest damn gryphon Jason's ever seen, grinning up at him; "second-best hiding spot in the city, little wing" -- and he jerks his head in a nod.

Midnight, Dick had said, and swirled back into the crowd before Jason could even acknowledge that, gone again in the current of humanity.

He'd paid for the tea, too, the bastard.

---

He arrives at Wilhelm's corner at sixteen minutes past the stroke of midnight -- there was a church here once that still rang the hour every hour, Westminster quarters marking out the passage of the night. It's gone now, nineteenth-century masonry apparently not up to the task of surviving an earthquake (a goddamn earthquake, what the fuck) but he can still hear the ghost of it, echoing over the years. All through this hour, Lord be my guide. Wilhelm's still standing, leaning gloomily over the street, but the gap between his wings is empty -- even the replacement's too big to fit, now. Nightwing's waiting on the roof instead, a dark shape silhouetted against the orange sky, lantern-light bleeding the color from his insignia. Batman's nowhere to be seen.

"Jason," Nightwing says when he lands beside him, heavier than any Robin has a right to be.

Jason snorts. "What happened to no names in the field? The old man leaves for a week and all the rules go out the window?"

Dick-- flinches.

Jason pauses. Bruce is still off on League business -- another day, another dollar, another planet-ending threat -- and he hasn't come back yet, leaving Nightwing and Robin to keep an eye on Gotham. He'd assumed it was just-- cleanup, like usual after shit like this goes down, or maybe he was off in space chasing down the guy who did it, but this is-- this is Dick naming him Jason, full-formal, not the name he took to scare the shit out of Bruce or the tattered remnant of a childhood he can't even remember.

"What happened?"

"Bruce--" Dick says, and falters, and stops. 

There's a siren in the distance, wailing away; the rattle of old and ill-maintained ventilation systems; the clacking rush of the train going through. The ghost of ringing bells, long-gone and buried; the salt-sting of the Pit in his eyes; grave-dirt under his nails and on his tongue -- all through this hour.

"How?" he says, and the helmet flattens it, turns it into just another electronic snarl, but he hears the scrape of a shattered voice anyways.

"Darkseid," and well, okay, Jason does have to admit that motherfucking Darkseid probably is one of the only people who ever could have done it. The Joker sure as hell wasn't fucking going to.

"Are you..."

"I-- saw the body." Jason's silent for long enough that Dick says "Jay," reaching out for his shoulder -- Jason twitches back and away, sharply, and Dick's hand drops limply back to his side.

"So he's dead, then," and it rings flatly in the air, the blade striking, the hammer coming down. "The fuck am I supposed to do about it?"

"Jay--" Dick says again, but Jason's got salt under his tongue and the Pit in his blood and he can feel the anger rising. "What, I'm supposed to-- say I'm sorry? Sit politely at the funeral? Come home? Have you forgotten that I'm not fucking one of you anymore?" The warehouse, the Joker, the gun -- I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell! -- Batman, walking away.

"Jason," Nightwing snaps, sharp and furious and Bat-vigilante to the bone, and then he sighs and he's right back to Dick Grayson again, trying to carry the weight of the world and not quite managing. "Jason, I-- you deserved to know."

He can hear what Dick's not quite saying underneath: you were Robin, once.

You were still his son.

The silence echoes.

"Alfred?" Jason asks, eventually, when the seethe in his blood isn't quite so strong.

"He's... holding up," Dick says carefully. "Better than I was, at first, but..." He rolls his wrist outward, a restless motion. "You know how he is."

"Yeah."

The Gotham quiet -- which isn't actually quiet in any sense of the word, just a constant background hum of trains and traffic and police sirens and the odd intermittent scream -- filters back in. It sounds different than it used to, though maybe that's just the brain damage. He misses the bells, every hour on the hour -- he can hear Alfred's voice humming Big Ben's prayer along with the chimes of the Manor clocks. All through this hour Lord be my guide, that by Thy power no foot shall slide. A good prayer for Robins, he'd called it, if you're going to be running about on rooftops in the middle of the night, and Jason had never quite believed the way Catherine once had but he'd still sung along at midnights, fleet-footed and sure on the spires and skyscrapers.

"I'm sorry," he says, at last.

Dick doesn't look at him. "Me too."

