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translatemunson · 2 days

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these days I'm restless, work days are endless • ttfd

chapter three of the tortured firefighters department

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cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, banter (because i love it), reader is a math and science nerd, chris and eddie are here, mentions of food, hints of mental issues, proofread by my bye-lingual ass (let me know if i forgot anything)

LA was less of a stranger now. Who knew going to that dinner at Maddie’s would slowly bring you closer to the 118 family.

Late night texts with Maddie to make her company while Chimney worked and Jee was nowhere close to sleep were standard. Night shifts were smooth as butter if compared to day shifts in any state, you found out. LA of course had more hits and runs, overdose emergencies, abuse situations, but you could type their info while waiting for your personal laptop to run the latest dynamical system you were analyzing.

And now your agenda also included occasional brownie deliveries to the 118 and leftover food pickup you were sure Bobby wasn’t cooking as an accident; a few talks with Athena, Bobby’s wife, about how they could improve response time inside the LAPD with a small system you developed for your old local police; helping Chris over Facetime with his math homework — because Eddie called you one day looking like he just had the worst day of his life, but he couldn’t just understand the process to the results of a simple equation.

It was nice to finally have a life besides PhD and work routine. But that would always be brought up or come in handy for helping.

That’s how you ended up at Eddie’s place on a saturday morning. When he texted you that Chris needed extra help with a math syllabus — that could bring him some extra points that semester —, you jumped on your car and said would gladly help.

“How is it going, kiddo?” Eddie entered the dining room and checked Chris' progress.

“She’s really a genius!”

“And you are the most dedicated student I had.” And you weren’t saying that just to make him feel special. Chris was one of those kids that really put in the effort and dedication to understand things — when they wanted to, of course —, it wasn’t his fault the math problems were too complex for his age. Maybe you could talk to Eddie about it, so he could let the teachers know that maybe taking it easy with the kids was a good idea. They didn’t need to also be traumatized by mathematics. “C’mon, you’re crushing those equations, Chris!”

“Do you need a refill?” Eddie pointed to your empty lemonade cup.

“Yes, please.”

“Can you help me with science?” Chris asked, now that he was almost done with his math exercises.

“Not my forte, but I’ll try.”

In another universe, you would’ve stopped your studies once you had the basic requirements for being a teacher — maybe middle or secondary school. You’d always loved classrooms, and it was the safest option if your Masters ended up on a dead end. You were glad to be where you were, but your mind sometimes wondered the ‘what if’s of being a school teacher.

Chris brought his science homework, luckily just some questions about animals that, because of all of your free hours in museums and science classes you took for extra credits during college, were easy to deal with. Once you talked about seeing the dinosaur bones in real life, he was mesmerized, avoiding blinking at all costs just so he couldn’t miss a single detail.

“Dad! She saw the dinosaur!” He almost screamed when you pulled out your phone to show him some pictures.

The doorbell hung as soon as Eddie entered the dining room. “Be right back, buddy! Don’t give him any more ideas, Brains!”

“Won’t promise anything.” I took you one heartbeat to cover your mouth and whisper, “I will check if there is any dinosaur in town and take you there for a visit. What do you think?”

“That’s awesome,” he whispered back.

“But for now this is a secret, ok?”

“Ok. Pinky swear?”

“Of course, kiddo.”

Chris got up to pick his books about dinosaurs. Your mind started to list all the museums in LA and how many of them had really good replicas of them — or the real ones, if possible. Maybe you could get the tickets for Chris and Eddie and tag along as their tour guide. Or maybe you could check with Eddie if he needed a babysitter someday in the following weeks, so you could help and also fulfill your promise at the same time.

“Buck!” Chris screamed.

You turned around just in time to see Buck taking him off the floor with a bear type huge and messing with his hair. “My guy! What are you up to today?”

“I’m studying dinosaurs.” He showed the books in his hands.

“On a Saturday morning? Where’s the fun? How about video games?”

“Are you done with your science homework?” Eddie asked, closing the door.

“Yes! Brains helped me!”

As your nickname has been brought up to the conversation, Buck finally noticed you. You heard Maddie saying, countless times, that Buck had a soft spot for kids. But had a huge spot for Chris, with all his heart. After the tsunami — you’ve only heard about it, still not in California to experience the disaster first hand —, their bond only grew even stronger.

“Oh did she?” He smirked.

“Yes. She even promised me she will take me to see the dinosaurs.”

“Chris! I thought you would honor our pinky swear!” you shouted playfully.

“Ouch! Someone call 9-1-1, I’ve been betrayed.” Buck faked having a knife to his chest, and pulling it out.

You pretended to have your earpiece on and changed your voice until it sounded like you were in your job, saying “Sir, calling 9-1-1 without being in real danger is considered a felony, and the authorities will investigate you. Hope you look good in orange pajamas.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and Chris laughed. Buck was definitely not impressed, and he took Chris with him to play some video games. You busied yourself with organizing Chris’ books over the table and checking his equations one last time. You took your lemonade glass to the kitchen, intending to wash it before going home for some deep cleaning.

“Just leave it there, I’ll take care of it,” Eddie entered the room and opened the cookie jar. “Are you serious about taking him to the museum?”

“I was gonna talk to you about it later. Maybe? Only if you’re ok with it, of course. I can take him on my day off, get him some pancakes from my favorite restaurant, bring him back by the end of the day, safe and sound. Or you could tag along, I can pretend I’m a VIP tour guide, I might be able to pull some strings at the Caltech museum, they don’t have real dinosaurs, but their exhibition on life on Earth is really good. It’s not much, but they have a few things about dinosaurs.”

“Does next Saturday work for you? I might need to take an extra 12-hour shift.”

“Sure! The Natural History Museum will do the job just fine. I’ll pick him up and don’t worry, we can stay at mine until your shift ends. Anything works for me, really.”

“Great.” He noticed how you held your bag and checked the door from time to time. “In a hurry?”

“I think my job here is done,” you pointed to the two kids playing and screaming over some stupid video game.

Lately, you’ve been avoiding Buck like the plague. He was just so annoying towards you every time you met and it was getting on your nerves. Your small encounters when you were at the firestation to drop off some baked goods, or when you went to visit Maddie and he was just leaving the place, were messing with your thoughts.

It was easier to give him the cold shoulder and keep your distance than sitting in a quiet room with your mixed feelings about the younger Buckley.

“Thank you again, Brains.”

“No worries, happy I could help.”

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay a little more and grab some lunch with us?”

“I really don’t wanna disturb the vibes, you know.”

“You know you are practically family, right? Catching lunch with us on slow days, having some beers, teaching math to the kids.”

“Yeah, but I just… Maybe another time, ok? I promise.”

“You have to stop acting like you’re always on the run, Brains. Someday you’re gonna run out of breath.”

“I appreciate the advice, Eddie. Text you soon?”

“He’s gonna freak out when I tell him about your plans.”

You left the house unnoticed. Before hopping on your car and driving to your favorite grocery store, you checked your messages, hoping to clear your agenda for next saturday — pretty sure you had a night shift on friday, but with enough caffeine, you could pull an all-nighter. Not ideal, but it was your plan B.

“Hey! Brains!”

“Tired of getting your ass kicked by a younger boy?” You were still too busy with your phone to raise your eyes to Buck.

“Why are you almost running to get out of here? Schedule’s too packed?”

“None of your business.” You opened the door of your car and threw your bag inside.

“Oh so you are still mad at me for eating the cupcakes!” Oh yeah, the cupcake incident. That was one of the reasons why you weren’t staying more than one minute alone with Evan Buckley.

“What did you expect me to do? I bought them for me and Maddie, and you thought it was ok to eat them all. Alone!” You faced him, your chin up high. “You have no fucking clue how long I waited in line before the store opened that day, I had a really messed up shift and I needed those!”

“I told you I’d get more cupcakes!”

“No! I wanted my favorites! Your sister wanted those specific ones, she kept mentioning them for days! And you ruined it!” You held the door open, hoping you could leave the place quickly.

“I’ve told you I’m sorry, ok? What else do you want me to do, hm?”

“How about getting out of my hair? Leave me alone, Buckley. I mean it. I was starting to grow fond of the 118, but you are making it impossible to enjoy some time with any of them!”

“I was there first!” Buck was much stronger than you, and he successfully closed the door. He wanted another fight.

“Great. Text me your schedule so I can avoid being in the same room with you.” You tried to push his arm out of the door.

“Now you’re just being dramatic! C’mon, Brains, it was just some stupid cupcakes, I got Maddie some of her favorite cake after you stormed out of the apartment. I texted you I was sorry a dozen times.”

“Maybe you should start asking before eating something that isn’t yours.”

“I don’t know what happened to you lately, but it’s unbelievable you’re holding the grudge for so long. Brains, really, I’m sorry I ruined your plans with my sister. Can we act as adults now?”

“Who are you to tell me ‘Let’s be adults’ now? You ruined the only free time I had with Maddie that week. And you know what? I had a shitty shift with some really bad calls that day, but, unlike you, I don’t go on messing with things that don’t belong to me.”

Your real name slipped from his lips and you knew it was time to leave. You took the chance to open the door and throw yourself into the seat.

“I’m tired, Evan. I really am. Give me some space, I’m still recovering from that shift. You could’ve bought us all the cupcakes in the world that day, and I’d still be mad at you.” You started the car. “I need to go home.”

“I’m gonna find out why you’re still mad at me after one million sorry’s!”

“I wouldn’t waste any more breath. But you know what, good luck.”

As much as you hated it, Eddie was right. You were running away. And you just didn’t want to admit who was from.

author's note: and she’s back for chapter three!!!! you all were a little shy on chapter 2, but ok, i’ll forgive you. there is a small blurb coming up this weekend, so stay tuned. also, you can request blurbs from the tortured firefighters department or just talk about it via my asks!!! also i’m almost done with 9-1-1 lone star and i may or may not be working on a crossover in the near future hihihi kay love you see y’all next week byeeeeeee (actually this sunday ok byeeeee)

#evan buckley fanfic #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #9 1 1 abc #9 1 1 fanfiction #evan buck buckely #buck fanfiction #evan buckley imagine #effie writes

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9w1ft · 12 hours

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i wanna be LSK but… //

I’m so sorry anon, but I personally find it really funny when people hear the songs where taylor is working through her feelings of being betrayed by Scott B and attribute them to karlie instead.

It’s like finding a man holding a gun standing over a dead body and saying, hang on a minute… what if the real murderer is the victim’s gf… because two of her friends liked a gossipy tweet written by a known shit-stirrer!

that is to say, we know for a fact that taylor felt deeply betrayed by scott b, seeing as he’s verifiably the actual person who sold her masters to scooter, after treating taylor like family since she was very young. it’s pretty self-evident he deserves the level of vitriol in the smallest man who ever lived (besides the other descriptive details that link him to tsmwel, mtr etc).

as for taylor and karlie suddenly never being seen together again (seemingly drifting apart a whole year before the heist even happened, remember?), well she hasn’t spoken on that, so naturally we read between the lines in the songs to find out. some people have taken the masters heist songs to be about karlie, and ran with that. but others see karlie and taylor’s retreat into privacy reflected in songs under the ‘love blackout’ theme (especially around here, you’re on a longtime kaylor blog 🙈)

love blackout = the hints taylor has put out again and again that she intentionally distanced her public image from karlie’s because it was too dangerous to carry on as openly as they had at first. 2016 election sadness themes, secret love themes, all consistent over the years. all while writing new love songs that use callbacks to the rep muse, to yail even 🥺. as if taylor’s been using all the confusion and her masterful quill of misdirection to achieve her priority of protecting karlie. not protecting karlie’s public image and clout with swifties, which she doesn’t need to maintain her success because she was always successful in her own right! no, it’s all for Karlie The Person in their secret bubble of reality. all this showmanship, you know. the great war, hello!!!! too many songs to name where the kaylor chandelier is safely out of sight, but you can still see flickers through the boarded up windows ❣️

so forgive me for having a chuckle. to any anons who sincerely🛸want to believe, I’m just throwing it out there that there are plenty of us that never found the karlie-betrayer theory convincing at all. if you take a closer look at everything, the timeline of events and all the songs since, does it really make sense? (especially when there are so many shitty men in the mix who are more obviously to blame lol)

~ if you post, thank you for facilitating this rant 9wing, I’ll get off my soapbox now xxx

yup yup

i think a lot of people are predisposed to blaming karlie and so everything becomes a sort of confirmation bias.. which partially, i would argue, was by design.. so in a sense i do not fault gaylors or others for falling into this hole. but i do sometimes feel like faulting them a tiny bit for those who never climb out of it. there’s plenty of information and clues needed to figure it out and climb out of it.

one thing i don’t like about the whole “let’s not talk about muses” discourse is while the spirit of it is supposed to be “let’s study why these songs sound gay instead of commenting taylor lyrics on these people’s instagram pages,” in practice the phrasing almost is like giving yourself permission to pass judgement on the people in taylor’s story and then never reevaluate them. people often say ~lets not talk muses that’s invasive and gross~ and conveniently refuse to adjust their perception of karlie (for example) based on what taylor is putting out there, while making convenient exceptions for any interpretation they find that works to reinforce their already negative perception of her. and then after bitching about her they’ll cover their timeline in lisa frank dolphins because apparently that’s what paradise is. i dunno. it all feels dystopian to me atp 😆

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whimsyprinx · 1 year

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also idk if I just talk too much or tell too little or some combination of both

#whimsy whispers #whims woes #I am going to try and cease from asking people if they find me annoying/want to talk to me because it’s tiring and annoying for me and no #doubt tiring and annoying for others #key word being try #I have a flimsy plan of how to move forwards regarding how I feel in terms of myself and my friendships #one singular person knows the plan hi bestie if you see this #because quite frankly there isn’t much to be done #I’ve also been told that everything happening is either everyone’s fault or no one’s fault i said I don’t want to seem like I’m placing #blame on others or like making them out to be bad #because frankly this isn’t like anyone’s intention that I feel the way I do #sometimes friendships are difficult and work differently than expect #but while saying that I still am like sad and I’m despair about it and knowing that this is true won’t fix that #idk what will it if things are soemthing I can fix or should just accept but you know #whatever #I’m just really trying not to cry about things again as I write this lol

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suguae · 4 months

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Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like.

And perhaps that's what it was.

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong.

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–”

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted.

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later.

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer.

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it.

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi.

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.”

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch.

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking.

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

next part ->

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #angst #jjk angst #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushigro x reader #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #rosipuree

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dante-mightdie · 2 months

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requesting blue collar price thoughts, bonus points if it’s thoughts on how he literally can’t say no to his wife bro is whipped isn’t he

ur just so pretty and he loves you so much he can never say no :( and it gets x10 worse whenever you’re pregnant

what is he supposed to say when you waddle up to him, baby catalogues folded under your arm as your curl up next to him, showing him all the things you found for the nursery? no? don’t be ridiculous. he’ll buy you whatever you want and he won’t bat an eyelid until his bank statement comes in

is he supposed to tell you you’re being too needy when you’re in your second trimester and need to be around him constantly? not letting him take a shower when he gets back from a day on the site in the summer, instead just pushing him onto the bed and climbing into his lap to huff at his sweaty, musky scent

when you’re nearing the end of your pregnancy, this man is basically your servant. he’ll handle all of your mood swings and snappy comments bc you’re literally about to push a tiny human out for him. doesn’t understand your logic sometimes but happy wife, happy life

won’t complain when you snatch up the duvet and then proceed to just throw it on the floor completely, leaving you both without a blanket but telling him to leave it there because it’s overstimulating and uncomfortable. completely his fault, he’ll call the company that makes them tomorrow. picture him curled up fetal position with no pillows or blanket because you needed all 4 pillows. two to rest your head on, one for under your belly and one between your knees

he will take the blame for every single thing that upsets you during the day. the shop didn’t have your favourite snack? his fault, he should have accounted for that when he ordered their stock for them. stuck in traffic because of a car accident up ahead? don’t worry, he’ll make sure to drive the car for them next time so this mistake doesn’t happen again! the show you’re watching ended poorly? thanks for your feedback, he’ll remember that next time he writes the scripts

it’s not all bad though because sometimes you just wanna coddle and take care of your man :( your maternal instincts are through the roof and he works such a dangerous and difficult job. he’s not gonna say no to his lady cradling his head to her chest, cooing on his ear about what a good man he is. a good, hard-working honest man. gets his cock hard listening to you praise him for being such a good husband :)

#mw2 #cod mw2 #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price #price #john price x reader #bluecollar!price

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lizzobetumblin · 2 months

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Melissa hated her feelings.

