#when the title bodies begins to have more than one meaning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gretavanmoon · 4 hours ago

Text

VERGE OF OBSCENE

Jake x female reader, Danny x female reader

14k words

+ Reader is faced with making a decision that she didn't anticipate when she left the bar, one night. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, she refuses to end her night on a bad note.

+ Hello friends! Tomorrow is my birthday, so I decided to gift you all with a little sum sum Danny and Jake. This story spawned from an idea @moonlightisdancing so graciously shared with me, so hopefully I did it justice ;) Enjoyyyyy

Thankies to @gretavangroupie for the read thruuu

Warnings: 18+! Angst: Cursing, Drinking, Bar Scene, Erratic/Unsafe Driving, Lying, Slight Jealousy, Unclean Thoughts

Y/N being a little heaux / Asshole Danny (I'm sorry don't k!ll me)

Smut: Kissing, Heavy Flirting, Dirty Talk, Touching, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (M! and F! Receiving)

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, huh?” Danny says into your ear, his breath hot and spiced with the scent of dark rum as it melts you into a puddle of nothing on the floor. His hands are placed lightly on your hips, holding you up steady as your group of friends begins making its way toward the exit of the crowded club.

“Mhmm,” you nod, your hair falling in front of your face as you fight the urge to arch your back into him. Your eyes have begun to blur on their own, the alcohol and the atmosphere seeping into your system in the most delicious way. Your body begs you to let him know that the feeling is mutual, but before you can, he pulls away, sliding his phone out of his pocket as he sips down the very last of his icy drink.

“I’ll order an uber,” he says, crunching on a piece of ice as his eyes drift from your face all the way down to the black strapped heels you’d chosen tonight.

“Bitch, you’re drunk,” your best friend Jasmine giggles in your ear, taking the place of Danny as she grabs your hand in hers, still halfway dancing as she pulls you toward the doors.

“I’m not, Jas,” you laugh, wishing that you hadn’t worn these high heels. “I mean I am, I’m just… I think I’m more exhausted than anything. I haven’t danced that much in years.”

Her hand is reassuring in yours as she guides the two of you, her own unsteadiness on her feet making you laugh.

“Yeah, exhausted from eye-fucking Jake all night,” she squeals.

“Jasmine!” you yell, your eyes wide as your stomach drops, hoping that none of the other members in your group heard her. You stop the two of you and yank her hand from yours, gritting your teeth as you scold her. “I was not eye-fucking Jake. And you know that.”

“Sure babe, keep telling yourself that,” she raises her eyebrows. “My vision might be blurry, but I’m not blind.”

It’s pretty widely known within your circle that you and Danny have something going on, that something being more of a situationship with no actual boundaries or titles or anything. The two of you usually ended up making out at the end of the night, a little touching and whatnot, but it has never gone further than that. Neither of you are in the market for anything serious, so you’ve taken to letting him be your go-to on those lonely late nights, sending him risqué photos of you in the mirror after a few glasses of wine.

But Jake… Jake has been your good friend since college. The guy that was always there to accompany you to social events, pick you up from parties, and cram last minute for exams with you. He’d always been that guy you could call on for anything and everything, the one you felt completely comfortable with in any situation.

“Just admit it, dummy,” Jasmine belts as you near the crowded exit doors, her arm in yours.

“There’s nothing to admit,” you whisper. “I mean…look at him, he looks completely fuckable tonight, so I took a few glances. Sue me.” You roll your eyes at her as you watch her gaze covertly float back to Jake, standing amongst the rest of your group.

“God, you’re right. He’s been looking exceptionally delicious lately, hasn’t he?” she purrs.

“Mmmhm…” you agree, making sure not to look at him.

It’s true, though Jake has always been good looking, lately there has been something special about him, something magnified in his persona, something devious in his aura. He’s changed up his attire a little, now donning sleek suit jackets and silver jewelry on his wrists and neck, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t prefer the way he’s been slicking his hair back into a tight knot at his neck. Over the past few months he’s become a lot more sophisticated and sure of himself, a complete 180 from the silly guy you never thought twice about.

Lately he has seemed so much more confident in himself, and it literally drips from him. He’s sexy in his own way, that’s for damn sure, but these past few months you’ve caught yourself looking at him for longer than a few seconds, staring at his hands as he did literally anything, and finding yourself swept up in the way his lips danced across his teeth. And if it weren’t for Danny occupying most of your thoughts lately, you may actually picture Jake in those dirty daydreams, instead of him.

As conversation takes a pause you do sneak a glance at Jake, his elbow leaned against the bar with the other tucked away in his pocket. He’s eyeing you hard, and he doesn’t make any attempt to look away when you catch him. Fuck, he looks so goddamned good tonight. But why isn’t he looking away?

You feel your stomach muscles tense just from the way his hooded eyes are staring you down, confident and obvious as he chews on the tiny black straw that once stirred his whiskey rocks. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s fine… he’s so fine. Jake. Friend Jake. Friend Jake?

“What I wouldn’t give to experience a good old fashioned romp with him, though,” Jasmine says, breaking the stare-down you and Jake had caught yourselves in.

“Huh?” you say. “Danny?”

“Yes bitch. His long arms, his big hands… mmh. You lucky, lucky dog, being his sneaky link,” Jasmine goes on.

“Jas, we haven’t even slept together, yet,” you admit quietly.

She looks at you in disbelief. “Are you serious?! Why?”

You shrug. “Just.. hasn’t happened yet, I guess.”

“It’s going to though, right?” she asks, and you know she just wants to live vicariously.

You look back at her, knowing that yes, it most likely will, but you’re also not here for rushing it with him. Why? You’re not sure…

“Uber will be here in ten,” Danny announces as he comes up behind you, his hand resting on your lower back as he takes another bite of the melted ice still floating in the tequila in his glass. He leans down, his voice icy and heavy in your ear. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” he slurs. “Just for a minute. Wanna see what you’ve got on under your shirt…”

You smile and bring your tongue to your top lip, knowing that sexually, things have been brewing between the two of you for some time now. Though he’s never outwardly asked you if you wanted to hook up for real, you know that given the way things are going, it’s bound to happen at some point.

“The bathroom?” you reiterate, turning your attention to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. God, he smells good. You crane up to whisper in his ear. “Why don’t you just get out of the Uber at my place?”

Danny hisses through his teeth at your proposition, rolling his head back on his neck. Finally he looks back down at you, biting his lip. “You really want me to?”

You consider it for a second, knowing that he is pretty damn intoxicated, and if anything, you might get a shower and some other extracurriculars out of him before he inevitably passes out long-ways on your bed. “Yeah, why not? Or your place, whatever.” You figured you’d give him options.

His hands are traveling covertly across your ass as he tries not to make a big scene of the PDA, and for a split second, you hope that Jake can see it. “We can go to my place, my roommate is out of town…?” he perks his eyebrows.

“Even better,” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“Perfect…” he growls, looking over you more intensely than he ever really has.

“Hey, come with me, I gotta pee,” Jasmine says, pulling on your arm.

“Hurry up, the Uber is almost here,” Danny says as the two of you walk toward the bathrooms, Danny’s hand holding onto yours until the very last second.

The bathroom is packed and loud with people touching up their makeup and waiting in line for a free stall. “I’ll hurry,” Jasmine says, hopping into an open one.

You don’t have to go, so you sulk away in a corner, deciding to check your phone for the first time in an hour or so. Your eyes adjust to the bright screen and you flip through a few instagram notifications and emails, not really seeing anything too important. Until– a text.

A text from… Jake?

Your thumb hovers over the notification for a few seconds before you slide it open, expecting to see a funny meme or dumb article he’s shared, like always. But instead what you see sends a rush of nerves through your body strong enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

Jake

1:12am: Stay with me tonight.

You nearly drop your phone as you look away from it, your eyes suddenly fixated on the floor. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, and a cold sweat breaks out across your palms. What? This is a joke, he’s joking.

That’s why he was watching you so intently, he wanted you to look at your phone…

“Hey, you okay? You gonna throw up?” you hear and feel Jasmine enter your bubble, all the sound suddenly returning to your ears. “Your face is turning green… come on… let’s get to the toilet–”

“No, no I’m fine, I…” You’re speechless as you turn your phone screen around to her, showing her the text. Her eyes read the words, and then grow so big that you think they might pop right from her skull.

“JAKE? Jake, our Jake? Texted you this??” she yells, grabbing the phone from your hand as she does a quick few paces.

“Yeah.. what…?” You don’t even know what to say, or how to react. “He has to be joking, right?”

“Text him back! Answer him! Oh my god,” she rambles, handing you your phone back.

“What do I say?!”

“I dunno, just– anything!” she squeals, quickly rinsing her hands off in the sink.

You type up a few different responses before landing on one, nice and simple.

You

1:14am: Did you mean to text me? Lol

A bubble pops up almost immediately, and you feel like you could quite literally explode.

Jake

1:14am: I most definitely did. Stay with me.

“Fuck, Jasmine, oh my god, I am not cut out for this…” you start to panic, shaking your hands.

“Yes you are, bitch! Get your shit together, ok? He saw you looking at him, he knows you want him, jump. On. That. Shit,” she grabs your shoulders and shakes them.

“Hello, Danny? You expect me to just forget about him?!” you argue.

She clicks her tongue. “Is it really going anywhere with him, though? Jake just asked you to come home with him, he couldn’t be more forward than that. And you said you and Danny are just having fun, right? Messing around?”

“He just asked me to come stay with him, too. Tonight,” you admit, leaning your back against the wall in defeat. “There is no way this is happening, I need another drink.”

“No, you need to figure out who the fuck you want,” she says, pulling you from the bathroom into the sitting area outside of it. “Danny is fine as fuck, you guys have been having fun together, right? Yeah yeah whatever… and Jake. Our goofball friend suddenly turned… Christian Grey level sexy? And he wants you?! You need to decide, and quick,” she says, turning to look toward the exit again.

“You’re just saying that because you want Daniel all to yourself,” you joke, trying to take the heat off the situation.

“No no no no, that’s not… ok well that’s not untrue,” Jasmine says, crossing her arms. “If the opportunity presented itself, I would not turn him down,” she laughs, sticking her tongue out.

“Hey, Uber is here!” you hear Danny yell from across the bar, motioning with his arm to come on.

You feel a nervousness you’ve never felt creeping into your bones. “Maybe I should just get another ride and forget the whole thing, say I’m not feeling well and go home,” you suggest.

“That’s up to you, babe. You’re your own woman. I’ll go with you, if you want…” Jasmine says, laying her hand on your shoulder.

You glance back over to the group and see Danny standing holding the door open, and Jake a few feet behind him, watching you all the same. What in the actual midday soap opera is happening right now…

Your feet carry you toward the door on their own when you see Danny’s rushing expression and Jake’s intense one… both of these men want the exact same thing tonight. Great.

You’re on autopilot as you watch everyone begin drunkenly piling into the backseat, stumbling and laughing. First Danny’s two friends, then Jasmine, then Danny, then Jake. You’re left standing outside when you realize there isn’t enough room. Yes…

“Oh, shit. I’ll just call another ride, it’s no big deal–”

“No come on, we’ll make room,” Jake mutters as he looks at you with a smirk.

“No, seriously, it’s fine. I’ll grab the next one,” you say, but you’re stopped short when you see Jake’s hand being held out for you. He wiggles his fingers to tell you to come on, and his slow-blink tells you he means it.

“Babe, c’mon,” Danny says, leaning over Jake.

You swallow hard, taking a quick breath before grabbing onto Jake’s hand, and stepping up into the packed vehicle. As soon as you close the door behind you, the car takes off, making you lose your balance and fall straight into Jake’s lap.

Oh shit fuck.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you panic, trying to stand back up and adjust into another seat. Jake’s hands are on your waist as you stumble around the extremely crowded car, and you hear him mumble a soft and sweet “s’okay”.

Even in the dark, you can see that there is most definitely not enough room to take a seat of your own. The driver is driving erratically, taking fast and sharp turns and having absolutely no regard for his passengers, and it’s taking everything in you to hold on to the back of his headrest and the handle above you to keep from falling into the floor.

You start to panic as the man speeds down the streets and takes a particularly sharp turn, forcing you against your will right into Jake’s lap again. Fuuuuuuck. There’s nothing you can do about it.

You finally give up and let your body weight fall onto him, his hands instinctively holding you steady so you don’t slide sideways again. Everyone is loud and laughing drunkenly, in their own worlds and conversations as the car travels down the road.

“You’re alright, you can sit all the way down,” Jake laughs, patting his knee. For some reason, Jake suddenly feels like a stranger. A person you have never met before, not one of your very good friends. You feel anxious in his presence, and your mouth goes dry when you hear him mutter again, “It’s just me…”

Danny is caught up in his own thing, hardly paying either of you any mind at all as he’s belting the words to whatever old Nelly song is blasting through the car speakers. You take a deep breath, and relax all the way down onto Jake’s waiting lap.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” he says lowly, still smiling. You feel yourself go straight as a board, nervous to make a move at all as you realize the position you’re in. His hands are still respectfully balanced on your waist, and your hands are still gripping hard on the handles.

The drive is nearly ten minutes, and even with the way the man is navigating, the traffic still holds up progress, making the drive even longer. You begin to sweat thinking about how you’re going to survive this, what you’re going to do when the time comes to get out. You glance back over at Jasmine who is making the most outrageous face at you, clenching her teeth and smiling from ear to ear.

“You alright? You seem tense,” Jake brings his mouth close to your ear so that you can hear him over the blasting music.

Tense. Tense? Is he joking?! You’re worse than tense, you’re about to jump out of your fucking skin, actually!

“Yeah, I’m–” Another quick whip of the vehicle and a harsh stop makes you lurch forward and fly back again, your shoulder pressing into Jake’s chest. The smell of his cologne takes your breath even more intensely than the whiplash does, and his hand reaches up quickly to catch you from moving any further. “Fuck, dude! Drive often?!” you say, making everyone in the car laugh, but the driver pays you no mind.

“He’s not getting a tip, is he?” Jake laughs sarcastically. You feel the tips of his fingers tap your thigh, signalling you to sit up a little.

“Stand up a sec,” he orders and you do, and he lurches his groin forward, pressing himself into you. You have no idea what he’s doing as you feel his upper thighs press into your ass, and you know that your eyes have grown ten times their size. His left hand is still gripping your waist, almost holding onto you for leverage. Fuck, what is this… What is he doing? And why is it so hot?

Just as quickly as it happened it ended, and you catch sight of his right hand exiting his side. “Sorry, had to get in my pocket,” he says. “Here, one for you, one for me.” He plops back down into his seat, and you have to admit, the loss of the feeling of him damn near pressing his dick into you makes you shudder a bit. It felt…

He holds his hand out and presents you with two airplane bottles of some type of clear liquor. Once you see what he needed to get in his pocket for, you look back at him, his facial expression painted a mix of red and green as you pass underneath the crowded streets and stop lights. He raises his eyebrows, and urges you to take one.

“Here,” he says, “thought it could help with your tenseness.”

You swallow as your eyes fall to his hand, and you realize that he isn’t wrong. Yeah, you definitely need another drink for what has turned into a shitshow of a night. “Thanks,” you offer, taking one of the bottles from his hand.

You quickly open the lid and smell the contents, recognizing it right off the bat as tequila. Perfect. Jake does the same, but before he presses it to his lips, he presses the edge of his bottle to yours.

“Cheers, Y/N. To a night of revelry.” His eyes are boring into yours as his tongue licks across his lips, and a tiny smirk comes across his face.

“To revelry…” you repeat, and Jake is wrapping his arm with yours, tilting his bottle back to drain its contents. You prepare yourself for the sting of the liquor and take the shot, needing it now more than ever to numb your racing and confused thoughts.

Your arms uncross and you replace the lids on the bottles after you’ve both swallowed it all down, and you’re thankful that Jake had paid special attention to what you needed in the moment, while Danny still sits completely unknowing directly beside you.

Jake rips the empty bottle from your hand and sticks the two of them in the front pocket of his jacket, his hands going right back to supporting you still in your awkward position on his lap. You hate to admit it, but the alcohol has almost instantly calmed you a little, while it simultaneously is making you feel just a touch more daring. Jake looks like a fucking model tonight, and you’re relaxing comfortably on his lap. After he asked you to come home with him. What more could you even ask for?

In an act of courage, you decide to wrap your arm around his neck, balancing your elbow on the back of his seat. It brings you significantly closer into his realm, and you hear him take in a sharp breath at your new proximity. “Sorry, couldn’t sit like that any longer,” you say, your chin nearly resting on his shoulder.

“No worries, love,” he replies, readjusting his hand on your waist to fall a little lower than it was. Your heart is beating from your chest, and you swear you can feel the blood pumping through your veins. Why? It’s just Jake… just your friend. You’ve hugged him a million times before. Why does it suddenly feel so… different?

And all of a sudden, the car jerks you sideways again, redirecting your ass to sit directly on top of… him. Perfectly. Fuck. If there weren’t clothes to block the connection, the two of you would find yourselves in the most perfect position for some insane obscenity, right now. And you feel a surge of desire flood you, while simultaneously feeling Jake jerk in his pants below you. God damn, he feels fucking…

He takes a deep breath and exhales it through his mouth, his air blowing across your hair and lips a little bit as he reacts to the new position. He’s just as flustered as you are. For a split second, his hand wrapped around your waist tightens, squeezing at your side before he lets it drift down just a little to your thigh. Fuckkkkk. Your eyes nearly roll back as you feel his dick jerk between your legs again, in the most perfect position. You’re thankful for the darkness of the lower half of the car, concealing everything that has happened in the past few seconds in shrouded shadow.

Danny still sits oblivious, deep in pointless conversation with his friend beside him. He could give a damn less, and you’re almost positive he doesn’t even remember that the two of you have made plans, tonight.

Meanwhile, Jake’s breath is picking up as you see the slight rise and fall of his chest behind his partially unbuttoned shirt, also a new staple in his changing wardrobe that had you going fucking nuts the first time you saw him in it. Your face is still close to him as you continue leaning sideways on his seat, and you realize just how close your lips are to his ear. He’s trying his best to seem nonchalant, but still is being very intentional with the movements of his hand, still concealed in the darkness.

It slowly travels up your leg to your upper thigh, gentle but forceful all at the same time. Your head starts to spin, he’s touching you. He’s touching you like that. You blow out a huff of air into his ear, making his jaw clench. His hand squeezes at your muscle, his fingers dangerously close to being up underneath the hem of your tight dress.

He turns his head to face you, almost within inches. “That dress looks really good on you tonight,” he mutters, his eyes flicking from the windshield back to you. You can feel the heat from his breath on your lips, complimenting you in the sweetest most flirtatious tone.

“You think so?” you ask, your breath hitching as you feel him hardening below you.

“Mmmhm,” he growls, your faces within centimeters, now. “It really accentuates your body. Shows you off…” His eyes drift to your tits for just a second too long, as his tongue juts out and licks his lips. “But I think my favorite part is this… right here…” His hand that is squeezing between your legs moves to curl a finger up underneath the tight hem that is stretched across your thighs, way too high now that you haven’t yet been in a position to pull it back down. His finger runs along the seam around the side of your leg to the back, and his hand wastes no time in completely gripping your ass.

…You might fall the fuck apart.

You squeak out a sound that you can’t control as his hand squeezes and kneads at your partially-covered ass cheek, and his motions make your body react completely on its own. You sit down harder on his dick, grinding your hips onto him for just enough time to get a little friction where you need it. You should be embarrassed, but you’re not. Thanks, tequila.

“Your– your favorite part, huh?” you manage, your lips drifting across the baby hairs sticking free from his ponytail. He still stares directly out the windshield, like nothing is happening at all.

“That’s right,” he says, his fingers beginning to get a little more adventurous as you feel them nearing your heat, from behind. He’s squeezing the muscle even more tightly now that you haven’t stopped him. You’re completely flushed… dizzy and wanting as he’s sitting cool as ever below you. It sort of pisses you off, how you know for a fact that your body language is anything but relaxed, while his hand is buried between your legs. He displays hardly any outward look, at all. The perfect facade.

Just to get a rise out of him, you sit down on him with a little more force, swirling your hips as you grind in your search for friction. The action takes him by surprise as he grunts out a breath that sounds a bit desperate, exactly what you wanted from him.

He tries to cover it up with a cough.

“Jake man, you alright?” Danny turns from his other conversation to ask. Danny’s eyes flick to the two of you in this position and you quickly clean it up, leaning up a little and acting as though Jake’s fingers aren’t dancing around your opening.

“Yeah man, all good,” Jake replies through a strained breath.

"Take a breath, dude," Danny says as he smacks Jake's knee.

The way everyone is crammed in the seats has Danny’s back to you, anyway, so he has to strain to turn around backward and look for you. You’re not sure if it’s a gift from the heavens that he can’t see you very well, or an opportunity for the ages that Jake saw, and took full advantage of. Just then, Danny’s hand reaches back behind him, gripping onto your knee that’s closest to him. His hand starts to travel a little, all the while Jake’s fingers still exactly where he left them.

Oh fucking hell… no.

Danny’s hand moves again, down the length of your shin and back up again, rough and hot as he feels you up in the darkness. He never turns his head around, but his hand continues to sneak higher and higher, so much to the point that his fingers are dusting the inside of your opposite thigh. It’s then that you’re positive he’s completely unaware of what you and Jake are doing just inches away from his hand.

Danny firmly grips the muscle of your leg, switching between squeezing onto it and lightly trailing his fingertips over your already goosebump-covered skin. You wish you could see Jasmine, you wish you could telepathically tell her what is happening, that both of their hands are secretly on you, fighting for all of your attention. And neither of them have any idea the other is there, and neither have any intention of stopping.

You try to breathe and calm yourself, trying to ignore the fact that both men have their hands on you in their own stealthy and secret ways. It's jarring, but it also mind-fucks you a little, your thoughts streaming with filthy and unadulterated thoughts of... No. Don't even go there, Y/N. Absolutely not...

“I meant what I said tonight, in the text,” Jake’s graveled voice is suddenly brushing against your ear. His fingers are still slowly working you into an oblivion, down a long road you’re not sure you’ll ever return from. You feel him press a little harder, inching closer and closer to your thong- the only barrier between his hands and you. You sit down on him even harder, the mixture of his fingers teasing you so deliciously and Danny’s hand massaging you… it’s a cocktail that you can’t deny, a mixture of deathly decisions and filthy visuals that you can’t help but become victim to. And you’re fucking loving it.

“Did you?” you manage, your mouth still close to his ear. You're nearly intoxicated by the smell of his cologne.

“I did… and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the way your body is reacting right now, you just might tell me you will,” he goes on, making your head spin again. “Am I right?”

Your eyes flutter closed as you swallow again, arguing with what’s right and wrong as Danny’s hand reminds you that technically, he had you first. You told him you’d stay with him, tonight is supposed to be the night…

Jake’s fingers move a little closer, pulling your thong to the side as he slowly creeps even deeper, his movements so calculated and drawn out that you have to bite down on your own tongue to keep from crying out. Both of their hands are driving you to insanity, and you can’t even say a damned word without revealing what the other one is doing.

You’re in a delicious purgatory, and you’d sit in this car for all of eternity if it meant you could keep feeling like this.

The way that you're currently the keeper of both of their secrets, letting them do what they want to you, in complete confidence. Every few seconds you're reminded that the other one is there, when one of their hands would steal all of your attention away from the other. Your mind is being pulled in two directions, your consciousness traveling from left to right as they both unknowingly battle for your attention.

Just then Jake’s fingers find your clit, pressing harshly into it with tiny circles as you realize now that you’re fighting for your life. Your forehead leans onto his temple, all the breath escaping your lungs as he starts to build you up. “Oh my god,” you whisper in his ear through grit teeth. Your voice is desperate and pitiful as you fight swirling your hips on his hand, pleading with yourself to ignore the way he feels, and the way Danny’s hand is relentlessly kneading into your other leg.

“That feel good, baby?” Jake whispers below the roar of the music still filling the car. “That what you wanted me to do?”

You nod quickly, knowing that your decisions tonight will be ones that you try and forget about tomorrow, but the situation is too damn delicious to ignore, right now. “Yeah,” you whisper, nipping your teeth onto his ear. You feel his hips buck up, his dick hard as a rock beneath you.

“Tell me about it, tell me how it feels…” he whispers to you again, his fingers still working you to a point of no return.

Danny’s hand is still stretched as far as it can in the position he’s in, and you can tell that the way he is moving, his mind is coming back to him, and he’s preparing you for what is going to happen when the two of you get out of the car.

“Feels so fucking good…” you murmur, little whines falling from your lips as he lets his thumb tease at your entrance. “Don’t want you to stop, but…”

“But what, baby?”

You swallow, opening your eyes a bit as his thumb still teases. “I–You know I’m… going home with Danny…” The words feel like poison in your mouth, and you hate to admit it, even though it’s the complete truth.

But Jake knows your situation with Danny. He’s not unaware of any of it, at all.

“Hm,” Jake grumbles. “Is that still a thing?”

“Kind of, yeah… I mean…” you breathe, and Jake hasn’t slowed down his movements, at all. Each pointed touch of his finger on your clit is driving you to madness, and you’re surprised at your ability to even keep a little bit of a level head in your conversation.

“Interesting. Every time I looked at you tonight, your eyes were already on me, watching me like a hawk. I could have sworn those were fuck-me eyes, Y/N…”

He presses his thumb inside you a little, making you gasp a loud breath. The way your name sounded coming from his perfectly pouted lips… It sounds so different than it normally does. So much more strained, so desperate. He pulls his thumb back out, concentrating again on your clit.

“Who even are you, Jake? You’re like an entirely different person, all the sudden,” you admit through quiet choked breaths. You don’t know where that question came from, though you’ve been so curious about it for the past few weeks.

You catch his eyes darting around as he searches for an answer. He shrugs his shoulders. “Just have come into my own lately, grew up a bit. I dunno… why, is it a bad thing?”

“No! No, it’s… you’re the same you, just…”

“Now I have the confidence to do what I’ve always wanted to do to you, in the back of a car, secretly…” he mutters, clicking his tongue a little as he adds a little pressure to your clit. You can tell you’re absolutely soaking his hand, but you feel no shame in it. You hope to god Danny can’t feel your legs shaking and vibrating with pleasure… either that, or you hope that he thinks he’s the one causing it.

“You have? Why didn’t you ever…” you ask him, wondering why he’d never made an advance before. Or, had you been just too blind to see it?

Jake takes a breath. “I dunno, just never thought you’d be into me like that.”

“First stop!” the driver calls out, putting the car in a harsh park. You lurch forward and back again, your mind coming back to you a little bit.

Jake and Danny both quickly remove their hands from you as the cab lights in the car come on, and Danny’s two friends jump out. The loss of their touch is devastating, and you wonder what in the actual fuck you’re going to do when you eventually make it to Danny’s place. You take a second to glance back at Jasmine in the backseat, and immediately she can tell that something is going on.

You have only a second to communicate wordlessly to her before the doors are closing, and the car is taking off again. Now, the freed up space allows for you to have your own seat.

“Here babe, you can scoot over here, now,” Danny says, patting the seat between him and Jake. “Your legs fall asleep, Jake? Damn, we were really smashed in here.”

“You could say that…” Jake grumbles, taking one last opportunity to squeeze your ass as you climb off of him, the disconnect instantly making you fill with a frustrated rage.

You cross your arms as you find yourself sat between them now, pissed off and left feeling more edged than anything. Danny’s arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you toward him. “Can’t wait to get that dress off you… I’m over here going fucking crazy…” he says into your ear.

You can’t help the expression that falls across your face. Fuck… if he only knew the situation you’re currently in… he’s going crazy?! He hardly paid you any mind at all for the past ten minutes you’ve been in here… his hand was the only contact he made, and you know his touching you was solely out of drunken opportunity.

Jake, on the other hand… quite literally…

You don’t give him a straight answer as the car pulls down Danny’s street, and your mind begins to race with crazed thoughts. Your stomach churns with nerves, and you almost wish you hadn’t taken that last shot of tequila. You feel like you’re being pulled two ways- wanting to go home with Danny after dancing around the act for weeks now, and leaving yourself to stay with Jake to finish what the two of you have started.

You know it’s wrong to even consider Jake, but something about him lately, and tonight, has made him like a forbidden fruit that you can’t help but crave. And after learning that apparently he’s wanted you all along…

The car begins to slow down in front of Danny’s building, and the nerves are so bad you feel like you could throw up. Danny slings the door open and steps out, turning to take your hand.

The invisible string… one end of you tied to Danny and the agreement you’d already made, and one end tied to the man beside you, his aura magnetizing you to stay with him… don’t get out of the car…

Your hand moves on its own, clasping itself around Danny’s as your body pulls itself from the vehicle, slow and blurry as your foot hits the concrete. Danny offers you a sweet, buzzed smile as he helps you to get your footing on the sidewalk. “You ready, gorgeous?” he asks, and your head nods, really unknowing if you are ready, or not.

Danny closes the door behind you and you turn to look at Jake, his jaw clenched tightly with his hand in front of it, his eyes glaring and low as the car pulls off to the next stop.

Well, fuck.

Danny pulls you through the front doors of his building and up the stairs to his apartment door. Your mind is still racing and your legs are still like jello from the performance that Jake had given you just minutes ago. You can tell that Danny is still feeling his liquor, stumbling just a little as he meanders through his dark apartment with you in tow. You had only been here once before, so you know your way around just a little bit. It’s a studio apartment, so you plop down on his bed, pulling your arms into yourself as he turns the kitchen light on.

“Gonna grab a water, you wann’one?” he stammers, his eyes hardly focused.

“Yeah, please,” you say, pulling your phone from your purse to see a string of notifications from Jasmine.

Jas

1:31am: BITCH WHAT THE FCUK WERE YOU TWO DOOIGN UP THERE

1:31am: i saw you whispering to him

1:31am: what did he say what did you say

1:34am: ANSER MEEEE

1:34am: he was so sad looking when u went with danny i cant believe uuuu. Anyway have fun i guess

“Here ya go,” Danny says as he hands you a cold water bottle. He’s already chugged half of his, and he lies down beside you, pressing the cold bottle to his forehead.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a few sips off the top. “You have too much?”

He sits up, tossing the bottle to the side before wrapping his arm around you and pressing you down into the bed. “No no, I’m good. Just kinda… well, maybe a lil’. But I still want to uphold our plans, yeah?” His face is buried in your hair, and you can feel his mouth starting to lay wet kisses up and down your neck.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the feeling of his mouth on you overtaking your mind already. Danny has always felt exceptionally good, able to turn you on within seconds. His hand is traveling over your body, over your stomach and legs and thighs as he delves into the sensitive skin of your neck, on the verge of leaving marks, if he wasn’t careful. Your eyes roll back as he moans in your ear, pressing himself up against you.

“Now, about this dress..” he says, pulling your straps down. You help him free your arms as your tits pop free, your nipples already perking up just from the contact he’d made. “Fuckin’ beautiful…” he says, leaning up on his elbow to reach down and hitch your leg over his waist. He takes your nipple into his mouth and begins swirling his tongue around it while his hand massages and kneads the other.

Your body begins shuddering from the feeling of it all, and the presence of his hardening dick pressing between your legs doesn’t help matters. Finally he connects his lips to yours, hot and messy as the kiss is deepened second by second. His hands are cupping your tits, and you can’t help but grind into him. Fuck… yeah, he feels good, but, is this going to go as planned? No matter how hard you tried, you can’t get the visual of Jake’s face as the car door shut from hanging in the back of your mind.

You switch gears to try and flush the thought of Jake from your mind, pulling Danny to his back and straddling his waist. You immediately lean down and pull at the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head. God, his physique is un-fucking-real… You can’t help but to want to kiss it, to lick every inch of him. Your mind is completely reeling with a wild hormonal draw to him, while thinking about Jake’s hand between your legs, while you’re undoing Danny’s belt, thinking about how Jake’s breath felt on your lips.

For the love of god, get it together, Y/N.

“So sexy, baby…” Danny stutters as you begin making your way down his body, nipping at his pecs and sides as you descend down him, your body pulling you there on its own. His hand is tangled up in your hair as you begin teasing at his dick through his boxers, breathing hot air and humming your lips against him. You can feel your mouth starting to water just thinking about how he is going to taste on your tongue. This wasn’t the first time you’d done this for Danny, of course, but the foreplay has to start somewhere, right?

Danny bucks his hips into your mouth as your tongue glides over the tip, the indirect touch driving him absolutely wild. “Need your mouth, baby.. Need it– ahhh… so bad…”

His words urge you on to get your head on straight, pulling down at his boxers to expose him. His dick springs free and you immediately connect your lips to it, flicking the tip of your tongue. You feel the saliva begin to pool in your mouth as his stomach tightens in. “Fuck, yes, baby…” he says, his hand tightening in your hair again. You open your throat as best you can, taking him all the way down in one go. The sounds that leave him make you feel a fierce desire for him again as you begin bobbing up and down, using your hand for help.

Your tongue swirls and flattens as you watch his free hand grip onto the sheets. You sit up and pull his boxers and jeans all the way off, giving yourself a little more space to work. You dig your nails into the skin between his thighs, making him hiss an inhale. “Too much?” you ask.