---

The dawn finds him still awake, leaning over the chipped counter of his latest base with a mug between his hands -- Earl Grey with rosemary and rose, an indulgence, a memory -- the warm golden haven of the Manor kitchen with all the windows black-backed mirrors in the predawn darkness, Jason bleary-eyed and up entirely too early and Alfred as crisply put together as ever, pouring water over tea leaves and letting the steam curl sweet and sharp up into the air -- it had been special, somehow, though now he can't remember why. The smell of the tea Dick paid for is the same, even all these gaping years later -- black tea and rose and bergamot, sweet and sharp -- and he closes his eyes tight, trying to shut out the salt in them still.

[fluororichterite]

you’re just jealous that my gallbladder is creating beautiful and exquisite stones like the pearls of an illustrious oyster

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook (2) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post match vibes

warning: mentions of stitches, needle, and blood

note: 2/5 parts for this mini series! thanks for the love w pt1! mwah

//

jungkook sits on the edge of the ever-so-familiar hospital bed.

his legs are spread, hands draped over his knees, and he fights the urge to shut his eyes as the overhead light casts sharp shadows over the planes of his face.

he can feel it—his blood dripping down the sides of his face. the fresh cut on his forehead stark against his skin and the throbbing almost makes him feel like shit. jungkook takes a deep breath and stays still as you prep the needle. though the sterile scent of disinfectant settles between you, jungkook is doing his absolute best to memorize the way you smell.

you smell so freaking good.

"i thought you said you were good at boxing."

your voice is light, but the weight of it presses against his ribs. he grins, dimples threatening to form despite the sting above his brow.

"i am."

"so i'm stitching you up because?"

his gaze flickers to you, dark and intent. "i've been lacking the motivation."

"to win?"

"to focus,” he confesses. “how long has it been, doc? 3 months? shit. haven’t been myself since then. every day i hoped someone would beat the shit out of me so i could have an excuse to see you.”

"so you got yourself beaten up just to see me? is that supposed to impress me?" you ask him unamused.

he shakes his head. "no, but my dedication to seeing you again is."

"do you ever take no for an answer?"

"did you even really say no to me, though?"

the air stills.

then, you exhale through your nose. pretending to be unimpressed at him before pressing the needle to his skin. as you wait for his reaction, you run through different comebacks.

but you're out of time. in fact, you barely had any.

jungkook doesn’t flinch.

it truly does impress you because this shot is a bitch. yet, you notice how his fingers curl into a fist against the sheets.

"it's okay if it hurts," you murmur. "it's not supposed to be painless."

his jaw flexes. 

"i can handle hits. stitches? easy."

"i never said you couldn't handle it. i said it's okay if it hurts."

jungkook isn’t sure what it is… but silence drapes over the room. like a heavy mist or early moving fog.

it’s thick and weighted. 

jungkook swallows. his throat feels dry. his mind races. 

all his life, pain has been an afterthought—background noise to the only thing that’s ever mattered; winning. to jungkook, if he isn’t bruised, battered, and bleeding by the end of a fight, he hasn’t fought hard enough. pain isn’t something to be acknowledged and dwelled on. it’s a consequence. a transaction. 

but now, here you are… speaking about it so simply and coated in acceptance and warmth. then, there’s also your motherfucking gaze. 

so soft. 

so kind. 

so present. 

all of these things mixed together make his stomach twist. he doesn’t know how to act. he does’t know what to say. he doesn’t know what to feel.

he wonders if this is what pain really feels like—not the kind he’s trained to endure, but the kind that sneaks up on you, curling around your ribs when you least expect it. he wonders if it’s because he’s spent so long numbing himself to it… or if it’s because, for the first time, he’s realized something worse than losing a fight…

losing the chance to keep seeing you.

because holy fuck. 

where have you been his entire life? 

seriously.

jungkook clears his throat, stretching out his fingers, forcing the tension from his knuckles. "so, doc," he starts, a smirk playing at his lips, "do you date doctors?"

you blink. "pardon me?"

"you don’t date patients, right? well, everyone is a patient at some point, but not everyone is a doctor. so, do you only date doctors?"

you almost laugh. 

almost.

"you just got seven stitches on your forehead and you're concerned about whether or not i date doctors?"

jungkook shrugs before dropping the most nonchalant information about himself; "i have a degree in nutrition, you know. used to specialize in sports nutrition. just wanted to give boxing a shot—"

"wow. i didn't know that. that’s really cool." you say, genuinely intrigued, "what school did you go to—"

"i won't quit boxing... at least, not yet... but if i ever do, just know that i can be a doctor too… if that’s who you date and shit."

“and shit?”