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings.

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name,

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list:

1.) Don’t cry.

2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking,

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion.

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry.

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow.

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong.

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that.

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again.

She carried that.

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her.

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’

She cried.

She escalated.

She took it personal.

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music.

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose.

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too.

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow.

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks.

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified.

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power.

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her.

And she finally loved them back.

2K notes · View notes

just-aake · 2 months

Text

Detecting Love

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A person with the power to detect lies meets the spy who has been trained to lie her entire life.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 6169

You have the power to detect lies.

Now, it’s not exactly strong enough to be a hero, but you can honestly say that it has been useful in your life.

Sure, it gets annoying at times, but one of the many lessons you’ve learned is to ignore minor instances of dishonesty — white lies or small things like that — since it helps reduce unnecessary confusion or chaos with others.

People lie. That is an undeniable fact of life.

And while one may believe that being able to detect such things is great, the truth is there are times when you find yourself resenting your power.

Because, of course, everyone experiences moments when they wish that someone important to them isn't lying.

Like when your fiancée tells you she loves you.

There wasn’t really a malicious reason behind why a usually affectionate statement suddenly became so hurtful.

There was no cheating.

There was no fighting.

It was just another one of the many lessons you’ve learned in life.

That sometimes…a truth can also become a lie.

It’s just unfortunate that this lesson happened to you in such a way.

These kinds of moments make you wonder if maybe it’s better that people shouldn’t always know when someone is lying to them.

Then they don’t end up alone, drinking at a bar late into the night, trying to numb the pain of a broken heart.

You let out a heavy sigh as you stare at the pair of rings resting on the bar top, remembering the conversation that ended with one of them being returned to you.

It was a heart-wrenching discussion where your fiancée confessed her steadily changed feelings for you, leading to the resolution to remain friends.

And while neither of you is completely at fault for why things ended, you can’t help but blame your stupid power for putting you in the situation in the first place.

You sigh heavily once more before swiftly downing the glass the bartender had set in front of you.

At least your current attempt to drown your sorrow is going well, judging by how the rings start to blur in your vision.

With a sad sigh, you reach for the rings to put them away, but in your clumsy state, one slips from your grasp and tumbles to the floor.

Just as you move to retrieve it, a hand beats you to it.

Looking up, you find a red-haired stranger standing before you, offering the ring to you with a charming smile.

She looks familiar but the drunken haze in your brain makes it hard for you to remember where you’ve seen her before.

“Here, you dropped this,” she says, her voice low and smooth.

She’s beautiful and her voice sounds perfect. You think to yourself as you take the ring from her.

She chuckles lightly, “Thanks.”

Oh, did you say that out loud? You must be more drunk than you thought.

The woman offers her hand to you in greeting, and with a confident smirk, she introduces herself.

“My name’s Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”

Immediately, a red aura surrounds her, causing you to roll your eyes and return your attention back to the bar.

“Liar,” you mutter tiredly as you gesture to the bartender to close your tab, not really in the mood to deal with any more lies tonight.

At the corner of your eyes, you see the stranger give you a slightly impressed look.

Ready to leave, you stand up quickly from your seat.

However, the action makes the room suddenly spin in your vision, causing you to stagger backward.

A hand steadies you, resting gently on your back, and you unconsciously lean back against her surprisingly strong frame for support.

There’s a soft chuckle near your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Let me try again,” she whispers smoothly, guiding you upright and turning you around to face her.

Offering her hand once more, she reintroduces herself.

“My name’s Natasha Romanoff. I’m here to recruit you to work for the Avengers.”

You blink slowly, trying to comprehend her words through your drunken haze. You wonder if the alcohol is affecting you more than you thought when no red aura appears this time at her words.

Chuckling to yourself, you shake your head in disbelief, unfortunately worsening the pounding in your skull.

Work for the Avengers? That has to be a lie.

Before you can think about it any further, you feel yourself falling once more, unable to remain upright.

Strong arms catch you, and as your consciousness fades, you see a blurry glimpse of her striking green eyes before succumbing to darkness.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You wake to the pounding in your head and the bright sunlight streaming through your window. Turning away, you groan into your pillow, remembering that your fiancée – your ex-fiancée – would typically close the curtains before leaving for work.

Now that she’s gone, you’re going to have to adjust to living alone once again.

A cup being placed on the nightstand startles you into sitting up, as you turn in surprise to find the beautiful red-haired stranger beside your bed.

“For your headache,” she explains, placing some medicine next to the cup.

Your mouth hangs open as you struggle to remember the events of last night, some of which are honestly a blur.

You examine yourself, checking your clothes and finding them unchanged from the previous night, and then you scan your surroundings again and realize in relief that nothing was out of place.

Well, except for the presence of this stranger in your home, who’s patiently waiting for you to gather yourself.

Searching through your drunken memories, you think you vaguely remember meeting her last night. She had mentioned her name was — Nata…?

“Natalie?” you ask with uncertainty.

At her raised brow, you quickly apologize, feeling bad for not remembering correctly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember, but did we…did something happen between us last night?” you ask hesitantly.

Her face twists in genuine sadness and disappointment, causing a panic to run through you as you struggle to recall what could’ve possibly happened between the two of you for her to have such an expression.

“I’m hurt,” she finally says, placing a hand on her chest, “And after you even said that it was the best night of your life.”

Seeing the familiar red aura appear around her at her words, you let out a brief sigh of relief before realization sets in, and you give her a hard glare.

“You’re lying.”

Her hurt expression quickly morphs into an impressed look, and you are slightly startled at how effortlessly she was able to shift her emotions.

The woman straightens her posture and crosses her arms, adopting a commanding stance that seems more likely her typical demeanor.

“So it’s not just luck,” she remarks, studying you curiously.

At her words, you quickly rise from your bed in confusion.

However, the action causes you to wince in pain at the pounding in your head.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you hold your head in comfort and lean lightly on the nightstand for support.

As you do, your hand brushes against yesterday’s newspaper that you had been reading moments before your ex said those fateful three words that led to the heartbreaking conversation between the two of you.

When the pain subsides, you slowly open your eyes, catching a glimpse of the front page before doing a double take.

The front features an article about the opening of the new Avenger Compound, including a photo capturing the Avenger members posed in front of the completed building.

What catches you off guard is the uncanny resemblance between one of the Avengers in the picture and the woman standing before you.

Pointing at her in disbelief, you stammer.

“You’re…,” then, gesturing at the newspaper, you continue, “…her?”

She doesn’t respond to your question but instead nods toward your other room, inviting you to follow.

“Let’s talk,” she says, heading toward your door, then gestures at the medicine on your nightstand. “But drink those first.”

After freshening up in your bathroom, you take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the remnants of last night’s tears in your slightly puffy, red eyes.

Sighing, you brush away the depressing thoughts of your failed relationship before taking the medicine and exiting your room.

You are greeted by the sight of your unexpected guest comfortably seated at your kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine with casual disinterest.

“You’re Black Widow,” you say confidently this time, positioning yourself on the opposite side of her.

She closes the magazine with a snap, placing it on the table before clasping her hands atop of it and meeting your gaze.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects you, before nodding at you. “And you’re Y/n L/n.”

“How did you…?”

She holds up a wedding invitation draft, displaying you and your fiancée’s names printed in fine lettering.

Realizing that she must have been snooping around your things, you give her a disapproving glare, snatching the card from her hand and hastily stuffing it into a drawer.

Feeling a mixture of emotions—irritated, sad, hungover—you turn to the fridge, deciding to make breakfast to give yourself some focus.

After you retrieve the eggs and other ingredients, you heat the stove before glancing at Natasha briefly, asking, “So, what does an Avenger want from me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see her resting her head against her hand, watching you with interest.

“I told you yesterday,” she replies.

You roll your eyes, giving her a deadpan look, knowing she’s aware that you don’t remember.

“Remind me again.”

Natasha gives you an amused smirk, straightening up in her seat.

“Alright, I’m here to recruit you, more specifically for a sort of managerial position at the new Avenger Compound.”

Furrowing your brows, you question, “Why me? I don't have experience with that sort of thing.”

“But you can tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”

Pausing briefly in your cooking, you contemplate her words and its possible implications. Not many people know about your ability, and you don’t think you did anything to reveal it to the spy who’s currently staring expectantly at you.

So, in response, you shrug, replying as casually as possible.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people…psychology degree and all.”

A silence ensues, broken only by the sizzling of your cooking, until Natasha finally nods, seemingly accepting your explanation.

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, returning your attention to your current task.

But then she pulls out a folder filled with documents and places it on the counter, causing your nerves to rise again.

“Well, you’ve helped solve hundreds of cases with your interviews of the suspects,” she remarks casually, flipping through the folder before glancing up at you through her lashes.

“100% accuracy rate in the information that you provided to the detectives,” she continues, nodding at you in acknowledgment. “For a part-time profiler, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks,” you respond with a polite smile, but beneath the surface, a hint of suspicion creeps in as you begin plating the meal you made.

Natasha closes the folder with a definitive snap, making you look at her.

“You could say it’s almost impossible,” she muses, before a confident smirk forms on her face, and she tilts her head at you with a raised brow in challenge.

“Unless there’s some way you can guarantee that they’re telling the truth.”

Honestly, you should’ve known better than to think that the experienced spy hadn’t already completed thorough research and investigations into you and your powers before meeting with you.

If anything, this was likely just a test for her to confirm what she already knows about your abilities.

Sliding a plate across the counter to Natasha with a pointed glare, you relent, deciding there’s no point in denying it anymore.

“Fine, what do you know?”

Instead of responding, Natasha’s gaze lingers on the plate before her, a hint of confusion in her expression.

Her plate holds a fluffy omelette accompanied by a side of crispy bacon and a slice of golden-brown toasted bread.

As she glances back up at you with a questioning look in her eyes, you take a seat across from her, setting down a similar plate in front of you before also placing a stack of fluffy pancakes at the center.

“What’s this?” she asks, gesturing to the meal.

“Breakfast,” you reply bluntly, taking a bite from your plate.

Natasha raises a brow at you, remarking plainly, “It’s noon.”

“Brunch then,” you correct with a roll of your eyes.

Natasha's lips quirk up in amusement, and she shakes her head.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

The red aura appears around her, and with your mouth full of food, you give her a pointed glare.

“Right,” Natasha says in realization, remembering what you can do. She pulls the plate closer to her with a soft thanks.

The atmosphere that followed was unusual but surprisingly not awkward. Despite being practically strangers, you find yourself slightly comforted by Natasha’s presence.

If she wasn’t here, you probably wouldn’t have dragged yourself out of bed today after what happened yesterday.

After a moment of eating, Natasha breaks the silence.

“So, how can you tell when someone’s lying?”

Pausing to contemplate your answer, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before responding.

“Well, when someone lies, there’s always this rush of chemicals that happens in their bodies,” you explain. “It ends up causing the typical indicators — things like fidgeting, sweating, or tone changes in their voice.”

“I didn’t do any of that, yet you still knew I was lying,” Natasha points out.

“No, you're right,” you admit, nodding. “You’re a perfect liar.”

From what you have seen so far, every expression and comment of hers appears genuine and honest, and if it was anyone else, they’d probably believe anything she says.

However, thanks to your ability, you know better.

Gesturing at her, you clarify, “You still give off the same chemical reactions though, and I have the ability to see that.”

Natasha leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as she processes your explanation.

“It’s mainly visual then,” she concludes before asking curiously. “You don’t even need to hear what they said to know that they’re lying?”

You nod, ruefully adding, “Yep, my world’s just filled with people glowing red at random.”

“And how long does this ‘glow’ stay around them?”

“Depends,” you reply with a shrug. “Usually not long, maybe a few seconds.”

Natasha hums in interest, tapping her chin, her brows pinching lightly in thought.

You can’t help but smile amusedly at the sight.

For a person who has such an intimidating reputation, the spy in front of you right now looks kind of cute rather than scary.

After a moment, you break the silence this time.

“So, what’s the job?”

Natasha’s eyes focus back on you at your question.

“Nothing too complicated,” she assures. “You’ll be in charge of interviewing the new employee candidates and conducting continuous reviews of the current ones.”

“You mean like screening them?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, already aware of the rigorous and difficult process required to work at the Avengers buildings.

“Don’t you guys already do extensive background checks before hiring people? Why do you suddenly need me?”

At your question, a charming smile appears on her face, effortlessly shifting her expression like before, though now you understand she’s just hiding her true feelings about the situation.

“That’s confidential.”

You scoff in disbelief and cross your arms.

“You do know that just makes it harder to trust you, right?”

Natasha mirrors your posture, her pretty grin still in place, masking any other emotions.

“Fair point,” she admits. “But to be honest, you should never put your trust in people like me anyway.”

“People like you?”

“Spies,” Natasha clarifies as she begins to gather her empty plate and utensils. “Which is one of the types of people you’d be looking out for in this position. Their deception skills would be on a similar level to mine.”

You chuckle at that, causing Natasha to pause in her actions, raising a brow at you in question.

“Sorry, but everyone lies, whether you’re a spy or not,” you tell her, standing and taking the empty plate from her with a small smirk. “You’re just slightly better at it.”

A tiny offended look slips through Natasha’s expression at your little jab, her brow furrowing for a brief second.

Your grin widens at the sight of seeing a glimpse of her real self as you turn to place the dirty dishes in the sink.

Natasha quickly regains her composure, moving around the counter to lean back against the table next to you.

“In any case, the decision is still yours. I’ve already confirmed your abilities. It’s up to you to decide if you want to accept.”

At her words, you pause to consider your options.

A new job working with the Avengers is a great opportunity, but it would be a significant change in your life.

Then again, you’re already facing a huge change.

Your eyes unconsciously drift to the drawer next to where Natasha is leaning, where the wedding invitation draft remains, and your face twists in sadness at the memory.

You guess it wouldn’t hurt to add a career change alongside your new relationship status.

At least this way you can still earn a salary while also distracting yourself from the depressing thoughts of your failed engagement.

“Okay,” you decide, meeting Natasha’s gaze with a sigh, “I’ll take the job.”

“Great, I knew you would be agreeable,” Natasha remarks, extending her hand to you.

A red aura appears around her, causing you to huff and roll your eyes.

You take her hand in yours, giving her a tiny glare.

“Liar.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

You say that as you dodge another swing from Natasha, ducking under her arm to get behind her, only for her to twist her body around and deliver a kick that you narrowly block with your arms.

Still, the impact has you stumbling back.

“Really?” Natasha asks with an innocent tone as she circles you. “I thought I mentioned to you that training was a part of your employment.”

A red aura begins to appear around her, but you don’t have time to comment before she swings her leg at you again.

You catch it against your side with a small grunt of pain.

Having been a profiler for criminal cases before, you do have basic defense training, and you always believed that you could hold your own against most aggressors.

At least you used to.

This current fight is making you reconsider your skills.

With her off-balance position, you attempt to throw her to the ground, but Natasha swiftly regains her footing, catching herself on her hands and executing a fluid movement to flip upright. She then bends low, sweeping your legs out from under you.

You land on the mat with a groan, feeling the impact reverberate through your body. Another pained breath escapes you as Natasha expertly pins you down.

You catch the faint red aura fading from her before throwing your head back against the mat with an exhausted sigh.

“You’re such a liar,” you breathe out, your voice tinged with both exhaustion and playful accusation. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to catch your breath.

Natasha's laughter fills the air, resonating above you, her amusement infectious and drawing a small grin from you. You peek open your eyes, watching as she disengages from atop you and heads over to her water bottle at the side.

“I’m a spy. It comes with the job,” she says casually, taking a sip.

“Okay, and I’m basically just HR,” you counter, pulling yourself upright into a sitting position. “So how does combat training fit into that?”

Natasha gestures towards you with a sweep of her hand.

“You need to be prepared to defend yourself if you ever expose someone dangerous and find yourself without backup,” she explains.

“That’s unlikely considering I haven’t even encountered anyone suspicious since I started,” you remark with a sigh.

It's been a month already, and you're starting to question if your presence here is even necessary.

Before you can dwell further on your thoughts, the cold touch of a metal water bottle against your cheek startles you.

Recoiling, you look up to see Natasha holding it out to you.

Raising a brow, Natasha waves the bottle lightly in offer.

You snatch the bottle from her with a tiny glare, but she only smirks in response.

Apart from the new job, the other surprising addition to your life is your budding friendship with the Avenger.

After the whole recruiting ordeal, you honestly expected to only have passing encounters with her at the compound.