“No, perfect… Keep going…” he breathes, sitting up for just a second to watch you. You work at him for what feels like ten minutes or so, just watching him get to the edge before he falls right back off again. You try different techniques and tricks, but you realize fairly quickly that your jaw is beginning to tighten and feel sore. You bring your hand to the base of his dick again, pumping it along with your mouth. “Fuck, fuck… baby…” he grunts again, and you can taste the precum finally dripping into your mouth.

“Taste so good, Danny…” you breathe when you find a free second. You’re trying to get him there, pulling out all the shots you can think of to get him to tip over the edge. His hand tightens in your hair again, and you feel yourself feeling touch-starved, especially since you were so worked up earlier. You slip your hand between your legs and move your thong to the side, quickly finding the place that Jake’s fingers had just inhabited not long ago.

Jake…

His fingers… they were just… there.

Maybe if you picture it’s him touching you again instead of yourself…

You close your eyes and envision it, letting yourself moan a little hum onto the tip of Danny’s cock.

“Oh fuck, do that again,” he cries, his head falling back onto the headboard. You do as he asks, all the while still picturing the feeling of Jake’s hand bringing you right back to the brink. Fuck, this feels so wrong. And so, so fucking right.

Suddenly Danny’s hand leaves your hair and grips onto the sheets again, the veins in his hands popping out as you watch him claw his way to the peak, his stomach caving in over and over as you work him harder.

“Mhmm…” you hum onto him again, realizing that is what he needed to get over his awful case of whiskey dick. You finally manage to get him there, watching as his face falls into a clenched expression as he fills up your mouth completely. You swallow it down and do your best to clean him up while he catches his breath on the come-down.

“Jesus you are so fucking hot,” he says once you’re all done. He hooks his arm up underneath your arm pit, pulling you to lay beside him. “That was… excellent.”

“Thank you,” you giggle, your clit still pouding with stimulation. The two of you lay there for a few minutes as he enjoys his euphoria.

“Gimmie just a minute, I’ll pay you back, baby,” he says softly as his eyes begin to close.

You nod as you glance up to him, your body on fire with want and need for reciprocation so intense that you can hardly stand it. His eyes are all the way closed and he’s completely relaxed back, and it’s then that you realize exactly what you had suspected would happen- he’s going to fully pass out on you.

‘Fucking kidding me,’ you think to yourself. ‘Is he serious?’

You should have known better, given how hard it was to get him to cum from a fifteen-minute long blowjob. A good one, at that.

Two minutes later, he’s snoring. Goddamnit.

And suddenly, you’re pissed. Pissed at it all. You know its just the rage from not getting anything out of this fucking deal tonight, and feeling rejected and forgotten after Danny got his. You have half a mind to sneak into his bathroom and finish things off yourself, but just as you’re about to grind your knuckles into Danny’s chest to wake him up, he rolls over, tucking his hands up underneath his pillow as his breathing completely evens out. Yeah, he’s out for good. Your heartbeat is flying off the handle from the bitterness you feel mixed in with how fucking turned on you are.

Fuck this night.

You gently lean down and pick up your phone that is still sitting on the bottom of the bed, the bright light hurting your eyes as the screen comes to life. You decide to answer Jasmine’s texts, even though you know she is probably already asleep.

You

2:13am: 🍆❌🥃👎😴

Your finger flips back over to the text from Jake, and you shudder at how harshly you left him on read… through text and in the car. You feel absolutely terrible. In all honesty, you should have stayed back with him tonight. Things could have ended up so differently. You halfway curse yourself for being such a brat about it all, because really, Danny didn’t do anything wrong at all. Upsetting, but not wrong. He did have a bit too much to drink.

In an act of pure courage (and horrific lingering arousal), you text Jake back.

You

2:14am: If I would have stayed with you, would you have fallen asleep on me?

You set your phone on your chest, halfway regretting sending the text, at all. You cover your eyes with your hand, fiercely tapping your other hand on your stomach as regret fills your mind.

Then suddenly, it buzzes.

You peek one eye open, expecting to see a reply from Jasmine. But– of course…

Jake

2:16am: He didn’t…

You

2:16am: 🙂

Jake

2:17am: Fuckin idiot.

2:17am: No, I wouldn’t have fallen asleep on you. I think we both know that.

You

2:18am: Why are you still awake?

Jake sends back a photo of his feet propped up on his ottoman in front of a fireplace, holding a glass up in front of it.

You

2:19am: Nightcap?

Jake

2:19am: No, it’s carbonated water. Couldn’t force down another drink if I wanted to

Danny startles you with a loud snore as he adjusts himself, getting comfortable again in his bed. And for some reason, it pisses you off all over again.

You

2:20am: What if I was there, would you have a drink with me?

Jake

2:20am: I would do anything you want, if you were here

2:21am: I got you all worked up for nothing, huh

You

2:21am: Understatement of the year.

Ya know what? Fuck it.

2:21am: But, not for nothing…

You slowly stand from the bed, rushing across Danny’s living area to slip quietly into his bathroom. Before you close the door behind you, you check to make sure he’s still asleep. When you’ve made sure the coast is clear, you lock the door behind you.

Alone and still frustrated with sexual tension, you turn on the dimmer switch on the wall, pulling it all the way down to as dark as it will go. You stand in front of his full-length mirror and pull one of your straps down to expose one of your tits. You fluff your hair and find the perfect position to stand, covertly covering up your nipple as you hike the tight bottom of your dress up a little higher.

You open your camera and adjust the lighting and snap a few photos, finding them all to be unreasonably sexy, if you do say so yourself. You finally choose the best one and attach it in a text to Jake, holding your breath as you hit send.

You

2:23am: Still very much worked up

You watch as the messages deliver, and Jake’s text bubble pop up and disappear four or five times as he is likely trying to decide what to respond with. You’re feeling a little more confident now, knowing that you’ve most likely left him a little speechless. It's an entire minute before he finally responds.

Jake

2:24am: Fuck

You snicker at his response before going ahead and typing up another.

You

2:24am: Think I made the wrong decision tonight

Jake

2:25am: Was waiting for you to admit that to yourself 😏

You sit down on Danny’s toilet, suddenly feeling very cold in the skimpy dress. You take a deep breath and rest your chin in your hand as you try and decide what to do next. You can steal one of Danny’s t-shirts, climb under the covers next to him and call it a night, or you could convince Jake that you’d rather be with him, and see what happens.

You feel your phone buzz in your lap.

Jake

2:27am: What if I promised to finish what I started

You

2:27am: If that entails anything like what you did to me in the car, I’ll take you up on that promise

Jake

2:28am: It has everything to do with what I did to you in the car

2:28am: And don’t act so innocent, I felt you trying to tease me, too

You

2:29am: Jake, it was obvious I wasn’t the only one worked up

2:29am: I never claimed to be innocent… 😇

Jake:

2:30am: God you’re a piece of work

You

2:30am: Come get me.

Jake

2:31am: Be there in 5.

Fuck fuck… this is really happening. Shit, you have made some horrible decisions tonight. But there is time for repentance later. Tonight, you’re going to pretend like nothing in the world matters.

You take a quick second to freshen up and dab some of Danny’s toothpaste on your finger, at least making yourself seem like you’ve not taken part in too many bad decisions, tonight. When you’re done, you creak the bathroom door open again and find Danny still snuggled up and passed all the way out. You quickly send him a text that you found a ride home, not wanting him to wake up and freak out too badly. You’re pissed at him, but honestly, not too mad. It ended up in your favor, to be honest. You place your bottle of water on the table beside him and plug his phone in before making your way to sit on his couch, waiting for your incoming text from Jake.

+++

“Here, brought you these,” Jake says as he hands you a pile of clothing after you’ve placed your seatbelt across your chest. “Thought you’d probably be cold.”

You unfold it all to find a pair of his sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, and a pair of old socks. “Jake, this is so sweet, you didn’t have to.” You feel your chest warm at his gesture.

“You look fine as fuck in that dress, but I know you’ve gotta be uncomfortable,” he laughs, one hand balancing on the steering wheel as he backs out of Danny’s lot.

You place the clothes on your lap, biting your lip in. “How about I leave the dress on for just a little while longer?”

You hear him exhale a laugh through his nose. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No,” you reply shortly. “You can’t finish what you started if you aren’t alive.”

His eyes drift over to you in the passenger seat as his fingers rub over his mustache. Still so horrifically sexy. Good god.

“You really wanna do this, Y/N? I really just wanted to save you from staying somewhere you didn’t want to be tonight… we don’t have–”

“I want to Jake, I do,” you reply strictly. Your hand shoots over and lands on his leg, and you feel no shame in teasing him in the exact same ways that he was teasing you, earlier. Your hand moves up and cups right overtop of his bulge, and you hear him hiss as his hips jut forward in the seat. You begin lightly massaging it. “Unless you don’t want to…”

“Nonono I do, I do,” he says, shaking his head through a laugh at you as he continues down the street. “Can’t believe Danny did that to you tonight. Fucking figures.”

Your hand stops its motion. “What do you mean, figures?”

Jake inhales a sharp breath. “I told him he had to make a decision, you or that other girl. It wasn’t fair him leading you on like he was… guess he proved that to you all by himself.”

Your blood rushes to your head. What?

“Wait, what?! What other girl?” you sit up in your seat and face Jake, now entirely interested in something else.

He stumbles over his words, focusing on the road in front of him. “You didn’t– I thought you guys were kind of, open… right?”

You’re suddenly exasperated. “I mean, yeah I guess… we didn’t have a title or anything but like… we… I thought we were something… I thought he’d at least stay awake long enough to–”

Jake is silent for a second as he lets you process your thoughts.

“He was texting her all night, Y/N.”

Your jaw falls slack. “What? He was?”

Jake nods, flicking his turn signal. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, it’s not my business.”

“No, it most definitely is your business. You’re my friend, right? Longer than Danny has been my friend. It’s your business, I’m your business…”

His eyes dart to you again and give you a look that makes your heart skip a beat. He’s being protective over you.

“He’s been texting her a while, hooking up and whatnot. I don’t know anything further than that, or even who she is. But it pissed me off to see him hiding his phone so much, tonight. He was supposed to be there with you. I knew that he was trying to not let anyone see, but I saw it. A couple of times. I–I honestly thought that was why you were eyeing me so hard from the dance floor, I thought you might uh, have noticed him being weird and might be wanting to make him jealous or something. I dunno.”

You shake your head and laugh disbelievingly. “Wow…” you mutter, suddenly not regretting your decision to come here with Jake, at all. Fuck Danny for that. He should have at least told you. You weren’t exclusive, but you also didn’t have anyone else on your radar.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that… I probably ruined your night,” Jake says as he pulls into a parking spot in front of his house.

“No. Actually, no, I’m glad you did. Something had felt kind of… off with him lately. I’m glad to know my gut wasn’t wrong,” you reply.

Jake turns the car off and you just stare at one another, waiting for the other one to talk. “I can take you home instead, if you’d like,” he offers, his true colors coming through even through his brand new facade. Actually, maybe it isn’t a facade at all. Maybe this is who he has truly always been.

“No. I want to be here, with you,” you reply honestly.

“Not for revenge?”

“No, fuck no. I should have told you I’d come home with you when you sent me that text. I know that now. I wanted to… I just… didn’t want to be rude and bail on him.”

“Maybe you are a sweetheart,” Jake pokes as he opens his car door, signaling for you to follow him. You both make your way out to his walkway and start heading up to his front door.

“I am a sweetheart! What do you mean?!” you laugh, slapping him in the arm.

“Ow, fuck,” Jake says, grabbing his arm as he turns to you in faux pain.

“That didn’t hurt,” you laugh, stepping up onto his doorstep.

“Yeah, you’re right. It didn’t hurt as bad as you leaving me in the dust tonight. Broke my fuckin’ heart,” Jake pouts. And for some reason, his words shoot right through your heart.

“Jake, I am so sorry,” you cry, turning to him. “Really.”

He laughs and turns to you, pulling a few stray hairs from in front of your face. “I’m kidding. I was sad, though.” He steps closer to you, enveloping your senses as he closes the proximity between you. “I’ve watched you walk away from me too many times over the years.”

Another shot through the heart. You’re one step away from feeling like total shit. “I didn’t even know you… cared, Jake. About me, like that.”

He shrugs his shoulder as he continues fixing your hair. “Ah, s’alright. You’re here now…”

You take a step closer to him, feeling a warmth travel over you that you don’t dare force away. Your lips are within inches of his, and your hand slowly comes up to grab behind his neck, playing with his hair that’s still pulled back into a low knot. His breath hitches but he doesn’t pull away, instead he brushes his nose against yours, making you break out in a chill that overtakes your entire being.

“Yeah, I’m here now.” You close the gap and press your lips to his, kissing him gently at first, just to test out his waters. You feel him holding his breath just a little as he pulls away, giving you a smile so genuine you feel as if you could melt into a puddle, right there on his doorstep. He places his hands on your hips, reconnecting the kiss in a more heated way now. His hands are gripping at your sides, and your hands are grabbing onto his jaw, kissing him fiercely as if doing so is the only right thing in the world.

You think you’re floating. No, you’re positive you are. The way he feels with his hands on you, the way your whole body is tingling and rushing with emotions… Kissing your friend never turns out well, but then again, he was fingering you in an Uber only an hour ago…

Just as quickly as things had started, they end, as Jake pulls himself away from you in a rush of excitement and nerves. “Let’s go inside.”

He pushes the door open and you step inside, feeling some strange sense of deja vu as you enter another man’s house this evening. You step out of your half-strapped heels, kicking them to the corner as you toss your purse onto his couch. Instantly, you feel his arms wrapped around your back, holding on to you with a sincerity that you’ve always felt with him, just never physically. His mouth is behind your ear, and his waist is already pressing into your ass.

“I know you want to leave the dress on, but I don’t think you’ll want it getting wet,” he growls into your ear.

“Wet?” you ask, your eyes fluttering closed from his use of the word wet. Why? Guess that’s just where your mind is going to live, tonight.

“Yeah. We’re taking a shower,” he replies, breaking away from holding you. But before he lets go, he grabs your hand and spins you around, making you follow him up the stairs.

A shower… holy shit…?!

Your brain short circuits as you realize that within the next minute, you’re going to completely expose yourself to Jake, your very good… friend. It’s okay. It’s okay!

The top floor of his home is carpeted, and the softness of it feels like heaven on your sore and tired feet. He pulls you behind him still, one of your hands locked with his, the other still lugging the clothes he’s supplied you with. He turns a left corner and introduces you to a large room, much larger than any bathroom you’d seen in the houses in town.

He turns on a light and illuminates a rather clean place for a man, a giant bathtub, and a shower that is bigger than your walk-in closet.

“Wow…” you exclaim, in awe of it all.

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t turn this down,” Jake laughs. “Right?”

“Most definitely not.” You feel a cold chill rush over you at just the thought of hot water pouring over your skin, and you have to rub your hands over your arms for friction and warmth.

You look to Jake who is leaning with his back on the counter, eyeing you so sweetly you could almost die. He cocks his head sideways with a tiny smile, and you cursed yourself for never really giving him the time of day in any regard other than just friendly interactions. Why had it never hit you before?

There’s a long pause as the two of you watch each other, and the tension between you is so thick it’s almost palpable. He kicks his shoes off and pulls his shirt over his head, never taking his eyes from you. You haven’t seen him shirtless in a long time, and for some reason the visual of his unclothed body literally makes you salivate. You have no shame in raking your eyes over him as he cocks an eyebrow, moving over to turn the shower on. Water begins to stream from two copper showerheads, and steam begins to fill the space immediately.

You pull the straps of your dress down, slowly inching the tight dress over your breasts, stomach, and hips… really making a show of removing what little clothing you have left on. Jake is eyeing you still as he roughly grabs his belt, ripping it from its buckle and pulling it from the loops. For the love of god, you could watch him do that over and over again…

He kicks his pants off as you finally slip free of your dress, reaching down to pick it up and hang it over the doorknob. You’re left in just your thong, feeling exposed as Jake stands before you in his dark gray boxers. He slowly walks to you, placing his warm hands on your waist as he kisses you again, slow and deep and sultry as you let his tongue explore just a little further than it had earlier.

He begins backing you up to the shower, the steam now coating the mirrors and window of the room. “I’m really fucking hungry for you, Y/N, in case you haven’t noticed…” Jake says as he takes your hand, placing it directly on his dick. Fuck, you’re in for it.

You take the liberty, and gently squeeze at it. “I’ve noticed.”

His mouth reconnects with yours again, the action of hungry really coming in to play as his fingers are slipping into the hips of your thong, running around the hem to the front. “Take it off,” you order him, swirling your hips a little as he begins to pull the fabric from your waist.

“Yes ma’am,” he grits. You do the same for him after you kick free of the last shred of fabric on your body, pulling his boxers down and off, all the way.

Through the steam, you can finally see him and he can finally see you, completely naked and baring yourselves to one another in the most enticing way possible. And god, is he a sight to see.

His hand comes up to cover his mouth in disbelief, and you can see him smiling behind his covertness. “You’re really, really gorgeous, Y/N.” His compliment sends butterflies through your belly, and you rush to him again, pushing him back and into the hot downpour of the shower.

The water blinds you completely as you’re both standing beneath it, a mess of slipping hands and missed kisses, all inhibitions out the window as neither of you can see what you’re doing. His hands find your tits, gripping them both in his hands and squeezing them with just enough force to make your back arch. His fingers work at your nipples, giving him a straightshot to go ahead and connect his mouth. He sucks one particularly hard, letting his lips pop off it with a loud snap.

“Fuck,” you breathe, finally wiping the water clear from your eyes. You’re met with a soaked Jake, grinning at you so deviously that you swear you could devour him, right then and there. He pulls you back a little again, pressing your back against the cold tile wall as he falls to his knees.

He’s biting at the skin of your stomach and hips, leaving marks you’re sure will be there tomorrow. He’s absolutely ravenous, and you know exactly what he’s about to do. His hands grip your ass, pulling at the muscles to make you lean into him, exposing your cunt to his ready and waiting mouth. Your hands find his head, your fingers tangling in his hair already as you feel yourself dripping with anticipation. Everything is rough, and forced, and so, so deliciously exhilarating.

He reaches behind himself and pulls his hair free from its knot, giving you so much more freedom to wrap it around your fingers. It’s like he knows you’re going to need something to hold on to.

His brown eyes shoot up to you, silently asking for permission to go further, of which you respond with a harsh nod. In less than a second his face is buried in you, his tongue already lapping through your folds and licking at you so deliciously that your knees start to buckle. He catches you, though, as if he had anticipated it, holding you steadily against the wall.

“God, baby,” you cry out, wiping away the water falling into his face and in his eyes. He feels absolutely incredible, like an otherworldly experience you had no idea you needed to feel. Pleasure is already wracking through you at an ungodly pace, until you feel his tongue swirling your clit, making you cry out again. Your head flies back as your hand covers your mouth, blocking any sound from escaping.

Jake lifts your left leg, tossing it over his shoulder to give him better access. “Let me hear you baby,” he says, “we’re the only ones here.” Your cries are pitiful as he pulls at your ass again, burying himself even further. You’re sure he’s going to drown as the shower is pouring directly on him, giving him little room to inhale anything other than water. Your fingers wrap up in his strands as you feel your hips begin to grind onto his face, swirling themselves as he moves his tongue to enter you, wet and luscious as his nose hits directly on your clit.

“Fuuuuuck!” you yell out again, unable to stop yourself from letting him know how good he’s doing.

Everything is happening so fast and so fiercely that you’re already nearing the edge, but you want this to last as long as it possibly can. He hums on you as his nose pumps against your clit, and you know that even if you could clear the water falling into your eyes, you still wouldn’t be able to see straight.

You feel your body beginning to tighten, the muscles in your stomach becoming rigid and tense as you feel the sweet release knocking on your front door. He notices this, and brings his finger up to take the place of his tongue. He slides it inside you, and the feeling is even better than you’d thought it’d be, given that he’d only given you an inch or so in the car, earlier. He starts pumping it with force, his speed only increasing as you are trying your best to breathe through ragged breaths.

“That good baby?” he asks, breaking away for air.

You nod, “So close…”

He flicks his finger up to the perfect hook, massaging your g-spot as his tongue still laps away, perfectly pointed on your oversensitive clit. You know that his fingers are only a preview of the real thing, and already you realize that if he is this good with just his hands, how is he going to be in bed?

“Oh god, baby… I–” You hunch over, your hands pulling his hair so hard you want to apologize, but he brings you to an orgasm so delicious you have to remind yourself where you are, and what you’re doing. His lips circle around your clit, pulling it into his mouth in quick motions while circling still with his tongue. The motion is new to you and you swear for a second you go deaf from the pleasure.

“Mmhmm, mhmm,” he hums onto you, releasing his finger and letting his tongue take its place again, collecting up everything he can as you find your mind.

After a few seconds he slowly stands up, wiping the drenched strands away from your face as he gives you an energetic smile.

“Jake, that was…” you can hardly form a thought before he’s turning you around, reaching for a bottle of shampoo to wash your hair for you. You let him, knowing that your elation is too high to even argue with him. He massages your scalp before rinsing all the suds, then gives you a healthy dose of whatever conditioner he has sitting in the corner, massaging it into your strands again.

For a minute, everything is… peaceful.

“Why you taking such good care of me?” you finally ask, feeling his still-hard length brushing across your ass.

“Because I want to. Any other questions?”

You laugh through your nose, realizing that enough time has passed that you’re damn near getting turned on, all over again. You shake your head no.

You switch off, washing and massaging Jake’s hair for him as no words at all are exchanged. Comfortable silence.

After you’re all washed and a little pruny, you turn to him again, this time the both of you exchanging looks that aren’t laced with as much aggression, but more painted with looks of desire that make your stomach swirl with the perfect anxiety.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, reaching for the shower handle to switch it off.

The two of you step out and you reach for a towel, but his hand stops you. “Hmm-mm,” he says, gently grabbing your hips. His lips are instantly connected to your neck, whispering sweet little nothings in your ear as you feel him pushing you to walk again, right over to the countertop. He spins you backward, and you find yourself facing a steam-covered mirror.

He reaches up and wipes it clean, and it's then that you see the reflection of the two of you, flushed and soaked and in pure and utter bliss… together. You take the initiative and lean over for him, stepping your legs apart as you eye him in the reflection.

His eyes glaze over with a hunger again, and as you press your ass back on him, the ravenous attitude returns. He places one hand on your waist and the other disappears between you, and you finally feel the touch of his dick rolling through your folds, instantly making you dripping wet all over again.

You watch as he grits his jaw, his cheeks puffing up with air as his eyes watch himself, deliciously entering you inch by inch. Goddamn, he’s a lot bigger than you had imagined… He presses himself all the way in, finally looking at you again in the mirror as he slowly pulls back out, his eyes rushing back between you so he can watch himself do it all over again.

Just the thought of him wanting to watch himself fuck you turns you on exponentially.

The feeling of him inside you is earth-shattering, to say the least. Each thrust is better than the last, and he hasn’t even picked up any pace yet. “Fucking hell, Jake… Oh my god…” you say, your jaw falling open as you squint your eyes closed. He moves his hand to hold on to your shoulder, picking up a pace now that has your mind reeling with a blinding pleasure you’ve never even felt before.

You arch your back for him, giving him a new angle to pound himself relentlessly into you, the sounds of your still-wet bodies smacking together echoing off the walls and making for an even more shrewd display. You watch him as he fucks you, powerful and gorgeous and sweet, making sure to catch your eye contact every few seconds to let you know he’s still there. It’s truly unreal, and you can hardly even catch your breath as you watch yourselves.

“Fuck, Y/N, keep taking it, baby…” he finally speaks, his head falling back a little as he slows his pace, concentrating now on a different stroke. He snaps his hips upward, hitting you in a whole new place deep inside. It nearly chokes you, the pleasure unimaginable and overtaking your every thought.

“It’s yours, Jake, it’s all–”

His hand grips in your hair, pulling your neck back in a tight jerk. The motion makes you feel used in the best way as he thrusts even more deeply now. Your hands are holding onto the sink for dear life as the water still in your hair drips down into your face.

Suddenly, Jake pulls all the way out, spinning you around to face him. His mouth is connected to yours in a flash, and you kiss him back, digging your fingernails into his ass to show him how pissed you are that he stopped. The two of you whine into each other’s mouths, desperate as you feel him pick you up and begin walking to the door. You can’t see where he’s going, but you don’t even care. You’re burying your tongue into his mouth and biting at his lips, feeling like an insatiable rabid animal for him.

You’re flying through the air backwards before you land on his mattress, bouncing a few times into the thick and plush down comforter that smells exactly like him. “Jake, we’re soaked, let me dry off, we’ll ruin your–”

“Do you think I give a goddamn about getting my sheets wet, Y/N?” he yelps, cutting you off from standing back up to get a towel. His hand is on your chest, gently urging you to fall back down into the messiness of his unmade bed.

It’s the most comfortable thing you’ve ever laid on, and the blankets and sheets are like mountains around you, protecting you and holding you between them. You feel safe here, you feel good.

“Say wet again,” you say, remembering how much you liked to hear him to say it.

He crawls back over you, pulling a dark blanket behind him as he positions himself between your legs, covering the two of you up in a warmth you can’t explain.

“Wet, wet… soaking fucking wet,” he sings as he pushes himself into you again, taking all the air from your lungs as you feel him enter you this way. You whine pathetically into his mouth, feeling so vulnerable and unguarded in his presence. Your hands fly above your head, letting his body weight fuck into you again. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, zapping your every cell into a state of shock. You’ve never had sex like this before. What had you been missing out on with him, all this time?

There’s no light around you at all as the blanket is tucked into your sides, tightly wrapping you both up so you have no choice but to touch on nearly every surface of your bodies. You slide against one another, your hands coming down from above you to grab onto him, pull his hair, and grip his jaw for an overly-forceful kiss.

The way his breathy grunts sound in your ear make you soak again and again, and you know he can feel it. “Is that all for me, baby?” he asks, and you nod, breathing heavily as the pleasure wracks through you over and over again.

“All for you, all of it’s yours…” you breathe, wrapping your ankles around his back. “You feel so fucking good baby, god… please don’t stop…” you beg him, already feeling another impending orgasm on the horizon.

Your mind is so far away from everything that has happened tonight, and from Danny, and from whatever other girl he has been with, all this time. You could care less about it all. The way Jake is making you feel right now, the way he has been making you feel all night interrupts everything else so easily that you don’t even know why you were worried in the first place.

He’s perfect, this is perfect.

You pull the blanket back to uncover your heads, and you can finally see his face in the dim light of his room, fucked-out and ethereal as he continues. Your hand reaches up to grip around his neck, your fingers pressing over his jugular as his mouth opens for just a split second. You watch as his eyes fill with that same darkness again, and you know for a fact he wants you to do it. “Harder,” he says, so you listen, choking him with a little more intensity as you feel his thrusts begin to falter.

You feel like he can’t be deep enough, nothing will ever satiate you enough, when it comes to him. Your knees fall apart even further as your ankles uncross, and you stretch your legs up to hang over his shoulders, folding your body in half. “Oh my god babe,” he breathes, leaning all his bodyweight onto the backs of your legs. Your fingers still wrap around his throat, and you grab his hand, pulling his middle finger deeply into your mouth. You wrap your tongue around it, sucking and swirling as you hold him up through his thrusts, now deeper and rougher at this angle.

You watch his eyebrows furrow together as he starts to lose his composure, his entire body beginning to tremble as you realize you’re right there with him. Your eyes meet with his as you watch him, so much more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

You pull his finger in as deeply as it will go as you start to chase your own high, your entire body quaking as your muscles experience your second orgasm of the night.

“Yeah… yeah…fuck…” he exclaims, biting his own lips.

Your mouth falls open to cry out, every inch of your body raving and shaking with unimaginable pleasure. He’s falling apart on top of you as he lets himself go, and you make a promise right then and there that you’d never settle for anything less than what Jake has given you, tonight.

His body trembles with a few aftershocks, making him hum through the comedown. He pulls out, and you instantly wish he was back, lying on top of you in the coziness of his bed. He’s panting and out of breath as he runs his hands down the lengths of your legs, lovingly kissing the insides of them as he steps back from you and off of the bed.

“I’ll get a washcloth,” he says, stepping sideways into the floor.

“It’s ok, I’ll come with you,” knowing that you’d prefer to clean yourself up, and get a towel for your still-soaked hair. You hop up and walk past him, smacking him on the ass as you dash to the bathroom.

After you’d both cleaned up, you follow him back into his bedroom, searching around for that pile of clothes that you were sure he’d grabbed again for you. You locate them easily, and slip the t-shirt and pants on.

“What are you doing?” he asks from the bed, reclining with his arm behind his head.

“Getting dressed,” you say. “I’ll get another Uber, they should still be out and abou–”

“Y/N, get your ass back in bed with me, don’t be insane,” Jake chortles as if you’d just suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

You roll your eyes, a little embarrassed now. “Jake, it’s fine, I can go home. I know it’d probably be weird of me to stay.”

He sits up, and you realize that he’s still completely naked under the covers. “Have things ever been weird between us?” he asks, his voice a little more serious than before. “In all the years we’ve been friends?”

You stand awkwardly there in his clothes, in the middle of his bedroom, considering his question. “No.”

“Exactly,” he says as he lays back down. “Now strip down again, and get back over here with me. Unless you’d rather take the couch downstairs… Up to you, sweetcheeks.”

Thereeeeee’s the old Jake.

You huff a breath of annoyance. You know he’s right. “Ok, but only because you’re so bossy.”

You pull the pants back down, but decide to leave his shirt on before climbing back under the unbelievably comfortable sheets and pillows. His arms pull you in toward him before you even have a chance to lay down all the way, and you instantly are brought right back into that safe, comfortable embrace that is him.

“Yeah, actually, leave the shirt on. Looks good on you,” he says, placing a kiss to your temple.

You laugh as you dig down in beside him, tossing your leg over his waist. “Thanks. Think I’ll steal it.”

He reaches down to hike your leg up higher, then pulls your palm up to his lips as he places a sweet kiss to it.

“You’ve stolen more than the shirt, babe.”

<333

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billfarrah · 1 year ago

Text

Thinking about the fact that Henry was clearly very used to the company of married men, even using one as his alibi for the night of the murder, but I doubt any of them ever treated him with the same tenderness that Alfred did. The police commissioner’s married son threw him under the bus to save his own ass, while Alfred literally died for him. Henry was definitely Alfred’s first for many things, but I think Alfred was Henry’s first for many things as well - the first time he felt loved and cared for and valued rather than just a body to be shared for the night and discarded afterward.

#bodies #bodies netflix #henry x alfred #alfred x henry #alfred hillinghead #henry ashe #yeah I’m going insane about them #when the title bodies begins to have more than one meaning

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lokis-army-77 · 1 year ago

Text

Private Viewing

Camboy!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 6.8k

What happens when your favorite camboy is in your class? You should stop watching his content... or should you? What happens when you are eventually paired together for a project? Everything will be just fine, won't it?

Warning: 18 +. This is pure fucking filth. Spit, masturbation (m and f), use of vibrators and fleshlight, choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f reviving), fingering, voyeurism? Soft!dom Eddie, tell me if I'm missing anything.

Thank you @lesservillain for giving me this wonderful idea. 💗 and @munson-blurbs for figuring out if I should do this for Steve or Eddie and for helping give me a title💗.

Masterlist

Nothing but slick sounds filled your room, the occasional deep moan calling out from your laptop speakers accompanying your own sweet cries. The guy on the screen, Ed as he called himself, or DungeonMaster as he was known on Only Fans and Twitter, was fisting his cock in his heavily ringed hand. He was putting on a show for more than ten thousand viewers but the way he stared down the camera with those dark eyes made you think he was watching you, fucking his hand to the way you were pumping your fingers in and out of your soaking wet pussy.

You had stumbled upon his Twitter three months ago and he immediately captured your eye. The way his tattoos wrapped around his pale skin, how he wasn’t all lean muscle like the other OF guys, his tummy by no means a six-pack but he still looked strong enough to sweep you off your feet with ease. His moans were heavenly and so was the deep timber of his force as he praised you through the thirty-second video clip. It was all enough to convert you from your usual consumption of smutty books to the infamous Only Fans sight.

Since then, his streams and videos have become the one and only thing you get off to. And like then, tonight was no exception.

You were so close to the edge, Ed’s moans spurring you on. Your fingers move at an almost inhuman pace in and out, in and out.

“Rub that clit for me, baby. Need you to cum.” He groaned, head resting on his shoulder as he continued you pleasure himself.

“Fuck!” You gasp as you rub your clit with your free hand. Your rhythm is horribly off but it doesn’t matter, you are so close to cumming. So so so close. “Please,” you beg out into your empty room. You aren’t too sure why or what you are pleading for. More friction? More fingers? More words of encouragement from him? Maybe you’re asking to cum?

It’s like he had heard you through the screen as he moaned out, “That’s a good girl. Just like that. Doing so well for me. You gonna cum baby? Yeah? Me too. Want me to count for you?” He nods his head lazily. “I knew you would baby. Okay. Five.”