“and shit.”

this time, you do laugh. 

it’s so pretty. 

the sound of it and the sight of it—mesmerizing. 

it catches jungkook off guard. his eyes flickering over your face, lingering a second too long. he looks at you… he really looks at you and it’s like he just won the best thing in the world. like he’s a kid who won BINGO in his class for the first time and got to choose the scented eraser as his prize. 

he watches you and thinks; to have you is to win. 

you’re the only victory he wants. 

as he shifts forward to hop off the bed, your hands move on instinct, catching him before he can fully rise. your fingers press lightly against the firm muscle of his forearm, his skin warm beneath your touch. he stills at the contact, his gaze flicking down to where your hands steady him, then back up to your face.

for a beat, neither of you move.

the air shifts—thickens—his breath slowing as he watches you, unreadable. your pulse kicks up, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. but then jungkook smirks, lazy and knowing, the tension splintering just as quickly as it built.

"careful, doc," he murmurs, voice lower now, laced with something teasing, something else. "if you keep holding onto me like that, i might start thinking you care."

"you shouldn’t be jumping off like that so fast—"

"okay. whatever you say. hey, look at me," he says, voice quieter now, more deliberate. your fingers still against his arm. "i'm not bad looking, right? i have an education. i follow my passion, and it's going well—"

"again," you interject, "i just gave you seven stitches."

"again," he repeats, "i just needed a reason to see you."

"you requested me and refused to be treated by namjoon," you point out.

"exactly," jungkook smirks.

you bite your bottom lip, catching yourself before you react. suddenly, you’re aware of how close you are—his warmth pressing into your space, the scent of sweat and antiseptic clinging to him. his eyes are locked on yours, waiting, watching.

"___—"

"doctor ___," you correct, stepping back, straightening your coat, severing whatever was hanging between you.

"doctor ___..." he tests the words on his tongue, then nods. "i’d really appreciate it if you could reconsider the whole... only dating a doctor thing. honestly? i don’t mind school. i just don’t want to go back and be old by the time i get to your level… but if that’s really the only way you’ll go out with me—"

rolling your eyes, you brush off your coat, turning toward the door—just like last time. pushing it open, you pause before you step through. taking one final glance at him, you titl your head ever so slightly. 

jungkook mirrors you. 

"no, mr. jeon," you say, voice laced with amusement. "i do not just date doctors. in fact, i avoid dating them."

then, the door swings shut behind you.

jungkook exhales, pressing his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head as he lets out a breathless chuckle.

hope. 

that’s what this feels like.

he’s had victories before, ones that have left him bruised and battered, ones that have left him undefeated. but this? this is something else entirely. something he’s willing to lose for. something he knows, in the deepest part of his chest, he can’t afford to.

not this time.

not when it’s you.

[zaahvi]

GLORY TO THE RISEN GODS

[lucabyte]

Olive Branch

Wrong Move

[spread-the-influence]

AITA for giving a [GIFT] to my (F30) adult friends?

I've been living in (well, trapped in, to be exact,) a circus for the past 7 years of my life. For reasons I don't want to delve into, it ruined my mental health to an irreparable degree. So when I was given a [GIFT] that cured me of all my pain, I wanted to give it to everyone else.

However, my friends weren't enthused about it. Particularly Z (NB22), who would always complain about how I 'trapped them in a box', even though they told me they wanted to feel whole when it comes to their body. And P (F25) keeps telling me that it's 'actually a virus' and that it's 'seriously hurting everyone' which is ridiculous. If it was a virus, I would know it's a virus by now.

But I'm starting to think that I might be in the wrong here. The [GIFT] is supposed to make them happy, so if it's doing the opposite, then there must be something wrong. AITA?

EDIT: I put Z in a box because I thought it would help them. Now that I read the replies, I realized it probably wasn't a good idea, but every time I tried to undo my mistake they would rip my stitches off. So they're residing in Boxland until further notice. Any suggestions to calm down an angsty triangle would be appreciated.

EDIT: Okay, I may or may not have left out that I gave the [GIFT] by mutilating them. But in my defense, none of them died, so does it matter that one of them can't use her legs anymore?

( if you think it'll be funny to respond for some reason , please do it in the replies or reblogs , not the ask box ! )

[ceramicbeetle]

Jay's hypocrisy is a little bit endearing to me ngl; he'll go on twitter to bitch about how much totheark stalking/filming him is causing life-ruining paranoia & then turn around and post video footage of himself stalking Alex for months and reading Tim's medical records out loud to an audience with seemingly no conscious thought connecting the two actions as The Same Thing