However, to your surprise, on your first day here, Natasha was the one who volunteered to give you a tour of the place, and in the days that followed, the two of you would often share coffee and chat before you had to head off to your respective jobs.

Those regular interactions with her also earned you a fearsome reputation among the other workers, which actually works out in your favor since they’re already nervous by the time you call them in for a review. This way they are more likely to slip up and reveal anything they may be hiding.

But, like you said, you haven’t found anything substantial yet.

With a heavy sigh, you pull your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, feeling the weight of failure bearing down on you.

Then you hear Natasha plop down beside you.

“Back when we met, you asked me why we needed you,” she begins.

Curious at her words, you turn your head slightly to glance at her, waiting for her explanation.

Natasha leans back on her hands, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she continues to speak.

“A couple of months ago, our surveillance revealed that someone within the compound staff was plotting an attack during the opening ceremony of the new building. However, we couldn’t confirm who it was without risking exposing that we knew of their plan."

Your eyes widen in confusion at the revelation. From what you remember, the opening ceremony was a success. There hadn’t been any news of an attack that day.

“But you caught them, right?” you inquire.

“No,” Natasha responds, shaking her head before meeting your gaze. “You did.”

Surprised, you straighten up, giving her a questioning look.

Natasha offers a small smile, elaborating, “You had recently interviewed him as a suspect for another case, and in your notes, you labeled him as dangerous and untrustworthy, despite everything about him proving otherwise.”

“And you believed me?” you ask incredulously.

Natasha shrugs, “Well, I had no other leads at the time anyway.”

You scoff in exasperation at her teasing, playfully pushing her away.

She chuckles softly before adopting a more serious expression.

“Trust in your abilities, Y/n,” Natasha says with a genuine tone. “If it’s you, not finding anyone suspicious is a good thing.”

You watch her closely, waiting for the red aura to appear.

But as a couple of seconds pass and nothing changes, you tuck your forehead back against your knees, this time to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face.

“Alright, break’s over,” Natasha announces, giving your back an encouraging pat. “Let’s go again.”

You groan in reluctance, remaining in your curled-up position.

“Come on,” Natasha urges, her tone coaxing. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

You don’t even need to look up to know the red aura is surrounding her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“What’s this?”

Natasha's voice draws your attention away from the task of pouring cooked popcorn into a bowl.

She's sitting on your sofa, examining a small, elegant card that you had accidentally left on the table.

Widening your eyes in realization of what she’s found, you hurry over to her, but her narrowed eyes tell you that she has already read the names on the card.

“She’s inviting you to her wedding?” Natasha exclaims, disbelief coloring her tone. “It’s only been a year since your breakup, and now she’s already getting married?!”

Sighing in disappointment, you had hoped to keep this information from Natasha, who developed a strong dislike for your ex after you shared the details of your breakup during one of your girls' nights.

Placing the bowl of popcorn on the table, you take the invitation from her hand and head to the kitchen, intending to tuck it away in a drawer.

As you slide it open, you catch the sight of the old wedding draft buried at the bottom, which causes a tiny pang of sadness in your chest at the memory of that time, of how everything changed so suddenly.

You can't help but wonder how your life might have unfolded if your engagement hadn't ended.

Would you still have accepted Natasha's offer if you hadn't been seeking a distraction from your failed relationship?

“You’re not thinking about going, are you?” Natasha's voice interrupts your thoughts.

Glancing up, you notice a peculiar look in her eyes, though it quickly shifts to a neutral expression at your gaze.

After a whole year of spending time together, you could tell underneath her impassive expression that she was upset about something; though, you figured it was just outrage at the situation.

Tossing the invitation into the drawer and shutting it, you offer her a small reassuring smile before returning to your seat beside her to start the movie.

“No, of course not,” you tell her.

As the opening scenes play, you maintain a normal, nonchalant expression, aware of Natasha's gaze still lingering on you even as the red aura fades from around your body.

After a while, Natasha huffs in disbelief before finally settling into the sofa, pulling the bowl of popcorn into her lap.

“You better be sharing that, Romanoff,” you tease, your eyes fixed on the screen.

Natasha scoffs before tossing a piece of popcorn at you.

“Of course, I will.”

Just as you're about to turn your head to look at her and confirm her honesty, she swiftly shoves a cushion pillow to the side of your face, blocking your view.

After a few seconds, she releases it, fluffing the cushion casually before leaning her head against your shoulder and tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

You chuckle at her antics, amused by her playful behavior, before returning your attention to the screen.

A few days later, you find yourself standing on the outskirts of the wedding area, observing as servers and workers hustle to complete the finishing touches.

A sad, bittersweet expression tugs at your lips as you recognize familiar details chosen by your ex, mingled with hints of a stranger’s preferences in the decorations.

To be honest, you don’t intend to stay for the wedding. You're just here to confirm something for yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, conjuring your ex’s face in your mind, and whisper to yourself.

“I’m in love with her…”

Opening your eyes, you exhale slowly, a content smile on your lips as you notice the red aura surrounding your skin. It's a relief to be able to find closure regarding your feelings for your ex.

“You know, I don’t need powers to know you were lying,” a voice remarks from behind.

Startled, you turn to find Natasha approaching.

She stops beside you, her gaze fixed at the scene ahead as she accuses, “Saying that you weren’t going to come here.”

You look at her briefly before returning your attention to the field.

“I got curious about something,” you admit. “Figured that this was one way to confirm it.”

Excited and happy chatter fills the air as your ex appears, surrounded by friends and family.

Suddenly, thoughts of what-ifs from the other night resurface, prompting you to ask out loud unconsciously before you can stop yourself.

“Do you think I should’ve just pretended that she was telling the truth at that time — when she said she loved me?” you ask Natasha. “Maybe it might’ve worked out between us if I just kept my mouth shut.”

There’s a beat of silence before Natasha finally responds, her tone tinged with wistfulness.

“From my experience,” she begins, “I can tell you that living a lie would not make you happy…no matter how much you wish for it to be true.”

You chuckle lightly, “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I am,” Natasha says confidently.

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both observe the preparations from a distance.

“She is a fool for letting you go, though,” Natasha suddenly adds, her tone casual.

You laugh softly, gently chiding her, “You can’t call the bride that on her wedding day.”

“Alright then,” Natasha concedes, turning to you. “You’re an even bigger fool for coming here by yourself.”

She returns her gaze to the field, muttering under her breath with a hint of irritation, “…still visiting the one who broke your heart.”

Amused, you tilt your head to catch her eyes, chuckling at her words, as you tease, “You know, it almost sounds like you’re jealous.”

When Natasha doesn’t respond or look at you, you raise a brow in surprise and poke her side.

“Wait, seriously, are you jealous?”

She swats your hand away.

“Stop that,” Natasha reprimands, before gritting out, “I’m not jealous!”

A small grin forms on your face as you notice the red aura appear, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and walk away.

“I’m leaving,” she declares firmly.

“Aww, come on, Natasha,” you call as you trail behind her.

Glancing back at you and seeing your pleased expression, she points at you in warning.

“That smile better be off your face by the time I pull up, or else you’re walking home,” she states before continuing on her way.

Watching her go with a fond smile, you find yourself softly repeating the words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Looking down, your smile widens when you don’t see the red aura appear, confirming what you already knew about your feelings for the red-haired spy.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As you sit in your office at the Avenger compound, you feel a sense of fatigue wash over you at your busy schedule of back-to-back interviews.

Across from you, the final candidate squirms in her seat, clearly nervous under your scrutinizing gaze.

A chill sweeps through the room, courtesy of the cold blast of air from the AC, and you can't help but regret your decision to have it set so cold, a choice originally intended to maintain an intimidating atmosphere during interviews.

With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your hands from the cozy warmth of your hoodie pocket and turn to the next page of questions.

"Let's talk about handling confidential information," you begin, your voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Can you share a time when you had to ensure the secure handling of sensitive data?"

The candidate responds with some slight hesitation, but you sense it’s more from her nerves than any dishonesty, so you continue, moving on to the remaining questions.

Luckily, the rest of the interview goes by quickly and smoothly with her answering the other questions without any problems.

However, now comes the final question of the interview.

“Among the Avengers, who do you consider to be the hottest?”

Clearly caught off-guard, she stumbles over her words, “W-what?”

Maintaining your serious demeanor, you repeat the question.

“Who do you believe is the hottest Avenger?”

After a moment's pause, she softly answers, “Black Widow..."

Setting your clipboard down, you extend your hand.

"Thank you for coming. It was nice meeting you," you say, signaling the end of the interview.

As she thanks you and leaves, you flip to the last paper on your clipboard, revealing a sheet with tick marks beside the names of your Avenger friends.

With an amused smile, you add another mark at the end of Natasha’s already leading line.

“I don’t think that last question was approved by Steve,” a voice accuses from the doorway.

Glancing up, you see Natasha leaning against the frame, her arms folded.

You shrug in response, “Makes it more interesting though.”

Natasha hums curiously before moving to your side, perching on the edge of your desk. Her narrowed eyes fix on you.

“Is that my hoodie?” she asks in suspicion as she tugs at your sleeve.

“Maybe,” you reply, hastily pulling the hood over your head to conceal your guilty eyes.

Natasha had left the piece of clothing at your place after her last visit, and given the chilly room, borrowing it seemed harmless enough.

“Don’t you have a briefing to get to?” you deflect, attempting to change the subject.

Natasha huffs knowingly before responding, "I had some spare time, so I came to bother you."

"I’m honored," you quip sarcastically, though inwardly your heart warmed at the fact that she thought of you.

Natasha chuckles lightly, then gestures towards your clipboard.

"Ask me some questions," she prompts, her tone playful yet eager.

Deciding to indulge her, you reach for your clipboard and adopt a serious demeanor.

“Name?” you begin.

Natasha shoots you a deadpan look, prompting you to show her the document with the question written on it.

“If they lie about their name, then that’s a red flag already,” you defend, giving her a pointed look.

“Natalie,” you mock.

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head at the memory before extending her hand.

“It’s actually Natasha,” she corrects, playing along.

Skipping past the other general questions, you delve into more targeted inquiries related to threat assessment.

“Have you ever been associated with any extremist or radical groups or organizations?” you ask.

“If you consider working undercover to gain intel on them, then yes,” Natasha responds without hesitation.

“Have you ever participated or been involved in any violent behavior where someone was hurt?��

This one makes her pause for a moment before she finally admits softly, "…yes."

As the questioning continues, Natasha's playful demeanor gradually fades, replaced by a rueful tone.

By the time you reach the final question, she places her hand on your clipboard, gently setting it down on the desk.

"Maybe these questions aren’t meant for people like me," she says sadly, her tone filled with regret.

Observing her disappointed expression, you scoot closer and rest your hand on hers to draw her attention.

“Do you still want to hear my final assessment?” you ask gently.

After a contemplative pause, Natasha nods, curiosity evident in her eyes as she gestures for you to continue.

“Well, based on your answers,” you say with a dramatic pause, flipping through the papers before shaking your head firmly.

“Absolutely not. Extremely dangerous. Definitely a high-risk candidate.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your teasing and gives you a playful push. As your laughter subsides, you soften your tone, meeting her gaze sincerely.

“But…I’d trust you,” you admit genuinely.

Natasha's eyes widen slightly before she averts her gaze, clearing her throat. Her fingers toy with the clipboard, flipping to the last page and seeing the score sheet, before chuckling in amusement.

Turning back to you, she tilts her head with a raised brow.

“I don’t get the special question?” she asks.

You take the clipboard from her, offering a knowing look as you begin to organize the documents on your desk.

“I think we both already know your answer to that question,” you reply.

“Then ask me another,” Natasha insists.

Her request makes you pause as you ponder what to ask. Only one thing comes to mind, the question you’ve been hesitating to ask her for a long time.

Meeting her expectant gaze, you find yourself wanting to know the answer, despite the fear in your mind at the possibility of causing another big change in your life again.

Summoning your courage, you face her directly.

“Would you…,” you start, faltering momentarily before gathering yourself with a deep breath.

“...would you say ‘yes’ if I asked you out on a date tonight?”

There's a moment of silence, and just as you consider retracting the question, Natasha reaches out and adjusts the hood atop your head.

Perplexed by her action, you watch her suspiciously. Then, in one swift motion, she pulls the hood down over your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“No,” her voice responds to your question.

Hearing her stand, you quickly remove the hood to see Natasha already making her way out of the door, but before she disappears from your view, you catch the red aura surrounding her slowly fading away.

As an excited smile spreads across your face at the revelation of her true answer, your phone on the desk pings with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you see a text from Natasha.

I’ll pick you up tonight.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 2

a/n: Thank you for reading! I know I said I was going to take a little break, but I had some time so I ended up finishing this and decided to post it now instead of later.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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tojikai · 4 months

Text

Sundered 9: RESOLVE

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments, mentions of abortion

word count: 7.8k

a/n: sorry, it took so long. i had problems lol mb

You can’t remember at what point everything started going right but you’re not complaining.

“I don’t think I can continue like this. I don’t think we should continue like this.”

“Like what?” You looked up at him, a look of worry filling your wide eyes. He stared down at you with an expression you can’t read. You felt his hands trail beside you, before cupping your cheeks, kissing your lips softly. “Toji, was I not-” And he was quick to quell you

“No, Y/N. It’s not on you, stop putting everything on yourself, baby.” He hates that the first thing you think when something fails is your fault. He hates that he’s making you feel like you’re the only one who needs to put in the work.

After your arguments, Toji’s been thinking that his emphasis on how you’re being pointlessly jealous of a dead person is why you think you’re the only one who has to make big adjustments. That’s probably why you think you have to put in the most effort to make this work.

“Then, what is it? I thought we were doing well, Toji.” The worried look on your face mixed with frustration as you took a step back from him, rubbing your face with your hands. “We are doing well, Y/N.” He was firm with his answer, and you know he’s telling the truth. But why? “We work so well together. But this isn’t the relationship we deserve.” He sighed.

“That doesn’t make sense, Toji.” You pursed your lips, emotions getting stronger. “If we work so well together, then how can you say that this isn’t what we deserve?” You sat on the bed, patiently waiting for an answer.

“We deserve to be in a relationship where we don’t have to remind ourselves how we should be constantly.” Toji mentally cursed himself for putting you in such a situation early in the morning but he doesn’t think he could sleep another peaceful night with everything in his mind.

“Relationships are things that flow naturally, Y/N. You do not do things just because you have to, or just because somebody told you to do it. You shouldn’t feel like you have to remind yourself what to do.” He breathed heavily, sounding as if he’d been practicing this in his head for a while now. “Is that how you feel with me?” You tried him, only to get the question back.

“Is that not how you feel with me?” Your silence answered his question. There was a pool of hot liquid in your eyes that you wouldn’t allow to fall. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Think of the strain that you’ve been putting on yourself, Y/N. Tell me you had not once thought of letting it all go even just for a second.”

A sob erupted from your throat; one that you didn’t see coming. It’s a thought you always choose to ignore because you really want to try hard for him, for this thing to work. Now, you understand when they say that sometimes it’s more painful to hold on than to let go.

As if getting burnt by holding on to a rope too tightly, hoping that the other end would stop pulling away.

But right now, Toji’s slowly being torn away from you. And you can’t do anything about this unbearable pain that feels like it could tear you apart; limb for limb. You realize that even if he doesn’t pull away, you’d still end up being hurt for this rope that you are holding on to is too far out of your reach.

“Toji… I don’t know, I thought I found something good with you. And now it just felt like I’m losing all of it like I’m losing—” Toji quickly shushed you, hugging you ever so tightly to him and it scared you. It almost felt like he was letting you memorize the comfort of his body against yours because this was the last time you’d be feeling it.

“You’re not losing me, love.” He consoled you and though, you can’t express it, the words brought you comfort. “I just don’t think we’re meant to be in this setup but that doesn’t mean you’re losing me.” And just like that, the pain was back again.

“Do I not deserve it?” You asked him, almost flinching at your words when you promised yourself you’d never ask anyone that. Toji sighed, taking both of your hands and bringing them to his lips. “Not this. You deserve more than this. You deserve to be genuinely happy without sacrificing anything, without feeling spent.”

You can’t remember, or more like you chose not to carve into your memory how that day ended. The only image you can see in your head is how he cuddled you to sleep, woke you up to eat with him and the kids, and went home. You remember him saying that they could always visit. And you hated yourself for doubting him.

“Mama, look it.” You heard your baby talking to you as she showed you the screen of your phone. It was Toji. It surprised you that you weren’t crying, or hurting as much as you thought you would. Maybe it’s because of the reassurance that you received from him.