You want to cry.

“Four.”

The strings tugging inside you are becoming taut.

“Three.”

You feel like you’re going to explode. He’s counting too slowly.

“Two.”

The tears are flowing now.

“One.”

You let out a strangled scream.

“Cum baby. Do it, now.”

Your walls clench around your fingers and your legs snap shut, trapping your fingers. Every muscle in your body is shuddering as those strings snap and your release comes out in a stream, wetting your hand and the bed. Your hearing has gone, there’s a ringing in your ears but you can faintly hear Ed cumming as well.

With watery vision and slow movements, you turn to face your laptop screen just in time to see his tattoo-covered chest painted with milky white ropes of cum.

When the ringing subsides you hear him say more clearly, “Thata girl. Always make me cum so much.” He takes a towel and wipes off his chest and stomach before adjusting the camera view to the shoulders up. “Get you some rest baby, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

And then the live is over.

Slowly, sluggishly, you remove your hands from between your legs and begin the now regular clean-up routine before going to bed.

…

Three days later, Thursday rolls around, and thus begins the fall semester of your junior year of college. It’s a groggy morning, everyone is tired and very unenthusiastic about having an 8 a.m. advanced music composition class.

You had struggled to get out of bed at six this morning just to get one of the dorm showers first before they were all taken up. Luckily two of the five were open and you were able to get to class a whole twenty minutes early, even having time to grab coffee at the on-campus Starbucks on the way.

The music building was old and the tables you and your fellow students sat at were even older. It all added to the sleepy ambiance. Your eyes drooped and you yawned every time someone else did, the black coffee you had chugged not doing anything for you.

You’re only awoken when your professor, a stout old man with a very severe receding hairline, slams open the door to the classroom a little too hard and it hits the brick wall, creating a loud, startling bang.

He apologizes before making his introduction. He then gets out a clipboard with a sheet attached and hands it off to a girl in the front row, instructing everyone to fill in their name and school email for his role sheet.

It’s only once you’ve finished and passed the clipboard on, that you notice the guy two seats down from you looks vaguely familiar. You can’t quite put a finger on it and it bugs you.

His hair is pulled back into a messy bun and his clothes make him look like the alternative guy of your dreams back in high school. He’s got rings on almost every finger and an aura that just screams confidence.

It begins to become a problem, your inability to place this guy's face. You’ve only taken a handful of notes the entire first hour and thirty minutes into this two-hour class. Your eyes are constantly staring at him no matter how hard you try to make yourself pay attention.

Then, he raises his hand to answer one of your professor's questions. That’s when it clicks. Your pen falls from your grasp and your mouth forms an O.

“Oh my fucking god. No. It can’t be.” You think to yourself but just to be sure you take out your phone, turn the brightness and volume down, and hide it under the table. You open Twitter as fast as you can and you don’t even have to look for his user, he’s the first post on the screen.

Ed @ DungeonMaster86 was boldly displayed above a picture of the guy sitting next to you with his massive dick in his hand.

It’s a wonder you weren’t caught with how you practically choked on thin air and began furiously looking from your phone to the guy and then back to your phone.

Your stomach drops. You can’t keep watching his videos, can you? That wouldn’t be right. That would be weird, watching the porn your classmate makes.

When class is finally called to an end you pack up as quickly as you can and bolt out the door to your next class, hoping that by getting away from Ed, you'd be able to concentrate. Out of sight, out of mind.

That statement turns out to be false when he is in your next class and when you spot him in the student commons talking with another guy. It's like once you made the connection of who he was, he was everywhere.

…

Arriving back at your dorm, you throw your backpack on your desk, snatch your laptop out of it, and struggle to jump up onto your bed. Never had you been so thankful for the single dorm than this moment as your curser hovered over the bookmarked Only Fans page at the top of your screen. No roommate meant no one would see the moral dilemma you were currently losing with yourself.

‘You know him, it’s wrong to keep watching his videos.”

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him though. The only way he would know you are watching is if you tell him, you aren’t going to tell him, are you?’

‘No…’

‘Then it’s okay, it’ll just add an extra element of taboo to his streams. Plus, he’d miss you in the chat.’

You sigh as the devil on your shoulder wins out once again, talking you into something you know you shouldn’t be. But hey, it feels good to be bad.

Steadily, you click on his bookmarked profile and the first thing to pop up is the live stream that is currently in session. And against your better judgment, you enter the stream.

He’s only just started, people are slowly filtering in. Ed is sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt off, and a singular, ringed hand teasing himself through his black jeans.

You breathe a sigh as he looks into the camera, eyes half-lidded, luring you in. It does the job, because in an instant your fingers are typing out a message in chat.

Princess23: hi Ed

His eyes flicker as he reads his messages, smiling as he replies to you. "Hi, Princess. How's my girl been?"

There's a bubble of excitement at the fact that he recognizes your username, even if you've been a regular in the chat for months.

Princess23: stressful… you've been distracting me.

The reply to his question is truer than he realizes.

"Aww, princess, is that so? You've been thinking of me?" He leans back on his free elbow, still groping himself with the other hand.

Princess23: yes. been thinking about your cock, how much I want it in my mouth.

It's one of the less bold comments you make but it makes you blush all the same, especially now.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth? Of yours?"

Princess23: yes please

"Mmm." He hums, fingers now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans.

You set your laptop to the side and start to situate yourself. Slowly taking your clothes off one by one.

Ed replies to a few more comments before announcing that it's time to start.

He leaves the screen for just a moment before coming back with something in his hand. Smirking at the camera he shows it. A flashlight in the shape of a mouth.

"This one’s for you, Princess. Since you need my dick so bad," Ed explains. He sets it on his bed before making a show of taking his jeans and boxers off.

As you watch, your hands roam your body. Fingers pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipples before trailing down. The light touch over your ribs makes you giggle. Then you rub and scratch at the inside of your thighs.

Ed's moans are now coming through your speakers, you tilt your head to watch.

"Spit on my cock baby, get it nice and wet for me." He commands before spitting in his own hand and rubbing it on his thick length.

"Your mouth looks so pretty like this, waiting, drooling for me. Need me to fill it so bad don't you, baby?"

"Yes." You answer him breathlessly, fingers teasing around your mound.

You watch and he sits back down on his bed, thighs spread, a hand cupping his balls and the other grabbing the fleshlight. He lets out a long, drawn-out moan when he inserts his cock into the fake mouth.

"Fuck baby, your mouth feels so perfect."

You can't help but whine. Allowing your fingers to finally circle your clit.

The both of you go one like this for a bit. Him fucking the fleshlight and you massaging your clit. But then you need more, more than your hand can give you. So you reach to your bedside table, stretching at an uncomfortable angle to open the drawer and pull out the purple mini wand you kept there.

The vibrations start slow and constant as you press the toy to your clit. It pulls soft, quiet noises from you as you watch your computer screen. Your mind is blank, filled only with the pretty sounds Ed is making, the way his body looks, and the pleasure between your legs.

There are no thoughts. You follow his lead. When his hand speeds up, you kick up the vibrations, when he slows down, you turn the vibrator back to the first level.

It's a rollercoaster, almost, taking your pleasure for a ride. The stream isn't even done yet when you feel that tight pull in your abdomen. The toy works you up fast.

So you stop. Taking the toy away and changing positions. On your hands and knees, you hug a pillow to your chest and prop the toy up under you, keeping it standing as you push your clit down onto it. It's not even on and it's making your hips buck in sensitivity.

You turn it back on and immediately feel the slick seeping from your cunt and running down the toy.

"Oh fuck," you cry. Your eyes locked on the screen where Ed has also changed positions.

He's got his own toy lying on the bed and he's laying over it. The way his leg and glute muscles contract as he thrusts into the toy has you memorized.

He chants, "Baby, baby, baby." Over and over. What you would give to have him chanting your name instead. Like a prearranged falling from his lips, praising you, worshiping you.

The need for him grows and so does the tightness in your core.

Reaching your hand down you turn the speed up. Your hips buck into the toy and you bury your face in the pillow. You're close.

He’s not far behind. Peering up from your pillow you can see his thrusts are sputtering. Sporadic as he draws close to his end.

“God dammit, baby. Gonna cum in this perfect mouth of yours. Fuck. Can you swallow it like the good pet you are? Hum? The good pet I know you can be?”

“Yes.” You turn up the vibrator. “Fuck, wanna swallow all of you. Please.”

The vibrations are becoming too much but you keep the toy pressed into you, hips shaking at the feeling of being overstimulated.

Without warning, you cum with a guttural cry into your pillow. Body spasming, muscles twitching. You can still hear Ed moaning and the sloppy sounds of his cock fucking the fleshlight.

With barely any energy you reach down between your heavy body and the bed and turn your toy off. You don’t even bother with your computer, too exhausted and fucked out to exit the stream. You fall asleep to the sounds of your new classmate's self-pleasure.

…

It’s October now. The semester is halfway over and you’ve still been watching Ed, or Eddie. You learned his actual name in class when your professor called role on him by name the second week.

Today you are being assigned a partner for the final project. You have your fingers crossed that Eddie won’t be chosen as your partner but as your professor calls out pairs, it seems luck is against you.

You freeze when your name is called and directly after so is Eddie’s. You groan internally. How the hell are you supposed to do this? You already have trouble concentrating when he sits two seats away, what’s going to happen when he actually interacts with you?

There isn’t much time to think about that as he abruptly moves from his seat to the one directly next to you.

“Hi.” He says, eyes bright and expectant. “I’m Eddie.” He holds out his hand for you to shake but you just stare at him. He looks at you curiously before waving his hand in front of your face. “Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

You snap out of your stupor and accept his hand, shaking it as you introduce yourself. “Sorry. I was a bit out of it.” You say, trying to play it off as you just staring off into space.

“No problem.” He smiles. “Uh, do you want to exchange numbers so we can figure out when we can work on this together?”

“Oh, yeah. Here,” You open your phone and push it to him with the messages app open. “You can text yourself.”

He does just that, even going as far as putting in his contact name as Eddie with the skull and crossbones emoji beside it.

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m free. I have work on Mondays and Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays, but other than that I’m usually free.”

You nearly choke when you realize he’s given you his streaming schedule. “I- uh. Okay. Just text me when you can.”

"Sure thing sweetheart." He grins at you before standing, grabbing his things, and heading out of class along with the rest of the students.

You sit there for a minute, thinking. God, what are you getting yourself into?

…

You both have finally come up with meeting times that work for both of you. Tuesday and Wednesday after seven. Giving you time to get to the school library after the closing shift at your on-campus job.

It’s been two weeks of working together on this project and it’s been easier than you had originally thought to concentrate on the task at hand and keep your dirty thoughts at bay.

Right now, you are both sitting in one of the private study rooms looking at Eddie’s computer as he explains why this particular cord progression would fit with the emotions you are trying to convey in your composition.

You sigh, “Eddie, as much as I love that sound, I really don’t think it fits with the overall composition of the song. It isn’t as emotionally charged as I’d like it to be.”

“Well show me something similar to what you’re wanting.” He rakes his hand through his hair. It’s been a long night for each of you. It seems that every new section of the song you are creating for the project gives you a new challenge to work through together.

You pull out your phone and Eddie leans over to watch as you begin to type. There is a particular song you are thinking of that has the weight and emotion you are trying to convey with your own music and as you type the first letter of the song, O, the first suggestion that pops up is onlyfans/DungeonMaster.

Mortified, you slam your phone down on the table. Eddie looks at you with an eyebrow raised.

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” You answer.

“Why did you slam your phone down?”

“Oh, I just forgot the title of the song.”

“Right…” He scratches under his chin and then stretches back in his chair. “Why don’t we call it quits for tonight? It’s getting late and we aren’t going to agree on anything if we’re both tired.”

A yawn suddenly comes up out of nowhere and you then realize how tired you actually are. “That sounds good to me.” You agree with Eddie and begin packing up your things. You don’t want to be with him longer than you need to be right now, even if he seemingly didn’t notice his OF user pop up on your phone screen.

“Bye Eddie.” You wave to him on your way out the door.

Faintly you hear him call out to you, giving a goodbye of his own. "See ya, sweetheart."

…

After your little slip, you began avoiding Eddie. At least in person, you still tuned into his streams. You bailed on the next three meetups you had planned, helping only through voice notes and text. Eddie said he understood when you said your boss was forcing you to stay late to deep clean.

It was Thursday now and when you saw him in class he barely looked your way and you wondered if he had seen what you hoped he had not.

You tried stopping him once your lecture was over, feeling an anxiousness creeping into your mind. Your conscience had been telling you to come clean. To explain your perversion. Let him know you watched him, that you paid to enjoy seeing him fuck into a toy or his hand.

You called out his name and reached for his arm. "Eddie."

He turns to you. "Hum?"

You take a deep breath to ground yourself. "I wanted to say sorry for not being able to come help with the project."

"It's okay, you said you had work." He replies, unbothered.

"No, Eddie, I didn't get held back at work. That was a lie."

He doesn't look all too surprised.

"I've kinda been avoiding you because- well, because of what I think you might have seen on my phone that day."

Eddie stops you there. "Can this wait until later? I've really got some errands to run before work."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry to keep you Ed." You had meant it as a nickname but as it came pushing past your lips it was too late to take it back. You had never heard anyone call him that outside of his onlyfans.

You watched as his eyes widened at the name and a spark went off behind them. "I'll see you later sweetheart." The smirk he gives you isn't the usual playful one you'd seen him throw before. No, this was sinister, like he knew.

Your heart fell into your stomach as you watched him walk away, leaving you alone.

Tonight as you logged into the stream, it wasn’t to get off. It was to see if he'd show any signs of knowing you might be lurking about among the thousands of viewers.

When the video loads, Eddie is sitting in his desk chair. He's talking to the chat like he always does. There's something different in the atmosphere around him, mischief if you've placed it correctly.

He keeps replying to comments until the clock reaches 6:10. It's time for the show to begin.

"Tonight I have a very special treat for you guys." Eddie starts as he reaches over just off camera to his desk. "I've got the wand out."

The chat erupts. Eddie doesn't bring his vibrator out often, but when he does, you know it's going to be a good show for every party involved.

"I would also like to say hello to a special quest in the stream tonight." Eddie’s smirk gets bigger and your heart pounds in your chest. "Hi, sweetheart. Hope you enjoy yourself."

You feel like you've been shot. There's a ringing in your ears and your breathing has stopped.

He knows. Fuck. He definitely knows. You've never heard him say that pet name on camera. It's always babe or baby when he refers to the collective whole watching the stream. Eddie has only ever used that name with you.

Eddie starts up the vibrator, tracing it over his covered cock. He hums at the feeling, loud and long.

You clench your thighs together. You tell yourself you should stop watching but you can't bring yourself to.

'He knows." You argue with yourself.

'But he wants you to watch. Why else would he say his pet name for you? Why else would he say he hopes you enjoy yourself? He knows and he likes it.'

The devil on your shoulder makes sense again and you curse it.

So, you watch. Intently, you watch. Your eyes never leave the screen.

Eddie whimpers once he has his cock out of his pants. The tip is a deep purple/red color, showing how worked up he's gotten already.

He lets his head fall back, resting on his chair as he moves the vibrator down to his balls. He presses it into himself before dragging it up his shaft and to the head.

You feel a wetness seeping into the cotton of your panties and as his legs widen, yours press together more.

"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, sweetheart." Eddie moans, mouth open slack and eyes squeezed shut.

You can't believe he's saying your pet name and making those noises. You wonder what he's thinking about. How you'd look sucking on his cock? Maybe what it would be like to be pounding into you, watching your cunt suck him in and clench around him.

Eddie grits his teeth when he turns the speed up. One hand is holding the vibrator just at the frenulum while the other is cupping and squeezing his balls.

Your thoughts are running wild and your hips have started to rock in search of some kind of friction.

He moves his hand from his balls and begins to tug on his shaft. Deep guttural moans fill the air, and the sound of them turns you on even more.

It's not long before Eddie is bucking his cock into his hand. You can see his muscles straining in his legs as he does.

"Fuck fuck fuck- ah fuck sweetheart, you've got me so close. Fuck." His voice is pinched. You can see the exhaustion in the furrow of his eyebrows as he pressed the vibrator over his tip, the change in placement making his hips shudder. “God, I’m gonna cum. The thought of you is gonna make me cum, sweetheart.”

Hearing his breathy, deep, timber of a voice say that the thought of you was going to do him in had you thinking you might just cum too. No touching required, just Eddie and his beautiful noises.

In a matter of seconds, Eddie is choking on his words as his balls go taut. He lets out a drawn-out grunt and ropes of cum begin to spurt out over his chest, covering him like a painting. He doesn’t even bother to clean himself up before he looks into the camera and says good night, chuckling when he mentions your particular pet name again. Then, the screen goes dark.

…

Fridays are slow in the used bookshop you work at. Especially after 4:30. No one had been inside in maybe an hour? Your boss left early, leaving you alone to close down at 6. For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been putting misplaced books back where they belong, sweeping, and tidying up anything else you see.

Because of the usual slowness, you have your headphones on. The music isn’t loud but it does drown out the sound of the bell chiming as someone enters the building. You are unaware of the person creeping up behind you until you are suddenly turned around and corralled against the bookshelf.

You let out an alarmed screech only for your mouth to be covered by a big, warm hand. Your headphones fall to the floor beside you as they are accidentally knocked off your head. You hear his voice then, whispering in your ear.

“Hi, Sweetheart.”

“Eddie-” You heave, relieved it wasn’t someone coming to kill you in cold blood.

“Did you enjoy my show last night?” He leans back, caressing a strand of hair away from your face.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You deny. Even after you had told yourself you would come clean to him, granted that was before you knew he knew your secret.

“You don’t know, do you? I think you do why else would my account have popped up on your search suggestions the other day?”

Keeping your mouth shut, you refuse to answer.

Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and moves your face to the side as he leans into you. His lips tickle the shell of your ear as he speaks again. “So… Which one of my subs are you? Hum?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

Eddie tuts. “Don’t get all shy on me. Tell me. Now.” His tone is dominating. It’s one thing to hear it over a computer speaker, it's another when you hear it in person. His presence alone had your knees knocking.

“I-I,” You can't help but stutter. “It’s Princess23.” You shamefully tell him your user, eyes looking anywhere but his.

He sucks in a breath. “Oh, Princess. That was you?”

He forces you to look at him and you nod your head.

You hate that he’s making you look him in the eye, but you can see what’s swirling around deep within them. Desire, lust, dominance, but nothing mean. Nothing hurtful.

As you watch him, you catch the minute changes in his expression. His jaw clenches and his eyes darken, a hunger taking over as he stares you down.

“I can give you a private show if you want, baby.” He leans back in. “Right here,” He nipps at your ear lobe. “Right now.”

“Eddie, we can’t… We’re at my work.”

He looks around you, head swiveling to peer down both ends of the aisle. “It’s fine Sweetheart, no one’s here but us, right?”

“Yes, but-”

He cuts you off with a finger over your lips.

“Then let me show you why the real thing is so much better than what you’ve seen online.” He doesn’t give you time to think before his lips are on yours.

They are soft, almost pillow-like as they mold against yours. His tongue slithers its way into your mouth, tasting you, he moans when he does.

To you, he tastes like menthol cigarettes and black coffee with the faintest hint of weed. It’s intoxicating, and addicting. You’ve only had one taste and now you won't be able to function without him.

His hand cups your cheek and pulls you closer. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair. His body keeps you pinned to the shelves and he spreads your legs by inserting one of his own between them.

With him being so much taller than you, it only takes you barely bending your knees for you to make contact with his thigh. You are thankful when he doesn’t stop you from humping his leg. The friction of you rubbing yourself against him has the seam of your pants pressing against your clit. It’s a wonderful pressure that leaves your mind blank.

When he pulls away, you follow, not wanting his mouth to leave yours. Eddie chuckles when you give a needy whine.

"It's okay baby, I'll give you what you want." He coos. "But first, since you wanna get yourself off, you've got to make yourself cum on my leg."

You pout. "But Eddie…"

"Ah ah, don't complain sweet girl, you'll only make it take longer. Now get to work."

You do as he says, rolling your hips with purpose against him. He doesn't help you at all, he only provides support and kissed along your jaw every few seconds as he watches you work.

It's harder than you thought it would be. The layers of denim dulled the sensations yet added to the tension your clit felt as the fabric rubbed against it.

"Mmm, fuck." You gasp, fingers gripping onto Eddie’s shoulders. "M'so close. Eddie, I'm so close."

He smiles at you and he gives your body gentle touches. "That's it, Princess. Let go. Being such a good girl for me."

You moan loudly at his praise.

"That right sweet girl, use me to get yourself off. That's it, keep going."

His words are spurring you on, your hips, although losing their rhythm and steadiness, keep going strong. Then, you feel it. That tautness in your tummy and the ache in your bones. You are so close.

"Please, Eddie. Ah- so close. Need more." Your words are short and your hips move faster.

"What is it, baby? What do you need?" Eddie asks, willing to give you just a little.

"Kiss me again," you beg.

He obliges. Taking your face in his hands and practically devouring you.

The canter of your hips stalls as your body shudders against him. A sticky wetness can now be felt, uncomfortably, between your legs.

"So good for me." He praises.

You can feel how hard he is, his needy cock prominently pressing into your thigh.

"Wanna feel you. Eddie please, I need to feel you." You're practically begging him to fuck you now.

"Yeah, sweet girl? You need me to stretch that pretty pussy on my dick? Make you feel so good, baby." He trailed his kiss down to your neck, stopping only to suck and nip at the sensitive skin.

You nod frantically. "Yes, yes Eddie. Need you inside me."

Hands rush to unbutton pants, fingers caress bare skin, breaths hitch. You tug at Eddie's pants impatiently as he pulls your own down. The sudden feeling of cold air hitting the pool of slick between your thighs.

You are both a whirlwind of arms and clothes and a few books falling from their shelf. Eddie’s fingers make their way to your center, exploring between your folds.

You throw your head back, cracking it on the shelf above. "Ow," You moan out in pain.

"Careful there, Sweetheart." He gives you another kiss and moves his unoccupied hand to cradle your head.

The pain is instantly forgotten when two of his thick fingers circle your clit before pushing into your entrance.

"Mmmm- god." He feels so good inside you, fingers curling into your walls. The wet slick of him moving fills the stagnant air of the bookstore.

"You're sucking me in, baby. Pussy squeezing me so tight." Eddie rests his forehead on yours, his breath mixing with your own. "Can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Gasping in response, you buck your hips up into his hand. "More-"

It doesn't take much convincing for Eddie to pull his hand from between your legs and position his hard length at your entrance. Slowly he slips inside, meeting no resistance with how wet you are.

Eddie pushes into you, cock stretching you out farther than you think you've ever been before. His one hand rests on the back of your head while the other pushes your shaking hand out of his way as he goes to press it against your neck.

You grasp his arm, nails scratching his skin as he chokes you.

"Oh- oh, Eddie. Fuck me." You cry, cunt fluttering around him.

Your words are music to his ears. His pace begins steadily. In and out at a lazy, leisurely speed. Then he picks it up, hips bucking faster and faster.

He's giving it all to you. Everything you've dreamed of since you saw him on your Twitter all those months ago.

The head of his cock is repeatedly hitting that one spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You can’t keep yourself up. The feelings coursing through you have your knees buckling and Eddie does a good job at catching your weight.

He stops his movements to try and situate you. “Come on, baby, gotta stand up.”

You shake your head. “I can’t, s’too much.” Your heart is pounding in your chest, if you even tried to stand you would just fall again. “There's a couch.” You point to the back of the store. “It’s in the break room.”

Eddie grunts as he hoists you up in his arms and follows your directions.

The couch is old and made of leather. It is cold on your skin as Eddie lays you down and you shiver as he rips your pants and underwear from around your ankles. Never would you have ever imagined being naked from the waist down in your work break room.

In contrast to the cool leather, Eddie’s hands are searing hot. He grips the back of your knees, picking your legs up and spreading you out. You’re almost folded in half.

“Jesus fucking christ. You. Are. Beautiful.” He enunciated every word. The complement has you keening and clenching around nothing. “Fuck, look at that pretty cunt. She’s gaping for me.” Eddie smiles, eyes flickering to yours before looking back to your most intimate part.

You let out a wonton gasp when he spits, a glob of it falling right atop your parted slit. Eddie takes a hand away and grabs his cock. He rubs the tip through your folds, giving your clit a heavy tap tap tap before entering you again and grabbing the back of your knee again.

Eddie wastes no time in pistoning his hips into yours. The new angle gives him free range of movement to fuck you fast and deep. The skin of his thighs makes a sharp slapping sound when he connects with your ass, it sets the rhythm for the song of your shared moans.

“Pull your shirt up.” He commands and you do as he says. Lifting your shirt up and over your breasts. Eddie lets out an irritated grunt at the sight of your bra. “That too.” He puffs out and you pull it up as far as it will allow.

Your breasts bounce as Eddie fucks you mercilessly into the couch. His eyes are shamelessly trained on them. “Fucking hell, Princess. Gimmie our hands.”

You reach out for him and he grabs your wrists, guiding you to hold your legs back like he had been doing. With the newfound freedom of his hands, he extends them out to play with your tits. He pinches and tugs at your nipples, making you moan in pleasure as he continues his assault. His thrusts become faster, harder, more desperate. You know he's close and you can't take much more either.

“Eddie… Ah- Eddie-” You babble out his name. You wiggle under his hold and the harsh prodding of his cock into your cervix. The strings of another orgasm are being pulled tight.

He growls. “I know baby, I know. Fucking cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

Tears well up in your eyes and begin to overflow. Your body writhes, back bowing, muscles straining. You’re on the precipice.

Eddie sees how close you are and moves a hand down between your legs, circling his thumb over your slick-covered clit.

“Oooh- Oh fuck!” You scream. “Shit shit shit shitshitshitshit…. Ah!”

“Louder.” He moans. “Want the whole town to hear you sweet girl.”

“Eddie! Oh, I’m there. I’m fucking there.” You cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you let go. A scream erupts from your throat. Even in your ecstasy, you can feel Eddie’s tempo shift. He’s losing speed.

“Goddammit. I cumming too.” Eddie whimpers, sinking into you fully. His cum fills you up and you can fill you as it runs down your ass as he pulls out.

Your body is twitching as he moves you to lay more fully on the couch. He doesn’t follow though. No. He sinks to his knees and before your foggy mind can even comprehend it, he attaches his mouth to your pussy.

You are pliant under his touch, unable to resist. His tongue explores you and you moan in pleasure. He’s lapping up the mixture of his cum and your slick, humming at the taste the whole time.

You choke back a sob when his tongue flicks repeatedly over your clit before he begins to suck on the already abused bud. “Eddie, please.” Reaching down you tug on his hair but he doesn’t move. “Ed-” He starts shaking his head, burying himself in your pussy.

Another orgasm is quickly approaching. Your breathing quickens and you can feel your body trembling as he works you up, sending you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, and your body spasms in pleasure. He doesn't stop, continuing his ministrations until you finally come down from your high once more.

“Christ. You taste so good.” He says as he crawls up your spent body. Draping himself over you he places kiss after tender kiss all over your face. “Did so good for me. I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“Mhum. So proud.” He grins, the light of the room catching in the wetness covering him from nose to chin.

Eddie cuddles into you more and your eyes close. He’s exhausted you. You both lay there in silence, content in each other's presence. Eddie eventually falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You don’t have the heart or the energy to wake him. You stay awake, just barely, still in awe of what happened.

It feels like hours have gone by when you finally do shake Eddie, calling out to him softly. He stirs, grumbling as he looks up at you.

“Eds, baby, I need to lock up.”

He only rests his head back down between your breasts. You shake him again.

“Eddie.” You say it a bit more sternly. “Get up and I’ll let you take me back to yours.”

That gets his attention and he’s up and dressing himself in an instant. You on the other hand are slower, feeling the prominent ache between your legs. He has to help you pull your panties and jeans back on.

He has to help you close the store as well, your legs weak and not trusted to hold up your body weight without crumbling to the ground.

Never had you thought this was how this would end. Sitting in the passenger seat of your favorite camboy's car as he drives you to his apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat as you both think of all the fun things you’ll get up to. Round two was bound to be wilder than the first.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #female reader #camboy!eddie #camboy!eddie munson #soft!dom eddie

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communistkenobi · 7 months ago

Note

Would you be willing to dunk on speak more on mainstream feminist theory you're reading? And/or share some of the non-juvenile feminist theory you've read?

(Note: I will try to link to open access versions of articles as much as possible, but some of them are paywalled. if the links dont work just type the titles into google and add pdf at the end, i found them all that way)

If there’s any one singular issue with mainstream feminist thought that can be generalized to "The Problem With Mainstream Feminism" (and by mainstream I mean white, cishet, bourgeois feminism, the “canonical feminism” that is taught in western universities) it’s that gender is treated as something that can stand by itself, by which I mean, “gender” is a complete unit of analysis from which to understand social inequality. You can “add” race, class, ability, national origin, religion, sexuality, and so on to your analysis (each likewise treated as full, discrete categories of the social world), but that gender itself provides a comprehensive (or at the very least “good enough”) view of a given social problem. (RW Connell, who wrote the canonical text Masculinities (1995) and is one of the feminist scholars who coined/popularized the term hegemonic masculinity, is a fantastic example of this.)

Black feminists have for many decades pointed out how fucking ridiculous this is, especially vis a vis race and class, because Black women do not experience misogyny and racism as two discrete forms of oppression in their lives, they are inextricably linked. The separation of gender and race is not merely an analytical error on the part of white feminists - it is a continuation of the long white supremacist tradition of bounding gender in exclusively white terms. Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist Thought (2000) engages with this via a speech by Sojourner Truth, the most famous line from her speech being “ain’t I a woman?” as she describes all the aspects of womanhood she experiences but is still denied the position of woman by white women because she is Black. Lugones in Coloniality of Gender (2008) likewise brings up the example of segregationist movements in the USAmerican South, where towns would put up banners saying things like “Protect Southern Women” as a rationale for segregation, making it very clear who they viewed as women. Sylvia Wynter in 1492: A New World View likewise points out that colonized women and men were treated like cattle by Spanish colonizers in South America, often counted in population measures as "heads of Indian men and women," as in heads of cattle. They were treated as colonial resources, not as gendered subjects capable of rational thought.

To treat the category of “woman” as something that stands by itself is a white supremacist understanding of gender, because “woman” always just means white woman - the fact that white is left implied is part of white supremacy, because who is granted subjecthood, the ability to be seen as human and therefore a gendered subject, is a function of race (see Quijano, 2000). Crenshaw (1991) operationalizes this through the term intersectionality, pointing out that law treats gender and race as separate social sites of discrimination, and the practical effect of this is that Black women have limited/no legal recourse when they face discrimination because they experience it as misogynoir, as the multiplicative effect of their position as Black women, not as sexism on the one hand and racism on the other.

Transfeminist theory has further problematized the category of gender by pointing out that "woman" always just means cis woman (and more often than not also means heterosexual woman). The most famous of these critiques comes from Judith Butler - I’m less familiar with their work, but there is a great example in the beginning of Bodies That Matter (1993) where they demonstrate that personhood itself is a gendered social position. They ask (and I’m paraphrasing) “when does a fetus stop becoming an ‘it’? When its gender is declared by a doctor or nurse via ultrasound.” Sex assignment is not merely a social practice of patriarchal division, it is the medium through which the human subject is created (and recall that gender is fundamentally racialized & race is fundamentally gendered, which I will come back to).

And the work of transfeminists demonstrate this by showing transgender people are treated as non-human, non-citizens. Heath Fogg Davis in Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) recounts the story of an African American transgender woman in Pennsylvania being denied use of public transit, because her bus pass had an F gender marker on it (as all buss passes in the state required gender markers until 2013) and the bus driver refused her service because she “didn’t look like a woman.” She was denied access to transit again when she got her marker changed to M, as she “didn’t look like a man.” Transgender people are thus denied access to basic public services by being constructed as “administratively impossible” - gender markers are a component of citizenship because they appear on all citizenship documents, as well as a variety of civil and public documents (such as a bus pass). Gender markers, even when changed by trans people (an arduous, difficult process in most places on earth, if not outright impossible), are seen as fraudulent & used as a basis to deny us citizenship rights. Toby Beauchamp in Going Stealth: Transgender Politics & US Surveillance Practices (2019) talks about anti-trans bathroom bills as a form of citizenship denial to trans people - anti-trans bathroom laws are impossible to actually enforce because nobody is doing genital inspections of everyone who enters bathrooms (and genitals are not proof of transgenderism!), but that’s actually not the point. The point of these bills is to embolden members of the cissexual public to deputize themselves on behalf of the state to police access to public space, directing their cissexual gaze towards anyone who “looks transgender.” Beauchamp points out that transvestigators don’t need to be accurate most of the time, because again, the point is terrorizing transgender people out of public life. He connects this with racial segregation, and argues that we shouldn’t view gender segregation as “a new form of” racial segregation (this is a duplication of white supremacist feminism) but a continuation of it, because public access is a citizenship right and citizenship is fundamentally racially mediated (see Glenn's (2002) Unequal Freedom)

Susan Stryker & Nikki Sullivan further drives this home in The King’s Member, The Queen’s Body, where they explain the history of the crime of mayhem. Originating in feudal Europe (I don’t remember off the dome the exact time/place so forgive the generalization lol), mayhem is the crime of self-mutilation for the purposes of avoiding military conscription, but what is interesting is that its not actually legally treated as “self” mutilation, but a mutilation of the state and its capacity to exercise its own power. They link the concept of mayhem to the contemporary hysteria around transgender people receiving bottom surgery - we are not in fact self mutilating, we are mutilating the state’s ability to reproduce its own population by permanently destroying (in the eyes of the cissexual public) our capacity to form the foundational social unit of the nuclear family. Our bodies are not our own, they are a component of the state. Situating this in the context of reproductive rights makes this even clearer. Abortion access is not actually about the individual, it is the state mediating its own reproductive capacity via the restriction of abortion (premised on the cissexual logic of binary reproductive capacity systematized through sex assignment). Returning to Hill Collins, she points out that in the US, white cis women are restricted access to abortion while Black and Indigenous cis women are routinely forcibly sterilized, their children aborted, and pumped with birth control by the state. This is not a contradiction or point of “hypocrisy” on the part of conservatives, this is a fully comprehensive plan of white supremacist population management.