And it’s not something like hoping that you’d be back together again but it’s more of a security that you didn’t just lose such a good man in your life; even as a friend. “Yeah?” You answered, pulling your toddler closer to you just as she started to move near the edge of the bed. “Just wanna know how you're doing.”

You chuckled, finding it funny that your now ex is calling you, indirectly checking if you’re still crying. It’s normal for him to expect that kind of thing but the difference between this and other breakups is that you actually ended on good terms and with valid reasons, seeking only the best for each other.

“I am a bit ok, surprisingly.” You answered, you heard a sigh from the other end of the line and a tiny laugh from Megumi, probably watching something on his iPad. You looked at your daughter, thinking if she’ll start looking for her little friend tomorrow and how you’re going to handle that.

“I’m sorry.” You rubbed your eyes, humming at his words. “This is for the best, I guess.” You spoke, remembering how you used to tell that to yourself when you found out that Satoru got himself a new girlfriend; throwing all his promises out the window and choosing to move forward away from you.

“You know Yui can still come over for play dates, right?” He spoke as if reading your mind. Toji knows of your concern about this matter as you expressed it earlier to him. Yui has spent a lot of time with Megumi and you know how she is with him because he’s her real first close friend.

“I won’t mind if she’ll be dropped off by Satoruf, he could even accompany her with you guys. I won’t mind, really. I know Megumi will ask for Yui.” He laughed lightly, patiently waiting for your answer, only to receive a hum.

“Y/N, you’re free to make decisions now—” You know that he’s talking about your reconciliation with Satoru but to be very honest, that’s not in your mind right now. You might be yearning for that whole family, and you can see Satoru’s progress but that doesn’t mean you can just bounce back like that.

“I don’t know, that’s not how I really feel, I think I should focus on building myself as an independent person for now.” You pursed your lips and you could just imagine him nodding his head to your words. “It’ll happen if it’s meant to happen.” You know that Yui needs her father, and you know that if she could talk to you right now, she’d probably wish for the two of you to be together with her.

But you want to know if this thing you’re feeling for Satoru is real or if it’s only because you longed to give your daughter that fulfillment. It’s not a bad thing to want that for her but you don’t know if you can handle another heartbreak for rushing things. “I’ll just let things be for now.” You added, sighing deeply.

The conversation with Toji went on for a couple of minutes before you said your goodbyes. You know it won’t be like this every night and that makes your chest squeeze but it’d only feel like forcing things if you asked him for that. You’ll move forward. Like you always do. Your child is growing and maybe it’s about time she learns something valuable from you.

—---------------------------------------

“Da!” The little girl squealed as her father entered your apartment. She got up and ran to him, almost tripping on one of her toys. “Careful. I’m not going away.” He picked her up, kissing her cheek. You closed the door behind you, rushing to kick away the things on the floor. It’s still a bit messy because you’re trying to get her ready for the day before you head to work.

“You’re early.” You spoke to him, watching them sit on the couch. “I’m…uh, cooking something. Have you had breakfast?” You bite your top lip as you turn away from them. “I had coffee.” Yui was trying to put a clip on his hair, laughing when she thought she got it done. “Come, eat with us, then.” You picked your daughter up, heading to the kitchen.

“Mama! ‘Gumi?” You put her in her chair, sighing lightly at the mention of her playmate. It has been almost three weeks and you still haven’t told Satoru about what happened with Toji and you. He’s not asking either, but you can tell he’s curious, eyeing you as he enters the small kitchen.

“He’s at daycare. Maybe next week, when Mama’s not busy, alright?” You spoke, placing the food in front of her, and pressing on the plate to make sure that it was stuck on the surface. “Haven’t seen them around.” Satoru cleared his throat, playing it cool as he didn’t want to seem like he was intruding into your “love life.”

“They, uh, they won’t be around so much anymore.” You put the plates on the table, tucking a hair behind your ear as you turned. Satoru pursed his lips, not wanting to pry any longer but the next sentence made his eyebrows raise. “We kinda…Toji and I broke up. So, if not for the kids, we won’t-“

“Since when?” If it was before Satoru would probably be thinking about how this is a chance for him but right now, as he sat on that kitchen table, all he could feel was worry. He thinks that you really love Toji and he became your rock during the times when your baby daddy’s acting up.

“Almost three weeks ago. It’s, uh, nothing too heavy. The relationship just became too much.” Satoru doesn’t know if it’s right for him to say “sorry.” He’s scared that it might break you and he doesn’t want to see you cry again.

He made you cry many times and he hated himself for it. He can’t help but feel like any anger he might harbor towards Toji would be… invalid. “I didn't think dating when you both already have kids would be so different than when you don’t.” You chuckled half-heartedly.

“We just don’t think it could stand in the long run, so…” You shrugged, finally sitting down after you placed the glass pitcher on the table. You peeked at Satoru, attempting to read the expression on his face.

“Look, I know Yui’s always been our priority but if you need a bit of time for yourself, you know you can leave Yui with me.” He cracked his knuckles, not sure of how to help you with this. “You should take a break from work, if you think that’s what you need, I will-“ You placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

There’s not much he can offer that wouldn’t make it look like he’s trying to take advantage of the situation. That’s the last thing he wants you to think. He thought you were a bit gloomy during the past couple of weeks and assumed it was just a lover’s quarrel or something.

“Thanks. But it’s alright. We’re good, we’re just…not dating anymore.” You let out a laugh, retracting your hand away as you reached for the towel to wipe your daughter’s food-stained cheek. “Megumi and Yui still play together, I mean they’re besties now, right?” Yui giggled at the mention of her friend.

“That’s nice, he’s her first friend.” Satoru smiled genuinely. Aside from Yui’s occasional babbles, Satoru and you ate in silence. Eating together at your home is beginning to become a normal, regular thing now. And for some reason, it doesn’t worry you anymore.

Getting Yui ready took a bit more time than it should have when she wanted her Dad to pick her clothes. Of course, none of you could say no. You quickly brought out your phone to take a photo of her and her father, holding hands as they stood before the clothes she took out of her drawer.

“It’s chilly. You can’t wear that.” You commented on the shirt she brought out. With a pout on her lips, she continued to pull on her clothes. “We’ll pair it with something. Yeah?” Satoru consoled her, earning a smile from the little girl. “I’ll make the two of you fold all of that.” You joked before turning to pick up a few scattered clothes.

You checked her bag one last time, counting all the things she needed in your mind. You can hear her laughing as Satoru struggles to put on her boots. She is the happiest when he’s in the house. You fear that she’ll soon start asking about why her father lives in a different house, unlike most kids.

“You don’t have to worry so much if she left something. We’ll probably be here tomorrow, you know how she is.” Satoru laughed, lifting the child. It’s true that even during the days when she’s supposed to be with her dad, she still asks him to see you. There was one time when they showed up at your work and everybody thought that you’re back together.

“It could be something important.” You sighed, leaning in to give your daughter a kiss. “Be good.” She nodded her head, wiggling her brows in the process, knowing that it never fails to make you laugh. Satoru can’t help but stare, statued by how close you are to each other; paralyzed by the fact that this could’ve been better if he never did what he did.

“Don’t forget the face creams at night, please.” You reminded him, stepping away as you locked eyes. “Of course.” He took the bag, walking towards the door with you trailing closely behind them. “Buh-bye!” She waved at you from her car seat. You watched as Satoru made sure it was locked before closing the door behind him.

“See you in a few days, Mama.” He spoke playfully, and you know that he’s just trying to say it for your daughter but it made your heart swell for some reason, a blush forcing its way to your cheek. This has been happening a lot with him, even when you were still with Toji. You tried to convince yourself that you were just “caught off guard.”

Work kept you busy for the whole day. It wasn’t long until you found yourself on your couch, smiling at the video Satoru sent you. Yui was holding an elephant bowl full of ice cream, focused on the movie playing on the screen. Their matching lilac pajamas made everything more adorable. After sending a reply, you put your phone down.

Days and weeks went by fast. Megumi and Yui played at the park together last week. You thought it’d be awkward but it was pretty much the same with Toji minus the intimacy. He was still chill to be with and he was still very caring towards you. And you admired him for all of it.

“I ran into them at the mall once. I think they went toy shopping.” He spoke, looking over at the kids as they struggled to understand how to make the seesaw work on their own. “Oh yeah, he mentioned that one time.” You replied, before giving a warning to your daughter who’s now so ready to climb the metal board.

Your mind went back to the image of Satoru coming in with boxes and bags, and a little kid trailing behind him, holding on to the hem of his jacket. He couldn’t even carry her because of everything but she was overjoyed, showing off her new stuff.

“You can’t leave all that here. Her room isn’t big, Satoru.” You sighed, picking your daughter up, “You already have so many toys.” You reminded her but she wasn’t listening at all. “It’s alright, I’ll bring them to my house,” Satoru spoke as he put them on the couch.

Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever save up enough to get a bigger space for you and Yui. Satoru once brought it up, offering help but you don’t want that. You’re not together, so to you, being able to provide and improve on your own for your daughter is a goal. You trust that things’ll get better for you, even if you’re alone.

“You two working it out?” Toji's voice brought you out of your memory. You looked at him for a couple of seconds, and he just stared back at you, like he just asked the most normal question an ex could ask. “N-no. He’s not even trying, I mean he never even explicitly tried to show any hint. I doubt that any of us are thinking about that right now.” You rambled and he just nodded.

You didn’t mean to blurt out something like that so casually. But in all honesty, that made you more comfortable and less tense about all of this. He doesn’t make you feel awkward at all. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re stuck in your past with him. It’s almost as if he’s just been a friend, a very close one, all this time.

There was a moment of easy silence between the two of you. You can only hear the noises from the other kids and the two in front of you. But it wasn’t long until it was broken by Toji. “He loves you, you know?” You feel like even the sound of your breaths paused. “I’m not saying that you should force yourself to try again with him. I just want you to know that Satoru genuinely loves you.”

Thinking about it now, you realize that you and Toji never really talked like this about your relationship with Satoru before. It’s always just the problems and the past that you always claimed to be only bitter memories now.

Toji leaned back on the chair, not caring if you were answering or not. He’s good at sensing the atmosphere, and you’re not in a way bothered by the topic. You were surprised to hear it from him, of course, but you don’t feel troubled at all.

“Satoru and I had a talk once, just the two of us. I was expecting less from him due to how he treated you before.” He crossed his arms on his chest, eyes wandering as he recalled, “But he was so sure with his words, I was kind of taken aback.” He chuckled, and you wondered what his exact words were.

“No offense, but I feel like that was the only time I really looked at him as a man; a grown man.” He laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “I know 'cause I’ve been there.” He nodded, sounding softer and you just know who he’s thinking about. “The resolve; the determination in him even when he knows that it’s impossible.”

“He has to work on a lot of things. He’s got so much to reflect on.” You sighed, unsure of how to react, not because you rejected the information but because it got your heart drumming in your chest. “We gotta grow as individuals. And if we’re meant to be together, it’s…it’ll happen on its own.” You chuckled, swallowing dryly.

You don’t know if that scares you or excites you for the future. But you know that it’s gonna be so much better than before.

—---------------------------------------

6 Months Later

“Mama why? Mama why?” You heard Satoru laugh loudly at your daughter's words. She’s been repeating the same words over and over since you started getting her ready. Her hair was up extra nice today and she’s staring at her gown hanging near the dresser.

“Mama whats go on? Huh, Mama?” She asked again, sending Satoru into another fit of laughter. “Baby, I’ve been saying. It’s Yui Day today. Your birthday.” You smiled at her kindly, securing the cute hair clips on her head. “I don’t think she’s fully taken any of this in.” Satoru sat on her bed, looking at the two of you.

Her grandfather volunteered to take care of the preparations at Satoru’s house. The helpers arrived early in the morning and Satoru left him there to pick the two of you up and to help get his little girl ready. You’re still in your house clothes and you’re not even a step closer to being ready.

“Go take a shower, I got her.” Satoru arrived just as you were fixing Yui’s hair. “Okay, the shoes are over there. Put the headband on after the dress so it won’t mess up her hair.” You reminded him as you stood up. “Yes, Ma’am.” The little girl jumped towards him pointing at her dress. You stepped out and got ready as quickly as you can.

You were supposed to wear the dress you bought the other week. It wasn’t much and you were worried that it might not look that good, especially with the guests that will come over. You didn’t want to look cheap but you wanted to save so you went for something that goes in the middle.

To your surprise, when Satoru brought Yui’s gown and shoes, he got another set with him. You thought it was for some outfit change but he soon revealed, albeit shyly, that he thought the dress matched the theme of your daughter’s party so he got it for you. It was a designer dress and a pair of shoes.

“I’d…I’ll pay for this, alright? I can’t just—” He cut you off with a close-lipped smile and a gentle sight. “Y/N, I know it’s hard to accept this but I already had lots of shortcomings with you and Yui. This doesn’t mean anything, don’t worry. I’m not trying to, you know, I just want you to feel your best during our daughter’s birthday.” He spoke, nervousness still clear in his voice.

“B-but you’re free to decline it if you don’t feel comfortable, sorry, I can take it back to the—” This time you cut him off with a laugh, “I’m sorry this is just so… expensive. I don’t know how to feel if I just openly accept it from you.” You placed the box on the table behind you, sitting down in hopes of changing the atmosphere.

“Okay, then…just consider this as a gift since I, uh, failed to get you one on your last birthday.” He breathed out the last part as if it was a heavy feeling in his chest that he couldn’t push past his lips. It isn’t as heavy as it was to you though.

Your last birthday was painful to remember, probably the worst one you had ever since you were born even if you never had a big celebration your whole life aside from when you were with Satoru. Last year, your birthday was on the same day as Satoru’s co-parenting schedule.

That time you were hoping that he and Yui would celebrate it with you. But that morning, he came in with Naomi. With hickeys peeking from his jacket, messy hair, and swollen lips, they picked Yui up. You remember your daughter babbling about “Mama day” in a much less understood baby talk that Naomi still caught.

“Oh, is it your birthday? She said ‘mama day’, right?” Her bright eyes shined at you, dimples showing as she smiled but it didn’t lessen the ache in your chest. “Oh, sorry. Happy birthday.” Satoru spoke, proceeding to take his daughter’s belongings. “We should’ve picked Yui up in the afternoon so, they could spend time together.” She suggested, laughing awkwardly.

“What time did you book the Children’s Museum trip?” Satoru halted, his back turned to you. You were about to interrupt, afraid that you were starting to look too pitiful for the lovebirds in front of you and your child. “It starts at 10:00.” She spoke, adjusting the toddler on her hip. “It’s 9:19.” Satoru read his watch, biting his lips with his eyebrows scrunched together.

“We can’t really leave her now, the Children’s Museum isn’t open every day. You can…uh—” He tried to think, turning to you but you can’t take it anymore. “N-no. It’s alright. You—Yui have fun, baby, alright? We’ll go out when you’re back home.” You waved at the child and her smile soothed you. Almost.

“Happy birthday, Y/N, sorry.” Naomi smiled, avoiding your eyes and you hated it. You hated that she felt sorry for you. You hated that they felt sorry for you. “Enjoy your day.” She added, turning around as she urged your daughter to wave again. “We’ll get going, sorry again. Happy birthday.” He spoke lowly, earning a fake smile and a nod from you.

You closed the door before you could even see him put his hand on her waist and guide them to his car. It was supposed to be. That should be the three of you. You wiped the stray tear that fell from your eyes with the back of your hand. That day, you stayed at home, slept until your mother came and brought food, and refused to tell her the story.

That night you stayed awake, wondering how many falls a heart can take before it turns to dust, never to be recovered again.

“Done?” Satoru’s voice brought you back to reality. Your eyes flickered to the reflection of the door in the mirror. You were about to respond when the door burst open, and your child trudged in, almost falling as she squealed. “Mama! Pretty Mama!” She pulled at her skirt, turning. “Wow, lovely. You’re so beautiful, baby!” You cooed at her as she hugged your robe-covered waist.

“Dada put this. Dada! This!” You can tell how excited she is by how she shows off everything; from her headband to her anklets and shoes. She even shows it to her father even if he’s the one who dressed her up. You chuckled in amusement, all the pain numbed as your eyes focused on the present.

You looked over at Satoru who tries to look everywhere but you. Your hair’s still wet from the shower, and you’re still in your robe, all bare underneath and you can’t believe it took you this long to realize that. “You’re so pretty, how about we take pictures downstairs? Or with your toys?” He tried to convince her, wanting to give you time to dress up.