To treat "gender" as its own category, as much of mainstream feminism does (see Acker (1990) and England (2010) for two hilarious examples of this, both widely cited feminists), is to forward a white supremacist notion of gender. That white supremacy is fundamentally cissexual and heterosexual is not an accident - it is a central organizing logic that allows for the systematization of the fear of declining white birthrates (the conspiracy of "white genocide" is illegible without the base belief that there are two kinds of bodies, one that gets pregnant and one that does the impregnating, and that these two types of bodies are universal sources of evidence of the superiority of men over women - and im using those terms in the most loaded possible sense).

I realize that most of these readings are US centric, which is an unfortunate limitation of my own education. I have been really trying to branch into literature outside the Global North, but doctoral degree constraints + time constraints + my own research requires continual engagement with it. I also realize that most of the transfeminist readings I've cited are by white scholars! This is a continual systemic problem in academic literature and I'm not exempt from it, even as I sit here and lay out the problem. Which is to say, this is nowhere near the final word on this subject, and having to devote so much time to reading mainstream feminist theory as someone who is in western academia is part of my own limited education + perspective on this topic

#asks #even old new york was once new amsterdam #book club #reading list

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littlexdeaths · 9 months ago

Text

what are friends for? - e.m.

best friend eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: period talk/period blood, eddie is the sweetest as always, grinding, fingering, one singular use of daddy

a/n: thank you to @callsignraver for the title idea 🤭 the eddie edit was made by me! you can use it, just please credit my side blog (strangergraphics), if you do. now enjoy xx.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me,” he sounds so sincere, which is why you can’t even look at him.

Because looking at him would just open a set of floodgates that you aren’t prepared to deal with right now.

Looking at him is only going to fuel the fire that is raging in your lower abdomen— that was lit the moment you stepped foot in the trailer.

A fire that he’s been steadily stoking with each brush of his fingertips against yours as you reach for more popcorn. Or when his knee bumps casually into yours as he shifts on the small sofa.

Which for someone as fidgety as Eddie Munson— was a lot.

“I promise I’m not gonna laugh or anything, just tell me what’s wrong.”

Your best friend had been able to pick up on the shift in your mood almost immediately. But he chose not to comment on it until now, unable to handle it any longer.

But how in the hell were you supposed to tell him that it’s his fault? That he’s driving you crazy?

That you want nothing more than to have his fingers buried inside you?

“You wouldn’t get it,” you sigh, shifting your body further away from him on the sofa.

Clinging onto the arm for dear life as you pretend to watch the clash of light sabers on the tv screen.

His snort has your eyes rolling.

“Try me.”

Your hands move up to rub your temples, eyes slipping shut.

“It’s a dumb girl thing—”

He jumps up off the sofa before you can even finish your sentence, returning from the bathroom mere moments later with a bottle of Advil in tow.

Eddie doesn’t register your confused expression as he stands before you, holding out the bottle.

“Cramps, right?” he asks, a kind smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You feel embarrassed, because of course that’s what he would think. He’s heard you drone on and on about it over the years. He only wants to help, like the kind friend that is he is.

Friend, being the keyword here.

“I um…” you mumble, taking the bottle from his outstretched hand.

You attempt to ignore the heat that continues to pool in between your thighs as you stare at the veins protruding from his hand. The way his thick fingers were previously gripping onto the pill bottle.

How they would feel gripping your inner thighs….

No. Stop it.

You mentally scold yourself, chewing on your lower lip as he takes a seat on the sofa.

“I appreciate it, but that’s not the issue.”

Now he’s the one who looks confused, leaning forward as he scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

“Then what is it?” he prods.

Eddie knocks his knee into yours again, tingles shooting up your spine from the subtle touch.

“It’s just, I’m feeling…”

“Tired?”

“No.”

“Bloated?”

“No!”

“Hangry—”

“Horny!” you shout, startling you both, “I’m horny.”

Your voice has gone soft, a near whisper compared to your previous volume. The air around you is suddenly thicker, and you are once again unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh,” he says after a long pause.

“Yeah, oh.”

You feel the tips of your ears warming as you continue to stare down at your lap. The beginning chords of the imperial march are the only thing filling the uncomfortable silence between you.

“I mean, I could always help you,” he replies finally.

His words cause your eyes to shoot up in surprise, your head turning to meet his molten hues.

“That’s— I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Ed.”

His ringed hand suddenly reaches over to rest on your knee, fingers slipping beneath the rips in your jeans.

“What if I want to?”

Now you’re the one rendered speechless.

“What if I have wanted to… for a long time,” he continues, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, determination in his eyes as he leans further into your space. You can’t help how your body gravitates towards him, your hands clutching onto the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

You can feel the way his breath mingles with yours, nicotine and movie theater butter. But it’s the flecks of honey in his eyes that break down your remaining defenses.

You answer him with a kiss, lightly pressing them to his. Testing the waters. Eddie eagerly deepens it, pulling you in closer until you’re in his lap. Your thighs bracket his hips, his hands encircling your waist.

The kiss becomes heated, faster than either of you are prepared for. You lower your hips harder onto his lap, inhaling his soft gasp as your bodies meld together. His grip tightens on your hips as you eagerly grind yourself against his crotch, welcoming the friction.

“Hold on, baby.” He groans again, his large hands stopping any further movement.

Baby.

He’s never called you that before.

Your lower lip juts out in a pout as he maneuvers you off of his lap, and back onto the soft cushions of the sofa. The male quickly sinks to his knees, his hands splaying across the tops of your thighs as he works himself between them. He chuckles at your expression, shaking his head slightly.

“Patience, pretty girl,” he hums as his hands slide further up your thighs until they reach the button on your jeans. “Let’s get these off, yeah?”

Your nerves suddenly kick back into gear, despite the flames continuing to lick your skin. Eddie has become so tuned into your emotions over the years that he can sense this new shift immediately. This was an emotion he has seen plenty of times, but it was never because of him.

The notion has his hands freezing as they hover over the closure of your jeans.

“Shit, did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh. “I just… don’t wanna make a mess.”

His expression softens as you gesture to the tan sofa beneath you. The male rises to his feet without another word, darting over to the laundry basket that is seated on top of their washing machine. He digs through a pile of clothes until he finds whatever he’s searching for.

A dark maroon towel.

He clutches the soft fabric in his hands as he makes his way back to you, resuming his previous position between your legs. He sets it next to you, his brown eyes nervously shifting between your thighs and your face.

“You can touch me, Eds,” you say, carefully taking his hands in yours to guide them up to the clasp on your jeans.

Eddie doesn’t need to hear anything else.

He makes quick work of removing your jeans, tugging the denim down your thighs. His eagerness has you giggling, the tops of his cheeks flushing a light pink even in the muted light.

He pauses for a moment, leaning back as he drinks in your newly exposed skin. His eyes darken even further as his calloused fingers grip the hem of your cotton panties.

“God, take them off— please,” you whine, no longer caring if you sound pathetic.

You’ve waited far too many years for this to happen, and your patience has finally run out. Eddie chuckles, sliding your panties (pad and all) down your thighs. The male carelessly tosses them over his shoulder, ignoring your small protest.

“Lift up,” he hums, motioning you to guide your hips up.

He easily slides the towel beneath you, letting your body relax against the plush material. Eddie gently rests his hands over the tops of your thighs once more, beginning to spread them even wider. Your cheeks warm as his eyes zero in on your core, whining softly as he licks his lips.

“Christ,” he breathes, inhaling deeply as he notes the way your arousal shines in the glowing light of the tv.

He leans back for a moment, dark eyes flicking up to meet your gaze as he slowly slides each of those gaudy rings off his fingers. Eddie takes his time in doing so, the clink of metal echoes in your ears as he gathers them in his palm.

“Gimme your hand,” he says softly, but the command in his voice lingers all the same.

You hold out your left hand towards him, ignoring the way it trembles as he begins to slide each of his large rings onto your fingers. His dimples indent his cheeks as he grins, carefully lifting your knuckles to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to each one, ensuring that he keeps his eyes trained on you as he does so.

“Keep those safe for me, sweetheart.”

He winks playfully, leaning forward to brush his lips over the bare skin of your shin. His hands hook under your knees, allowing you to drape your legs over his shoulders. His movements have slowed drastically, taking his time before his fingers finally dip between your thighs.

Your soft gasp spurs him on, his fingers running through your drenched folds. He gathers your arousal on his fingertips, dragging them up to encircle over your swollen bud. You let your body relax against the couch cushions, allowing your eyes to slip shut as he continues his gentle touches.

But as soon as his touch starts— it stops just as fast.

A whine spills past your lips as his large hands wrap around the meat of your thighs and squeeze.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he coos, pressing his lips to the curve of your knee.

His teeth lightly nip at the skin there, causing your eyes to flutter back open.

“Yes, sir,” you giggle as he groans.

His fingers are back on you before you have time to mention his reaction, circling your entrance before dipping inside slowly. It causes your breath to hitch, his middle finger able to stretch you out better than any of yours ever have.

Eddie curses under his breath as he adds another, your body almost greedily sucks him in. Your hand instinctively reaches forward to grip onto his bicep. The rings that adorn your hand are biting into his skin, the thought alone makes his jeans impossibly tighter.

“God, you’re so wet,” he moans, guiding his fingers even deeper inside you.

You reply with a soft whine, your thoughts entirely too jumbled to provide him with anything else. His eyes have momentarily dropped from your face to where his fingers are nestled inside you. He slides them back out, admiring the sticky pink mixture that’s coating his thick digits.

“Eddie, don’t tease,” you huff, guiding your hips back towards his awaiting hand.

Your impatient attitude has him chuckling, those dark hues flicking up to meet yours again.

“Oh, you want these back, baby?” He taunts, his other hand gripping onto your thigh as he eases three of the digits inside your entrance.

The brunette holds them there, enjoying the way your body begins to squirm beneath him. Taunting you.

“Go on, say it, sweetheart.”

He raises a brow at you, slightly pushing his fingers in deeper, before he quickly retracts them with your continued silence. Repeating the action.

“I want…” you start, but the curl of his fingers makes you lose your train of thought.

“Hmm, you want what?” he prods.

He completely removes them from your entrance, ignoring your pleading eyes as he slides them back up to dance around your clit.

Your soft mewl of his name does nothing to deter his actions, it only slows them.

“Come on, use that pretty little head of yours,” he hums as the tips of his fingers graze over your swollen bud.

“God, just— please!” your voice raises an octave, taking on a breathy quality.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk as he tilts his head at you. His fingers dip lower, circling over your puckered hole.

“Ya know, while I usually prefer something along the lines of master… or even daddy,” he muses, noting how your breath hitches.

“God, sure has a nice ring to it.”

His head falls back as he laughs, a playful pout adorning his lips as you swat at him. Those simmering embers have quickly morphed into a raging fire, ready to engulf you both in the flames.

“Eddie, I swear to God. If you don’t put those fingers back inside me, I will—“

The rest of your threat gets caught in your throat as he thrusts his fingers back in, a strangled moan takes their place.

“See, was that so hard, princess?” he teases.

You don’t answer him, instead grinding your hips down to meet his palm. Eddie pumps his fingers faster, his thumb pressing onto your clit. The wet squelch that follows has him moaning, nuzzling his face against your knee.

Your hand releases his bicep, slipping down his arm to tangle your fingers together. He holds them tightly, beginning to curl the others inside you. The calloused tips brush against your sweet spot, pulling another whine from your throat.

“Oh, right there,” you pant, chest heaving as his thumb firmly massages your clit.

That fire continues to burn brighter with each thrust of his fingers, ready to swallow you whole.

“That’s it,” he grins, watching in awe as you make a mess of his fingers, streaks of red and pink dripping down his knuckles.

“Makin’ such a mess f’me, baby.”

You barely register his words as your back arches up off the sofa. Your eyes squeeze shut as white hot pleasure bursts behind your eyelids. His rings dig into your skin from how tightly you’re grasping him, legs trembling as he coaxes you through your high.

Your ears are ringing as you finally collapse into the lumpy cushions, whining as he continues to gently thrust his fingers inside you.

“Come ‘ere,” you mumble, eyes fluttering open to meet his.

His cheek is smushed against your inner thigh, only breaking your heavy lidded stare to slide his fingers out of you. He hums, carefully lifting his fingers towards the dim light from the tv. He rubs them together, gazing in utter fascination at the sticky strings they leave behind.

You already miss his warmth, tugging playfully on his unruly curls to grab his attention. He chuckles, wiping his fingers on the towel beneath you before he’s hovering over your body. Hips pressed into yours, not caring if you make a mess on the front of his pants.

“Thank you,” you whisper, twirling one of his curls around your ringed finger.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” He grins down at you, his dark eyes almost sparkling.

“Besides…” he pauses, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “What are friends for?”

tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @undead-supernova @munsonhoneybaby @hippiegoth97 @cinemabean @strangerstilinski @corrodedcorpses @curlyjoequinn @mugloversonly @eddiesxangel @hellfirenacht @splendiferous-bitch @razzeith @aleisashortcake @ali-r3n @eddie-is-a-god (i tried tagging you i promise 😭)

#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #best friend!eddie munson x fem!reader #best friend!eddie munson #[ the munson files ]

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tusswrites · 2 months ago

Text

Taming The Tempest (j.w.w)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x female reader

synopsis: “Hey Jungkook,” you call out angrily, “take it easy on the couch, it’s brand new. I just finished paying for it.” “Oh you mean this couch?” Jungkook retorts teasingly as he proceeds to slap the couch one more time. Harder. “Hey you asshole-” you begin. You feel it. The warning pressure of his fingers against your neck, the one where he signals you to calm down, the -‘it’s -not- that- deep - admonition ', and immediately you settle, opting to glare daggers from your perch on the couch instead. Jungkook must know. He definitely knows there was a code word between Wonwoo and you because his shit eating grin is in full swing, all bunny teethed and mischievous gleam in his eyes. or

when the angriest girl from high school settles for the quietest boy from uni.

genre: unadulterated fluff ; rating : 16+

word count: 3.7k+ (supposed drabble)

credits: our forefather Mr. William Shakespeare for the title- inspired by two of his plays . and my pesky bub @svtiddiess for helping me out in more ways than one. like every time.

warnings: hot tempered y/n and a soft hearted wonwoo, profanity, not beta read, you are right there are errors.

a.n. : this is set in the same universe as my upcoming fic- 'Mr. Steal Your Girl Man' ft Jungkook. don't be fooled by the banner, graphic design is my passion!

check out the masterlist here!

“And then Miss Jung slapped a detention slip onto Y/N’s hand, with that weird glint in her eye. I have never seen Y/N look more like a wounded puppy than at that moment.” “Hey I do not regret what I did for one second, she had it coming all this while. I know she failed me in Calc on purpose. Got in big trouble with dad for that F”

“Well, you wouldn't have had it coming had you not put Epsom salt in her drink Y/N! Epsom salt! Who does that? That was cruel what you did to her.” ‘I did that because she snitched on you to your parents and got you grounded! I was trying to serve her revenge for making you miss football tryouts!” “That you did.” And you look to see your best friend from across the couch, flashing you his bunny smile, like the whole reason you hadn’t gotten detention for a whole month straight was because you defended him.

Growing up, you and Jungkook were best friends that stuck with each other through thick and thin. Ever since Kookie moved to your school in kindergarten, a handkerchief pinned to his sweatshirt and a bunny-eared bottle hanging around his neck, you had vowed to protect this little boy who was much shorter than you back then.

When Evan thought it was funny to bully the new kid by excluding him from a game of tag at recess—leaving a teary, snot-nosed Jungkook crying at the end of the park bench—you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally

From that day forward, Evan dared not lay a finger on Jungkook again.

You had grown up with temper issues your parents had tried to find help for. They knew your choice of laying fists over words was going to be your downfall in the long run. But unfortunately for them, it did not warrant how loved you were by your principal.

You were sent into her office to speak to someone and sort out your anger issues, maybe put a stop to all this rage that comes out of you. Maybe venting to someone would cause someone to find the roots of your rage. It was genes, you knew that, but of course your parents would never admit owning a temper like this. Outside the principal's office, you were met with loud wails and sniffles.

“Baby please, one chance”

“No Walter, I gave you one too many chances, let go of me.” You round the corner and see Mrs. Altman struggling to free herself from the firm grip of a strange man. Rage fills your five-year-old body. If she told him to let go, why won’t he let go?

Thinking the only thought you had, you run over and promptly jump up and kick the strange man on his shin. You didn’t know the outcome, but every fight with your brother Mingyu that resulted with a kick there ended up with him on the ground writhing and calling out for mom. You knew the repercussions of using your legs over your words, but Mrs Altman looked scared and your instincts were telling you to fight the only way it seemed logically possible at that time.

The strange man had fallen back on the floor, probably out of shock, cupping his shin and cursing with all the words your mother had said were unfit to be used in this house.

Mrs. Altman took one look at you, scooped you up, and hurried off to call security. Thus began a lifetime allegiance between you and Mrs. Altman. “That girl has quite the temper, she is never going to find a man with that mouth on her.” “Y/N is fine Mrs. L/N, she is quite the fireball but she fights for justice.”

Although you were warned to take hold of your temper, more so by a pleading mother , you found it harder to as the days increased and people’s brain power decreased.

In middle school, Jungkook was sent to an all boys high school to the chagrin of his mother. “He’s not telling me but I know he’s being bullied, Yuri. Everyday he comes with a new scar and although I have raised several complaints to the school, they refuse to take any action on the matter. I am quite literally worried for my child’s safety. "You overheard Mrs. Jeon tearfully spill to your mother over afternoon tea.

“Well say no more Mrs. Jeon” You had muttered in your head.

The next day you jumped over the fence that separates your school from Jungkooks, the five pebbles you had collected from your fish tank secured well in your pocket and ran off to Kook’s park. There you beheld Tesak who had a hand on Jungkook’s nape as he dipped his head into the hedge, a mob of laughing middle schoolers watching the spectacle.

Rage filled you like no other, you were well taught in archery by your father. Standing at the end of the fence you throw the first pebble. Tesak didn't see it coming. Catching him off guard you run and land a blow under his jaw, effectively bleeding him. You knew the amount of trouble you’d get into should you do it. But this was Kookie, your best friend. Reasoning flew out the window when you know someone dared to hurt your soft hearted best friend.

Getting home that day was a nightmare. Your parents were fighting. You could hear it over the sound of the loud music your brother was playing from the room across. “She was defending her fiend Yuri, I will not punish her for doing the right thing.” “Honestly Chen, you are the reason she has turned up like this. Stop siding with her. This is not the right behavior”

“I am going out for beer, Yuri, do what needs to be done, but I see no harm in what the child has done, defending her best friend against a bully." You heard receding footsteps and almost immediately slid under the blankets, you didn’t want anyone to see that you were awake, lest that warrants another scolding. You feel a soft kiss on your forehead , and a soft ‘stand for the truth Y/N’ crooned near your head and you knew your dad was mighty proud of you for doing the right thing.

Teenage hood had you turning up to being an absolute monster. Your parents divorce had torn you apart in more ways than one, even more so since you were the one who was stuck with mom while Mingyu stayed with dad’s.

Sometimes even you couldn’t understand your feelings. You couldn't explain the rage you felt. When your friends got teased or picked apart for something they didn’t do and ended up sobbing about it, your body was quick to fuel with hatred.

Woe to the man who dared stand in the path of your wrath. Though you had outgrown the days of violence before words — a change spurred by a mother’s desperate pleas for restraint — you knew, deep down, there were moments when you still reached the precipice. You couldn’t deny it.

High school was insanity for you, A broody batch of teenagers in a school filled with cliques that created unwanted divides between the popular and losers? Because why did Sadie who peed her pants in kindergarten think it was okay to be mean to the other girls now? Why did Riwoo, the shortest boy in seventh grade think a sudden glow up gave him the right to beat up smart kids.

Nuh uh, not on your watch. No way were you going to let someone bully your friends and think it's okay to get away with it.

Inanimate objects were also not safe from your anger. But your constant breaking of objects did lead you to find the absolute love of your life.

The sudden pop quiz shoved on a class of groaning college students by Mr Huxley was no fun. You will never understand why this was merriment to anyone. In a state of irritation at the sudden exam you had not studied for, you had slammed your pencil against the table, effectively breaking the lead.

Great, you were now in an exam hall, with no way to pass the grade because you had broken your only mechanism to write.

From behind you feel it. The light feathery touch of someone who had poked you slightly. You are annoyed at the intrusion .Who dared to disturb your small tantrum ?

You turn around and catch the eyes of a man. And at first all you can see is - soft. He looks soft.

He offers you a sleek fountain pen, its polished body gleaming. A bead of ink rests at the nib, poised as though ready to leap onto the page and transform into words.

He had on him a hoodie that covered his fists and a pair of glasses that rested on his nose, a little crooked albeit. And all you want to do is, reach out and fix it for him. And probably kiss his stupid face.

You freeze. You didn’t feel for people. Oh no no. You were L/N Y/N, dubbed as the ‘angriest girl in high school’, surely it can’t be you who has this urge to bridge the gap and sit on his stupid lap and kiss this stranger boy silly? You scoff and turn forward. Not without a scathing warning look directed at him. “Don’t ever touch me again”

Fast forward to now, and the very same boy is by your side. His hand glides up and down your arm, fingers kneading gently, expertly. He’s doing his thing — the quiet ritual you’ve come to rely on — trying to pull you back from whatever dimension of rage you’ve locked yourself in.

He seemed to be doing a good job, because you most definitely were being calmed. Very promptly he whisked you to sit up straight and lean a little better against him. You place your cheek against his shoulder, the cheek that is puffing up in a mighty pout, scornfully glaring at Jungkook.

“And then Mrs. Jung said, “Y/N with this attitude of yours you will never get anywhere in life, your anger issue will land you in hot waters”

“And, and” you couldn’t catch head or tails of what Jungkook was saying, he had dissolved into a fit of giggles, slapping against the couch you had worked so hard to pay off for. “Hey Jungkook,” you call out angrily, “take it easy on the couch, it’s brand new. I just finished paying for it.” “Oh you mean this couch?” Jungkook retorts teasingly as he proceeds to slap the couch one more time. Harder. “Hey you asshole-” you begin.

You feel it. The warning pressure of his fingers against your neck, the one where he signals you to calm down, the -‘it’s -not- that- deep - admonition ', and immediately you settle, opting to glare daggers from your perch on the couch instead.

Jungkook must know. He definitely knows there was a code word between Wonwoo and you because his shit eating grin is in full swing, all bunny teethed and mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Wonwoo knows you like the back of his head, knows that one sassy retort will come out of your mouth any second. And so he places one more small pinch against the back of your hand, before you go off at Jungkook.

Internally sighing, you turn up to look at Wonwoo with doleful eyes, hoping he’d show you some mercy. Can’t he see your best friend was being an absolute fucker right now?

Almost like he can read your thoughts, Wonwoo whispers, ‘he’s just doing that to get a rise out of you Y/N, don’t take the bait’.

So you leave it. For now, High school you would never. Not till at least a book was chucked across the head, But for Wonwoo, your quiet lover, you’d do absolutely anything.

You don’t miss the warning glare Wonwoo shoots at Jungkook, and you are mildly assuaged . At least your boyfriend has your back. With that thought, you fall asleep, lulled by Jungkook's unconscious humming and your lover's soft hands running across your arm. Not before you flip the finger at your best friend though.

“No you don’t get it hyung, this was who Y/N was like in high school. One time, Hardin came to give her flowers and guess what she did? She slammed him against the lockers and demanded to know who put him up to this? As if Hardin would never give her flowers out of his own will!”

Even though you were awake now, you pretended to continue sleeping, cringing at the memory of you shoving a boy against the lockers for confessing his feelings for you.

“Well, to be fair, Kookie, you were bullied a lot in high school. I’m sure she thought this was Hardin’s way of getting revenge for clocking him in the past.” Wonwoo had heard every detail of your high school stories, never missing a single one of your ramblings. He knew almost everyone from your school, despite the fact that you two had attended different ones.

“That’s true. Man, school was hell, I would never have made it this far had it not been Y/N defending me and fighting all those fuckers. Even though she bullies me too.” You hear the pout in his voice. “Hey, I never bullied you. I just call you out on your bullshit, like the best friend I am. Someone had to,” You protest weakly from where you were lying on Wonwoo. “I knew that bitch wasn’t asleep, I told you, she’s got a sixth sense for when she hears her name” Gukkie retorts.

You open your eyes to find Wonwoo’s brow raised, his gaze fixed on you with amusement as he watches your mindless banter with your best friend. It was in his best interest to never get between the two of you — a warning Mingyu had given him long ago, one he had learned to follow wisely

Leaning down, Wonwoo places his mouth near your ear, causing you to heat up and shiver at the proximity.

“Who’s Hardin?” Well oops. You hear his small chuckle at your instinct to close your eyes and turn around, fake snoring again.

So maybe you hadn’t told Wonwoo the list of everyone who had been on the receiving end of your wrath. To be fair, you didn’t think anyone with common sense should tolerate someone whose actions were almost always met with anger.

But you did change. Maybe you hadn't reached there fully, but you are getting there.

“Words baby, use your words” he’d say when the emotions ran high and the advice of your therapist fell on deaf ears and all you could do was resort to punching holes in the wall. “If you could just come to me instead of cooking up a whole story in your head, the behemoth of troubles we could have avoided.” You have no idea what behemoth means, you have no idea about any of the things he says half the time. All you can feel is tender love and affection as Wonwoo lifts you up and places you on the bathroom counter, tenderly rubbing your knuckles as he bandages it up. You were a tough cookie on the outside but on the inside, you were a crybaby. You hated pain. “Hey, hey none of that now Y/N”. Wonwoo was probably the only good thing in your life right now, the one person you wanted to be good for always. So when the only person who you have wanted to be vulnerable gives you a disappointed look, of course you cry.

Wonwoo had chuckled then. Turning to get a tissue and get you to blow your nose he begins to talk. “How you get the whole world to fear you when you are scared of an antiseptic, I will never know.”

You jutted your lip out. “Oh, does the baby not like being teased?” There’s mirth in his voice and for that you are grateful. Everything is better than a boyfriend who is disappointed in you. When the feelings bubbled in you and all you wanted was to churn out the boiling fury that blossomed in ways you could never decipher, you now resort to ‘think happy thoughts Y/N’. Against your mother’s belief, above your brother's disbelief and to your fathers utmost happiness, you have secured a boyfriend. Someone who was gentle and soft. Wonwoo never scoffed at you, never cursed you, never wished hell upon you. But he did have his moments where you knew he was teetering over the edge.

You still remember it like the back of your mind. Work had been frustrating, you had rushed into the kitchen, ignoring Wonwoo’s welcoming hug and dashed to eat your share of cake. But a quick rummage through the refrigerator and failing to see the last slice, rather a sheepish cake smeared Wonwoo behind the door had awakened demons out of you that you didn't know existed. What came out of that was a fight you didn’t think would ever happen. Out sprang a teary Y/N and an apologetic Wonwoo. Apparently you were not the only one with feelings in this house. He just knew better than to lose it. Wonwoo hadn’t slept the whole night, uttering apology after apology for having lost it. Truth be said, you didn’t really mind it. A serenity passed over you in knowing that your boyfriend took this much comfort in you to actually lose his frustration. But, never again did you want to see that side of him.

The high school reunion had left everyone speechless. First, they were stunned into silence when they saw Sadie Clark with her entire entourage of nine kids. But that was nothing compared to the second shock: there you were, strolling in hand-in-hand with a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend — Jeon Wonwoo? Of all people?

Sure, no one knew Jeon Wonwoo that well, except for the fact that he was the son of the town mayor and, apparently, the subject of every teenage girl’s romantic daydreams. The rumors were thick — he was mute, he had a boyfriend, he was part of an undercover gang, he was a part time cop, he only had sex with grandmothers . But you? With him? How did that happen?

Jungkook tried to stir up some shit again — “Hyung look, that’s where Billy was dunked face down into the toilet by Y/N." Before Wonwoo could act surprised you come to your own defenses. “Billy Parker was a pervert who had it coming for filming girls under their skirts” there was a proud lilt in your voice as you triumphantly walked hand in hand with Wonwoo.

One fine day, when you were nine, over a daddy- daughter date, your father had told you the story about the boy whose father made him hammer nails onto a fence every time he got angry. Back then, you didn’t care much about the nails or the scars on the door. Didn’t care much about the tale either. “Just get a new fence Appa” you had said over a mouthful of noodles. But now, you know the implications behind the story and what it means to leave scars behind. And for your boyfriend, you are willing to try ; to never let your actions be dictated by fury.

“Take a deep breath Y/N, think happy thoughts”

And for the happy thoughts you had, for the marriage you want to have, or the children you wish to have, you try to put a pin on your emotions.

Except when a Jeon Jungkook comes and changes all that

It was unmistakable, Jungkook was a boy with a great knack for playing games. Any games you picked, he owned it. But when he won every round of Uno, you had your sneaking suspicions that something was fishy.

Ain’t no way someone was winning for the thirteenth time in a row. Wonwoo had no problem losing in a game of cards, but agitation rose for you. How was this boy going to win every game ever?

When Wonwoo calls for a bathroom break, you cross the barrier between you and Jungkook, bunching him up by the collar and bringing your face dangerously close to his. Jungkook for the most part remains unperturbed, this isn’t his first rodeo, he knows how mad you get when you lose every time.

“Listen here you little fucker, I don’t care what games you are playing here but-” “Lovey”

There it comes, the soft yet dominant voice that warns you to think before you say the next words. And immediately you unclench around Jungkook’s tee, looking sheepishly back at Wonwoo. When had he come back so quickly from the washroom?

Your face burns, partially at the embarrassment of being caught and partially at the irritation that was rising listening to Kook’s grating voice as he laughs in glee.

It was pretty clear, Wonwoo hated cursing. Something about having an uncouth mouth didn’t sit well with him. Everything about Wonwoo screamed elegant and well mannered and everything about you screamed boorish. Boorish was a word he’d taught you when you asked why he couldn’t just swear like a normal person instead of saying “oopsie daisy ” at every odd circumstance.

When you’d sworn at your mother during Thanksgiving dinner, frustrated with her constant nagging, Wonwoo had simply sent you one look from across the table. Before his voice even had the chance to call you out, you were already apologizing to your mom.

“I used to pray for days like this,” she sobbed, crying into Wonwoo’s shoulder, thanking him for taking care of you and helping you change into a better person.

But like Wonwoo had said, “You didn’t change for me, Y/N.” And honestly, you had to agree with him.

It might have been a miracle to the world that the angriest girl in high school settled down with someone so gentle, so soft — someone as introverted as him, with ways so quiet and tender that showed his love and care.

But it wasn’t a miracle. It was a choice, one sealed over a pen that had been more than just an instrument for writing. It was the pen that helped you graduate college, the same pen that bonded you to him — the boy you wanted to change for, the boy you didn’t want to see scars on the fence for.

A.N : listen here- my bias is Seokmin and Seokmin only. But what is it about this Jeon Wonwoo that makes me wax poetry and write classic novels for? Sobs. I love this man. So much.

Please send an ask if you want to be added to the taglist.

Comments, reblogs, asks- I love those.

@skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee

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carbonfiction · 1 month ago

Text

Redlight.. Greenlight..

Summary: You and your stepdad Logan have an... Unconventional, kind of relationship. One that runs deeper and much more intimatly taboo than your mother knows. You need him? Heres there.. Except for, well, when hes not.

So what happens when wants to play a little game with the gift he gets you from the fair to fill that exact problem?

Warnings: p with v lil plot, stepdad!dofp!Logan, slightly more innocent!reader so tagging for innocence kink, taboo relationship, stepcest! (Logan is dating readers mom- should also come without saying but reader is absolutely of and above age!!) couple mentions of cheating, pillow/stuffie riding, size kink, mention of male masturbation, cum, cum swallowing, lil mention of reader having nipple piercings, slightly rough/mean logan, aaaand some daddy kink (Sorry :( i couldnt resist) i think thats it!

This piece is def more a dark fic so please please keep the tags in mind! This is all fiction and between adults, however you are aware of your media consumption; If you don’t like anything above, do not read. It’s not for everyone and that’s okay, I won’t be offended.

Masterlist Words: 2.4k

I.. Cant even explain the spiritual experience that writing this was. Y'all wanted it so, outta the love i have for you all, i delivered (or, attempted to!!) in typical me fashion It got nasty quick and i can only pray hell has an ac down there bc man.. Its exactly where im goin after this😭👹

"There you are sweetheart" Logan grins, one arm drawn up as he knocks gently on the doorframe for your attention.

You sqeak quietly in suprise, head flying up from the book your reading laying open on the bed. Your gaze meets him, stood wide and tall in the threshold of your room. His denim jeans and black shirt cling tight on his body, one muscular arm sitting tucked behind his back; holding something out of view.

You roll from your spot on your belly as he saunters further in. He shuts the door while you shift yourself until you kneel carefully on the edge of your bed. "Got a surprise for you.." he trails, chucking softly at the way your eyes brighten at the comment. Ever his sweet girl. "saw this at the fair and thought of you"

You cock your head like a confused puppy as he brings his hidden arm from behind his back. With him he pulls a big stuffed bear that has got to be at least a couple feet tall. the fur is pink, fluffy and soft as he places it into your grasp with a smile.

"Dunno if its a it's a little childish, you're uh.. probably a bit old for stuffies" he says, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "but.. thought you'd like to have him around.. You know, as a reminder when I'm not here."

You nod, eyes glossing over slightly as you begin to understand the hidden meaning in his words. your fingers play with the fur of the bears shoulders, ruffling it a little as your lip tucks under your teeth at the thought. you know he's hinting at being on missions, for when he cant take care of you.. his sweet, slutty girl. His pretty little step daughter.

His bigger fingers join yours on the bear, another deep chuckle falling from his lips. "Your mom- she was practically avoiding me any chance she got as we walked around" he continues as you smile amused, looking from him to the bear like he hung the moon. "kept tellin me to just put him in the car and, well, you know me, if I'm gonna get pushed, I might as well find a way to make it more amusing. Piss her off a bit"

You giggle quietly at his antics, at the thought of the huge gruff wolverine carelessly carrying a giant pink bear around a fair ground. How he would so willingly embarrass his girlfriend- your mom, with a gift so clearly for you; her adult daughter.

"Well i love it.. Thank you daddy!" you beam, his title, reserved for those needy moment you spend with him, rolling off your tongue before you care to stop it. Arms reaching up as high as they can in an attempt to hug at his neck. He drops down for you to reach, but your fingers still hardly clasp around the bulk of him. his chest rumbling at your excitement.

"glad you love it sweeth-" he goes to say, but you cut him off, unable to hold your want for him back any longer tonight. Your lips pressing sweetly against his, kissing him sloppy as you hang from his neck. Damn near sucking on his tongue.

He savours the taste of you, of the lipgloss that so often glistens on your lips before he pulls away to mumble warningly, fingers splaying out on your back. His head dipping to nose along your jaw. "Careful. Your mother's downstairs."

"Want me to s-stop?" you murmer, stuttering slightly at a gentle nip he leaves behind your ear. Eyeing over the grey streak in his hair your Lips pout, dainty fingers pulling logan by the back of his neck to look at you.

One of his hands glides up from your back, cupping your cheek like a fragile piece of glass. "Never. Never want you to stop kissing me sweet girl. Just.. giving you a warning that your mother's home"

"Dont care" you mumble rebelliously, shifting forward until you press against his lips again. "love you daddy"

He grins at that and you feel it pressed to your face, his scruffy beard rubbing your skin. "love you too, little one" he murmers honestly, thumb stroking your cheek as he pulls away. "More than you know.."

The hand on your back slowly drifts again until Logans got a large palm filled with your shirt covered breasts. "Look at you, so fuckin pretty. Give me a peek sweet girl?"

You nod with a breathy whimper, unwrapping yourself from around his neck and tugging the shirt up before throwing it to the floor. Logans eyes rake over your body, a groan falling free at the sight of your bare tits, eyes immediately catching onto the little barbells peaking from the sides of both, not to mention your lacy panties. Soft skin fully exposed to him without the oversized shirt hiding you from his view.

"I noticed something when I went to bed the other night" he starts, the hand on your cheek moving to your hair as he roughly tugs your head up. A bashful pink covering your cheeks; already knowing what hes about to tell you.

"My side of the bed was all crumpled up, sheets at the foot of the bed. I thought it might have been your mom but.." he stops, thumbs swiping at the buds of your nipples, already taught and sensitive around the bars from his touch.

"It smelled like you and for a moment i though it was just your perfume.." he leans down, pressing the words below your ear. ".. It wasnt your perfume though was it sweetheart?"

Your body shivers, mischief twinkling brightly in your eyes. The picture of innocence is not you, practically naked in front of your stepdad- a man who should be bedding your mother- accusing you of rubbing yourself over his pillow.

"No. No it was that pretty cunt i could smell" His touch grows rougher, fingers pinching around the supple flesh at the same moment he nips your neck again. "Just like i can now"

You cry out a little too loud as his hand dips from your chest, fingertips brushing the waist of your panties and snapping them against your skin. He shushes you quickly, pressing your face into his neck.

"had to lie there, rock fuckin hard, listening to your mom play that game on her phone until she passed out before I could finally jerk off and get myself properly taken care of.. Would've found you to help but you chose your moment to 'Stay at a friends'.. just knew I'd fuck you stupid if you were here huh?"

"M-mhm!" you nod desperately, slick beginning to make the fabric of your panties damp. The same panties his fingers begin to trace over, touch fetherlight over your cunt. "J-just wanted to play with you"

"Wanted to play with me huh? Could've just asked sweet girl, you know that.." he tuts, speaking the words so honestly. So easily, like you wouldnt be asking him to sneak out of bed and cheat on his girlfriend- on your own mother, with you again. But You know deep down he doesn't care, especially not when he touches you so perfectly. "So, how about we play a little game now hm?

"W-what kind of game d-daddy?" you question with a whine, hips rocking slightly at the feel of his fingers applying more pressure to your covered clit.

His hand pulls away from your panties as quick as it had gotten to them, the grip on your hair still tight as he makes you look at him with a dark smirk. "you're gonna ride that cute bear daddy got you and stop when i tell you. Simple redlight greenlight.. That sound okay sweetheart?

You nod quickly, letting him move you to the position he wants until your straddling the pink fur in the middle of the bed- knees pressing into the mattress. Your Lip once more bitten as you eye over the bulge forming in his jeans.

"Good girl, there you go. Make yourself feel good like you did on daddys pillow.. M' gonna stay right here" he grunts then, standing with a hand against the foot of the bed.

Your hips rock experimentally, a gentle sigh falling from your lips at the contact. The fur tickles softly between your thighs, an added sensation as your clit grinds nicely against the gusset of your panties; further drenching them.

Logan observes the way your lip remains beneath your front teeth, denting the plump skin until blood pools red beneath it. He feels his own blood rushing down to his cock at the sight- senses already overwhelmed by you as he watches your bare tits move softly with each movement.

"That feel good sweetheart?" he rumbles, shooting a smirk at you as your hips begin to wriggle quicker.

"Ye-fuck- ah.. " you whine back, chest begining to heave from the effort your putting in. The mattress squeaking softly below you.

Its then he grunts a word you dont want to hear, not with how good it feels. "Red light.."

You stop immediately, figuring if you obey he might let you off quicker, a cute little pout falling across your lips as you look up at his heft. "Good. You got it."

He lets you breathe a moment more, relishing in the praise as he shifts one large hand to the crotch of his jeans; palming roughly at the bulge there. "Green."

Your hips roll once again, wasting no time in chasing the warmth in the bottom of your belly. the wetness of your panties providing a slick streak for you to rub quicker against the bear.

Soft bucks and wiggles soon change to quick grinds and bounces, the bears leg locked tight between your thighs. One hand holding the bear in place the other teasing a budded nipple. At the pace your going, its not long before your whining out again.

"O-oh Daddy- im- m' close." you whimper in that sweet little tone. The same one you use when his cock is stretching you cunt wide around him. Desperate eyes peering up to find his dark gaze.

"Red light.." he grunts meanly, hand still rubbing thickly over his covered cock. The pleasure of observing you rising in his belly. He watches the way your thighs tremble, barely there now he's stopped you again, a telltale sign of your impending release coling up. "Good girl, lookacha getting all shakey.." logans deep chuckle shakes his shoulders, a heavy squeeze to his cock as he nods at you "start again"

Your hips continue their past pace, rougher grinds and bounces squeaking the bed as you buck quicker. The feeling of your orgasm re igniting in your gut. Your clit pulses needily, panties so soaked through by this point that the bears fur bunches wetly beneath you. Your grip on the leg white knucked as you plead out to logan, who still stands heavy at the end of the bed.

"Pleasepleaseplease- daddy.. Can i? Need ta' cum.."

"You need it sweet girl? S'that right?" he rasps, treading closer until his hand gathers your hair from the side. The pull at your scalp is tigh just as before. Your eyes flutter and its then he yanks, pushing you to open your eyes and look at him.

"Yea! God fuck please.." you sob, pace beginning to grow unsteady from the exertion of chasing your orgasm. "Feels g-good"

"Go on, green light." he nods with a growl, lips pressingjust below your ear as he does so, egging you on. "Do it. Cum on that bear like you would daddys cock.".

You cum with a high pitched whine, blood pumping white hot through your veins. Your vision spotted and ears ringing as you tremble; pelvis still grinding away chasing at the aftershocks.

Logan feels his cock throb dangerously as he watches you tremble, his own underwear soaked in slick pre. "S-shit. Cmon," logan demands then, pulling you roughly down from the bed until you meet the carpet floor. "On your knees sweetheart.. " The hand not tangled in your hair tugs at his jeans to free his cock

You watch panting as he frees himself from the constraints of his clothes, belt, denim and boxers all quickly tugged just below his heavy balls. Hand working quick over his sensitive shaft before you reach for him. "Yeaaaa thats it, thats it. Make daddy cum all over that pretty mouth. Good girl."

You only have to give one, two, three languid strokes before hot white ropes land on your tongue as he groans much too loud; shirt pulled up between his teeth in a half harted attempt to muffle it. Your hand working from the base to tip until hes grasping at you to stop.

The hand in your hair shifts, pulling at the strands as he rounds to cup your jaw, a large thumb swiping at the corner of your lips. It keeps you open as he eyes how his release coats your mouth like honey.

You're smiling at him, a knowing look from times before in your eye as he pulls his thumb away to wrap that hand around the base of your neck. "there you go, swallow it all.."

Your mouth closes, throat bobbing beneath his touch as you swallow. A small hum sounding out as you grin back, tongue peaking out again to show him.

Logan simply groans at the sight, softening cock twitching. "God you take my cum better than your mom sweet girl... C'mere. Give me a kiss, let daddy taste himself on you."

You stand quick, aided by his grasp on around your collar. Logans kisses are hungry, a clash of teeth and quiet moans. Spit stricken as he savours the remaining taste of himself from your inside your mouth; lewdly suckling at your tongue. He only dares pull away when he can tell your need for breath is becoming overwhelming.

"Did so good you know that?" he rumbles earnestly, lips pressing against your forehead softly. "always making daddy proud of his sweet girl"

You grin a bashful smile, unable to hide the heat on your cheeks, a little giggle of "thank you daddy" slipping into the air that makes logan chuckle while you watch him tuck himself back into his clothes. Quickly fixing his appearance he gives you one final peck on against your bitten lips. Quite mumblings of how 'dinner's going to be ready soon' as he bends, handing you your ealier discarded shirt and tredding towards the door.

With one final glance cast to your appearance he makes sure to remind you that you 'Just have to ask' before the door closes behind him with a soft thud.

Until the next time you need him.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #logan howlett x reader smut #deadpool and wolverine #carbonsfics #logan smut #days of future past #dofp! logan #stepdad!logan #wolverine x reader #logan wolverine

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tan1shere · 5 months ago

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Keep Going

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: got the title idea from the song private landing ... ENJOY 😈 - this is a teeny bit meh I'm sawry

Summary: Billie wants to try something new, how could you say no to your irresistible girlfriend.

Warnings: Smut 😋 like always mdni. Especially since this is more mean bill turday :D - ejaculating strap on 🤭 daddy kink, breeding kink, squirting, overstimulation, and I think thats it ! :)

Masterlist

"Babeee." You hear your girlfriend call out. You turn your head ever so slightly from the current task you were doing in the kitchen - washing dishes. Yay. "What's up Bill!?" Your voice was sweet, happy to see her finally. "I got something when I was out." There was a cheeky grin spread incredibly wide across her face. Was this a good thing. "Uh oh, what'd you do.." Her arms sneak around your waist, lips on the skin of your neck in seconds. "Something you're going to reallyyyy like." Her teeth bite down, making a gasp fall from your now open lips. You hum in response. "Go on."

There was a pause. "Well I can't tell you. I'll just have to show you." She smirks, swiftly turning you around to face her. Making you let out a slight yelp in the process, as you weren't expecting it. Her lips were on your neck again, sucking hard. "Baby- I was-" But her head shot up, looking directly at you. "You really want me to stop?" Knowing your answer, she tilts her head. "Yeah ok, let me shut up." Her head nods. "Justtt the way I like it." Your hand lands a smack on her arm. This woman.

This woman

She had dragged you up to your guys room, slinged over her shoulder and plopping you on the bed. She crawls ontop of you, biting her lip. Her eyes look at your cherry red ones, so plump, giving you a quick kiss before she speaks. "See. You're all fine now, talking back a little might i add." That made your eyes roll playfully. "But." She begins, going closer to your face. Making your body stiffen. "You really will be shut up when I'm done with you." She left you utterly speechless. Good. She gets up grabbing the bag with the thing she must've bought you. Interesting. As she pulls it out you were confused. It was just a dildo. What was she on about.

You give her a look of confusion, making her smirk again. Positioning it so the head was facing you. Then your brain clocked it. She bought an ejaculating dildo. You bite your lip. "You wanna use that on me Bills?" She comes back to your face. "Mhmm baby. Big time." You let out a soft giggle as she's back to messily kissing you. Her hands travel to your hips having them rest over the bone for a moment. "Should I prepare you." She says between kisses. You just shake your head with a smirk. She hums as a response. "My girl wants it raw, huh." The way she said that whole sentence made you shiver, your thighs squeeze together at her seductive tone.

You couldn't think properly, let alone speak any type of word. She gets off of you for a moment contemplating on how she wanted to go about this. As she was in thought she decides to get the harness and strap on. You watch closely, it was quite big. You didn't think these would be, but it sure was. "Think you can handle it?" Billies challenging tone pulls you out of your thoughts. You just nod. "Speak." She growls when you don't answer. This time you think for a moment, letting a smirk consume your face. "Yes daddy." Her eyes are on you in an instant, looking at you all over.

She nearly pounces on you like a wild animal, making you lay back on the bed. You look up at her as one of her hands bring your left thigh closer to her body. You had been wearing one of her large t-shirts and a pair of underwear, her fingers move to pull them down, not wasting any time as she wanted this just as bad. She's then quick to taking her shirt off your body, wanting nothing more than to watch your tits bounce as she fucks you hard.

"I wanna fuck you like an animal."

"Please.." You breathe out.

Her lips come near your ear, breathing her hot breath against it.

"I wanna feel you from the inside." She nibbled ever so slightly on your lobe, going to hover above you.

She lets her spit coat the fake dick attached to her, making sure the saliva coats it well. In the process it julting against her own cunt perfectly, making a low grunt come from her perfect lips. "The thought of using this on you is driving me nuts." - "then do it.. daddy." Her bright eyes grow dark, grabbing at your thigh again to bring you even closer, making your tits jiggle slightly. "I plan to." And without any other thought the rubber enters you, all in one swoop. Hard. Sending your head back into the sheets. She had no mercy with her pace, needing to fuck your brains out.

You moan out. "Daddy.." breathing heavily. It was all music to her ears. Her thrusts go harder. "Say it again." She demands. "Mmm, daddy .. keep going." You gasp as her finger lands on your clit, making you almost see stars as she moves it against you instantly. "So good. So fucking good for me." Her thrusts are relentlessly pounding into you. Feeling the strap slide in and out with ease considering how wet she made you, mixed with her warm spit. "You're enjoying me being rougher huh?" Your eyes were closed shut as you nod like crazy. You feel a warm breath on your face, opening your eyes to see her right infront of you. Her thrusts never faltering. Her hand moves to your neck. "You gunna answer me?" It slowly tightens the more you stay quiet. "Y-yes!" You squeak out, but she keeps her hand there. Tightening just a little more.

"Yes daddy!" You instantly blurt out, feeling her hand loosen a bit. "Good, using that mouth the way I like." You bite your lip, looking straight at her, keeping the eye contact. "Im so close.." you moan, breathlessly. But she says nothing. Absolutely nothing, continuing to abuse your sopping cunt. She leans down to your ear and to make this more realistic for you both as she says this.

"So am I."

As if it was actually hers. As if she could get you pregnant. God how she wanted to.

A whimper falls past your lips at the thought. "Gunna fill you up so good." Once again your eyes shut but she stops them from doing so, grabbing your jaw. "Look at me- Look. At .Me." You do just that. "I'm gunna make you a mama. Shoot it right inside you." You nod. Letting your mouth hang open as the strap hits that sweet, sweet spot inside of you. "Please.." you then say.

"You wanna cum?" - "Yes daddy please." You were so incredibly tired. You needed this, needed to feel it all. "Cum." She then says, feeling you suck her in as your walls tightened. You gushed all over it, soon after feeling something spill inside of you. "Feels good huh baby?" She kisses, bites your neck letting this orgasm last and feel amazing. You scream her name, moaning messily at every little feeling. She licks over the mark she just made until she hears your little voice say something. "Keep going.." Your breath returns to normal but not before shes rutting into you at the same ungodly pace. "So very slutty. You haven't even overcome the last one."

"Billie!"

You whimper. Whine. You do it all. Her hands grip your waist as she sits up slightly to get at a better angle. You see stars, feeling the second orgasm approaching faster. "You just want it all, don't you baby?" You were too fucked out to muster any form of wording. Her face is back infront of your own. "You just love daddy's cock sooo much. Don't you baby girl." And that sent everything inside of you to spiral, with her quick fucking, her words, her voice. You end up squirting. She smirks triumphantly. "Yeah. You love it."

#billie #billie ellish lyrics #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x reader smut #billie eilish x y/n

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rawflwrs · 13 days ago

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ONESHOTS / masterlist

▐ aaron pierre ୫ black!oc

summary: when saniah and aaron go on their annual picnic to commemorate the first time they fell for each other

warning: suggestive sexual content. fluff & a bit of angst

Red stained glossy lips, wispy lashes, vanilla scented body butter, gold jewellery, the smell of morning rain. Saniah loved the summer so dearly. It was the only season that cleared her of any lingering melancholy.

Having to handle the loss of a court case she was fighting to win, not only to bring justice to her client, but to prove to herself and everyone that she was worthy of having the title of an attorney general: Saniah felt worthless. Her mother would always tell her she was too hard on herself, although Saniah would argue that she simply wanted to be nothing more than a winner because her academic validation wouldn’t allow her be anything less.

It seemed like everything made her feel as though she was less deserving than the next person. All she wanted to do most days was lay in bed, cry and maybe binge watch a couple episodes of ‘girlfriends.’ However, today was not the day.

June 22nd.

She never thought that she would get so excited seeing a date pop up on her calendar, but today was a day full of core memories for her. June 22nd was the day she fell for her now husband, Aaron. Saniah remembers the day they confessed their love for one another like it was yesterday; always replaying that moment in her head when she feels down or when she begins to degrade herself unknowingly.

Aaron made her feel worthy. Sure, she’s had her fair share of boys come and go in her life because I mean Saniah was a gorgeous woman. Some would say her voice sounded like the princesses of fairytales you read about, her eyes glistened like oozing honey and her lips could be mistaken for pillows. But Aaron made her feel so different . . . He was a man.

A man who wanted to cater to her in every way possible. Whether it was rubbing her feet after work, carrying her bag and the groceries inside or simply replacing her body care, hair care and makeup products when he notices they are nearly finished. He loved taking care of her and she loved being taken care of.

As Saniah walked out of their shared bathroom into their bedroom, rubbing EOS Vanilla Cashmere body lotion on her arms, she saw her chocolate brown maltipoo, Coco, jumping around her husband who was holding a big bouquet of red roses, sitting with his legs spread on their bed. She smiled as she slowly approached him.

“And who are these for?” She teased, rubbing the back of his head, kneeling to smell the roses. “For my girls.” He smiled, looking between Saniah and Coco as she giggled. “You’re too sweet to me. Isn’t your daddy sweet, Coco?” Saniah asked rhetorically, watching their dog bark as though she understood her.

“I only give what you deserve, baby.” He paused, placing the flowers to his side before pulling Saniah to straddle his lap and wrap his arms around her waist. She leaned down to press her lip against his, feeling his hand rise up behind her back, placing his ring finger down the middle of her spine, pushing upwards. She gasped, allowing him access to push his tongue into her mouth as they fought for dominance. His touch. His touch said so many things without saying a single word and she loved it.

He pulled away to stare at the mess he created. Her red lip gloss smothered across her chin, her eyes watery as though she was hungry for more. Aaron was convinced he loved seeing her like this more than anything: desperately needing him. “Happy anniversary, my love.” She said in an almost whisper tone. He pushed a strand of her freshly bleached curls behind her ear with his right hand, pressing his left thumb down on her clothed clit. “Happy anniversary, beautiful.” He smiled, gently rubbing her clothed clit in a circle.

“Aaron . . .” She breathed out, eyes shut. “I need you.” Her admission almost sounded like a plea. Aaron simply smiled and removed his hands from her, giving her one last peck before tapping her thigh as a signal for her to stand up. As he stood, looking down at his needy wife, he said “we have all the time in the world for that. Let’s not forget what today is about.” However, Saniah’s reaction wasn’t necessarily appreciative as she sighed, wiping her chin, grabbing her flowers and moving past him to go downstairs to wait in his car, mumbling a mouthful of curse words on her way out.

He laughed, grabbing Coco, closing all the lights in their room and walking down the stairs towards the kitchen where he had left the basket with all of Saniah’s favourite snacks that he packed for their picnic. He walked to his car, opening the passenger side so he could place Coco on Saniah’s lap, giving her a peck on her forehead. “Don’t get bratty with me because I won’t give you this dick right now.” He joked, but Saniah just stared, clearly sexually frustrated. “Don’t speak like that in front of my daughter.” She covered Coco’s ears, causing him to give her one of his notorious deep chuckles and close her side of the door.

He got into the driver side, leaning over to the backseat to place the basket behind them. Aaron knew Saniah could never stay mad at him for long because they were both too down bad for each other that they couldn’t help themselves. The drive to the beach was peaceful. They both hummed to ‘sweet love’ by Anita Baker, with Coco asleep in Saniah’s lap. She loved small moments like this that may seem insignificant to others, but to her it reminded her of the little family she’s building with the man she loves so deeply.

“We’re here.” Aaron expressed calmly with a clear expression of excitement laced in his voice. “You girls find a good spot for us while I grab everything.” He placed a kiss on top of Saniah’s head and rubbed Coco’s ear before hopping out and grabbing all the extra necessities he packed earlier for them. Watching from a distance, he saw Saniah pick the perfect spot, not too close or too far from the sea.

Aaron approached them with his hands full, placing all his items down to lay the blanket down. Saniah sat down with her legs placed on the outer edge of the blanket. “Come here.” Aaron motioned pulling her legs towards him, removing her sandals. “I’m surprised you let me walk by myself.” Saniah joked. “You know you love this. Stop playing with me.” Aaron laughed, smacking her plush thighs.

After he placed her sandals to the side of her, he put all the food and drinks down neatly, knowing she would want to take a picture to show her friends. “This is so cute!” Saniah squealed, grabbing her digital camera taking a picture. “Let me take one of you before the sun goes down.” He motioned for her to give him her camera while she began to pose. He took a couple pictures of her and of the scenery around them, then handed the camera back to her.

She stared at him as he placed Coco between his legs. Their size difference was crazy to Saniah. She sometimes wondered if Coco thought Aaron was a giant because of how small the dog was compared to him. “What’s on your mind?” He asked still playing with their ‘daughter’ as Saniah referred to Coco as. “How lucky I am to have someone like you.” She started, smiling at him with nothing but love. He chuckled. “I’m the lucky one. I can’t imagine my life without you.” He responded honestly.

Aaron was more quiet and introverted compared to Saniah, but when he spoke, he made sure she understood every word he said with clarity. “3 years and you still give me butterflies.” She giggled, covering her smile. “To think 3 years ago, I thought you didn’t even want to be in the same room as me.” He admitted, looking at her teasingly. “What? I was not that bad, was I?” She questioned, knowing she used to hate it when people were quiet around her. “You really want me to answer that?” He asked as she shook her head no profusely, causing him to laugh.

“I was so insecure back then. I felt like everyone who didn’t talk, be loud or just do the most all the time was a weirdo. It’s so embarrassing to think about it now.” She put her head down. “It’s really not a big deal, Niah. It’s not like I was offended or anything.” He shrugged before continuing. “If anything I found your extra ass cute.” He mumbled, causing her to whip her head towards him abruptly. “So all this time you had me feeling guilty for being childish and come to find out you was fucking with it? You’re sick.” Saniah rolled her eyes, watching him laugh with his whole body, shaking Coco in the process.

“It’s not like you were rude. You’re just yourself and that’s what I like most.” He laid back on his arms, closing his eyes. “You’re corny as shit, you know that?” She slapped his chest. He grabbed her arms and pulled her to lay next to him, signalling for her to close her eyes too. “Wait, I didn’t eat the strawberries yet!” Saniah whined, thinking about the food Aaron packed that was going to go to waste, when she heard a hum from Aaron. “Aaron!” She hit his chest again. “Close your eyes and listen to your surroundings.” He told her, rubbing her back, soothingly.

The sounds of the ocean waves flapping, the birds chirping a song and children playing in the distance filled their ears. It was so calming. Saniah loved how easy it was for her to be serene under his arms, like she had no worries or responsibilities to attend to later. She loved being in the moment with him, where she knew she would never be alone because he would always be there for her no matter what they go through together or individually. He loved her too much to disappoint her.

“I love you.” Aaron broke the silence. “I love you too.” She looked up at him, leaning in for a kiss that he reciprocated. “Now, get your ass up before these fat ass seagulls eat my food.” She hit his chest again, jolting him up. He loved this life.

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leighsartworks216 · 29 days ago

Text

Sweet Mindless Love

werewolf!Sylus x gn!Reader

This is the sweet soft "only I can calm my beast down" fic just before the monsterfucking cuz I can't just leave that unsaid

Warnings: light angst, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, swearing, pet names, werewolf AU, scent stuff, painful transformation with minor descriptions, temporary character death (silly)

Title from "Howl" by The Unlikely Candidates

Word Count: 948

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Coarse, yet somehow soft, fur glides through your fingers. Powerful huffs of breath have it standing on end, shuddering with effort as the creature in your lap contains itself. Luke and Kieran are hiding in the safe room, no doubt. They have to. Otherwise, they'd be torn to shreds without a second thought.

You, however, are never safer than in these moments, your beast pressing his snout into your belly and your thighs and taking in your scent. You are the only one allowed to touch him like this, hold him like this - and the only one that can calm him down on nights like these.

"Good boy," you whisper into the electric air. His muscles are so tense, ready to jump up and lash out at anything that comes near. Mephisto is an unfortunate victim tonight, having been caught when he led Sylus straight to you. You're grateful for his sacrifice, and even more so for his mechanical nature that means it's not permanent. "I'm here, my love. It's only me."

Sylus whines low in his throat, a pleading sound that clings to your heart. You know he hates this. Hates becoming a monster. The first time you saw him is burned into his brain with every full moon. The way your eyes widened. Your arms coming up to protect your face as he charged right for you. The scream you let out as he toppled you into the ground. Your rapid heartbeat when he laid upon you.

The fact you stayed is a miracle in itself. He couldn't be more grateful.

You lean down to press a kiss to his fur, wherever you can reach with him laying like this. His claws curl into your back at the gentle contact, before quickly pulling away so as to not hurt you. He never would on purpose, but the thought of hurting you even accidentally destroys him. The amount of clothes he's torn and ruined just trying to hold you...

"It's almost morning. The sun's almost here. Just a little longer, okay?"

He inhales deeply. Your scent - the body wash and hair product and lovely smelling things you use - is like a sedative to his wild mind. Where normally he would be overwhelmed by all the sounds and smells of the world, here he can simply allow you to wash over him, block out the rest of the world, and put his instincts at ease. Of course, it comes with the caveat that any intrusions, be it smells or sounds, can be enough to set him off again.

You begin humming. The song doesn't matter. You can feel the muscles in his powerful back relaxing with every note. His fur does not stand so on edge. His breaths become less harsh and more even. This only becomes more true as the first rays of the sun hit the blinds.

It's always amazing to watch the transformation back into a man. It's painful - when he turns into a wolf, his cries and howls echo in your ears alongside the creaking of bones and tearing of skin - but also a relief.

His fur begins to shake as it recedes back into his skin. Bones pop and crack as they fit back into place. His fingernails - not claws - cling onto your shirt as his snout compresses into his strong nose. Until soon enough, instead of a half-wolf half-man laying across your lap, all that remains is a full man, laying on his stomach with his face pressed into your tummy and his arms hugging your waist, legs stretched out across the rug, entirely nude.

He sighs slowly, as if he's trying to adjust to his lungs once more. You comb now through his hair, soft and sweaty. Your other hand rubs reassuringly over his back, also slick with sweat, massaging his shoulder blades and spine after the transformations they endured.

You lean your head down slightly. "Okay?"

He nods and rubs his nose against your hip before turning his head to the side to uncover his mouth. "Okay... Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay." You brush hair from his face. Though he doesn't open his eyes yet, his brow relaxes with the tender care you offer him. "You didn't even damage my shirt this time. And the boys are okay, too. But..."

He tenses, visible eye shooting open with a frown to look up at you. "But?"

You smile, though it comes out more as a grimace. You nod over to a pile of black feathers and exposed wires, sparking occasionally. "Mephisto wasn't so lucky."

He growls, closing his eyes once more and biting at your clothed hip. "Don't frighten me like that."

You laugh despite his upset. The sound puts him at ease. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He can still hear the giggles bubbling out of you for the next couple minutes. Still, he's actually glad you can joke about his destructive nature. He'd rather have you laugh at him than scream because of him. "Do you want to take a bath?"

"Not yet. Just wanna stay here for a minute."

"You were there all night."

"Yeah, and he doesn't appreciate it enough. I'm just doing my due diligence, sweetie."

"Uh-huh. Well, my ass is starting to hurt."

"Tough."

You laugh again. He smiles for the first time since transforming. It's no wonder his wolf form is so infatuated with you when you make him feel like this normally, without heightened senses.

"Thank you for taking care of me tonight," he coos sweetly. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, puppy." You bend over him to kiss his head. "In every form, always."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #yandere hxh #hxh imagines #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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steppin-on-the-last-train · 26 days ago

Text

The End of Love

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Although I encourage everyone to read this, full disclosure it is male!reader. I tried to keep specified pronoun use to a minimum, but it can’t always be helped. There might be some mental rewriting required if you decide to go on.

Synopsis:

“You think too much,” she says.

You can’t argue with that. Because now that you’re looking at her in the light and you’re so close you can see each fractal of green in her eyes you're thinking there’s nothing more intimate than this.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

Or, a look at who Natasha Romanoff was before the Avengers. Told through the eyes of the person who loved her the most.

Word Count: 43,000

Foreword: I wrote most of these scenes out of order and then proceeded to edit nothing so if something disagrees with something later on that’s why.

Acknowledgements: One) Title from the song with the same name by Florence + The Machine. Two) The final scene with Willem is indeed a copy from that scene in Good Will Hunting. Three) All rights to the original media.

It’s spring and something has shifted. You’re in bed with her when the feeling hits you. You are in bed together, legs twisted together under the sheets, the callous pads of her feet warm against the inside of your calf. You wonder if she feels it too.

You’ve been like this for hours. Nothing more, not tonight. Just the simple act of breathing in tandem with someone. Of holding tight until you don’t know how you could ever part again.

She likes you because you are hers. Her mission partner, her choice, hers. There is power in choosing who you give yourself over to. And you understand but you prefer this. You hate to disappoint her, to stop her after just a kiss, knowing there is want for much more.

But her head is tucked beneath your chin and she’s so close she might as well have burrowed herself inside you and you hope it’s enough. Because this is safe. Her, always. But there are some things which you can’t speak. So she starts with a kiss on your cheek and you end with a kiss on her lips.