“Mama come!” She pulls at you, “Mama has to wear her pretty dress too, so you’ll be twins.” Satoru quickly picked her up, smiling at you as her daughter babbled excitedly, allowing him to distract her as he closed the door behind them. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror once more, drying your hair quietly.

Thinking back on what Toji said, you can’t just believe them after everything Satoru has done.

—---------------------------------------

You can feel Satoru’s light touch as the three of you pose for the final picture of the day before the party ends. It has been such a long day. Yui happily walked around, clapping at the guests when they sang her a birthday song; quite the opposite of what you thought would happen. You and Satoru received a lot of statements and questions as you were greeting the visitors too.

“Oh, you’re back together again, that’s great!” His aunt said to which he quickly answered with a chuckle, “I’d love that, but no.” You smiled at the old lady, thankful for the understanding face rather than pushing.

“I knew you’d be back to Y/N!” His cousin winked at you, raising a fist bump which you couldn’t really reject. Satoru nodded his head, glancing at you awkwardly at how loud the man was being “When did you guys get back together?” He elbowed him like he was so sure of the information.

“We’re not…really back together. We’re…This is co-parenting.” Satoru took Yui from you. “Say hi.” And that’s how he changed that topic. He met Yui once when she was a baby and to say that he was mesmerized by how much she looked like Satoru now is an understatement. “How did you manage to turn yourself into a little girl.” He and Satoru laughed and you excused yourself to greet some of your relatives who attended.

“I would be mad but, oh well, anything that makes that little doll happy.” Your grandma sighed, smiling as she hugged you. “We’re not back together. I’ll bring her here in a bit.” You muttered, pulling at your dress. “That’s a nice dress you have, it looks expensive, honey.” Your mother complimented.

“Yeah, Satoru got it…f-for me. So, uh, we could match the theme. He organized this.” You smiled nervously, worried at how her eyebrows raised. “I’ll be back, Mom.” You added with a little wave before going back to Satoru and Yui who were now looking at you in distress as she got taken by Satoru’s friend.

“Don’t take him back.” was Shoko’s first words to you as you reached them, making the whole table and you laugh. “Stop it.” Satoru grunted, “Give me my kid back if you’re going to be like that.” He rolled his eyes playfully before meeting yours. “He’s still far from that.” You replied, making them laugh again. Satoru knows that you aren’t joking at all.

It’s funny how the people around you have different views regarding reconciliation with him. And you, you don’t want to think of it. Or more like you’re scared to think of it.

Because you fear that deep in your heart, you still yearn for all of it.

“Yui!” A voice called and when you turned around it was Megumi in his cut little outfit that almost matched Yui’s dress. “Oh gosh, you’re so cute ‘Gumi!” You cooed, hugging the little boy. He would look down at his shirt and back at you as if to show it off. Your eyes wandered around for Toji and you found him speaking to your Mother. You smiled as he waved at you.

“I didn’t see you guys come in.” You spoke as you got close to them. “Sorry, we’re a bit late. He wanted to get another gift.” Toji laughed, nodding at Megumi’s direction who was now walking towards your table with Satoru and Yui. “Thanks for coming.” Satoru encouraged, a little awkwardly.

“Megumi wouldn’t miss his best friend’s birthday.” Toji reached over to fix his son's clothes. You stayed for a bit to talk with Toji and your mom, Satoru took the kids to the photo booth to play with the other kids at the party.

And now you’re walking the last few of the helpers out the door, thanking them for the smooth flow of the event. Yui already fell asleep on Satoru’s shoulder, just like her little friend. Toji went home with a sleepy Megumi who refused to get carried by his dad and insisted on walking despite the constant stumbling.

Thanking Satoru’s Dad before he heads home, he gives the two of you a piece of advice: “I hope you two are not thinking too much of what to do with what you have.” You both didn’t know what to say. You don’t even get it at first but when he spoke again, it all made sense.

“It will happen if it’s meant to happen. Like before. When you were blessed with this angel.” He softly stroked Yui’s cheek, chuckling when her nose twitched. “Well, that’s all. You’re both doing just great. Satoru, stop worrying about the things with your mom. Leave that to me.” With that, he bid goodbye and left.

You had to stop yourself from being too curious about what happened with Satoru and his mother. All that you know is that he broke up with Naomi and you thought that she probably tried to stop him, of course. What’s bugging you is the fact that his father had to comfort him about it. Would it be too much to ask?

“Let’s go inside.” He ushered, adjusting his daughter in his arms and patting her head as she wiggled a little before going back to sleep. “I’m glad we hired helpers. I don’t think I can handle cleaning after all of that.” He laughed, carefully sitting on the couch. “I don’t know how celebrities do meet and greets. I feel so drained.” You agreed sitting down on the loveseat.

“I can’t believe she’s three now. It’s like she was still so tiny a few months ago.” His whispers were low; gentle. You could hear all the love in his voice and the tired yet contented look on his face as he gazed lovingly at his child. She could be getting a sibling now, but you fucked around. You caught yourself thinking, biting your lip at the realization of how silly you’re being.

After a short conversation, Satoru decided to put her in her bed. You’re sure that she’ll be awake in an hour or two. You agreed to stay the night here since you considered that Yui might want to open her gifts by the end of the party. She already opened some earlier due to curiosity but got distracted multiple times and ended up forgetting about them.

“Oh, shit.” You whispered, rummaging through the baby bag with her feet on your lap. You were trying to clean her a little but you ran out of wipes and you forgot to put the extra pack due to the rush this early morning. You carefully placed her feet down to get up and find Satoru. You saw him in his front yard, putting away some things that had been used earlier.

“Does she have wet wipes here? The one in her bag ran out.” You asked him, stepping out of the house. “Yeah, it’s in my bedside drawer, do you mind getting it?” He spoke, carrying a foldable table to the other end of the yard, “Okay.” You found his bedroom door ajar and let yourself in.

Did he specify which one? There are two bedside tables. You went to the closest one, opening the first drawer. You knew you were looking for the wipes and that’s why you came here, you mentally noted that anything in here does not concern you and thus, must not be meddled with.

But right now you’re staring at the brown envelope with a hospital address and a name with the “MD, OB-GYN” title plastered on it. You don’t have to have a degree to understand that. You can feel your heart slowly picking up a pace as you think of all the possible meanings of it.

Was Naomi pregnant and they decided to abort it? Did Satoru make her do it? What if he made her do it because of the fact that he still wants to be with you? You can’t really do anything if that’s why but it makes you feel…accountable. Is this why they broke up on bad terms that even his mother doesn’t want to see him anymore?

The envelope was staring back at you and you can’t help but feel like touching it; opening it. You can get your answer right now if you just read what’s inside this quickly. You won’t have to think about all of this anymore. The voice in your head silenced the approaching footsteps and the sound of Satoru’s voice calling your name.

A shadow was cast upon you and the paper. You looked up to see Satoru staring at the envelope with slightly wide eyes. He quickly closed the cabinet, swallowing as he avoided your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot to mention.” He moved away to get the wipes from the other drawer. “It-it’s here.” He walked quickly, urging you to get moving. “Let’s go before she wakes up—”

“What was that, Satoru?” You don’t care how this made you sound as you grabbed his arm preventing him from leaving the room. He wouldn’t have reacted that way; he wouldn’t have disregarded the matter if it wasn’t something to be hidden. Why did he look so alarmed that you saw it? Like you’re not supposed to know about it.

“It was an old test, I forgot to throw it away.” He rasped, staring at your lips; staring everywhere but your eyes. “I know how to read. The date it was delivered shouldn’t be far from the day the test was done, right?” You half blinked, breathing in as you told yourself to calm down. You don’t know how you’d feel if he told you that’s none of your business.

“Was Naomi pregnant when you broke up with her?” Your voice was a bit more steady, “No.” He sounded small and you could tell that whatever was going on inside his head wasn’t easy to verbalize. “Then, what’s there to hide about it?” You don’t need him to tell you, you could tell that you weren’t supposed to see that.

“I fear that I might be getting a little too overconfident about your feelings for me but—” You lowered your eyes, embarrassed at how that sounded and a bit thankful for being cut off. “She was never pregnant. Sh-she tried…while I was intoxicated. I got her examined.” Satoru rambled, obviously triggered by your words.

“She what?” You looked at him, brows furrowed and eyes wide, finding it hard to believe the assumption in your head. “I got drunk. She…she tried to…” He walked towards that drawer, pulling out the envelope and the paper inside.

“Y/N, read it. I couldn't… I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to vent about this to you because that’s all I’ve been doing, I just want to give you all the good now. I’ll try, Y/N, I promise.” At this point, you don’t even know what he’s trying to explain to you but the welling tears in his eyes and the coldness of his fingers against your skin was enough to pull you to him.

The papers were dropped to the floor as you held him to you. His head was bowed down as he cried on your shoulder as if this was the first day he was allowed to cry about this; as if this was the first time he could hold on to someone while the fear, anger, and shame tore him to pieces.

He held onto you as he sobbed his heart out after holding it all in for so long.

He doesn’t deserve this. No matter what he did or said, Satoru doesn’t deserve this. After everything, you can see how much he’s trying. Despite not being promised anything, he’s giving his all. It wouldn’t be easy to forget and it won’t be easy to trust. But the love you feel for this man comes too naturally to be contained.

“You didn’t deserve that…” You hushed him, hearing him blame himself was shattering. Does his mother know? Why did she disappear as well? What really happened? “Satoru, what happened with your Mom?” His breath hitches. The grown man in the room is now in the form of a child, looking for a hand to hold.

“She knew about it.” His cheeks were wet and his eyes bloodshot as he looked up, running his fingers through his hair. You thought there was something wrong that day. But you didn’t think it could be this bad. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t want to ruin this day, this is our baby girl’s day, I shouldn’t have-“

“Satoru, don’t talk like that. That’s beyond your control.” His breaths were shaky. You doubt that even his closest friends knew about this. “My dad and I placed a restraining order against them. I can’t look at those people the same way anymore.” His eyes were closed as he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about what you’d feel or think if you accidentally found out…like now. I should’ve explained earlier.” He was referring to your assumptions earlier. “I know it’s hard. I’m sorry, I jumped to conclusions.” You don’t know how long the two of you were staring into each other’s eyes but a voice took you out of the little world that you share.

“Mama…” A cute, sleepy voice called out from outside of the bedroom. “I’ll get her. Calm your mind, Satoru. It’s over. We’re here.” You have no idea how big of an impact those words had on Satoru. He almost wanted to cry again, to pull you close and cry to you again.

To see your back walking out of this bedroom door, but this time with the promise of being on the other side, waiting.

He sat there for a few more minutes, releasing all the heaviness in his chest before getting up to wash his face. Leaning on the doorframe of his daughter’s room, he saw you putting on her little sweaters as you sat barefoot on the floor. “Gumi sing me.” The child spoke with enthusiasm. “He did? What did he sing?” You encouraged, fixing her clothes.

“Can you sing me a song too?” He interrupted, walking in to sit down with you. It was all it took for Satoru to forget what happened earlier. Eating at home with the two of you always feels like an answered prayer. After that, you helped the child open her gifts until way past her sleeping hours.

Walking you to the guest room felt like the first time you lived together; awkward yet heartwarming. Of course, no boundaries were crossed. He wouldn’t try. And you won’t allow it. At least he got to wish you a good night and sweet dreams again.

—---------------------------------------

Days, weeks, and months went by fast. It’s already been 4 months since Yui’s birthday and now you’re walking with her and Satoru at a grocery store. “Yui, this is for the stuff we will buy, this is not a stroller.” You explained as she tried to get Satoru to put her in the pushcart.

He wasn’t supposed to be with you here but it’s Yui’s pick-up day and you decided that you need to get some stuff. Satoru asked if he and Yui could join you since he doesn’t have anything planned except for an early movie night with his little girl. “You’re not a little baby anymore.” She hit Satoru’s chest as he pouted teasingly at her.

“Hey. We don’t hit.” You talked to her sternly, making her put her head on her father’s chest, whispering an almost inaudible apology. “Satoru, do not let her hit you, she’ll get used to doing that.” You reminded him, knowing that he can’t ever scold his baby girl.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He replied absentmindedly, bouncing the kid in his arms to get her to laugh. These days, you’ve been getting comfortable with things like this. You’ve been getting comfortable with compliments like “Oh you make cute babies” from old people who take a liking to your daughter.

You’ve been getting comfortable with Satoru pushing the cart for you as you look for what you need, reaching for the items on the top shelf, carrying your bags for you, and driving you home as you sit in the passenger seat.

Like right now.

“Her sleeping schedule got a lot better when she changed her vitamins, yeah?” You responded to Satoru with a hum as you chewed on your fries, handing a piece to your daughter as she kicked on her car seat. “Her doctor recommended that. I’m glad it works, she used to get up so early.” The car stopped in front of your apartment.

“Would you like to stay? I’ll be cooking.” You won’t deny that this isn’t the first time you asked, “I’d love to stay.” And this isn’t the first time he agreed. You don’t know why but you didn’t budge from the passenger seat, knowing that Satoru was rushing to open the door for you. You went to your baby and took her inside, not worrying about your things and the groceries you bought.

You can’t remember the last time it felt awkward with Satoru lying on your couch with your daughter. You also can’t remember how he had a pair of spare house slippers for him here. Walking past the fridge, you saw a photo of Yui and Megumi from their recent pool party.

Satoru came to pick you and Yui up but you ended up staying for another hour. You can’t remember when Toji and Satoru shed a noticeable amount of awkwardness around them. At one point, you even heard them talking about business like they didn’t try to rip each other’s heads off when they first met.

You can’t remember at what point everything started going right but you’re not complaining.

“Where’s her choccy-juice?” Satoru mimicked Yui’s words, laughing. “I told her we were about to eat in a few minutes but she won’t listen.” Taking the chocolate milk from the fridge, he stood beside you to fulfill his daughter’s request. “She’s not supposed to have a lot of that.” You sighed, “I’ll just let her have a taste so she’ll stop.” His voice sounded so much softer now.

“Dada!” She came running to the kitchen, holding onto Satoru’s leg as she tried to have a peek at what you were cooking. “Wanna see? Here’s your choccy.” He lifted her, letting her hold the sippy cup as they watched you cook. “Hmm…” Both you and Satoru can’t help but laugh at her reaction.

You don’t know if it’s because a lot of things happened but they all feel like distant memories; some of which you can’t even clearly see in the back of your mind. Satoru felt like a new man and along with this, the pain of your past continuously fades away each time you see his face.

You don’t want to name the feeling yet but, you know that all that’s meant to happen will happen.

Like it did when you had Yui. Like it did when you got sundered. Like it did when you tried with different people. Like it does now, as you slowly, steadily fall back together.

PREV | ALT. Ending

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theemporium · 2 months

Note

what about something with Max, his drivers room and practicing keeping quiet during? Only it’s not you that needs to practice 🤭 like max wants to fuck you someolace a little risky, and you’d totally be down with it, only someone has a hard time being quiet. So you use the time in his driver’s room as a practice run

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Ironically, it was his idea.

The world was aware that Max Verstappen was a yapper at heart. When the topic interested him, you couldn’t stop the boy from talking. His hands would move animatedly, his focus would be locked in on the conversation and it was difficult to stray him away. When you caught Max’s attention, it was hard to shake off and it was usually something you adored about him.

His one issue was that he never knew his own limits.

He didn’t tend to see when someone else’s interest in the conversation slipped. He didn’t tend to notice the media attempting to catch his attention to start the press conference when he was talking one of his fellow drivers’ ear off. He didn’t tend to notice how long had passed when he was honed and focused.

And sometimes, your beloved yapper didn’t know how fucking loud he was.

Because yes, he loved to talk about the mechanics of the car or the logistics of the track or some other niche topic that tended to go over your head when he started deep diving into it. But if there was one thing about Max, it was that he not only became unaware of his limits, but also his surroundings.

He loved to talk when it interested him, he just also didn’t know when to shut up.

So, admittedly, you had your doubts when he first proposed the idea.

It had been a while since you two had managed to spend any time together. Between Max being in the middle of a triple header and you being so lost in your own work priorities, it wasn’t until the third race that you were able to fly out and support your boyfriend. The longing to see him, to touch him, to kiss him was overbearing and it wasn’t easy on either of you.

You just hadn’t expected him to blurt out about having a quickie in his driver room in between meetings. Because as much as you missed him, Max couldn’t stay quiet. The noises he made in bed were something you adored, but it wasn’t something you wanted to share with his team, even if it had been weeks since you heard them.

“I’ll be quiet,” he promised as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his lips planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Promise, schat, it will be worth it.”

He promised, but maybe you were stupid enough for believing him.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

“Shhh,” you cooed, your own voice lower than usual as you reached to grip your boyfriend’s face and pull his attention back to you. “They’re gonna hear you, baby, you need to keep quiet.”

“You just feel so good,” Max groaned out, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt your walls tightening around his cock. He gripped your hips, unsure if he wanted to encourage you to keep bouncing on his dick or pause your movements all together so he could really bask in the moment—quickie be damned. “S’not my fault.”

You snorted, the noise a little breathless as you shook your head before leaning down to kiss him. “We’re gonna have to stop if you don’t shut up.”

“No,” he breathed out, his voice a little whinier than usual as he tightened his hold on you. “M’so close, schat, need to come inside you.”

Your stomach dipped with his words. “Then you need to stay quiet.”

“Mhm,” he hummed as he nodded.

“Don’t want anyone else hearing my pretty boy,” you added, your hips rolling once again and a high-pitched moan escaped your boyfriend’s lips, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to call him out on it when it sounded like fucking heaven to your ears.

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literaryavenger · 3 months

Text

Can I be him?

Summary: When Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language cause it's me. Fluff. A lot of angst. Idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts, both reader and Bucky. No use of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: It’s 3am where I live, so… Happy 107th Birthday to my favorite Supersoldier! Today I’m posting 2 Bucky fics because my baby deserves it, this one and another one sometime around the afternoon. Hope someone likes it! Thank you to my angels @ordelixx and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that gave me so many ideas that helped me finish this. I love you🖤

Masterlist

Being an Avenger is not easy.

The long missions, the intense training, the weight of the world on your shoulders…

Everybody on the team has a different way to unwind after a mission: Steve draws, Clint and Natasha compete doing target practice, Thor sleeps, Sam plays video games, Bucky takes motorcycle rides, Tony and Bruce work on side projects in their lab, Loki reads, Peter does his homework and Wanda cooks with Vision.

For you, it’s going to the rose garden behind the Compound.

It’s a bit of a sanctuary for you, Tony allowed you to put tall hedges of roses with a gazebo-like structure in the middle of them facing the lake, only it’s entirely made of vines.

You made it yourself, that’s your power: you can manipulate anything plant-related.

Everytime you finish a mission the team splits up as soon as the debriefing is over and you walk straight here.

You sit on the bench, also made of vines, take out your diary and start writing.

You write about everything, from details of missions to your feelings about the team. From things you did that you don’t want to forget to things that you want to do after you’re not so tired anymore.

The hedges hide you from view and the only thing you can see when you’re here is the lake.

Sometimes, after a particular difficult mission, you don’t even write. You just sit there and look out into the water, the sunshine or moonlight shining down on you, and you feel at peace.

It helps that nobody else ever comes here. The team understands it’s your safe space, and the agents are mostly scared of your powers ever since you grew a giant carnivorous plant and it bit an agent that squeezed your ass during training.

The agent got both taken to the medbay and suspended on the same day, and you got the thanks of about a dozen girls that had the same problem with the same asshole.

You walk out of the conference room, the debriefing of the team’s latest mission just wrapped up, and like usual everyone scatters to their own after-mission ritual.

Today, though, you can’t concentrate on anything.

Your feet take you to the rose garden by reflex, but your brain doesn’t even register you’re there until you sit on the bench.

Today’s mission took a lot out of you, not just because of the amount of magic you had to use to get everyone out safely, but also because it was your fault the team was in so much danger in the first place.

You fucked up your task, Natasha had to step in and save your ass, moving away from her post and making her late for her own task and that derailed the entire mission.

At the end, you had to use your powers to take out the hundreds of Hydra agents at the same time, which is no small feat and made you almost pass out.

Everybody told you on the way home not to worry, the mission was successfully accomplished and everyone made it out safely, but you know that if it wasn’t for your screw up the team would’ve gotten in and out of base without so much as a scratch.

Nobody had fatal injuries, thank God, but Sam got shot in the leg, Clint got stabbed and everyone else had various degrees of injuries because Hydra got the jump on the team.

Because of me.

That was all you kept thinking about. Your brain had a field day making up all kinds of scenarios where your mistake cost someone’s life, a few of them even had the entire team dying because of your stupidity.

You were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice someone following you to the rose garden.

Not that you ever do.

If there’s one thing Bucky Barnes knows how to do, is move around undetected. He’s a master assassin, he was trained for this for over 50 years, he knows how to be a shadow.

Except now he uses his skills for good during missions and, occasionally, to follow you.

Not in a creepy way, of course, just to check on you. At least that’s the excuse he always uses so he won’t have to admit to himself that what he does is, indeed, a little creepy.

But he can’t help himself, Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that he was fucked.

The moment you walked into the room to meet the team his heart was yours. You stole it with one simple smile, with one look of your beautiful eyes.

You introduced yourself and shook hands with everyone, but when you looked at Bucky he felt like a light came on and it was just you two.

You shook his hand and he felt like he had to take it off and give it to you, it was yours now. His hand, his arm, his leg, his head, his heart, his soul. Everything he is was now yours, he just knew it.

Then you said his name and he could’ve died right there and then. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and it was barely two syllables. Every word you said, every laugh and sound that came out of your pretty mouth, Bucky felt like it was all for him. Nobody else mattered.

Bucky knew then he was in love.

But he didn’t know how to approach you. You were like a fairy, like a princess. Growing flowers, always smiling, baking, growing everyone’s favorite flowers and always willing to help, like growing Aloe when Wanda burned herself cooking, or Chamomile to help with Tony’s anxiety, or Valerian roots whenever someone was feeling down.

You were like sunshine and he was terrified he’d kill your light. But he’d be damned if he’d let the world kill it either, he’d protect you with his life.

So he took to following you, making sure you were safe from a distance.

But it’s not like he never talked to you, the more time you spent with the team the more comfortable Bucky got around you and eventually you became friends.

Bucky knew you could take care of yourself, you were one of the strongest members of the team, but he didn’t like it when you were in your rose garden by yourself. The tall hedges made it impossible to see incoming danger, so he kept an eye on you just to be sure.

For his own piece of mind. And you never saw him.

That was Bucky’s actual way to unwind after a mission.

He’d tell everybody he was going for a ride on his bike, but he’d drive it through the woods around the compound and to the other side of the lake where he’d have a perfect view of you without you knowing.

Deep down he knew it was a little creepy, he could just ask you if he could join you, but he felt like you needed your time alone without anyone else around, and he knew if he asked you, you’d say yes no matter what you were feeling, because that’s just the kind of person you are.

So Bucky watched you from afar, always careful not to be seen. He watched you write for hours, it relaxed him to see your beautiful face so concentrated.

Sometimes you’d laugh quietly at what you were writing and those were the only times Bucky was grateful for the supersoldier serum that allowed him to hear such a beautiful sound even with so much distance between you.

But it was torture for him when he knew you had a bad day. Sometimes you’d hug your knees and cry, Bucky could tell how much you’d need a hug, and it killed him that he couldn’t just walk up to you and hug you.

Everytime he sees you cry his heart breaks a little and he always tries to make you feel better when you walk back inside. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, he just tries to make you laugh. But all he wanted to do was dry your tears.

You did notice Bucky always seemed to act a little goofy when you're feeling down, like he somehow knew, but you never thought much of it.

You knew he was a very observant person, so you assumed he just saw your mood through your behavior better than most.

Bucky loves hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends. You make fun of him like with everyone else, you don’t treat him like could explode at any moment, never walking on eggshells around him like most people do.

You’ve never been afraid of him, and he’s glad that you don’t treat him like glass. You treat him like everyone else, and it makes him feel normal.

Everytime time he hangs out with you, you take him back to a time where he was unbroken. You make him feel alive again.

And he falls more in love with you by the second because of it. You’re all he wants, he wants to have you and kiss your lips and never let anyone hurt you. That’s all he can think about, but he knows that’s not gonna happen.

He heard you talk to Natasha and Wanda, heard that there’s someone you’d gone on a few dates with. But Bucky knows that guy doesn’t deserve you, nobody does.

Even Bucky himself doesn’t deserve you, you’re too pure for anyone in this world, but if there’s someone that has any chance of making you happy, Bucky prays to God that that someone is him.

Bucky knows today’s mission shook you deeply. He knows you blame yourself, and no amount of reassurance will make you believe that everything is okay.

So today, for the first time, Bucky actually follows you. He can see your unfocused eyes even as you walk and he wants to be near you, just in case.

He almost walks to you when you curl up on the bench and start sobbing quietly, but he holds back not wanting to startle or upset you further.

He just listens to your soft cries until you stop and compose yourself. You sigh and get up, walking back to the Compound to take a much needed relaxing shower.

But you’re still so much in your own head that you don’t even notice you left your diary on the bench in the gazebo.

Bucky did notice, though.

He’s tempted to call after you and tell you, but something deep down tells him not to. He waits until you’re gone and then walks to the bench, picking up your diary and opening it.

He doesn’t know why, he knows it’s wrong, these are your private thoughts, but he’s just drawn to it for some reason.

When he starts reading he notices you don’t mention any specific names, which makes sense because only you read it, you know who you’re writing about. He reads a page here and there, reading about your missions or lazy days.

He reads about some memories with the team you wrote about, some he remembers and others he probably wasn’t there for, but seeing all these memories from your point of view does something to him.

It makes him feel connected to you, makes him feel like he’s reading your heart and soul, because he kind of is. Then he reads something that captures his attention completely.

You write about eyes blue like the ocean and just as troubled, about a smile that could light up the world. You write about someone with a complicated past that never lost his spark, never lost his love for life.

A man that went through hell, and never once took it out on the world. A man that didn’t ever blame the world, even when he had every right to, choosing instead to protect it.

You filled pages and pages with everything you admire about this man, everything you love about him that you know he hates.

And Bucky feels like every word you wrote, you wrote for him. But could this be him? Could he be the one you talk about in all your stories?

He wants to. He wants this to be him. He prays you’re talking about him. He wishes this could be him… Who is he kidding?

Of course it’s not me.

It’s probably the guy you’ve been dating. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in love with that guy, that much is clear.

Bucky gets to the page where you write about your dates with the guy, but he can’t read them.

He closes the diary, not knowing that you compared your date to Bucky every step of the way. Not knowing that you granted the guy a second date just to be sure he couldn’t compare to Bucky, and went on a third date at a coffee shop just to let him down gently.

Bucky didn’t read how you know he’s the one for you, he didn’t read his own name written in your handwriting, the only name in your whole diary because he’s the only person you never want to forget, even though you know you never will.

But Bucky didn’t read that.

He puts your diary back where it was on the bench and, with his heart broken and his hope that one day you could be his lost, he goes back inside and to his room.

It’s only when you go back to the rose garden after your shower that you notice you left your diary there, but don’t think much of it. Nobody ever comes here anyway, as far as you know.

After finding out you’re in love with someone else, Bucky can’t stop himself from acting differently towards you, which you don’t fail to notice.

It’s not like he’s mean, but your interactions get shorter, like he tries his best to end the conversation quickly.

He no longer sits close to you, no longer tries to make you laugh when you’re feeling down, doesn’t hang out with you as much during your down time and if he does, it’s never just the two of you anymore.

It’s silly to say, but you miss him.

Bucky knows he’s been distancing himself, he knows you’ve noticed and he can see it’s affecting you, but he’s doing this to protect himself.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you present your boyfriend to the team, the man you’re in love with and he doesn’t want it to hurt more than necessary.

You decide not to push Bucky, knowing he has his reasons to pull away from you. Maybe he’s just trying to deal with all the stress the team’s been under and you don’t want to add any more to that, so you let him be.

A few weeks later the team’s on their sixth mission in just as many days and everyone is exhausted. You’ve been taking down Hydra base after Hydra base, because waiting too long meant losing your chance to shut down their operations for good before they got the opportunity to leave.

You’ve been dividing in smaller teams to take down the bases while still giving the team a chance to recuperate, but this last one was the biggest and required the whole team together, which sucked for you because you were in the last team with Steve and Bucky that took down a base just yesterday, so the three of you got barely a few hours of sleep while you flew to the last base.

You’ve cleared the base, all that’s left is the agents in the courtyard who are really going down fighting. The whole team is outside now, the Hydra agents giving you a hell of a fight. You’re using your magic against your better judgment, giant vines coming out of your arms like whips, covered in poisonous thorns. One touch of that and anyone would go down immediately, everyone except you.

Or at least that’s what you think.

As you’re fighting you can see an agent trying to sneak up on Bucky who’s fighting near you, so you quickly take care of it for him.

Bucky turns around and sees the agent down and then looks at you with that charming smile you fell in love with and winks at you. “Thank you, doll.”

That’s the friendliest Bucky’s been towards you in weeks and you can’t help but smile back with a small blush.

You can see the last agent standing coming at you from your peripheral vision and you quickly whip him with a vine, taking him down as soon as you can so you can turn back to look at Bucky, still smiling at you.

Bucky’s smile drops quickly, though, as he sees your face draining of any color. You barely have the time to register the sting of your own thorn on your arm that you’re already falling to the ground.

Bucky tries to catch you, but he gets thrown back by your magic that goes into defense mode, creating a wall of thorns to protect your now unconscious body.

The team doesn't know what to do, none of them know enough about plants to be sure that these thorns wouldn’t just kill them all.

The only one that would know that is you, the person that’s passed out, or worse, trapped in the midst of a cocoon of thorns.

“Okay, we need to find a safe way to-” Steve starts but cuts himself off almost immediately. “What are you doing?!”

Bucky doesn’t even turn around to answer, too intent on breaking the thorns around you with his metal arm, not caring that the thorns are ripping his clothes and scratching his face, all he can think about is getting to you.

He finally manages to get through to you, but nobody can follow because your magic regrows the thorns Bucky broke, trapping him with you inside the cocoon.

But Bucky doesn’t care, his eyes never leaving your face as he kneels behind you, running a finger softly along your cheek and shivering when he feels your skin is cold as ice.

His mind goes to the worst possibility, that there’s nothing he can do, but his brain gives him some hope reasoning that your magic wouldn’t be working if you were dead.

Right?

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels the thorns around you vibrate, he takes you in his arms and shields you with his body from whatever is about to happen.

But the only thing that happens is the shade cast by the thorns gets replaced by sunlight. Bucky looks up and realizes Wanda used her magic to lift the thorn cocoon.

“You couldn’t have done that before?!” Bucky barks at Wanda with a glare while carefully picking you up to take you to the Quinjet.

“She’s not the dumbass that threw himself headfirst in a mess of thorns without even considering another course of action!” Natasha came in Wanda’s defense, though she seemed more amused at Bucky’s antics than annoyed.

As the team heads back home in the jet, Bruce examines you and lets the team know you’re still alive but in a sort of coma.

Their relief is cut short when Bruce makes it known that he has no idea when, or if, you’ll wake up.

As soon as the Quinjet lands you’re taken to the medbay and hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated.

Bucky holds your hand through it all, staying all night next to you just in case you wake up. He didn’t want you to be freaked out and alone, he wanted to be the first person to see your beautiful eyes open.

When morning comes, though, you’re still unconscious, but Bucky doesn’t lose hope. You probably need a good sleep.

That’s what he tells himself for two, three, four days.

That’s what he keeps telling himself for a week, two weeks. Never once leaving your side, not eating unless Steve brings him food and makes sure he eats before leaving, and using the bathroom of your room in the medbay.

He barely sleeps and, when he does, he dreams of you.

Everyone was getting worried about him, he refused to leave your side until one day Steve came into your room to tell Bucky there was something wrong with your rose garden.

Bucky was torn between staying with you and seeing what Steve was talking about, but decided that it would kill you if something happened to your roses so he had to make sure everything was okay when you woke up.

Because you’re going to wake up.

Bucky follows Steve to your rose garden, and his eyes widen in horror as soon as he sees it. The roses, the hedges, the vines.

Everything is dying.

Bucky’s heart breaks, only one thought in his mind. If your plants are dying, does that mean you’re slowly dying too?

No. That’s unacceptable. You’re not gonna die, not if Bucky has anything to do with it.

He takes it upon himself to take care of your garden, watering it and doing everything he can to keep the roses and vines alive, fooling himself into believing that this will keep you alive.

He stays on the gazebo day and night, sleeping on the bench, spending every waking moment trying to keep a hold of even the smallest part of you.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

Bucky loses track of how many days he’s been in your garden, sleeping maybe an hour at a time here and there, watering the roses every few hours and crying the rest of the time.

After all it’s his fault, if he hadn’t distracted you none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your beautiful garden, probably with your boyfriend, and the only broken thing would be Bucky’s heart.