You are not at peace, but for now, wrapped in her arms and the scent of something that is so distinctly her, you are content. And you’ve done this so many times before, too many but somehow not enough all at once.

The first time had been after your plane went down shy of returning to the Red Room. You were smaller then, less muscle and too long limbs and grief enough to suffocate. The walk back had taken two nights to complete. You would freeze to death if you didn’t share body heat after the sun went down. You both knew this. You slept back to back, bundled in extra shirts and the parachute from the jet. You both pretended you didn’t trust each other just a little more in the morning.

Now you roll and stretch and Natalia makes a small noise of protest. You tell her you’re getting a glass of water, ask if she wants one too. She doesn’t answer.

The air in the motel room is stale and the light in the bathroom stutters like a heartbeat trying to stave off death. You fill a glass under the tap and drink until it’s empty again. Your breath wavers ever so slightly. You push down on the countertop a little too hard, your palms beginning to sweat.

Then she’s behind you with a steady hand creating a rhythm of up-down, up-down on your back. You had tried to be silent, hoping she would not notice. You didn’t want her to see you like this. But she extricated herself from the warmth of the bed to be by your side anyway.

She knows you. And it’s terrifying.

She is not gentle but in these moments she is human, and so are you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You are not a person who apologizes. So you say it when the only thing it can mean is nothing. When it’s as weightless as the breath from which it comes from.

“It’s okay.” She is not a person who forgives. She is both the bullet and the finger behind the trigger. She is the dazzling starlet who shines the light in your eyes so you do not feel the knife in your back.

Your reflections in the mirror do not feel real. You make a point not to look too closely. Because when you do you see with the eyes of those who would put a bullet in your head for this. No, not quite. Because they would do much worse.

Lately you’ve been dividing time by the moments with Natalia and the moments in between. By one stolen night followed by a week, five weeks, a dozen. You never know. And it’s an adjustment because you can’t quite pinpoint the moment you stopped sleeping down the hall from her more nights than not.

You spend the time without her taking orders, putting on the Taskmaster mask, leaving messages in the form of bodies with sword-shaped slits. Then you’re still taking orders but wearing a different sort of mask, one where they can see your face but still can’t see you and you’re shaking hands and learning real politics is nothing like what you’ve studied.

“You see what sort of dogs I have to deal with?” General Dreykov asks. Ever since the military dress uniform appeared in your room and you flew to Moscow as his “second” he’s been speaking to you more and more as a peer. Far from most of the time. But occasionally. Enough for you to remember and collect like they were some sort of medal.

And Madame B, who has always detested you for being too emotional, had finally seemed to approve. One day on your way out after you had been training some of the young recruits she spoke to you across the wasteland of the dance studio. You stopped at the doorway to turn back toward her, but she stayed facing the wall like it was a window to another studio where she must judge a dozen more girls with bleeding feet.

“I never understood why he kept you around.” She always spoke clipped, enunciating each syllable like the crack of a cane. “You were an insolent child. Yes, you can dance but this power makes you think you’re invincible.” You watched her, too stunned to feel indignant about the criticism, too apprehensive to notice how small she was now that you were grown. “But. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea to rear you here. You will lead with an iron fist. And most importantly, you will understand.”

You left without saying anything.

What was there to understand. This place was all you knew.

You come back with a hand on your cheek. Natalia is staring into your eyes like they reflect the answer to life. But if your eyes were mirrors all she’d see was herself.

“You think too much,” she says.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

She asks you to come back to bed. You nod and follow her into the dark. She is sitting up. On your stomach you drape yourself over the edge of the mattress and take her hand. Already you mourn this night. You cannot enjoy the time you have when you don’t know if it will be your last. You have become far too important to each other.

You can tell she feels the same. Misery has settled over the both of you like a cold, wet snow. She is tense as she runs her fingers through your hair. You lay your head in her lap and close your eyes against the danger lurking outside.

It is spring and something has shifted.

—

And it is that stupid feeling which makes you turn yourself over to the Americans after she is captured. That feeling which has transformed since you were small and angry. That feeling which has always been evolving; this new chapter taking an ugly turn. Perhaps you have let this go on for too long.

You are grown now, but still very much full of rage.

They show you a file they have on you which you think looks very hastily put together. Because they would have no reason to suspect you of anything. That’s the way your life has been curated. There is what you do in the daylight and what you do in the dark with a skull mask over your face and a hood over your head. These people are not the same.

But you’ve made a purposefully big mess on American soil as Taskmaster and they’ve finally connected his face with the official headshot of one Junior Lieutenant of the Russian military.

Is this you, they ask and despite the handcuffs cutting into your wrists and the four guards with guns on their hips you laugh and call the man asking an idiot. The other guy is your twin brother.

You don’t think he appreciated your answer because the next thing you know you’re being cuffed on the ear.

Along with the picture of you in your official uniform there is a mugshot of you from the day they brought you in. You don’t often see photos of yourself. The guy in this one looks dangerous. There are also two very grainy, very dark photographs pulled from security cameras of a figure who might be you from assassination runs you went on. You recognize yourself in one, and you’re pretty sure the other is of someone in a Halloween costume.

They’ve taken you in with nothing but the clothes on your back and your weapons and a watch of Dreykov’s he had given you a few years ago.

Even though your stomach is empty and your face is bruised you don’t help them put the pieces together. You tell them the same thing you’ve been saying. You know they have the Black Widow. You want to talk to her.

And weeks later when they think they have broken you down and built you back up with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s name around your neck they let you out of your cell.

The guy who slapped you that first day is your new handler. His name is Richard Kremer. You don’t think he likes you all that much. He’s old and he acts like he can go back and win the Cold War if he gets you to roll over.

But you’ve learned he can’t hit you now that you’re not a prisoner. So when you tell him you know his type, that he probably got discharged from field service because he broke down and nailed some kid in the head all he can do is tell you to shut up. I’m right, aren’t I? You ask and he is silent. Oh come on G.I. Joe. He tells you to get out and you happily oblige.

It is when you are outside on the track one day that you finally see Natalia again. You are allowed time outside with supervision–like you are a dog–and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see the sun. It’s just you, the rubber beneath your feet, and the wind in your hair. Because you are not worried about the rookie who’s been assigned to watch you. You can pretend you are somewhere else. You can pretend you are running back home instead of pacing holes through this American ground.

You tense when you hear another pair of steps. You do not want to go back inside. Five more minutes. But you look over your shoulder and the figure has bright red hair and astonishment in her eyes.

You are so surprised to see her because you thought maybe you weren’t going to again that you stumble in your haste to stop. You skid and your feet fly out from beneath you. You catch yourself on your hands, bits of track sticking to your palms.

Natalia laughs and you can’t fight the grin on your face. She offers a hand and you take it. You let her pull you to your feet. She doesn’t stop there. She is strong and you fall into her. You throw yourself over her, wrapping your free arm around her back. Your hands are still clamped tightly together. You are too relieved to see she is okay to care about who may be watching. Let them see. They know why you came here. And right now, she feels so familiar.

She pulls away first. “You’re here,” she breathes, eyes wide. Her irises glitter in the sunlight. “Блять. I didn’t believe it.”

“You’re okay,” you say, still breathless. “They didn’t kill you. I thought they were going to kill you.”

“No, they didn’t.” She grows serious, the initial shock wearing off. “Change of plans, I guess.”

You switch to Russian now because you are finally leaving this place. “What idiots. To spare us both. Natalia, we can be out of here tonight.”

She stares at you for a moment, looking guilty. Finally, she shakes her head and very slowly explains, “I’m not going back to Russia. I’m staying here with S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve come to an agreement. I’m going to defect.” You are bewildered and it must show in the whites of your eyes because she reassures, “I’m okay. This is my choice.”

You don’t know what to think, much less what to say. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter how they’re threatening you. I can get you out.”

“I’m not under threat.”

You narrow your eyes at her and back up a step. They must have messed with her mind, then. Because the Natalia you know would never do this. She was vicious like the edge of a blade and she was strong-headed like no one you’ve ever met. She could not be harnessed.

She grabs your hands. “Look at me. I’m still here.” You jerk because it is like she can read your mind. “It is better here,” she says. “They’ve offered me freedom and protection. That’s all.”

“How could you–” you start, but words don’t feel like enough to convey your disbelief. You shake your head. This can’t be happening. Because you’ve quit and run without permission. You were going to get forgiveness on your return. But you can’t go back without her. You tell yourself it’s because they wouldn’t accept that kind of failure, but you think she would be a tolerable loss compared to you. No. You don’t want to go anywhere without her. “You have to go back. We need to go back. I came here to free you from them.”

“And I’m telling you there’s nothing to free me from,” she says. “I’m using them to free myself.”

But you don’t hear her. You leave, a new word coloring the image of her.

Traitor.

And she’s dragged you to hell with her.

—

Inside your pillowcase is the newest spot you’ve chosen to hide your stash of stolen items. It’s not much, a rock from outside, a fork from the cafeteria, a broken matchstick you found on the ground.

You are not allowed to have things. Nothing is yours, they tell you. Everything is shared as part of the collective. Don’t get caught up in the scheme of materialism. That’s why everyone takes turns doing the laundry and scrubbing down the showers and disposing of waste. But you don’t really want these things to own. You only do it because they tell you not to.

They found your collection when you put it under your bed and when you began carrying the things in your pockets. Both times they beat you for it. You’re sure they’ll find this one and make you count to fifty instead of twenty-five but there is something rotten inside you and you can’t help it. Maybe after this time they’ll finally thresh it out.

It is night and you grope through the dark until you find the items. You find all three tucked safely where you left them. But something else pokes your finger as you retrieve your things. Your hand grasps a fourth item and you can’t see it but it feels like a small needle. You don’t remember taking this. Did someone put it here? How did they know about your stash?

You lay curled on your side and take turns holding each item. You decide the mystery object is definitely a sewing needle. Maybe you did take it and you forgot. You move on. You’ve found a good rock this time. It is small and smooth and almost perfectly round.

You think about throwing it at Madame T’s head. Then, you hide them again and fall asleep.

You wake up with a cold hand over your mouth. You slap it away and tackle the offending person to the floor before you’ve formed your first conscious thought.

“Сука!” She hisses as her back lands on the wooden floor and you sit on her stomach. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

You stare down at the vague outline of a body before you slowly let her up. “When you stop waking me up by choking me out.”

“I’m not choking you. And it’s not my fault you cry in your sleep. I’m helping you. Would you rather have a guard come in here?”

“I do not cry in my sleep.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Yes you do. Like a little baby.” You imagine her smirking through the dark. You don’t know who keeps visiting you in the night, only that it’s the same girl each time and she’s probably in your class. You can’t see anything at night here. You know her voice, but there is little speaking during the day. And none of the girls talk to you anyway. Her hair is a little past shoulder length, but that’s the way most of theirs is.

And she won’t tell you who she is.

“Shut up,” you say, shoving her in the shoulder.

“Hey, no fighting in the dark. It’s not fair.”

“I’ll stop when you tell me who you are.”

“What, so you can rat me out?” You’re sitting close so you don’t have to talk very loud. You can feel her breath against your face.

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

She laughs. It is too bitter a sound for someone your age. “Like that means anything.”

“I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

She shakes her head, hair swishing against your cheek. “You haven’t yet. And you never will.”

“Yes I will.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Yes,” you say, pouncing on top of her. You’ve taken her by surprise. She reacts quickly, rolling the two of you an extra time so she can sit on your chest.

“I’m too good for you,” she says.

“Arrogance will get you killed,” you retort. You struggle beneath her but you’re about the same size and she knows exactly how to pin you down.

“That’s a big word for you. Who’d you copy that one from?”

You ignore her, still focused on trying to get up.

“Stuck?” She asks, her voice light. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, Markov.” She lets you up and pads toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Another week passes and something else appears inside your pillowcase. It’s a ribbon from a ballet shoe. You take it out and hold it up in the light of day. You know for sure, you did not take this. Someone else was messing with you. Or helping, you don’t really know.

You watch the girls around you. There are the mean ones–which are most of them–and the nice ones–of which there used to be more. You think it’s one of the nice ones who comes to you at night because she is waking you from bad sleep. But then again she likes to argue and wrestle with you. So maybe it’s a mean one.

You keep fighting and dancing and learning things like how to blend into a crowd and how to craft the perfect lie. You don’t find out who’s been adding things to your collection. But you hope you do before the guards find this new hiding spot.

They find it when you have to strip your bed for laundry day and realize you have nowhere to hide the new things. You stuff it all in your pockets again and they call you stupid for not learning your lesson last time. So they drag you screaming and kicking downstairs and strip you naked. You bite one of them when they try to tie your hands to the pole because you remember what they told you would happen for the third time you were caught stealing. A boot collides with the side of your head and you go limp for a second. The big things in your life make you forget how small you are.

There is a moment to breathe and for the ringing in your ears to subside. Then, just as the world refocuses, hellfire is released upon your backside.

You lay upstairs on your stomach and do not sleep. There are deep trenches of blood carved into your back. You could barely crawl into your unmade bed after they dumped you back on the floor in your room.

You find a flower when you have to go outside the next day. It is bright and yellow and a rarity out here where everything is dead most of the year. You don’t take it.

The fourth night after you finally sleep, your body forcing itself to shut down despite the pain. You are getting better. But not fast enough.

You only groan when you wake and realize there’s a hand on your face.

“Shhh,” she says. Then she is silent. You think she is looking at the door.

You push yourself up, drawing blood as you bite your lip. You slide into the corner away from her. “I can’t do this tonight,” you say. “I’m so tired.”

“I had to. It was going to be them or me.” She pauses. Then, slowly, the mattress dips as she climbs onto the bed.

“I’m serious,” you say. You are hurting and she is strong. She cannot know this. “It’s not fucking funny anymore.”

“Geez, I’m not going to hurt you,” she says. “I would’ve done that a long time ago if I wanted to. Here. Take this.”

“I can’t see you.”

“You are impossible.” She brushes your arm. You recoil. She grabs your hand. It feels odd, like she’s trying to be gentle. She flips your palm up and places something in your open hand. It’s soft and delicate and feels a little like rubber. You roll it carefully through your fingers. You brush your other hand over the top and feel the petals. They are silky. Nothing can compare. It still smells like outside, like life.

You realize she is the one who has been collecting prizes for you.

“You’re trying so hard to watch out for me you forget I’m looking out for you too,” she says.

“I can’t take this,” you say. “They’ll find it. You have to take it back.”

“No,” she says. “Scoot over.”

You obey, trying to hide how much it hurts to move. She takes your spot in the corner and you hear a ripping sound. “What are you doing?” You hiss.

She doesn’t answer. “Give me the flower.” You hand it to her, brushing her hand as you do. You wait in silence until she turns back around. “There’s a little hole in your mattress. I put it in there. They won’t find it. I promise.”

“Like that means anything,” you say, mimicking her tone. And as you do, you realize who you’re speaking to. It just clicked. You know this voice. “Natalia.”

“Look who’s finally earned his detective badge.” You wish you could see her smile instead of just hearing it.

—

You stay at S.H.I.E.L.D., thinking she will see sense eventually. You can’t leave the campus yet so you spend a lot of time wandering and watching. You count how many paces it takes to get from one building to another, estimate how quickly you could run. You look up at the buildings, wonder if you could climb any of them. Every day that passes is excruciating. You can feel the Red Room getting farther away. It’s been far too long since you’ve been in contact with them. You haven’t had the chance to tell them you’re coming back. That you’re not a traitor.

The only thing that makes life bearable is Natalia. She said she just wants to be called Natasha now and it confuses you even more. She really is changing.

You tell them you want to defect too. You pretend like you are fine. Like you are not in fact drowning.

You spend time in Natalia’s room, which is exactly like yours but she has a couple of books and a badly drawn picture of what looks like a person. You can’t really tell.

You point to it. “What’s this?”

She smiles. She’s been doing a lot more of that lately. It’s certainly not the worst thing. “It’s you. In your combat suit. You like it? Clint drew it.”

“He must be some kind of artist then. I could barely tell that that thing was a human.”

She laughs, and for a second the sound makes you forget how she has turned traitor. Because it is sweet and real and uniquely hers. “Look,” she says pointing. “This is your mask. See the eyes and the jawbone?”

“So those are teeth?”

“Yeah. And this arc is the hood, and these lines are the cape.”

“What are those?”

“Your katanas.”

“Why are there five of them?”

“There’s not. These are the swords,” she says, pointing to two lines angled toward the bottom of the page. She moves her finger to three lines above the figure’s head. “I think these are anger lines.”

“Anger lines?”

“Yeah. To signify danger. You know you’re pretty scary in that thing.”

You shrug. “Sure, I guess. And what did I do to have this honor?” You ask.

“You put yourself on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shit list.” She takes her attention from the sketch and looks at you. “Clint said they didn’t know who they had at first, so he drew me this.”

“And you kept it.”

“I needed decoration. What’s better than a picture of you?” She smirks and nudges you in the ribs. “Like a guardian angel.”

You nod because she’s flirting with you and it’s making your head spin just a little bit. You like her even though you know you shouldn’t and you think she likes you too. You aren’t dating because people like you don’t ‘date’ but there’s something, just below the surface. Like an undertow waiting to drag you under if you wade out too far. You can sense it, like a coming storm.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Why did they send you after me? And in such a dramatic fashion. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know,” you lie. No one sent you. Maybe you were already out in the middle of the ocean. “You’re the best they’ve got. There’s two dozen widows but there’s a reason you’re the one everyone’s been chasing.”

She shakes her head. “No. You’re the best they’ve got. Dreykov would never trade you for me.” She’s looking at you like she knows you’re lying. You hate to find that there’s hope in her expression. Like she’s waiting for a confession. But the truth is unacceptable. You cannot say you ran after her like a prince in a storybook. You cannot open yourself up.

She has never hurt you. And you will not give her the opportunity now.

So you gamble on the chance she doesn’t know for sure. You shrug and look away. Because you’ve never been as good as her at hiding things. “Guess he did.” You open your mouth again.

“I’m not going back,” she interrupts because she knows what you’re going to say. She puts a hand on your chest, the other on your cheek. “We can make a place for ourselves here.” Despite her conviction she still sounds disappointed. Doesn’t she know she’s won?

“I know,” you say.

Eventually a month goes by but you have not left. By some sickness she has you trapped. This is why Dreykov had warned you against the widows. Because they spun and they lied and now you could not bear to leave her in this strange place.

There are weekly mandatory shrink sessions you must attend as part of your agreement. You aren’t cleared for missions unless you get their green light. It’s a whole fraud that seems to have everyone in this country up in arms but you are sure it’s just S.H.I.E.L.D. trying another clever way to extract information from you. The discussions at least have been mildly amusing. You don’t have much else to focus on right now.

You’ve been transferred to a different “professional” twice now. The first one had obviously been scared of you so you played into it. He was asking you about your life and about guilt so you spent the entire hour making up stories that were unbelievable even by your standards. You told him your job used to be to torture political enemies and captured agents. You stared him down and tried to blink as little as possible when you told him you enjoyed skinning them alive and hearing them scream.

So the next time you go in it’s office 109 instead of 212 and there’s a woman instead of a man. She’s kooky and has you lay on a couch as she asks about your childhood. So you tell her a story too.

“My father,” you start, even though you hadn’t had one since you were six years old. But none of these people knew anything from where you came from. “He was a terrible alcoholic. He used to slap my face and shake me like a rag doll. I mean, is that what a real man is supposed to be?”

“No, honey. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. Go on,” she says. “How did that make you feel?”

“It made me so angry, doc. So one day I said to him, ‘I’m gonna show you what I’m made of.’ I grab his shotgun that he keeps under his bed and blam! Gunpowder and lead.” You open your eyes and her face is looming over you, confusion starting to bloom. You break out singing, because this is the good part. “I’m goin’ home, gonna load my shotgun. Wait by the door and light a cigarette. He wants a fight, well, now he’s got one. And he ain’t seen me crazy yet!”

You’re smiling because you heard the song on the radio once and you’d remembered it and the singer’s accent after all these years. Her confusion has turned to anger and suddenly the session is over. Oh no.

Kremer has a talk with you after this incident. He tells you to cut the shit and sit through it like everyone else does. Then he reminds you what will happen if either him or one of these therapists deems you unfit for work at S.H.I.E.L.D. But you don’t care. They’re not going to get the best of you twice.

But you go another week to a new office with something to prove. You’ve got a winning streak to maintain. This guy has glasses and graying hair and a stomach that’s a little round. There are shelves and shelves of books and you pace the room, grazing your hand over the spines.

“You got one in here that’s going to tell you how to fix me?”

“Hello,” he says. “My name is Dr. Francis, but you can call me Willem.” He is soft spoken and you think you can break him like you did the first one. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Okay Willem. Sure.” You slouch across from him in a chair level with his. He’s not behind a desk like the first man or hovering over you like the woman.

“Do you like to read?” He asks, because you’re still scanning the shelves.

You used to, but not really anymore. “I’m not working here because I’m some genius who sits around reading all day.”

“No. Certainly not.” Was he making fun of you? “Has anyone told you how this works?”

You shake your head.

“Well I, along with my colleagues, are not ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.’ We’re privately contracted. You know what that means, yes?”

“It means you probably get more money for sitting around and talking nonsense all day.”

“Sure. You’re not wrong. But it also means I don’t owe S.H.I.E.L.D. anything. Whatever is said in this room stays in this room. My only obligation is to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself or others.”

You eye him and his cardigan, wondering how he could walk out of the house with something like that on. “That’s what I’ve been missing!” You snap your fingers. “You’ve got my full trust now Willem, goodness I can’t believe what a great resource this is. What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”

He chuckles. “You’re funny, aren’t you?”

“I’m only as serious as this whole charade is,” you say gesturing around at the office which looks so out of place here at S.H.I.E.L.D. The clutter on his desk in the corner, the old wood furnishing, the acoustic guitar lying among stacks of books. “But okay sure. Let’s say you’re not going to turn around and blab to Kremer so he can be more efficient about making my life harder. You’re only here to make sure I’m not a danger.” You make little air quotes with your hands when you say this. “You do know what kind of missions are conducted here, no?”

“Of course. I did my time in the military.”

“Really?”

“This surprises you.”

“Yeah, I mean, come on,” you wave your hand at him. “I could kill you with my eyes closed.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have no doubt you could. But as I was saying. I don’t mean you can’t be dangerous. Just that you have to know when to pick it up and put it away. For example, now was not the time to threaten me with mortal violence.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, getting out of the chair. You couldn’t do that. Violence was who you were. And you were tired of this anyhow.

You make it to the back wall where there’s a window and on the sill there’s a picture frame. You pick it up, showing it to him. “Is this your family? Your kids are pretty cute.”

“Watch it,” he says.

You flip the frame around and look down at it. “How old are they? The little one can’t be older than eight, no? What a shame I know her father’s name.”

Maybe it’s because you don’t actually plan to find his family or maybe it’s because you’ve underestimated him that your heart pounds when you look up and he’s in your space with a serious look on his face.

“Don’t fuck with my family or I will end you.”

“Touchy, touchy,” you say.

“Get out.”

And that’s how your first interaction goes. So you’re surprised the next week when you hear you’ve been ordered back with Dr. Francis.

You stroll into the office like nothing ever happened. “You again. How are your kids doing?”

“Shut up and sit down,” he says.

You mock pout but sit anyway.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“You’ve got my file. I’m sure it says somewhere in there.”

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you.” He’s wearing another ridiculous outfit. A gray polo shirt with a brown patched cardigan.

“So you can make some big point about how I’m young and don’t know anything, right?” You ask. Because this feels awfully familiar.

You remember a time when you were twelve and told this Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) officer named Evgenia you were eighteen when she asked. Zhenya laughed and said, yeah right, if you’re eighteen then I’m forty. When you’d finally told the truth she looked at you funny. Do you know what this assignment is? You told her this was a joint mission to take out high-ranking members of a certain Russian mob family who had overstepped the line between civilian and state.

You’re a little young for this, no? She’d asked.

No one had ever given pause because of your age before. You assured her you were capable of this assignment.

She let it go but didn’t stop calling you “kid” for the whole two weeks. You hated it until you realized she didn’t mean it in a bad way. It was kind of nice, actually. To feel looked after. Carrying things on your own was so exhausting.

She made you try Oreshki as you sat in a hotel working on the mission reports because she couldn’t believe you’d never had it. Then she asked what your parents were feeding you at home because she’d never seen someone your age so strong. You told her your parents were dead and she’d stared at you for a few minutes. You pretended not to notice.

When it was time to go back she told you to look after yourself. She seemed reluctant to let you go.

You assured her you would be fine. You always were.

Now you stare at Willem and wonder where he wants to go with this question.

“Something like that,” he says. “Come on, it won’t hurt you.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” you lie. Because there’s no way the number in the file isn’t just an estimate.

He’s quick with his response. “No you’re not.”

You’re about to tell him yes, you are but there’s something in his eyes, in his posture. He’s confident you’ve lied. “Fine. I’m twenty-two. Happy?”

“Exactly. You’re twenty-two. You’re a kid. You’ve barely reached the age we let kids have alcohol in this country. Tell me, have you ever read anything by Shakespeare?” You shake your head. “You ever swam in the ocean?” Another no. “Been to an art museum? Hiked up a mountain? Fallen in love?”

You stop him then. “Love is a scam. It’s some great ideal everyone chases like an idiot because they think their worth resides with another person. It’s an opiate for the masses. You tell someone they’ll be fulfilled if they find this ‘love’ and they’ll blind themselves in pursuit of it. People are more easily controlled when they are distracted by emotion.”

“I don’t think so. And I’ve been in love for twenty years. Almost as long as you’ve been on this earth. Love has brought me great joy and great sorrow. But you wouldn’t know about that. About giving yourself over to someone else. About allowing someone to open your eyes, to challenge you. I am not distracted by emotion, and even if I was I wouldn’t care. Because at least I’ve lived.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He raises a hand. “Or you’re a coward. You want to think you’re above it all. You had Dr. Casey thinking you were a psychopath. You wanted me to think you were a monster. But you’re not. You’re a scared kid with his chest puffed out. You’re the kid who pushes others on the playground because you’re getting pushed at home. But guess what. I can’t be pushed.

You’re scared to talk because you don’t know what might come out. Scared to let people in because you think they won’t like what they see. How many people have you talked to since you’ve been here? How many people knew you, and I mean really knew you back in Russia? What about that young woman who got here a couple weeks before you? You’re unique. I’ll bet I’ve never met someone like you and I never will again. So I can’t get anywhere, I can’t start if you don’t help me. You have to talk to me.”

And after that he dismisses you, just like that.

The next time you come back the ball is in your court. He doesn’t talk to you, just sits and stares expectantly. Well two could play that game. You’ll show him you won’t talk if you don’t want to. So you sit and count away the seconds and leave when the hour is up.

Another week passes and you’re in his office again. And he’s silent, again.

You won’t be the one to break. But you’re looking at the guitar on the stand in the corner with all its dust and you think it’s as safe a conversation starter as any.

“Do you play?” You ask, nodding at the instrument.

Willem sits up and blinks a couple times like he hadn’t been expecting you to speak. “No. Not really anymore. And to be honest I could never really play even when I used it. Shame, it’s a beautiful instrument.” He gets up to retrieve the guitar and begins to tune it. “I’ve never really had the ear for music.” He plucks at a string and goes onto the next one.

“Wait,” you say. “Go back. That one’s not right.”

“Too flat or too sharp?”

“What?” Just turn it a little more.” He complies and finally it sounds right. You nod and he goes to the next.

“I didn’t peg you as the musical type,” he says as he plays and you nod or shake your head.

“I’m not. Just a feeling, I guess. I know what notes sound like.”

“But you don’t know this is the ‘E string?’”

“No, nothing like that. I can play a song though.”

“Let’s hear it then, champ.”

He hands you the guitar and you play a song you saw someone playing one time on a mission in Mexico City. There are the movements of the man in the street who had captivated you to stop and watch, and there are your own hands, years later, mirroring his.

When the song finishes Willem is quiet, then asks, “When did you learn that?”

“I didn’t really learn,” you shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Saw a guy do it once. Copied what he did.”

“Do you know what chords you used? Can you play anything else?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

You smile, because you have impressed him. “Neat party trick, huh?”

“Seems like it could be more than just a party trick.”

You tilt your head back and forth because he’s right but you don’t want to talk about that. “I don’t use it to sing pretty songs, that’s for sure. Where’d this interest of yours come from anyway?”

“My wife got it for me actually. When we were overseas I used to go on and on about missing music. About how I was butthurt having to join the army because it meant I never got to learn how to play the guitar. And she remembered. And the first Christmas after we got home, even though we barely had enough money to get by, she got me this. That’s part of what love is.”

“She’s ex-military too, then?”

“Yes,” he says, like he’s trying to recapture an old dream. “Let me tell you something. Wait, actually, this first. You ever been in a warzone?”

You hesitate for a second and he must see the debate in your mind so he clarifies.

“I mean a real warzone. Out in the trenches with a couple hundred other guys trying to fall asleep to the sound of bomb fire. Not knowing who’s going to have their leg blown off or their head opened up before the next sunrise. Knowing you’re all out there as nothing but cannon fodder, that everything they told you about the army before you left was nothing but a load of horseshit. And you ate it because your life was shit too.” You shake your head. “Well, it’s damn lousy. You have to keep each other’s chins up somehow. There was this joker in my squad, you see. Terrible sense of humor but we all laughed anyhow because things were just that bad. One day, she looks over at me and says, “Imagine this. Two fish are in a tank. One looks at the other and says, ‘Hey, do you know how to drive this thing?’””

You blink at him but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “That has to be the most awful joke I’ve ever heard.”

“It is!” Willem agrees. “But you know what? That’s the moment I fell in love with my wife.”

Now you are surprised. “Because she told you a bad joke?”

“No. Because she was so serious she didn’t know how to be funny but she always cracked herself up anyhow. And I loved her for it.”

“She was?”

“Pardon?”

“You said she was serious. Is she dead?”

“No. We are,” he pauses, quieter now. “We are separated for now. I suppose it’s been long enough that I've started talking about her in the past tense.”

“But you said she’s your wife.”

“She still is, nothing’s official, but,” he trails off, like he’s given up already.

“What?” You smirk. “You cheat on her? She cheat on you? Found some other guy who thought she was pretty and laughed at her dumb jokes?” When he doesn’t react you try something else. “You beat her up?” His head snaps to you and his eyes harden like you’ve pulled out a gun. “That’s it, isn’t it? You talk about war and all this stuff like I need a lesson but you can’t even handle it yourself so you spend all night drinking and you come home and she’s there with her ‘where were yous’ and her idiocy that you didn’t see before because you told yourself you were in love but now she’s annoying the life out of you so you try and put her head in the wall. Right?”

His glare has faded and it makes you a little nervous because it was always a bad sign when Dreykov stopped yelling and got quiet. “Yes,” Willem says calmly as if you hadn’t just gutted him open. “There’s one thing you’re wrong about though. I never had to tell myself I was in love with her. I just was. And I still am. She was right to kick me out.”

You puff your cheeks and blow out air. “You are a bigger идиот than I thought. Have you apologized?”

“Yes. I did the next morning when I realised what I’d done.”

“And she didn’t accept it.”

“No, she did,” he says, dragging a large hand down his face. “She did but I thought some time apart would be for the best.”

“So you could get yourself a shrink.”

“Not exactly. They say therapists make the worst patients. I’ve found that to be true.”

“Well,” you say. “Sounds like you’re a coward too.”

Willem smiles. Just the smallest upturn of his lips. “Time’s up.”

—

The wilderness is no place for two children. Especially not the barren wasteland of Siberia. The boy has a rifle slung around his shoulder and no coat. The girl has two coats. Blood from a wound on her side drips out onto the snowy terrain underfoot. But she is strong. She refuses the boy’s offers to help her walk.

A long trail of footprints in the otherwise unblemished landscape leads back to a small massacre site.

The children are hungry but cannot stop because something is chasing them. It’s why they had to leave the little house with the fire and the old woman.

They will hide, they will kill, they will walk until they collapse so the ground may swallow them whole.

Because the wilderness is no place for two children. It certainly cannot be the place for three.

—

More weeks pass and you keep living and you try not to think too much about how Natalia is doing fine for herself. She has a team now with agents called Barton and Hill and Coulson and May.

You do not talk so often, even if this is the most freedom you’ve had to talk since you’ve known each other. At first you tried to convince her to go back but no. She is adamant about staying here, about untying herself rope by rope from the Red Room.

The things you exchanged seem so trivial now. You know her favorite color is blue and that she is fine with coffee but would much rather have tea and that she has a scar beneath her collarbone. But here such information is freely given.

You see other men talk to her in the cafeteria, watch her in the gym. She has always been the most beautiful woman in the room.

And it is one day when you are eating lunch together that another agent approaches. He has an apple in his hand and sits next to Natalia like he knows her. “Natasha,” he greets. You don’t like how close he is. He extends a hand across the table. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” he says. “I’m Agent Matthew Hunter.”

You take his hand and shake it, squeezing a little harder than necessary. “Nice to meet you.” This is a lie. He is entitled and he is American and you would prefer he left you alone.

“Matt,” Natalia says, smiling.

He turns to face her like you aren’t there. “Listen I got to run, but I haven’t had the chance to say how great of a job you did on the Berlin mission last week. I wanted to catch you before I forgot.”

She licks her lips and turns her shoulders toward him. “You weren’t too bad out there yourself.”

He waves her off. “Are you kidding me? I have never seen someone handle a room like that before.” Agent Hunter looks at you next but his body is still facing Natalia. “Did she tell you about this? I mean what a fucking bombshell.”

“No,” you say. “We haven’t had the chance.”

“Ah, well. You should really ask her. Hell of a story, hell of an agent.”

Natalia looks down at her lap, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

“Anyway. I have got to go hit the gym. No days off, am I right?”

He is looking at you and expecting a response so you just say, “Sure.”

“Alright, nice to meet you, man. See you later Nat.”

You watch him walk off like he owns the place and it’s only when you turn back that you realize Natalia had been watching him too.

You take a drink of water and ask, “Do you like him?”

She snaps her attention to you. “Who, Matt? Yeah he’s nice. A bit talkative, but that’s all right. What did you think?”

You ignore her question. “No, I mean. He was flirting with you.”

“I know that.”

“So,” you gesture. She would lead you in circles until your head twisted off if you let her. “Are you going to get with him?”

Her smile fades like you’ve asked if she was planning to kill him instead. “No. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Why not?” You ask. “He’s handsome, young enough. You said you liked him.”

“Because I don’t want him.” And there is this look on her face like you have grown a second head. “I’m not just going to go run around sleeping with people.”

“I didn’t say you should. I was just wondering because I could tell you were into him.”

She scoffs. “I’m not ‘into him.’ He’s friendly. He gave me a compliment. What's so bad about that?”

“Nothing. It was just a question, that’s all.”

She is quiet for a moment, dragging her fork through the last grains of rice on her plate. “You know I like you too, right?”

“Of course. And I like you.”

“No. I mean, in the way you think I like Matt.”

Now it is your turn to choose silence. The two of you kissed and shared a bed sometimes when you had only ever slept alone before. And Natalia was the only person you’ve had sex with, at least in any way that counted. But that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t know any better and neither had she. There was bad and there was worse. You just happened to be sufficient for her when the bar was six feet under the ground.

“You know, that doesn’t mean anything. You don’t owe me,” you say.

“I know I don’t owe you anything. It’s not about owing,” she says, shaking her head in incredulity. “You’ve been weird since we’ve been here. It’s not a death sentence anymore.”

“I’m saying just because we got together before doesn’t mean you can’t go after this guy now. It was a matter of circumstance you know. There was no one else to choose so you chose me, I get it.”

Her eyes narrow as you say this. You speak for her, but you do not know. “What are you talking about?”

But you’ve built up steam now and you think if you stop you won’t get the words out because you’re sure they’re not true. You speak for the man you want to project. The one Dreykov would approve of. “And you’re pretty and you came on to me so,” you shrug. “But come on. You were a warm body. So were a lot of the other widows. And so was I. Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it is.”

But it is a big deal. You ignore all the times you held each other in the middle of the night. The time she taught you how to braid her hair. All those times you made each other laugh. These are the things you take great effort to minimize.

And you are so focused on pushing her away because you are a bird with its wings clipped hurtling toward the ground that you don’t notice her own rage building.

She is used to being silenced. She just never thought you would join the long line of others who’ve treated her as lesser than. She thought you understood, that you were different.

“Fuck you,” she says, looking you straight in the eye. You can’t read the expression on her face. She has always been good at making her face vacant, like marble.

She leaves. Not that there was anything to leave in the first place.

You tell yourself this is what you wanted. For her to be free. Free of you and free of any guilt that might plague her. Not that the Black Widow felt guilt.

But if this is what you wanted, then why did you feel like you had just severed a limb?

But you are fine too. You have a team with agents called Rumlow and Ward and Rollins. They are callous and crass and they remind you of the guards back home. They do not care where you have come from, despite the fact you still bear the title Junior Lieutenant, technically. Despite what everyone else thinks.

You are strong like the fabled Captain America and could home a bullet into any target with a blindfold on. That’s all they care about.

They say they do not care about your accent that you wear like a scarlet flag. And sometimes, you join them when they go out to drink. Ward and Rumlow are outspoken. Rollins is not. But they all share the same cynical view of the world. And so do you. Maybe that’s why you get along.

There is control and there is chaos. You are all agents of the former.

After word about your squadron placement gets around, no one eyes you in the hall like they want to fight. No one questions your–albeit minimal–authority. At least not to your face.

Missions with them are quick and bloody. You use a rifle most of the time now. One that is bulky and can fire an unnecessary amount of rounds per second. You are a strike unit, so you creep up to the outside of an office or warehouse or home and when everyone is crouched like predators in the shadows you jump out with blazing muzzles. You can’t really call what you do fighting.

It is one day you are out with them that you run into an old friend. She is one of the ones you are hunting. S.H.I.E.L.D. likes doing that, you’ve figured out. Sending you out on missions to destroy what you’ve spent your life building. What you were supposed to sit at the head of the table of one day.

They want to see when you might snap. They want you to cut and run. They do not believe you can change. You don’t believe it either.

But she tells you, and oh is it nice to speak Russian again, that Dreykov wants your head. You cannot go back. You hadn’t wanted to be a traitor, but you’d lit the torch when you let the Americans take you in. And now when you look back, the bridge is engulfed in flames.

She says rumor of your defection has grown and spread like a tumor on Dreykov’s name. You’ve humiliated him by turning your back, and now he is losing power.

“But,” you say. “I didn’t. I don’t want–I’m not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She stops you. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m still–”

“You’re not listening to me.” She grabs you by the arm. “If you go back there you will die. Apparently Dreykov was kind of a black sheep. They were all looking for a reason to strip him of his rank, and now that he’s lost his two best weapons no one will listen to him. The entire Red Room is on alert, looking for a way to capture you.” She stabs a finger to your chest.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. “But there must be some way to clear this up. If I could talk to him I know I could explain. Or if I could get back. If I talked to the Headmistress.” You know she would understand and she would not be mad. Because she was stern but she never hit you. You used to talk every week in her office, just the two of you. You missed her.

Your friend shakes her head. It’s a “no,” but it’s also full of admonishment.

“What?” You ask.

“Always so eager to please.”

“It’s called having honor.”

There are footsteps outside the office you’ve pulled her into. She tugs on your arm and you retreat around the corner.

“We don’t have much time,” you say.

She’s silent for a moment, then, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving. It won’t be hard. No one will be looking for me as long as you have that S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on your chest. I’m saying you should leave too.” She puts a hand on your cheek, makes you look her in the eye. “We could be extraordinary.”

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Why not?” There is disbelief, there is frustration. “You just said it yourself. You’re not loyal to them. And these brutes have nothing on us. We can disappear.”

“You should go. I really think you should. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?”

“I wanted it with you.”

“Goodbye, Svetlana,” you say, kissing her on the cheek. She is still.

On your way out, she speaks up. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? It’s funny. You’ve always been so blind when it comes to her. You think anyone can know the Black Widow? She will drain the life from you.”

She leaves you with a note with an address on it.

“In case you change your mind.”

When you get back you hide the slip of paper in the nightstand with Dreykov’s watch.

—

You pull on the hideous shirt with the too large sleeves and try not to think about how ridiculous wearing tights is. You grab your shoes and head down the hall to the other dressing room.

When you enter the dancers that are actually a part of this company stare at you. The four widows–excluding Natalia–don’t bat an eye. Modesty was a long lost concept for all of you. Especially around each other. Nastya looks over and smiles at you. You wink back.

The understudy for the lead part–who like the rest of you earned the role after members of the main cast suddenly became ill the night before–finds you like a heat-seeking missile. Her blood red hair is pulled back tight in a bun, and the fluorescent lights pale her skin to a moonlight shade. She looks like she has come from another world to ravage war upon this one. She is muscle and sinew and bone. She is magnificent.

She snakes an arm around the back of your neck and kisses you on the jaw. She wants them all to see. You are hers in this show and hers backstage. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You go out and perform on auto pilot because you watched a recording of the show once and now the movements are ingrained in the memory of your muscles. You focus on the crowd, try to spot your targets. There is a war going on in the shadows. You’ve all been sent to end it. To show them the Red Room is superior. They won’t even know what hit them.

You have a break to watch Natalia perform her solo. You stand in the right wing and watch her under the spotlight, dazzling the crowd. Even here she is dangerous. She is like a panther getting upwind of its prey. Every move is measured, every step beaten into submission because of how many times she practiced. She makes herself delicate, but you know better.

There is a part where she almost rushes off stage as if reaching for something, but an invisible force drags her back to the center. You are standing in the spot she reaches for. Maybe you knew she would end up here, maybe you didn’t. It doesn’t matter because her eyes snap open and for a half second you lock eyes. The audience members aren’t the only ones she’s made believe in her desperation.

After the first act ends Anastasia and Yeva leave for the targets’ hotel where they will be waiting. The four of you who are left finish the show and keep eyes on your targets. When you take your bow you are holding Natalia’s hand. Then you slink into the shadows, ditch the outfit, and put on your mask and hood.

You leave as a unit out a back door and climb to the roof. It is raining outside. Not more than a drizzle, but the brick underfoot is slick and your targets will be hiding under coats and umbrellas. Stefanya kneels to assemble a rifle that had been packed into a violin case. You crouch in the shadows, feel the rain begin to soak through your pants.

The crack of the rifle is loud like lightning and the crowd parts around the dead man. An ambulance is called but you know it is too late. The four of you split there. You will find each other later in an apartment building across town.

You know Natalia will beat the ambulance to the hospital and an accident will befall the entourage of the dead. Nowhere is safe.

You follow a fleeing family of four to their car. The father is a high-ranking official of your enemy, the mother a scientist. They both know tonight is no accident. They run into the dark, down an alleyway instead of along the main road. Smart. You watch them go. You know where they will end up.

You get in a vehicle which has been left for you and follow them out of the city. You drive until the houses have become sparse and so has the light. The rain is pouring down in sheets now. You step on the gas and flip the car’s brights on. The front of your car rams into the back of theirs. The sedan spins out of control, tires squealing against the wet asphalt. The car drifts into a ditch and you pull up beside it.

You step out of your car and draw your swords. Because this is a message, not an accident. Two shots are fired your way. You duck behind the car and let the guy shout insults at you. But you hear the fear in his voice. He saw who they’d sent for him.

You rush through the dark, cape heavy and soaking behind you. You ram your fist into the passenger window and slide the end of one sword through the woman’s mouth. There are more shots but you have already disappeared again into the night.

The children in the backseat scream. Their anguish refuses to be drowned out by the storm. You hear them as if they are crying right into your ears. The man gets out and slams the door shut. You see him in the flashes brought by the lightning. He yells for you to come out. So you oblige. You launch yourself onto the car roof and stare down at him. Here I am, you say. He points the pistol at you and you slice his hand off. He goes down, still cursing. The last thing he does is ask you to leave the kids out of this.

You go up to the backdoor. Didn’t he know? This was a family affair.

You tell yourself what you have done tonight is for the greater good. Many more will live off the blood of this sacrifice.

When you get back to the rendezvous point you find only Stefanya and Marina. You were supposed to be the last one back. Where are they, you ask. They are quiet. Stefanya looks you in the eye and says none of them ever showed. You know she is lying. You take a breath and step closer so you may look down on them. They are not intimidated by you. Even in the dark, even with the rain outside, even with your face behind a mask they know you will not hurt them.

Because you all grew up together. And that means something.

So you draw back your hood and remove the mask. You let them see the worry in your eyes. Come on, you say. What happened.

They are quiet for a moment longer. Then, Marina whispers. Yeva and Nastya never returned. Natalia went after them. She told us not to tell you.

You put your gear back on and rush out the door. Stay here, you call over your shoulder. You fly through the night to the hotel they were supposed to be at and find Anastasia sitting against the wall bleeding. She raises her gun at you when you barrel through the window. You take off your mask and rush to her. Nastya, you say. She is shot and she should be dead but widows are not ordinary humans. You ask if she is all right and she laughs. Clearly, I am not. She already has a shirt tied around her stomach and she is holding another tight to staunch the bleeding.

Natalia has been here, you say. Yes. You ask where she has gone and where Yeva is. She tells you she doesn’t know. That Yeva and she were ambushed and overwhelmed. The room is trashed. Bullet holes in the walls and broken furniture. There are bodies littering the floor. They must have had two dozen men up here to overpower just the two of them.

You ask if she will be all right if you go. She tells you yes she thinks so. Then you hold a hand out. She takes it. Her hand is clammy and cool to the touch. Are you sure, you ask. Because Katya might actually kill me if you die on my watch. Go, she tells you. Find Yeva.

So you leave out the window and try not to think about it all being too late. If they had the chance to drive off they could be out of the city by now. You weren’t even supposed to be out hunting for them. You should’ve taken Stefanya and Marina and gone back to base. The others’ failure was theirs alone to bear. So you stand in the dark collecting raindrops, wondering why this has come as an afterthought. You realize in your haste you’d left your mask back in the hotel room. Water drips down your face as you stare up at the sky. Maybe the stars know.

Then, through the stench of the storm and the dirt and oil the rain has sloughed from the ground you smell blood. It is sharp and metallic and unmistakable. You trot down the near pitch black alley in search of the source. There are a number of irregular shapes down a perpendicular alleyway. You can barely see they are there. You stop, your boots splashing in a puddle.

With measured steps you stalk forward, unsheathing the swords on your back. The shapes are bodies of men in ruined suits with ruined faces. One’s eyes have been gouged inward, pushed deep in toward his brain. Belly-up he stares unseeing into some void. And as if he hadn’t suffered enough he is also eviscerated. Guts and blood leak from him onto the dirty ground as if from an overfilled trash bin. No wonder you were able to smell it.

There is another with his throat slit and his head bashed in. Another with his jaw ripped wide open. He has been shot, but only in the leg. None of these men went out with a clean death. All of them suffered.

You find Natalia in the middle of the carnage, holding another body. Yeva is limp in her arms, eyes closed. You kneel beside both of them. She’s gone, Natalia whispers. You try to ignore the awful pang in your chest. Because she died in the service of her country. She died a soldier’s death. It is an honor.

But alone in the rain in a struggle is no way to die. Dark blood is still seeping from the hole in her forehead to stain her blonde hair. She looks so young.

There are footsteps at the entrance to the alleyway. Stefanya and Marina have Anastasia supported in between them. Stefanya is taller than them both which makes it an awkward position but they have made it. You’re not surprised they didn’t stay at the rendezvous either.

The cops are here, Marina says. We need to go.

Natalia stands, Yeva in her arms. You pull your hood deeper over your face and lead them away. In a stolen car you drive out of the city. There’s a field and it’s on its way to being flooded but it will have to do. You have no tools so you dig with your hands and you try to ignore how familiar the action is. Even Nastya insists she helps.

Dawn has already broken when the grave is finally dug. You lower Yeva’s body in and replace the dirt under the young sunlight. None of you care about the consequences the day will surely bring.

Very few will ever know that she lived. And only you will know about her death, about this gravesite. It’s only fair you take a moment. They tell you you are nameless, faceless, inconsequential and that it is selfish to believe otherwise.

But dammit Yeva was a person. They refused to give her a place in the world. So you suppose that’s what the four of you have done now. What a shame it could only be given after her last breath.

—

The next time you’re being briefed on a mission there are forty agents in the room. You go to the side of the room where your squad along with the rest of the platoon are standing. Rumlow tells you there must be a big fucking fish to fry.

Crowded on the other side of the conference table are members of STRIKE Team: Delta, including Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. You lock eyes with her for a moment but you turn away because Agent Matthew Hunter is right there next to her. Rumor has it they’ve been “going out.” Last week Ward asked you how it felt to have some tool like Hunter steal your girl. You told him she wasn’t your girl. That she’d be fucking a new guy in another week. You don’t know why you said that last part.

Then everyone is quiet because Fury is here and the Director never bothers with things as trivial as mission briefs.

Turns out there’s a huge freaking terrorist compound in Iraq and you’ve been authorized to take it out. Agent Barton is in charge of tagging the leader. Everyone else, don’t get killed.

So you fly out in three separate jets and you’re on the one holding a mix of both teams. Everyone’s keeping to their own side but Natalia comes over to stand by you.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you say back. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been missing her. But now that you’ve heard her voice and she’s so close your shoulders are almost brushing it hits you like a bucket of ice water. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. It’s odd though, you know.”

“What is?”

“Not speaking with you.” she says. “I mean we’re in the same building most of the time now. It’s just been too long.”

“I agree,” you say. And because you cannot bring yourself to admit you feel less alive when she’s not around, that now that she’s here you have to stop yourself from grinning like a moron, you say, “I don’t think we’ve been on a mission together yet. Not since coming here.”

She’s looking at you and now you’re thinking about the furrow in her brow and the shine in her eye when she’s thinking hard. The little things you’re sure only you know because you’re the only person she’s shown them to. “You’re right,” she says. “We haven’t.”

“Kremer was probably scared shitless about the potential the two of us have together.”

“Kremer?”

“My handler. He’s an absolute asshat. I feel like he had one look at me and has already sentenced me. Nothing I do can change his mind.”

“That’s too bad for him,” she says. “He’s missing out on a great agent.”

You finally allow a smile to crack through. “How’s Barton?”

“He’s good. I think the two of you would get along.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you both know how to be a huge pain in my ass.” She smirks and you shove her lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into Romanova.”

She takes your hand and traces circles on the inside of your palm. “You’re the only one who calls me that anymore,” she murmurs.

Your face flushes because you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. “I can stop. I just, I forget sometimes. And besides.” You lean in and switch to Russian because someone is always listening in. “Natalia Romanova is the strongest person I know. I don’t think you should be ashamed of her.”

She turns her face toward yours and responds in kind. “You don’t have to stop. I like what it means when you say it.” You can feel her breath on your cheek and you wonder if she might kiss you. But she pulls away to smile at you again. “And you’re the only one who can pronounce it right anyway.”

You touchdown and by some force of habit you and Natalia pull away from the others and slink into the shadows. You pull your pistol out and shoot a figure with his gun out before Natalia can get to him.

She turns back to you. “Since when do you use a gun?”

You shrug. “Since I became American.”

“You don’t have your swords?”

“No. Those are still confiscated. But,” you take a retractable blade from your belt and unsheath it. “I’ve got this.”

“Can you use it?”

“Well enough,” you say. You could use a sharp stick if you needed to. “Actually, it’s quite different from using my katanas. First of all there’s only one of whatever this is. It’s pretty terrible. Americans have no idea about blades. Whoever made this shaped it like a toothpick.” You thrust it forward into the empty air. “You can’t slash with it, which is what you want to do,” you say, drawing an arc this time.

“Easy, tiger. I can’t believe I almost forgot how much of a nerd you are.” You’re about to retort but she stops before a corner and gives you a look. Down the hall there’s an open door and a light on. You edge up to it and count four guys smoking and playing cards. As one you jump out, Natalia covering you as you barrel into the thick of it. There are two guys with bullet holes in them and one writhing on the ground from one of her taser discs.

You’ve plunged your sword through the last one and are still trying to wrench it free when she kicks the one getting shocked in the head. Finally you get it free, his ribs cracking from how hard you had to pull it out.

“That’s disgusting,” she says.

“Oh please,” you respond, wiping the blade off on your sleeve. There’s blood on your hands and face and more spreading over the concrete floor. “You’re the one who likes making messes on purpose. I told you this sword is atrocious.”

She shrugs. “I only do that if they really deserve it.”

“So that’s like everyone, right?” You turn away from her, shaking your head hard enough you know she must see. “It’s appalling really. I mean have some decorum Natalia. Twenty-three times is a lot to stab someone, you know.”

Silence is the only answer you receive. But the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and in a flash she’s on your shoulders trying to bring you down.

You keep talking in between the short bursts of laughter rising from your chest. “At that point it’s disrespectful.” She covers your eyes with one hand and your mouth with the other. Then she twists with just enough force to signal she wants you down and you get to your knees to soften the blow before you completely collapse on your back.

“The cops can’t even recognize the poor bastards.” She’s on top of you with a glint in her eye like she’s hungry. You put your hands up. “Please don’t, oh no I have an ounce of cocaine I still need to snort tonight.” She puts the handle end of a knife against your cheek and drags it down toward your chest. “I have so much to live for,” you say, suddenly putting on an American accent.

She cracks, a little smile emerging on her face. She stands before she thinks you’ve seen and leaves the room. “Get up. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I saw that,” you say, jogging after her.

“Saw what?”

“You think I’m hilarious.”

“No, I think you’re dumb.”

“I can be both. It’s called having range.”

You wouldn’t say you enjoy what you do, but it’s all you know. At some point you had to become numb to it or you’d drown in the guilt. But you have missed working with Natalia. Your team is fine. But it’s different when she’s had your back in the field since you were ten years old. When you could pass out right now and know she’d keep you safe. When you know exactly what move she’s going to make next.

The end of the hall splits off and you go left while she goes right.

You pass a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and give them a nod before turning down another hall. You check another room and there’s a woman in there with a gun.

You raise yours, and you don’t know why but something makes you hesitate. Maybe it’s because you don’t think she’ll shoot. Maybe it’s because there’s been this bug in your ear nagging about innocence until proven guilty.

But she doesn’t and there’s a shot and a bullet in your side. You don’t waste time before you fire a return shot that shatters her kneecap. She drops her gun and goes down screaming.

Rage explodes hot in your chest. At her, for shooting you. But mostly at yourself for slipping. “You bitch,” you seethe in Russian. The pain in your side is mixing with the anger in your chest and the storm is deafening.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me,” she sobs, laying on the ground. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not with them. I won’t fight anymore. Just don’t kill me. I’m sorry.” But you’ve seen this act before. You won’t underestimate her twice.

“Shut up,” you say in English. You put your foot on her broken knee and stand on it. She wails even harder. You’re looming over her as you unsheathe your sword. Her sobs are the only sound left in the room. You seethe in silence. Like you always have.

You raise the blade above your head like an executioner with his axe and bring it down over her neck. Her head comes apart from her body. There’s a thud as she settles on her back. The sword snaps as it strikes the concrete from the weight of your full strength. You stumble forward. Sometimes you forget how strong the serum has made you.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Just the sound of your ragged breathing. You can’t tell if you can’t catch your breath because you’ve been shot or because of something else.

Then, “Holy shit.”

You whip around and aim your gun at the voice by the doorway.

“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t shoot me, partner,” says Agent Hunter.

Блядь.

You put your weapon away but don’t say anything.

He looks at the blood on your face and the broken sword you’re holding onto like a lifeline and the body at your feet. The woman’s eyes are still open. Locked in a panicked gaze. Then he blanches and turns away. The sound of him throwing up almost makes you hurl too.

“Hunter,” you pant, finding your voice.

But he’s backing away with his hands out like you’ll get him next. “You’re sick.”

More footsteps come down the hall and a group of agents checks on him. It’s over for you as soon as the first new arrival sees the body and the blood on your hands. Oh my god, he says. The judgement rolls through the crowd that’s begun to amass.

Agent Hunter is out of your sight now but you can hear him. “He fucking killed her. She was on the ground begging for her life and he fucking chopped her head off.”

Your face heats up and your heart is pounding something crazy in your chest because you still haven’t caught your breath. There’s too many people in the room. Too many eyes on you. You can hear every gasp, every hitch in their breathing, every whisper. It’s driving you nuts. Why can’t they just mind their own fucking business.

They’re going to kill you for this. You’re injured and vulnerable. There’s a dozen of them now and they’ve all got guns.

“What the fuck are you all looking at?” You yell. “Get out!”

They stare at you for another moment before shuffling away.

You think you see a glimpse of fire-red hair in the crowd. There one second, then gone. Like the flicker of a flame.

Rumlow is the first one to approach you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t come too close. “Come on, man,” he says in the same rough voice he always uses. The familiarity is good. “It’s time to go.”

—

The girl with the blood red hair stops at a small grove of trees. She tells the boy it is time. She cannot go further.

The boy stops because the girl is the strongest person he knows. If she says she cannot go on she must mean her feet have fallen off. But he is also confused because there are supposed to be weeks and weeks left. This is not right.

The girl curses and curls into a ball at the base of a skinny, bare tree. Because she knows this too. Stupidly, she thinks if she makes the area around her stomach just a little warmer everything will be okay. She is desperate.

But their luck has run out. The girl was good at keeping secrets and when the secret could not be kept any longer a man named Ivan put her on a long-term espionage mission. The boy has always disliked this man whom the girl looks to like a father but he owes him for this.

But things went sour as things happen to go and when the girl sent the message from the cabin the boy should not have come. But this was a thing worth running for.

Miracles do not exist.

The boy sinks into the snowy ground next to the girl. She turns her face toward his and they press their foreheads together Like a kiss, but with the tenderness that can only be born from the innocent. I love you, the girl tells him.

The boy tries to be brave even though he is scared. I love you too, he says. No matter what happens.

—

They make you go to medical when you get back because everyone was watching you on the plane and it was obvious you had a bullet in your side.

You sit in a private room that’s got a door instead of just curtains between beds. But it’s not really private because there’s a doctor and two armed guards at the door. All three of them stare at you. They haven’t gone so far as to handcuff you but you know you’ve taken a huge step back.

The doctor introduces herself as Helen Cho and asks, “Are you able to remove your shirt?”

You don’t want to take your shirt off. It leaves you too vulnerable. And you don’t want them to see your back.

“Agent, there’s a bullet in your torso. Remarkably it hasn’t hit anything vital. And by some miracle you’re sitting up like nothing’s wrong. But I still need to take it out. It’s not supposed to be in there.” She is direct but still somehow soft-spoken. You don’t like being in this white room with these strange people but you suppose she could be worse.

You fidget with your hands. You’ve washed them but there’s still red on your palms, dried flakes under your fingernails. Finally, you say, “I can get it out myself. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“I would be more comfortable if you would let me do it. Have you ever extracted a bullet before?” You shake your head. “It’s tricky, it requires precision, and it hurts the person it’s in. It’s hard to keep your hand steady when you’re in pain.”

You glance up at the agents keeping guard. “Sure I know.”

Doctor Cho notices and waves at them. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

“Ma’am, we have orders to keep him under supervision.”

“He’s injured. You can stay right outside the exam room. Nobody is going to disappear into thin air.”

“But–”

“I’m the doctor. And this is my patient. You can wait outside,” she says sternly.

And this time they listen. “We’ll be right outside.”

She turns back to you. “Better?”

You nod slowly, finally drawing in a larger breath. Your side ignites in fire and you gasp, which only makes it hurt worse. Your hand flies to the wound, hovering over it.

“Getting shot isn’t fun, is it?” She asks, not waiting for an answer. “Now there’s two ways we can do this. You can lay here and let me help you or I can have you sedated.”

“No,” you wave a hand at her. “No, don't do that.”

“Okay I won’t,” she assures. “But I’ve been at this long enough to know some people need a little extra help. It’s all right.” She pauses. “I still need to see the wound site. I’ll walk you through it every step of the way,” she offers.

“You will?”

“Of course.”

You hesitate. Maybe it’s to stall a little longer. Maybe because you actually care. “You’re not worried about being in here alone with me?”

“Why would I be? You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

“No,” you say. “But you have to be wondering why I’ve got a couple of angry looking sitters.”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “‘I’m curious. But I don’t make a habit of judging people I don’t know. And besides. I’m a doctor. I’d treat you no matter what.”

“So there’s no limit?”

“No, I’ve got a limit.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s for people who think they can talk their way out of treatment,” she says, looking you in the eye. “Come on.”

Slowly, you maneuver your right arm out of the t-shirt. The movement stretches your side and it hurts but you grit your teeth and push through the pain. You leave your shirt on around your neck and left side. The wound is still oozing blood just above your right hip. You figure she has enough room to work.

Doctor Cho sighs. She takes a once-over glance at your body. Her attention locks on the bullet wound then flickers to your back then refocuses again.

“You’re probably going to want to lay down.”

You oblige and she comes over with gloves on her hands but no mask on her face. You’re grateful for this. The doctors in the Red Room always wore masks and headgear that made them look less human. They also didn’t talk. Not to you anyway. And their notes always had the word “Subject 094” instead of your name.

You swallow as she sits on a stool by your side with a pair of forceps and a pen light. You don’t know when you'd gotten so sweaty.

“I’m going to locate the bullet and extract it. Sound good?”

You nod and she waits. “Yes,” you say.

She clicks on the flashlight and puts a cool hand on your stomach. “Last chance. You sure you don’t want to go under for this?”

“I’m sure.”

She presses down lightly with two fingers around the entry site. It hurts but it doesn’t really hurt until the fourth spot she touches. You suck in air through your teeth and clench your fists.

“I started working in the medical field because I wanted to cure cancer,” she says. “My passion was research, but my parents wanted me to get my M.D. They said there’s no success in research. So I did both. I have an M.D. for them and a Ph.D. in biomedical research for myself.”

You focus on her words, imagining a younger Doctor Cho in your mind. She can’t be much older than you. “You must be some kind of genius,” you grit around a clenched jaw.

She blushes, and even though there’s a pair of forceps lodged way too deep inside your torso the pain eases a little. “Nothing like that. I just worked hard. And you know the crazy part? I ended up loving the patient work almost as much as I loved running tests in a lab. So my parents had the right idea after all, just for the wrong reasons.”

You’re looking at her face now instead of her hands and trying to memorize the slight purse in her lips and the brightness in her eyes. This is her arena, her fight.

“Сука!” You curse and jolt a little.

“Steady,” she says. “I’ve got it. Just have to pull it out.”

You try to draw in deep, steady breaths through your nose and out your mouth. “Great.” You can’t watch anymore so you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself pain is only a mental construct even though it really doesn’t feel that way right now.

There’s a clink and a rattle and Doctor Cho says, “The hard part is done. I’m going to clean, stitch, and bandage you now.”

“So you’ve given up on curing cancer to take bullets out of idiots instead?”

“No. Actually, I work in research almost full time now. They’ve got a pretty nice lab here. You should stop by, if you’re not too busy catching more bullets.” She doesn’t look you in the eye as she says this.

“This is my first time getting shot.”

“There shouldn’t be a first time,” she counters.

“You said you do research almost full time now. Should I feel special, then?” You smile.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re a disturbance to my day off, actually.” She takes a bottle of water and flushes it through your wound.

You hiss. “Please remind me never to get shot again.”

“If you come through here injured again I’ll kick you out,” she says, smiling. “I thought you all had armor for this type of thing. What’s it called, again? Oh, yeah. A bulletproof vest.” She wipes the rest of the blood from your skin.

“I don't wear those. Too much of a restriction on movement. Agility is the most important thing out there.”

“I don’t know about that. Sounds like I’d want this thing that keeps me from ending up on the wrong side of this bed.”

You shrug. Because she’s running thread through your skin and it hurts more than you try to let on. Maybe she has a point.

Doctor Cho retrieves a roll of bandages from a cabinet in the corner. “This part will be easier if you stand up.”

You stand and stumble. You have to catch yourself on her shoulder. “Sorry,” you say. “Might have lost a little bit of blood recently.”

“You don’t say.”

You fix her nametag, the picture smiling shyly back at you.

She wraps the bandage taught around your stomach. “No strenuous activity until I clear you, understand? Nothing that raises your heart rate too much. And I want to see you back in three days. Think you can manage?”

You shrug back into your shirt. “Does that mean I can’t go to my underground fighting club tonight?”

She makes an overexaggerated frown. “I’m afraid so.”

“Thank you, Doctor Cho,” you say earnestly.

“Don’t mention it.” And as you put your hand on the door knob, she adds, “Call me Helen.”

You smile over your shoulder. “See you in a few days Helen.”

Your personal guards march you down to Kremer’s office. You tell them you’re sure you can get there on your own but they’re not in all that talkative of a mood.

Kremer is standing over his desk, arms braced against the wood like he’s trying to ground himself. He has his glasses on but removes them when you enter. He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and the guards disappear, shutting the door behind them.

“Sit down,” he says. When you don’t move he says it again, louder. “Sit down! That’s an order.”

You sit but he doesn’t. He stands, hovering over you like some angry buzzard.

“What the fuck was that? I’ve got a dozen eyewitness reports saying you beheaded some defenseless woman. You want to tell me something different happened?”

“Sir,” you start, cautiously. Because even though a plan is already in your mind to bolt you would rather not have to sleep with one eye open tonight. “I don’t know how you have a dozen eyewitness reports. Agent Hunter was the only one present for the moment of death.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t fucking care if it was one person or fifty people or just God himself as witness. Did you do it?” “She shot me first. She wasn’t exactly defenseless.”

Kremer mutters to himself under his breath. “But you didn’t need to chop her goddamn head off! I’ve seen the pictures. Looks like an excessive use of force to me. Was she threatening you when you did it?”

“She could’ve had another weapon under her shirt or in her waistband. I made a call.”

“Hunter said she was sobbing, begging you not to kill her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! She could have been acting. I’ve seen it done a hundred times.”