That he could’ve lived with.

But how can he live with the knowledge that he caused your end? That he killed your light? That he killed his sunshine, his hope, the love of his life? He can’t live with that.

Not that he has to.

While Bucky’s spiraling while surrounded by dying roses, inside your room in the medbay you’re finally waking up after almost a month.

You open your eyes slowly, looking around you at the hospital-like room. There’s nobody around and, as you look at the window, you can see it’s really late at night.

You sit up and try to make sense of what happened while rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is Bucky’s bright smile, and then nothing.

You look down at your arm and see an IV, which you take out while frowning. How long have you been sleeping?

You carefully get off the bed and make your way outside to your rose garden, just to be sure everything’s okay. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop you anyway.

When you get close, the moonlight shines on the hedges and you gasp at what you see. Your beautiful roses withering away, the gazebo made of vines dying too.

But the most confusing thing is the sobs coming from the bench, although no one’s sitting on it.

You get closer and see Bucky sitting in front of the bench while hugging his knees and crying softly. You frown and get a little closer before stopping, not wanting to startle him.

“Bucky…” You say quietly and his head snaps up, his eyes instantly meeting yours.

For a moment it feels like he’s trying to decide if you’re real, he reaches out and you extend your hand to take his. That seems to convince him and he gasps.

“Doll…” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thinks if he makes too much noise you’ll disappear.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him while getting a little closer to him, concern clear in your every feature.

It’s only when you get closer that you see his face full of cuts and you frown. Those are not just any scratches, it’s clear to you that they were made by thorns. “D-did… Did I do this to you?”

You’re kneeling in front of him now, one hand still in his one the other comes up to trace the cuts in his face softly, but he takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

“I’m okay…” He reassures you.

Just then he realizes, you’re fussing over him when you’re the one that’s been in a coma for a month. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?”

“I… I just woke up.” You tell him honestly, then look around at the dying roses and vines before looking back at him. “What happened to me?”

“You got stung by one of your poisonous thorns.” He says quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin while he refuses to let go of you. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

“A month?!” You’re shocked at the news, not knowing what to say or do, so you just stay there while letting the information sink in. The silence is broken by Bucky after a minute.

“I’m sorry about your roses… I tried to keep them alive, but…” He looks around with a hopeless expression. “I failed you.”

Your heart breaks a little. Does he really think he failed you?

You take a deep breath, then close your eyes and when you open them again a second later everything’s back to normal. The roses are as beautiful as ever, the gazebo just as majestic. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Bucky looks around in awe when he feels you take his chin and you make him look at you.

“You could never fail me.” You say firmly, wanting him to understand you mean it. You look at the cuts around his face and you can’t help the guilt and pain that you feel deep within you. “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s like Bucky can read your thoughts, he knows all you can see are your faults, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you for anything. “You weren’t even conscious. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you…” Your voice is a whisper as a tear escapes you. “The world hurt you so much already… I never wanted to be part of that. You don’t deserve it.”

Bucky frowns. He feels like he’s heard those words, but where? No, he didn’t hear them. He read them. He read them in your diary, where you wrote about the man you’re in love with. Could it be possible?

Could I be him?

“It’s me…” He says lower than a whisper, his eyes locked on yours, and it’s your time to be confused now.

“What?” You ask him with a frown while wiping your cheeks.

“It’s me you’re in love with.” His voice is a little louder, but firm. He’s not asking you, he’s making a statement.

Your eyes widen in surprise, you almost take your hands away from his but his hold prevents you from doing that.

“I-I… What?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, confused as to why he’s so sure of it. Are you really that transparent?

“I read your diary…” Bucky says, guilt written all over his face, but at least he’s owning up to it. “You wrote about the man you love… and you wrote the same thing you just told me. It’s me, isn’t it? You love me back?” His voice is more hopeful now, his confident demeanor weavering.

“You… You read my diary?” You say, your mind still playing catch up.

It’s only a moment later that you register the ‘love me back’ and you don’t give him a chance to apologize or justify himself before you’re speaking again. “You love me?!”

Bucky hesitates a moment but nods firmly. “I love you, doll. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.”

You feel like someone punched you and all the air has left your body. You have no idea what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Instead you lean in and kiss him.

Bucky wastes no time kissing you back, but a thought pops into his mind and he reluctantly pulls back. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You frown again, having no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Bucky feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he pulls you to straddle him. “What about the guy you went on a few dates with?”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to table the conversation about how he knows that for another time, so you smile at him and decide to just be honest with him.

“Do you honestly think that anyone could ever measure up to you? Because if you do, you’re an idiot.” Bucky grins and kisses you again.

Maybe he is an idiot. But when he’s the idiot you’re in love with, how much of an idiot can he really be?

It looks like he can be him after all.

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randomgurl2326 · 4 months

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Adam Relationship Headcannons

SFW

You two met after the whole Lilith and Eve debacle

You were sent to be his Guardian Angel down in the Garden of Eden. Honestly, he couldn’t care less about Eve when he first saw you

He was in the middle of the garden, talking to Eve and then you show up… man’s whipped. Simp I tell you

(Actually wished that you were made to be his wife instead of the baddie Lilith or the goodie-two-shoes Eve)

Again. Whipped.

Now, tho is guy… whewww. He may seem incredibly misogynistic to practically everyone around him. But he can be a total sweetheart

He would—if you didn’t know how to already—teach you how to shred on the guitar

Speaking of guitars, that gold strat that he had during the battle in the last episode is only used during a special occasion (case and point, when you two have a date night or after sex)

He also serenades you every chance he gets

After dinner

After a meeting

After sex

After just walking the goddamn promenade

I also think he would be heavenly (ha! See what i did there? No? Okay…) in the kitchen. Especially for date night. Adam knows how to make the best prime rib in heaven

(Lute totally hasn’t tried to blackmail the recipe out of him)

Adam is also very insecure about how he looks under his mask

Especially after having two wives ditch him for Lucifer

He definitely needs to be praised on a daily basis, even if it seems like he’s an egotistical asshole

Every day you tell him how handsome he is and he doesn’t believe you (c’mon have you seen him fuckin’ hot)

You two sometimes don’t see each other days on end because you both work so much. You being a high-ranking Angel/seraphim and him being well… the first man on Earth

If you guys go especially long for not seeing each other, you guys hole up a few days in your shared home spending time with each other among other things…

By the way, you and Lute are best friends, probably more than her and Adam

Like, seriously, if you’re not with him, you’re with her. Gossiping or fucking around, it’s heaven, there’s infinite things to do

You two are also very lovey dovey with each other

One time Sera had cover Emily’s eyes with her wings because you two were making out and feeling each other up in the middle of the Heavenly Court Room

Despite all of his faults, he’s a good husband to you, a great one actually. And if you two were to ever have kids, he’d definitely be the dad who everyone loves

He would introduce them to rock, punk, metal.

Definitely plays his guitar to get them to sleep every night

NSFW

Okay… he want lying about being the Dick Master. He can pleasure women, that is not a problem for him

Also, it might not seem like it, but he loves going down on you. Probably one of his favorite pass times actually

I swear, this man could make you scream his name within minutes. No joke

Don’t get me wrong, he loves receiving head

But just not as much as he loves eating pussy (Lilith and Eve missed out on that one for sure)

He also has a bigger dick than average

Probably 6-7.5 inches in length and hella girthy. Uncircumcised (duh), and a vein that runs up the bottom of it

Definitely knows how to use it

Every one within a five mile radius of your guys’ house… let’s just say I feel really bad for them

No joke, he is insane about pleasuring you

This probably also feeds into his insecurity about you leaving him (you won’t)

He for sure has a praise kink. Seriously, tell him he’s a good boy and he’s unraveling under your touch instantly

His favorite position is cowgirl (what can he say, he loves powerful women)

But he’s down for whatever position you want; missionary, warrior, against a wall, whatever

Speaking of wall sex, Lute has definitely caught you two more than once

The first time she did was when you two were in Adam’s office while he was supposed to be planning the next extermination. She came to ask him a question about it and there you two were. Goin’ at it like rabbits on the wall next to his desk

She couldn’t look you guys in the eye for three weeks. It was terrible

Adam also doesn’t seem like the type of guy to have sex toys or feel the need to use them

But, again, he’s whipped. So he’s willing to do whatever you want to do

Wont admit this to anyone but you, but he likes to sub every once in a while. Especially with all the ‘first man’ stuff weighing down on him he needs a way to get away from all that stress

Despite him making crude jokes about sex, he’s a very giving partner in bed

He had to make sure you cum at least twice before he gets his dick wet

Also, have I mentioned how good he is at eating pussy? Oh, I have? Yeah, well, he is (especially with that tiny bit of stubble on his chin… gahhh)

Just needed to get it out there

All in all, Adam is a very giving person in bed, can be selfish at times but will make up for it. He loves you too much for you to feel mad or upset (especially with him)

A/N: this was my first time writing for Adam and Hazbin in general. I hope you liked it. I love you all💚💜

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 5 months

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❤ Yandere Teacher ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Teacher-Student dynamic; Non-Con.

Merry Christmas! 🎄💖

◾ Yandere!Teacher who immediately gets interested in you.

You don’t seem anything like most college girls, maybe because you don’t throw yourself at thim, batting your eyes at him and pushing your chest out in hopes of catching his attention, like many of your colleagues do.

He knows why they do it. He’s young and attractive, teaching in a college whose reputation is the definition of academic excellence.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who will personally organize the classroom layout, making sure you get the best seat in the house, which coincidentally happens to be right in front of his desk. That way he stays close to you, his eyes often drifting to you as he lectures the class.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that frequently interacts with you, asking if you wanna share an exercise's solution or requesting for you to read out loud a text.

Your reactions are the cutest, he thinks. The adorable way you get shy, sinking into your seat like you want to melt against it and disappear.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who wholeheartedly believes you to be a talented student, although your grades are mediocre. You are brain and beauty, the perfect combination.

Hence why he adds a few additional points to your grade, wanting to see that beautiful smile of yours instead of ugly disappointment,

◾ Yandere!Teacher that is fully aware of how wrong it is to have a crush on you - his student - but he can't stop himself from imagining how a relationship with you would look like. The way you’d hug him, pushing your warm lips against his, happy to see him.

He imagines romantic picnic dates, with you perched on his lap while feeding him strawberries.

And even worse is when his mind drifts to the two of you creating a small family together. He knows you’re both relatively young but he’s certain that together you could be the best of parents.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that stalks all of your social media, seeking for anything that could give him more insight on you. What are your hobbies, what type of movies do you like, do you post photos with your family or friends,...

In reality, he’s accidentally clicked one too many times on the like button, panicking before hastily removing it. You never mention it during the classes, but sometimes you give him a weird look.

◾ Yandere!Teacher that progressively grows frustrated with your lack of interest towards him. While most girls shamelessly throw themselves at him, you don’t. A distant expression and face ducked down as you take notes is all he gets from you.

Even when he accidentally bumps into you around campus, it's a struggle to get you to open-up as he tries to do small talk with you.

◾ Yandere!Teacher whose blood boils when catches you laughing and joking around with a guy.

He wants to drag you away from the asshole before punching a hole into his face, his imagination running dangerously wild as he imagines all the things he would do to the student, just for making you laugh like that.

But he doesn’t get mad at you. No, it’s not your fault. You have a kind heart, which automatically makes you naive - unable to see the other guy’s evil intentions.

He doesn’t care about you, he’s probably just thinking of ways to get inside your pants.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who invites you to stay a bit longer after class, in order to discuss some aspects of your individual project. He notices the nervous way you fiddle with your fingers, uneasy to be alone with him.

He doesn’t understand why. He loves you and he’s never been anything but kind towards you.

Your anxiety only increases when the older man places his hand on top of yours, starting to confess the ardent admiration he has for you and how much he thinks you’re gorgeous.

That he feels a special connection between the two of you, something very precious.

Despite his best attempts of convincing you that you are meant to be together, you’re too stubborn to accept it peacefully. You scream and shout like a crazy girl, scratching and pushing him as he tries to reason with you.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who ends up bending you on his table, pushing your cheek pressed against the cold surface as he forcefully fucks you, his lips passionately kissing every inch of exposed skin, inebriated on your sweet taste.

You cry and whimper, his scarf shoved inside your mouth as he punctures you with deep, sharp thrusts while whispering apologies in your ear.

He uses you as a flashlight, setting a fast pace as his cock bruises up your insides till your core is aching and desperate for him to finish already.

◾ Yandere!Teacher who didn’t mean to break you like this, your pitiful swollen face making him feel bad about what he did, but at least now you know about his feelings for you.

He’ll make it up for you when he takes you back to his apartment. A warm shower and a good night's sleep will improve your mood. He’ll persuade you to be with him, to accept him.

He knows he’ll be successful eventually and maybe after a few times of making love to you, you’ll also see his side.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x you #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #tw: noncon #tw.noncon #yandere concept #female reader #yandere headcanons #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines

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charliemwrites · 6 months

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Part 5 of Obsessive!johnny

(CW: extremely dubious consent; I’d go so far as to say straight non-con. No violence. Please be safe, beans! 💕)

It’s your own fault - or no. That’s a dangerous way of thinking it not your fault. But you got complacent. Got desensitized to that looming sense of danger, the threat hiding in the shadow of his eyes. That little voice in the back of your head became background noise, not the guide it used to be.

All it took was a slip of your carefully crafted mask understanding Johnny’s “love” for you. Just one careless comment, a tone too honest.

You don’t even remember what you said now. Just that the feverish light in his eyes changed instantly. Like a shift in sunlight through colored glass. What frightened you was how his expression changed, shut down hard. His jaw tensing, brows going deceptively smooth.

“Is all this not enough for you?” he asks, taking big, measured steps towards you.

You start backing up, heart tripping over itself. “That’s not-“

“How many ways do you need me to prove it, hm?” he asks. “I’ve apologized a hundred times, bonnie, haven’t I? Is that not enough for you? I’m still not worth it to you?”

You put your hands up, all your carefully crafted and scripted responses fleeing in the face of this new, unfamiliar Johnny. He’s - he’s angry at you. Not because of you, or for you, but at you.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” he continues, low voice wavering with something frightening. “Do you know how hard it is, seeing you cry for a life that wasn’t good enough for you? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying?”

You swallow thickly, try to rally your scrambled thoughts. He just working himself up more and more and that voice that fell so quiet is screaming now. So loud it’s hard to make your mouth work.

“I-I know. I’m sorry,” you manage. “Im just… I lost my temper and said something I didn’t mean…”

His eyes narrow. “Oh, no, hen. I think you meant it.”

He up close to you now, barely a centimeter of space between your bodies. The heat of him is suffocating. You’ve never been so aware of how much bigger than you he is. It thrilled you when he’d loom over you at the bar, cocky confidence and easy smiles.

You meet his eyes.

And for a moment, he softens. You have the briefest golden flicker of hope.

And then he sighs. Deep and resigned. Your stomach flips.

“It’s my fault,” he mutters finally, shaking his head. “Haven’t been treating you right, have I?”

You don’t dare answer.

“Treating you like you’re one thing when you’re really everything.”

You open your mouth, try to speak, to reason with him. He just shushes you with a hand on your cheek, thumb pressing your lips closed.

“Always spoiling you like the princess you are, when sometimes you need to be treated like a slut.”

He jerk’s you around and shoves you onto the bed, plants a big hand between your shoulder blades and presses.

“Soap!”

“Hush up, baby, it’s alright. You don’t have to pretend to be all prim and proper,” he soothes, knocking your feet apart. “I don’t think any less of you for needing cock. Only natural.”

Your underwear rips like wet paper, accompanied by your high-pitched squeal of alarm. He makes a low, rough noise. Pure, animal lust. The fabric of his pants chafes against the backs of your thighs.

“Oh, there she is,” he purrs, “just like I thought.”

You cry out as rough fingers drag through your slit, gathering the slick you can’t believe is leaking from you.

“I’ve been so bad to you, bonnie, not treating you the way you need. No wonder you got all fussy and snappy.” The hazy thought that he might not he talking to you at all anymore burns through you. When you shift, trying to close your legs self-consciously, a sharp slap to your clit collapses your knees.

“We’re gonna set you right, babygirl,” he growls. “Won’t be able to worry your pretty little head anymore.”

He plunges two fingers into you without preamble. The stretch is vicious, but it doesn’t hurt. Not really. You’re too wet. Still, you scream - because Johnny’s spent so many hours playing with you, learning you, that he knows exactly where to press and curl and rub his fingers.