“You Reds and your excuses,” he shakes his head. “It’s my ass when you pull some stunt like this, do you understand? I don’t know how you did it back in Russia but here we don’t go around beheading people like barbarians. And if you don’t want to end up in some hellhole I suggest you get yourself up to our bar, quickly.”

“You think I did that just because? The bitch shot me first! I just spent twenty minutes having a bullet dug out of my stomach because of her.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” he points a finger at you. “I think you’re a fucking animal who was just waiting for some excuse to make another person suffer. I know your type. You get off on this kind of violence. If it was up to me you’d be rotting out in the middle of the ocean right now.”

“What the fuck?” You sputter. “I don’t–”

“We’re done here. You’re on a month’s suspension.” He sighs, putting his glasses on and sitting down. “But if you step one toe out of line you’re out of here.”

You stand up far too quickly. The ache in your side flares like you’ve ripped it open again.

“And I think you should know,” he adds. “Fury has given me complete authority over this matter. Whether you stay or go is my call.”

You salute him before you go, pretending your eyes could burn holes through his skull.

The agents turned guards aren’t waiting for you when you leave Kremer’s office so you head back to your room. Your side hurts even worse now. The adrenaline has worn off. Every step you take makes you want to sink to the floor.

By the time you make it across campus to the barracks you’re sweating a little and breathing hard. You’ll have to tell Helen you broke her rule.

Natalia is in your room, sitting on the edge of the bed in her mission suit. Her hair is still braided back, little flyaways sticking to the back of her neck.

“How did you get in here?” You ask.

“You’re all right,” she says in relief. She crosses the room, one hand on the side of your neck, the other on your cheek.

“Yeah,” you breathe, putting a hand on her arm. “Can I sit? I’m not exactly totally good.” You don’t wait for her to answer before almost collapsing into the chair at the desk in the corner.

“What happened?” You look up at her, thinking about how you saw her in the crowd. How she didn’t come up to you. Didn’t defend you.

“I was shot,” you say. You lift the edge of your shirt up, just enough to reveal the bandage.

She sits on the bed again. “And?” She prompts, head tilted slightly.

“And I got it patched. But it still hurts,” you say. Because you’re not going to give her what she wants to know yet. She has to play her hand first.

“I heard what happened. On the jet. People were talking.”

“People were talking,” you say, looking away and nodding your head.

“They were,” she answers. “And I thought maybe you weren’t coming back. You know how people like to talk. Things get embellished. But you’re okay. They let you off. Right?”

“I don’t know,” you say flatly. You look right at her so she can’t hide. “Were they embellishing? You can cut the shit Natalia. I know you were there.”

She is quiet, but she doesn’t look away. “I saw the aftermath. That doesn’t mean I know what happened. Only you can know that.”

“Why don’t you ask your buddy Matt?” You spit his name like it is a curse. “He saw most of it. And I’m sure he wasn’t shy about telling everyone.”

She stands, says your name. She is already close, but takes two steps to completely close the distance anyhow. “I don’t care about what happened. I just care that you’re okay.”

You look up at her. She is frowning down at you like you are some wounded dog. You want to ask her why she did not ask this thing when you were standing alone, a dozen pairs of eyes on you. But you know. Oh you know. She did not want their judgement to pass to her, did not want to be seen with the outsider with blood on their hands.

And maybe, part of her was scared of him too.

So you don’t ask. Instead, you say, “And if I told you they were outside the door waiting to take me away?” You come back to a way she has already disappointed you.

She takes a breath. You search her face. She searches yours. “Then you would need to disappear.” You wait for the second part. About how she would let you go but in a month’s or year’s time it would be her sent to hunt you down. It would be her with the gun to your head. Because she was the only one smart enough to find you, ruthless enough to betray you. She was the only one you would ever lose to.

You lower your head. You need to stop pulling open this wound. Things are hard enough.

But then. She rakes a hand through your hair. “And I would need to disappear too. I’d kill everyone in here for you, you know that. If it came down to it, I would leave with you too.”

This is new. She has not yet chosen you over them. You feel an opening.

Your head snaps back up. “We can go.”

“But they’re not coming. They’re giving you a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance,” you say.

“Don’t say that,” she shakes her head. “You can’t say that.”

“Why are you so adamant about staying here?” You are getting frustrated. “You left the Red Room because you were a pawn but now you want to serve some other cause. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I’m not going to spend my life on the run, in the shadows. Not when I can do something with it.” She sighs, her gaze turning melancholic. “I need. I need to make up for all the pain I’ve caused.”

“There’s nothing to make up for,” you argue. She was already perfect. “The world needs a little pain. Humanity will never go in the right direction without it.”

She shakes her head. “We can’t control everything.” She puts her hand on your cheek. You hate yourself for leaning into it. You hate her because she knows how to make you pliant.

You think of all the other times she’s touched you like this, the times she’s made you feel chosen only to turn away the next moment with apathy in her eyes. Because she is a mask of indifference, a one-night flirt. But for you she’s made an exception. You’ve seen her come apart, seen her struggle to be human. But still. Some part of you whispers, “trap.” She is just using you to keep herself afloat. After all, she is first and foremost a survivor. If anyone was going to make it out alive it would be her.

“But we could,” you say.

“No,” is her only answer. She says it like she is watching you drift away and she cannot follow.

Maybe you are. Or maybe she is the one leaving you.

—

You dread having to talk to Willem after the incident. You know what he is going to ask about before he opens his mouth.

“I heard you had an eventful last week.”

“Are you going to lecture me too?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. It’s a cheeky smile without teeth, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle all the same. “I heard you got yourself on some kind of double probation. I didn’t know that was possible.”

“You hear what I did?” You ask. Part of you hopes he hasn’t. You’d never admit it, but you don’t mind him. Whatever this was was weird. But it would be a shame for it to change now.

“No,” he says. “And I don’t care to. I want to know what you think. I’ve known Kremer for a long time. He’s a hard ass.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoff. “He needs to come in here.”

Willem laughs. It’s a nice, hearty sound. But he keeps whatever he had found funny to himself. He steadies himself with a hand on his knee. “You think he’s unfair.”

“I mean, yeah. He doesn’t give me the time of day. It’s like he’s out to get me.”

“Do you think he was wrong to suspend you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

You hated Kremer but you also hadn’t lost control like that in a long time. But that wasn’t exactly your fault either. She was dead the moment she pointed a gun at you. What did it matter how you’d done her in? And she’d only shot you because you’d hesitated. That was Kremer’s fault for yelling at you so much about restraint. You pivot instead. “Have you ever killed anybody?”

Willem frowns at that. You think it’s not so much at the content of the question, but at your lack of answer for his. “Yes,” he replies.

You wave your hand in a vague gesture. “Then you know.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“The feeling,” you wave again. “I don’t know. That rush when you, you know.”

“The bloodlust,” he supplies.

“Sure,” you say. “That seems a little extreme.”

“That’s the name we had for it in the army. Everyone had a similar story. Some guy in their platoon you wouldn’t have thought would make it a week. He’s too skinny or he wets the bed or he cries at night. Whatever. But by some miracle he survives. And one day he’s toe-to-toe with some enemy combatant. Everyone thinks he’s a goner. But he gets his first kill. And it’s not from some machine gun a few hundred yards away or a mine he rigged up. No. This is personal, it’s bloody. From then on the guy’s an animal. Nobody makes fun of him anymore cause he might claw your eyes out. The bloodlust.”

You shake your head. “Not like that. Just in the moment. When it’s you or them. Everything else fades out. You get this urge. Like something has to break. And it can’t be you.”

“Sure,” he says. “In the moment. But you can’t go on living like that all the time. Or you end up like that batshit private.”

“That’s all it was,” you say. “I don’t get why it’s not acceptable for me to blow off a little steam.”

“Because it’s dangerous. If you can’t control yourself you shouldn’t be out there.”

“So you’re taking Kremer’s side, now?”

“It’s not about sides. But you have a job to do. And there’s standards you have to abide by. You think I could do this if I flew off the handle with every client?”

“You’ve yelled at me,” you point out.

“You’re the exception.”

You roll your eyes.

“Do you feel good about what you do?” He asks.

“I don’t feel bad about it,” you say, although it’s only a half-truth. You used to feel terrible when you had to hurt someone. You didn’t want to do that. But time went by and you got used to it. You had to. There’s only a twinge left now. You call it respect for the dead.

“Let me rephrase. Do you like what you do?”

“Define ‘like.’”

He ponders for a second. “If you were free to do anything you wanted, would you still be here?”

“That’s a stupid hypothetical. No one is free to just do as they please.”

“I think we are. Or at least we should be.”

“So walk up out of here right now,” you say, gesturing at the door. “Try your luck begging for money on the street. See how you like your freedom then.”

“I’ve walked away once before. That’s how I ended up here.” Of course he’s got a story for everything. “My first job after I left the military was private security. Ex-military means a lot more to civilians than it does to anyone who actually served. It was nice. I never once pulled out my gun. I had to babysit these assholes who thought way too much of themselves but it paid. About two-and-a-half times what I’m doing here. And all I needed was my high school degree.

I worked awful hours. Wasn’t at home much. But it didn’t matter because I was supporting them. Giving them the life my father couldn’t give me.

Then I got this gig. Full-time bodyguard for some idiot who was going to pay half a million a year. I took it and realized I wasn’t happy. My family wasn’t happy. So one night I don’t show up. They called and I said I couldn’t make it. My kid had a ball game.”

“You just left?” You ask.

“Yes. I realized life is short, and you only get one. I needed to reprioritize, so I did.” Willem pauses to give you that look he always does. As if you can’t hear him if he doesn’t stare you down “It can be done. So let me ask you again.You’ve been given a second chance. What the hell are you going to do with it?”

“Of course that’s what this is about,” you say, throwing yourself into the chair back. “You just want to make sure I’m on the right side. You and Kremer playing ‘good cop, bad cop.’”

“Cut the crap,” he retorts. “I couldn’t care less about that. You’ve been given a fresh start. You have a world of opportunity ahead of you and you’re throwing it away. Do you know how many people would kill to have a re-do like this?

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, throwing your hands up.

“Then why are you still here?” He asks, his voice flat. “Someone like you, the prodigy you are doesn’t just get taken in by the enemy without a fight. And he certainly doesn’t stick around for no reason.”

You are silent. You can’t admit that you came here for Natalia. And you definitely can’t admit you’ve stayed because this place hasn’t been so bad after all.

“Nothing to say?” He taunts.

You don’t answer.

“Then we’re done here.” He stands and walks to the door.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. Because he can’t just quit. That’s not how this works. You jump up and follow him.

“You think you’re some martyr,” he says, opening the door. “You’re crucifying yourself for things you’ve been given a real chance to overcome. I’m not here to watch you jump into an early grave.”

“Fuck off,” you yell, slamming the door shut. “You want to talk about martyrdom? Why haven’t you made amends with your wife?”

“Because I did a terrible thing,” he says in that annoyingly calm voice of his.

“You fucked up!” You pace a few steps away. “But you don’t want to put in the work to fix yourself. So much for all the love you have for your family.”

“That’s my call to make.”

“That’s right. It’s your fucking call and you’re making the wrong one. Some people they fuck up and they own up to it! What are you doing? Coming in here and hiding behind someone else’s problems so you don’t have to look at what a mess your own life is!” You’re shouting and you can’t keep your hands still.

He stands across from you, hands in his pockets. He says your name, tells you to look at him. “Why are you here?”

You stop and put your arms down. Because he is calm, and you are not. It’s like nothing you’ve said has stuck.

“Look at you, tough guy. You’ve got a smart remark for everything but you won’t answer this simple question. Because you can’t face the truth.”

He opens the door again. And this time, you walk through it.

—

You wake tied to a chair. It is because your eyelids are heavy like lead that you jerk and try to escape without reason first. You breathe from your nose because when you tried to take a panicked inhale through your mouth there was something gagging you out.

Look who’s awake, a deep voice says. Looks like you won the bet.

You settle because the rope wrapping over the entire length of both your forearms and your ankles gives you no other choice. You are stripped down to your underwear but still you sweat. You are in what looks like an office with the furniture removed. There is a man you do not recognize and a woman you do.

Evgenia looks nothing like the woman you have been working on and off with for six years. Nothing like the woman who scolded you but not for the same reason as anyone in the Red Room. She told you you had to stop hiding your injuries because you are a kid and not a dog and showed you the real world was not as intense of a picture as you believed.

She showed you new foods and taught you the songs her grandma taught her even though she could not sing. And one night after a particularly gruelling mission she told you you had to draw lines between what was okay and what was not. That nobody could tell you what those were except yourself. You have to listen in here, she said, pointing to your heart. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

There is more to life than just the fight. You just need to look up.

Her face was also the one you saw as you felt a prick in your neck and a tiredness began to consume your body.

You look at her now, at her cold gaze and think what a glorious trick she has pulled on you. You challenge her to be the first to look away as you search for an ounce of guilt in her posture and find none. In the end it is you who breaks away first.

The man, who is dressed in a black shirt and black pants approaches you and takes the gag from your mouth. He tells you he has a few questions about Dreykov and the Red Room. He tells you you all are an outdated parasite on modern Russia and need to be excised. Let me demonstrate, he says, picking up a thin knife. He grabs your bicep and you try to jerk away but the rest of your arm is tied down and even though you are awake the world still feels out of focus.

Everything becomes clear real fast when he starts sawing at your arm. You don’t scream, managing to minimize your agony into a series of gasps and grunts. This is a yet undiscovered pain. He comes away with a little piece of your skin. He holds it in front of your face and flaps it like it is some sort of banner. Like this, he says. You know the air is not burning even if your arm is trying to tell you it is.

You look at Evgenia. She is standing back a few paces, arms crossed.

Where is the Red Room? The man asks.

I’m not telling shit, you say, even though it feels a little like your brain is having trouble connecting to your mouth. You think I’m some traitor? You would all be lost without us. Dreykov is going to–

He slices at you again, this time on your shoulder and you can’t stifle the yell that emerges. You clench your fists and fight to get away but it's no use.

You can’t help but look at Zhenya like she is a source of comfort. Like she might help you. She says your name. Just tell him and this can end. Please, you don’t have to do this to yourself.

Go to hell, you grit. The man grips you by the hair and takes a large patch of skin from your neck. You scream. You had never thought there could be this much pain without a single drop of blood.

He steps back. Where is the Red Room? You stare at him, breathing hard. The rope digs into your skin. You ache to put your hands around his throat. You are going to regret this, you say. You should know who you’re messing with.

Oh, he says, cocky. He waves the knife at you. But no one will know it was us, you see.

Kill me, go ahead.

I’m not going to kill you, no. You’re very valuable property. Very marketable. You are only the second man in history to get Russian version of super serum and not go batshit insane. Did you know this? Yes, there are powerful people who would pay a lot to have you in their arsenal. And they already have. You’ll be someone else’s little hound soon. And guessing at who our buyer is, you won’t even remember this conversation after they do what they do.

He holds the knife to your cheek. Too bad keeping this pretty face intact was not a part of the deal.

Wait, Evgenia speaks up. Let me.

He backs off and shrugs. All right.

She takes the scalpel and kneels before you. Hey, she says. Hey, hey, look at me. You must still be pretty out of it because you thought you were looking at her. Just tell us what we want to know and this can end. Don’t make me do this.

You are looking into her eyes and you think you see a little bit of the woman you thought she was. I trusted you, you whisper.

I know, she frowns, mocking. I’m sorry. She starts to cut at the skin on your thigh. It feels more painful than any of the other times because she is the one doing it. You watch the strip of skin come loose and then think you must be dreaming because she turns away and rushes at the man.

She stabs him in the stomach with the scalpel and throws a punch at his head. He is caught off guard and stumbles back. Without hesitation he rips out the blade and swipes at Zhenya. She takes a couple of quick steps back.

You strain anew at the rope holding you down but it is thick and unforgiving and wrapped around your arms and legs like a python.

He presses forward with the blade out, forcing her to work around him. She takes a step too close and he slices her across the stomach. Blood begins to bloom and stain her shirt a shade darker. But she is quick, she cuts at his wrist and forces him to drop the knife. Then, without missing a beat, she tackles him to the ground.

But he is bigger than her, stronger. He shoves her into the wall and dives for the scalpel. It lies just outside of his reach. Evgenia seizes the opportunity. She kicks it farther from his grasp and scoops it up.

She turns around just as he tries to get her from behind. The scalpel cuts deep through his throat. Blood sprays from his neck onto her face as if from a fountain. His hands raise and try to staunch the bleeding but it is already too late. He falls first to his knees and then flat on the floor. He gurgles as he tries to draw his final breaths and then it is quiet.

Zhenya stumbles backward, holding the wound on her stomach. You are still trying in vain to break free from your bonds. She curses and comes to you with the knife. You flinch a little when she points it at you. She apologizes. I didn’t know what to do, she says. This was the only way. I didn’t want to hurt you.

It’s okay, you tell her as she saws through the coils and coils of rope. You forgive her easily, instantly. You don’t think you could have been mad even if she truly had betrayed you. Because you will always be that twelve year old kid with fists aching from the weight of your anger. And she will always be the one to catch your wrists and demand you let go.

She gets your clothes for you and you try to ignore how the fabric sets your raw skin aflame. Then, you stare down at the body of the other SVR agent. Zhenya has made herself a traitor because of you. She has ruined her life. You are not worth that sort of action. You shouldn’t have done that, you say. You should’ve let him have me.

No, she says. You are where I draw my line.

Her words make your heart pound and your face heat up. You will not cry because you haven’t for years and it would be ridiculous to now. You have recently turned eighteen after all. You are a proper adult now with proper responsibilities. That’s why they came after you.

You’re going to have to disappear, you say.

I know.

I can’t know where you go.

I’ll find you, she says. When it’s safe. I promise.

You want to say it will never be safe. But you cannot entertain the notion you will never see her again. When it’s time you walk out first. So when they ask you where she went you can look them in the eye and say you don’t know.

—

Two months later and you have been carving room out for yourself. There is no back so you look forward. You tell yourself you can leave anytime you want.

The hole in your side has healed, thanks to Doctor Cho. You went and saw her three days later like she’d asked. You checked the medical wing first, asking after her. Most of the staff avoided looking at you, but one nurse told you she didn’t work around here anymore and that you should check the laboratory building.

You thanked her and apologized for the disturbance. Perhaps your reputation was getting a little too out of hand after all.

The scientists in the research building weren’t much better either. They all stared at you when you entered, but that might just have been because they’re not used to talking to a huge circle of people.

“I’m looking for Doctor Helen Cho,” you said.

You were directed down a hall and into a different room. She was there, black hair tied up in a bun, talking to another person in a white coat.

“Doctor Cho,” you said, feeling somewhat off-put in this place. You couldn’t even name half of the equipment in here.

She turned around, a smile lighting up her face when she saw you. That was nice. It didn’t happen with a lot of other people. She greeted you. “Let me wash my hands,” she said. “We can talk in my office.”

She discarded her gloves and safety glasses and the two of you walked down the hall into a small office.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Okay,” you replied. “All things considered.”

“Can I take a look?”

You shrugged. “What am I here for?”

She unwrapped the bandage and stared down at your side. You could see the gears turning in her head. “Well this isn’t right,” she said.

You couldn’t help but smile, just the edge of your mouth turning up. “Am I going to die, doc? Don’t tell me it’s too late.”

She shook her head, still unable to look away from the wound. “No,” she replied, so enraptured she’d missed your joking tone. “This is. This is incredible. It looks like a graze wound. Are you sure you got shot?”

“I didn’t let you take a bullet out of me for kicks.”

Now she looked up at you, eyes wide. You were smiling because her awe was infectious. You’d never impressed someone like this before. You were never good enough. They always wanted you to be faster, stronger, more durable. But the way she was looking at you said this was more than enough.

“How?” She breathed.

“I heal fast,” you said.

She laughed and you found yourself thinking of more ways to draw the sound out of her. “No shit,” she said. “But I mean, this should be impossible. It won’t even scar.”

“You’re the genius scientist,” you said. “I don’t know how it works either, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ve never heard of anybody having genetics like this. But I suppose it’s possible. People have different heights and intellectual traits. Your cells must be able to process energy at triple the rate of anyone else.”

You tilted your head. “Eh, not exactly.” Then you paused because you’ve never talked to anyone about this before. And it was sensitive information. You eyed the woman in front of you. If you told her about the serum they’d stuck in your veins maybe she’d tell someone else, and then you’d be a rat in a cage. You couldn’t. So you smiled and said, “I should get back.”

For a second you thought she might press for more. She looked like she had a million more questions. “Do you think you have time for me to show you the lab?” Was all she said.

You sighed in relief. You decided you liked her. So you let her take you into the lab and explain all the things you’d never understand. She was excited because they were on the edge of a breakthrough, she could feel it. She told you she was working on growing tissue so they wouldn’t have to rely so much on transplants. She hoped their work would save a lot of lives some day. She would be happy if she lived to the day it would save just one.

She was almost winded when she’d finished speaking. “Sorry,” she shook her head bashfully. “I’m not usually so talkative.”

“It’s all right,” you said. And it was. Because you’d had more attention on you in the last week than you thought you could handle. “The world needs more people like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re good. You’re not doing this for yourself. You’re going to help a lot of people.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I hope so.” When she looked back up at you her cheeks were a little red. “We should talk again. Outside of work.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed.

Now you have come back from a mission gone slightly awry. The intelligence had been perfect, the lab waiting for you like a glowing jewel hidden beneath depths of concrete maze. There was nowhere to run when you broke the doors down and aired the place out.

The lead scientist put his hands up as soon as the bodies of his colleagues hit the floor. You were supposed to bring him in for questioning. You are looking right at the man and his empty hands when there is shouting and a single gunshot.

The target is dead, his head all exploded like rotten fruit. Ward holsters his gun. He says he thought the man had been reaching for a weapon. And that’s what all four of you report when Agent Hill asks you about it later.

It’s a problem because you are supposed to be the most seasoned strike team there is. It’s a problem because that scientist also functioned as an administrator and he could have led you to more cells.

It’s a problem because it’s not the first time something like this has happened.

It’s the third one since you’ve been here. There was the neo-Nazi who claimed he was part of a huge underground organization and the Russian politician who swore he would tell all in exchange for asylum. Both of them had become suddenly violent at the moment you tried to bring them in. Both are now dead.

The first time you had been confused. Then Rumlow looked you dead on and smiled, holding his index finger over his lips. Then you understood why they wanted you on their team.

Because they are imperfect, and so are you.

So you don’t tell your superiors the target had been subdued at the time of death. And they believe you because strikers are always like this, a little jumpy and a little imprecise. Consequences of pulling from ex-military and ex-police force pools.

But now you’re getting back from a long flight and an even longer debrief and Natalia is in your room with her arms crossed and an indecipherable look on her face. You’ve been on good terms. But you haven’t done that thing which is not a thing because it’s nothing where you lay with each other in the dark and communicate without speaking.

So you find it odd that she’s in your room.

“Hi,” you say, like a question.

“What are you up to?” She’s not asking what your plans are for the day. It’s dark out, and you’re exhausted.

You shake your head. “What are you talking about?”

“Maria is pissed. About the mission. And so is Fury.”

“So? It’s a shame the mission went bad but the target was hostile. He might’ve shot one of us. We’ll get the next guy.”

“Except this is the third time something like this has happened in as many months,” she says, slowly. “And you don’t make mistakes.”

You aren’t alarmed. She’s smart, smarter than you maybe. So you keep your face and body still like you’ve been taught and say, “I don’t. But they do. You must know I was never the one to pull the trigger.”

She huffs because you’re right. On paper nothing is afoot. But you know she has a feeling. You’re stubborn but so is she. “If something is going on you can tell me.”

“Nothing is going on,” you lie. Something definitely is. But you don’t care.

“I’m trying to help you,” she says. “Those agents you work with, you can’t trust them.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because Clint,” she pauses to rub at her temple, “he doesn’t like them.”

“And that’s the end of the conversation?” You scoff. “Your new buddy says one bad thing and my team is suddenly suspicious.”

“It’s not just him. Your ‘team,’ is made up of a bunch of assholes. Everyone knows it.”

“I didn’t know you held such high moral standards. Tell me, what is your squad up to, huh? You go out and you spy on people so you can throw them a big party?” You don’t want to be angry, not with her, but she is different now. She is jumping on you when she always used to give you the benefit of the doubt, when she always used to be on your side.

She has become a stranger and now she thinks she can barge back in and make you behave as she sees fit. Perhaps you never knew her in the first place.

“I never said that,” she says.

“No, but you think you’re better than everyone else. You always have. And now you’re acting all righteous because the director has made you his pet project.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

She scoffs. “Really? Dreykov Junior?”

“I’m not his son.”

“No, you just wish you were.”

You turn away and take a deep breath.

Her voice is closer and softer the next time she speaks. “I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand.”

You shake your head as if the motion would fling all the anger away like it was some pesky bug. “Me neither.” “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in trouble. That’s all. I wanted to help you.”

You turn back to face her. “I don’t need help.”

“But you do.” Her face is a stone wall, a chiseled mask of indifference.

You blink at her. It is dark outside, and you are exhausted. Your quarters which have always felt a little like a jail cell shrink in on you. “What?”

She sighs, like you are a child who doesn’t understand. “They think you’re a spy,” she hisses, like she’s not supposed to be telling you this. “They think you are a spy and that you are trying to find a way to bring them down.”

“I’m not.” They have it all wrong, you want to say. You’ve been exiled, but you can’t tell them that. Because then they’d know you’re cornered, and there’s nothing more vulnerable than being caught with your back to the wall.

“Then why are you here?” She asks. And you feel like she’s pushed you off the top of the building. Because she is truly asking this question. She thinks you are working against them too. Working against her. “You came here to retrieve me, right? And I said I’m not going back to that hellhole. So you have a new mission.”

You must have some sort of surprise on your face because something clicks in her eyes, like she’s solved a mystery. But you can’t tell her that no, no one sent you here after her, because she’d ask you why you had jumped ship like an idiot and you’d have to tell her you were scared. You don’t have the words to describe how panic had seized you by the throat when news of her capture reached you. How even the daydream of her death made you want to die too.

Because you are not a savior. And she is not supposed to be worth saving anyway. Everyone is expendable. No one is special. And she was just a warm body all those years.

And because you cannot say all this, cannot accept that you ruined your life like some emotion-poisoned whore, you say, “You don’t understand.”

She is quicker with her response, because she has the power. She has always had the power between the two of you. “Then help me understand.”

You shake your head more furiously and back away. “Why do you even care, huh?”

“Because I want to understand you! You have to give me something. You have to show them you’re trying.”

“I am trying.” Could she not see that? How you were killing yourself everyday you woke up in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D.? You shake out the wrist you normally wear your watch on.

“But they don’t think so. You can do better.” She approaches you a little too quickly. You can’t tell if her outstretched hands are trying to support you or strangle you.

You seize her by the shoulders before she can touch you. “That’s what this is about? You’re worried I might be a stain on your reputation?” You are loud but you don’t care because you are furious.

“No. No, I never said that. I don’t care about my reputation. I want to help you, but I can’t because I don’t recognize you anymore!”

Her face is flushed red like it’s never been before and it scares you so you let her go. “You think I need help?” You throw your arms up because she is ridiculous and so are you. “You think I can’t handle this?” And she is shaking her head and getting redder and the corners of her mouth are turned down in the shape of a frown. She is saying no but you aren’t hearing her. “My whole life I’ve been handling everything just fine! And guess what. I have never needed you.” You’re pointing at her and every time you shake your fist it feels like pulling the trigger of a gun.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been through? I was there too. I get it but it is no excuse to keep protecting them!”

“It’s not that simple.” Because you had fought and you had suffered and you had had a role to fill. You still do. No, you weren’t just going to accept that you’d lost and roll over for the enemy. You can’t.

“It is!” She says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is not perfect, but it is a fucking haven compared to back there. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I’m not willing to turn my back on things so easily. I can’t just run from one thing to the next, changing who I am to fit in. I’m not like you.”

“Well then you are an idiot and a coward. And I see right through you.” You believe her. You feel so exposed under her gaze. “I’m not pretending to be someone else to fit in. I’m trying to be more than them, to be better. Fuck you.”

“Yeah? At least I’m not a spineless traitor. How could you leave? What has S.H.I.E.L.D. ever done for you?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes! The Red Room gave us everything.”

“The Red Room didn’t give us anything. It took our choices and our lives and it’s taking still. Look at yourself!” She thrusts her arms out at you and you flinch. Just a little, but you know she sees. Because you thought she didn’t care about all the ways in which you are ruined.

“I am better for all they put me through. It wasn’t easy, sure, but I’m not crying about it. They saved me!” You eye her, up and down, pretending you hate her. “And where would you be without them? Starving and pregnant by some guy you married who spends all his money on booze?”

“You’re fucking unbelieveable. I am not who I am because of them. I made myself.” She glares at you. You can’t look away. You hate this intimacy. She speaks slowly, making sure you hear every letter. “But they broke you.”

“I’m not broken,” you say, low, like the warning of thunder. You’ve been made in their image.

“You are! It’s not normal to beat children because they do not act like soldiers. It’s not normal to think of sex as a means to an end at twelve years old. But you still think it is! You think it’s all okay when it’s not! You are stuck with what they have told us and you’re too scared to break out.”

“I’m the scared one? You’re the one who ran away because she couldn’t handle it!”

“Maybe you’re not scared. But you should be. You should be terrified of the person you’ve become. Because the boy I knew, the boy who would take a slap over having to slap someone else wouldn’t be okay with this. But they told you you were the chosen one and suddenly it’s okay to let others suffer because you’re on top, right? You’ve forgotten what it was like to be treated like a slave.

Things changed for you. You got your uniform and they told you your name meant something. But things didn’t change for me, or for any of the other widows. They are still trapped like the dirt under someone’s shoe. Their names don’t matter because they are called ‘whore’ and ‘weapon.’ Just like mine didn’t. Until I forced people to see me.”

Her words scare you because there is a truth in them you’ve pretended like you could manage. It’s why Svetlana always dreamed of running off. Why Ekaterina tried to kill you after you’d accidently walked in on her and Anastasia.

But you can’t let go. There is fear and pain when you submit. But there is so much more if you dare to go against them.

You scowl. “Well who had a hand in making me ashamed of that kid? I changed because I was chasing after you.” You point at her. “Perfect little Natasha.”

“You think I wasn’t scared too?” She retorts.

“Fine,” you say. “I’m evil then, is that what you want to hear? If I’m so bad, why don’t you just kill me for it?” Your heart is racing like you’ve been in a fist fight and your muscles keep flexing like you’re about to hit something.

“I don’t want you dead. I don’t. You придурок, I never said that.” Her eyes are shiny like she might cry and it spooks you because you can count on one hand how many times she’s looked like that. “I want to help you. But I can’t when you don’t talk to me.”

“And I don’t need help. I’m not some victim! You want some explanation for why I’m not good like you? You want to hear how they used to take me downstairs and whip me until I passed out and that’s why I’m so messed up? How I got into an argument with Dreykov once and he broke my jaw? You don’t want to know that shit!”

She is shaking her head and speaking calmer now, but you don’t hear her. You are somewhere else, lost in the storm of all those nights you can’t quite remember right. You are drowning in anger. Yours and Dreykov’s and the Widows’ and the Madames’ and the guards’. Building and building in your chest because you cannot let it go, it is not in your nature to not feel, to not care.

She is coming at you again and she looks a little like Marina did that one night you slept together only because you had never been taught to say no.

“Get off!” You yell. She is blocking the door so you make a fist and pound it into the drywall next to her head.

She grabs your wrists and tells you to calm down. She says your name. “Look at me. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you!”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. But this is what I’m talking about. These are the things you have to say. The things I don’t know about you.”

You sneer back at her because she is strong and you are not and it’s the only way to protect yourself. “Don’t act like you don’t have your secrets too. But you wouldn’t tell me because you have to be so perfect all the time.”

“I couldn’t, you’re right. But I will now. I will. Trust me.”

“But you’re a widow,” you say, cold and sober. “How could I ever trust you?”

“You don’t mean that,” she says. Because what she hears you say is that she is not human. That all she’s ever been and ever could be is a weapon. “Look me in the eye and say you don’t trust me.”

So you do. You look her square in the eye and say, “I don’t trust you.”

Then there is fire in her eyes as she stands there and stares. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You really are just like him.”

You almost slap her. She is standing tall with her chin up like she is waiting for it and you think you should knock her down a peg.

But you don’t. You just walk around her and leave. Because she isn’t worth it.

Continue

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #fandom is dead #especially marvel #but the art of storytelling is not #thank you to the five people #who will read this entire thing #and see the vision #and maybe understand #not beta read #this thing is too long for that #took me long enough to write #also #r is kind of an asshole for awhile sorry #not really canon compliant with anything #it’s mostly mcu #but also comics when I want #plus my own imagination #so yeah it’s an inconsistent mess #and so is the timeline #because i wanted this to feel sort of coming of ageish #sorry about ultra long form on tumblr #but i am not promoting and managing a series #this is it #mature themes duh #also ignore the lack of plot #i dont have enough time to write a whole novel #also in my mind this isnt the end of their story #more like act I #they have met again in my world

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