“Wait, wait,” you gasp, tears already collecting in your eyes because he’s being mean about it, twisting to grind his thumb against your clit. It’s too much, you’re not ready no matter what your body says. “Soap, don’t- ngh!”

“Gonna show you why you’re better off here. Right here. Gonna give this pretty cunt what it needs.”

The third finger is a stretch. You try to get away, try to crawl onto the bed to run, but he stomps a boot onto the chain around your ankle and flattens you to the mattress.

“Keep pretending if you want, baby,” he murmurs, “I know what you really need now.”

He’s withdrawing his fingers while you’re still pleading and babbling. You’re horrified to realize you don’t know if you want them back. It doesn’t matter though. Because Johnny’s cock is splitting you open before you can decide, thicker and longer than you’ve ever taken. He curses and groans as he pushes into you, inch by hot inch. Until you feel the fat leaking head tap at your cervix and he grinds, balls kissing your clit.

“T-too much!” you sob. “‘S too much!! Johnny, Johnny, please!”

Heat floods you as he shudders, hips jerking hard and rough. By your head, his fist is white-knuckled in the sheets.

“Did… did you just…?”

“Say my name again,” he snarls.

You blink wetly. “W-wha…?”

“Say. It. Again.” Each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. Something drips down your thigh.

“J-Johnny,” you keen, trying to beg for mercy.

“Jus’ like that.” He’s still hard. Still so fucking hard it’s like you’ve been edging him for hours. Like he didn’t just flood your poor pussy with cum.

“Been dreaming of you saying my name. Haven’t all this time,” he pants, rocking into you hard and fast. Any semblance of restraint is long gone. “Now I know why. Finally fuckin’ earned it. Gonna keep earnin’ it from now on.”

He fucks you so hard the bed leaves dents in the wall. Forces a hand beneath your pelvis to pinch your clit between two fingers and hurtles you shrieking into an orgasm. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause for a single beat. Just hitches your knee up onto the mattress and somehow fucks into your harder, faster, deeper. His fingers rub cruel circles into your oversensitive clit and you burn.

“No, no, wait, Johnny- ah! No, I’m gonna - it feels like-”

Wet heat gushes from you, spilling down your thighs, all over the bed and floor. You - you -

“Fuck, you squirted everywhere, good fuckin’ girl, princess.” He slows just a bit, presumably to appreciate the mess you’ve made. You’re too far gone on shock and awful pleasure to do more than sniffle and hiccup pathetically.

And then a death sentence.

“Do it again.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #obsessive johnny

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illusioninfnty · 7 months

Text

day 23 ; virginity loss

↠ bo sinclair x reader

fandom: house of wax word count: 2.8k warnings: nsfw 18+, bimbo!reader, reader has shitty friends, coercion, corruption, dubconish, fingering, blowjob, cum swallowing, dirty talk, kind of semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pervy!Bo, allusion to murder, the plot is like a bad porno but i promise this is good guys

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“God, did you forget to fill the tank again?”

You lean over from the backseat to take a look at the fuel gauge, and see the arrow is nearing empty. You furrow your eyebrows. “I was sure it filled up all the way,” you murmur. You try to recall when you all last stopped at a gas station, and how your friends delegated you to fill up the car while they went into the shop and bought snacks.

“Well it obviously didn’t, you idiot!” Your friend jerks the wheel and pulls over on the side of the desolate road. “This is why we never like to go anywhere with you.”

You bite your lip, holding back tears. It wasn’t your fault that you were so forgetful sometimes, always getting distracted and lost in your thoughts.

This was supposed to be a fun road trip with your three closest friends, celebrating your college graduation nearing. But after a car karaoke session that went on for too long made you guys miss an exit, you’d been stranded on empty roads with nothing but trees surrounding you for quite a few miles now.

Your friend sitting in the backseat with you turns to face you, her arms crossed against her chest. “You should be the one to go find a gas station,” she protests. “It’s your fault we got stuck out here anyway.”

Your two friends in the front row look back at you and then at each other before nodding in agreement.

You crane your neck to look at the journey that would be ahead of you. It looked as though it continued to stretch for miles and miles with no end in sight, only the empty road and dying trees.

“By myself?” you ask hesitantly.

All three nod in unison.

You huff in defeat, unbuckling your seatbelt and stepping out of the vehicle.

“I’ll try to be back—”

They slam the door in your face before you can answer.

“—Soon,” you finish before sighing and starting the long walk, hoping to find some destination before it got too dark.

Bo was not expecting to see a pretty little thing like you around Ambrose when it was nearing dusk, especially all alone. You had your arms wrapped around your bare midsection, and even from his spot inside the gas station he could see that you were shivering from the cool air as the sun set. You were looking around frantically, and he could tell immediately that you were lost and looking for help.

He smirks. Oh, he’d help you, alright. Bo took that as his cue to reveal himself to you. He wipes his hands with a dirty rag and tosses it aside, exiting the station.

You hear the ringing of the bell as Bo opens the door, and you turn your head towards the source of the sound. You scurry on over, seeing Bo in his mechanic’s uniform.

“Sir! Hi!” you start, fumbling over your words. “You work here, right? Do you have some gas? My car—well, it’s my friend’s—but it’s, like, miles back there and we ran out.”

Your eyes then shift to the side and he could tell you were embarrassed. “It’s kind of my fault.”

Hmm. Sir. He liked hearing that come from your pouty lips.

Bo gives you a toothy grin. “Don’t gotta worry your head ‘bout it, sweetheart. I’ll get ya all settled. Come with me.” He slides his hand across your lower back, just barely grazing your ass. You gasp under your breath at the feeling, and Bo can’t help it when his cock stirs at the sound.

As you walk into the gas station, Bo scans you up and down. He notices that you have nothing on your person but your clothes, and even then it’s just little scraps of a skimpy top and skirt—which means you must’ve forgotten a wallet, too. His grin widens even more.

Reaching behind him without you noticing, he cranks the thermostat down. The air gets cooler within seconds, and Bo revels in seeing your nipples harden as they poke through your top.

He goes to find a can of gas, rolling up his sleeves as he plucks it from a top shelf. He notices when you gulp and stare at his muscles as he flexes them subtly.

You were such a cute little doll. He was going to have fun with you.

He plops the can on the counter. You go to reach for it, but he holds a hand out. “Ten bucks, little lady.”

Your eyes bulge almost comically and it takes all of Bo’s strength not to laugh at your expression.

“Wow, that’s a lot more than I thought it would be,” you say nervously, shifting on the balls of your feet.

Bo exaggerates a sigh. “Times are tough out here, owning a small business like this. We don’t get many customers out here.” He opens his hands to motion to you the desolate town of Ambrose.

You completely buy into his bullshit excuse, nodding your head in complete understanding. “Oh my god, that sucks, like, a lot.” Patting down your lame excuse for a shirt, you look up at Bo with wide eyes, jaw dropped in surprise. “I forgot to bring my wallet!”

You were such a dumb little thing. What were your sorry excuses of friends thinking, sending you off all alone?

“I’m so sorry, sir!” You clasp your hands in front of you in a pleading manner, looking up at him with big, watery eyes. Bo holds back a groan. Jesus, those eyes could make a man cream his pants if he wasn’t too careful. “Please, is there anything I can do to pay you back? I’ll do anything!”

Bo pretends as if he’s thinking long and hard. Oh, he knew exactly what you were going to do as payment.

“You know, I get lonely sometimes,” Bo starts, a mock frown on his face. “A cute lady like you could really help a man like me out.” He shuffles up to you, and palms your ass under that sorry excuse for a skirt.

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing onto his arm. “That’s really sad, sir.” You look lost in thought for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know if I can do that for you though.” You bite your lip, looking unsure of yourself.

“Aw, you gotta be kidding,” Bo clicks his tongue, rubbing his hand around the plumpness of your behind. “I bet you’ve helped lotsa guys out, huh?”

“A-actually,” you look down in shame. “I’m a—” you lower your voice to barely over a whisper, “—virgin.”

Bo blinks. That wasn’t a response he was expecting from you. So the slutty clothes were just for show, was it?

“Oh really?”

You nod, blatant regret all over your face. “I don’t think it’ll be good for you, ya’know, since I haven’t really had any practice and all that.”

He puts a smile back on, laughing gleefully and patting you on the shoulder, rubbing a thumb between the groove of your collarbone. “Well, that’s no problem for me, sweetheart. I can teach ya!”

Your eyes lighten up. “You can?”

“Sure I can!” He starts to undo his belt, throwing it aside on the counter. “Just need you to get on your knees for me and I can show you what to do.”

His cock jumps in anticipation, looking forward to seeing your juicy, plump lips wrapped around—

“Wait a minute!” you cry out, interrupting his fantasies.

Bo pauses in his movements, his jaw ticking at your interruption. “Yes?” he askes, concealing his frustration.

“What’s your name? I don’t wanna do this without knowing it.”

He sighs and points to the nametag on his jacket. “I’m Bo.”

You slap a palm across your forehead and nervously giggle. “Oh jeez, I should’ve known to look first!”

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Bo mutters through his teeth impatiently. “Now lemme help you out, alright?” “Oh! Yeah, sorry!” You—finally—drop to your knees in front of him. “What do I need to do?”

The sight of you in front of him like that, so eager and pliant, had his cock jumping in his pants.

Bo lowers his jeans and boxers, his hard cock now revealed to you. He wraps a hand around the base stroking his full length as it puts it on display for you.

“That’s…big,” you murmur. You look up at him, concern plastered across your features. “I dunno if it’s gonna fit.” Your eyebrows crease together and those damn pouty lips of yours come out again.

Bo bites his cheek to conceal his smirk. This was gonna be a lot more fun than he thought. “I told you, that’s what I’m helping you with, ain’t I?”

You nod.

“Great. Now open those pretty lips up for me.”

You open your mouth as wide as you can, giving Bo a perfect hole to stick his cock into. He guides himself inside you, hissing as the warmth of your mouth envelops his length.

“Good girl,” he praises. He begins to thrust his hips slowly, your lips latching onto him as he does so. “You gotta let me move, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you mumble around him, and he groans at the vibrations that travel up his cock.

Your lips loosen and you start to suck on his cock, the suction of your lips making shivers of pleasure run down his spine. He grips the back of your head, controlling the pace of his thrusts.

“Fuck, look at you,” Bo hisses. You look so pretty and innocent with his cock stuffed down your throat, gags escaping your lips. “You’re a natural. Sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I told you—!”

Bo slaps your cheek, shushing you. “Stop talking.”

You nod obediently, the action making him pulse inside of your mouth. His grip on your hair tightens as his thrusts become harder, more primal. He fucks your mouth with vigor, ignoring your gags and the way your nails dig into the skin of his thighs.

He cums faster than he’s ever had before, groaning as his hot release coats the back of your throat. You cough around his cock, spurts of liquid splashing against your cheeks.

“Swallow it,” Bo commands.

You gulp harshly, your lips still secured around his cock. The extra pressure has him bucking his hips and like a good girl you swallow all of his cum. He pulls his cock out of your mouth, and you begin to cough and sputter as you regain your breath.

“Is that it?” you question him.

“Baby, I still gotta get rid of that virginity of yours.”

“Oh.” You giggle behind your hand. “Right.” You start to strip, only taking a couple of seconds since you’re practically naked already. “What do I do now?”

Bo’s cock hardens back to life at your nude form in front of him. Your nipples are hard, attached to your perky breasts that bounce up and down right in front of his eyes. He stares lecherously, licking his lips. “Now that you got my cock all wet,” Bo rubs his length, now slick with his cum and your saliva, “I can stick it in your pussy.” You bite the inside of your cheek and nod, your eyes flicking between his face and his cock. “I know I asked before,” you begin, and Bo moves to place your hand over his cock, “but will it really fit?”

Lord, he was really starting to understand why your friends let you go alone.

“Yeah, I told you, I’ll make it fit.” He lifts you from the back of your legs and places you on top of the counter. He brings his thick fingers to your pussy, sticking a fingertip inside.

You gasp and arch your body into him, throwing your arms around his broad back. Your bare breasts brush up against his chest and he relishes in the contact.

“That feels really good, Bo!” you cry out. He adds a second finger inside of you, pushing the digits in deeper. He can feel how wet you are and the way you clench around him so desperately. Your hips jerk into him unsteadily, chasing the pleasure his fingers bring you.

He chuckles. “It’ll feel even better when I stick my cock in you.”

Bo removes his fingers, basking in the way you whine as he pulls them out, leaving you pulsing and desperate to be around him. He lines his throbbing cock with your entrance and pushes himself in without hesitation.

“Bo!” You scream, nails digging into his back. Little gasps leave your mouth as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Your pussy grips him like a vice, and it’s difficult for him to move inside you with you so needy for him.

He shushes you, gripping your cheeks and watching as tears leave your eyes.

“It hurts,” you whine to him. Your nails grip onto him as if your life depended on it.

He shoves his face into the crevice of your neck, placing kisses upon it. “Gotta relax a bit for me, okay?” he coos into your ear. “Or it won’t feel good for you.”

“You promise?” you ask through glassy eyes.

He nods, and feels as you unclench just a tad around him. Bo is able to rut himself into you harder now, and he can’t help but be more forceful with his thrusts as it causes your breasts to bounce right in front of him.

“Look at that.” He motions towards where the two of you are connected, his cock pulsing at the way your blood and juices coat the base. “Look at how we're connected now.”

Oh wow,” you gasp in awe. “That’s kinda romantic, huh?”

Bo doesn’t respond. If you wanted to put it that way, he wouldn’t stop you. He ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest.

His hips continue to pound into you, your body bouncing along with the power of his thrusts. The whines that come out of your mouth sound so angelic, and Bo has to fight the urge to kiss you.

“I—I think I’m gonna cum,” you moan out, your head thrown back and your eyes are scrunched up in pleasure.

Bo didn’t need you to tell him that. Your pussy goes back to clenching down on him, your walls tightening around his cock, fitting themselves to the shape of him. He curses quietly into your neck. He never wanted to leave the warmth of your pussy.

“That’s it, baby,” Bo coaxes you. He moves a finger to your clit, enjoying the way you jolt at the newfound sensation as he rubs circles on the bead. “Cum around my cock.”

“Cumming!” Your voice is squeaky as your legs come up to wrap around his backside, and you finally reach your peak. Your pussy tightens around Bo even more, and he can’t help it when he cums for a second time as you squeeze every last drop out of him.

You pant heavily as you come down from your orgasm, sweat rolling down your temples despite the cold air of the station that surrounds the two of you.

Bo’s own breathing is heavy, something he’s not used to much. You squirm out from beneath him as you drop from the counter, legs still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm. You bend down to gather your scraps of clothing, and Bo has to take all of his strength to conceal his groan as he watches his cum slowly leak out of your pussy.

“Leaving so soon?” Bo didn’t know what compelled him to say that. You were just some cute college kid passing through that was a chance to get his dick wet. Yet there was something about you that drew him to you, like a moth to a flame.

You shimmy back into your clothing, and he notices how you ignore the trail of his cum that runs down your thigh. “My friends’ll be mad at me if I take too long getting back.” You pause in your movements. “I can take the gas now, right?”

Bo’s heart drops in his stomach. He realizes quickly that no, he wasn’t going to let you take the gas. In fact, he wasn’t going to let you leave at all. He wanted you—needed you—here with him. He couldn’t let a pretty little thing like you just pass by him like that.

He glances outside quickly. The sky's already turned to a pitch black hue, and he knows there’s no streetlights on your way back to where your friends wait for you. He turns back to you as you stand awaiting his answer.

“It’s pretty dark out there, little lady.” You peek over his shoulder, and your eyes widen as you realize just how late it had gotten. “It ain’t safe for you ta’ be out walkin’ all alone. Why don’t you stay over at my place for the night?”

“B-but what about my friends?” A pout overtakes your face and you look up at Bo with puzzled eyes.

Bo smirks, holding you close to his chest and running a hand over your hair. “Don’t need ta’ worry about them, sweetheart. My brother’ll come an’ fetch ‘em.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair smut #bo sinclair #house of wax x reader #house of wax smut #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher smut #slashers x reader #slashers smut

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kneelingshadowsalome · 6 months

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him.

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun.

“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?”

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that.

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices.

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly.

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again.

And again… And again.

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him.

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby.

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing.

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you.

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes.

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe.

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check.

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over.

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his.

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men.

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore.

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her.

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table.

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are.

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles?

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good.

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?"

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?"

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared.

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends.

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary.

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours.

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again.

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?”

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?”

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts.

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again.

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x nun!reader #forbidden love #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you

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