✨She Who Shines Brightly✨👑✨

She/Her, Bi, 21+, Marvel/DC, Kpop Demon Hunters & SuperCorp Fan

[cressidascowper]

char's 2k celebration ⤷ 🫐 + bi colors for @maximilff

in/sp

[herrschersankta]

I have a love hate relationship when everyone in the tv show is hot

Like who am I supposed to fucking root for I'm suffering as a bisexual for christ's sake??

[djkerr]

The stunning women of The Pitt on the red carpet for the Season 2 premiere.

DGA Theater Complex | Los Angeles, CA | January 7, 2026

📷 Kevin Winter/GA/The Hollywood Reporter via Getty Images, Frazer Harrison/Getty Images

[noah-wyles]

the pitt cast on breaking barriers and becoming lifelines

[heldbybarnes]

An adorable and pathetic love sick Bucky who tries desperately to impress the reader? That would be so perfect.

Love can turn men into idiots and make them say and do stupid things. I can imagine Bucky unable to control himself and being extremely cringe worthy in an attempt to look good in front of the reader. Everyone else gets major second hand embarrassment but she’d think it was sweet and it would work on her because she’s attracted to him too.

Why do I have such a weakness for pathetic men

absolutely, i like my my real thick and pathetic

---------

The first time Bucky Barnes tries to impress you, he nearly concusses himself on a doorway.

It isn’t even a dramatic doorway. Just the entrance to the Avengers’ common room. But you’re standing there laughing at something Sam said, sunlight catching in your hair, and Bucky—who has faced down alien invasions, HYDRA torture chambers, and a literal fall from a train—forgets that he is six-foot-something and solid as a brick wall.

Thunk.

Steve closes his eyes. Sam groans. Natasha actually hisses in pain like she felt it.

You whirl around. “Oh my god—Bucky!”

He straightens immediately, jaw tight, metal hand flexing like he meant to do that. “I’m good,” he says too quickly. “Just, uh. Testing the structural integrity.”

Sam mutters, “Of his skull.”

But you’re already stepping closer, brows furrowed in concern. You reach up and brush your fingers against the faint red mark blooming near his hairline.

His brain shuts off entirely.

He should say something cool. Something reassuring. Something suave.

Instead, he blurts, “My bones are reinforced.”

Natasha chokes on her drink.

You blink at him. “I… didn’t ask?”

Right. Of course you didn’t ask. Why would you ask if his bones are reinforced? That sounds insane. He sounds insane.

He doubles down.

“Yeah. Enhanced. I mean. Not like—like Wolverine. Not that I know Wolverine. I don’t know if he’s real.”

There is a full five seconds of silence.

Steve whispers, “Abort.”

But you’re biting your lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

And Bucky sees it.

He sees the way your eyes crinkle just slightly at the corners. The way your mouth fights a grin. He mistakes your amusement for admiration.

God help him.

---

The next attempt happens in the gym.

You’re sparring with Natasha, quick on your feet, focused. Bucky leans against the far wall, arms crossed, pretending he just happened to be there. In reality, he’s been watching you for twenty-seven minutes and forty-three seconds.

When Natasha taps out and heads for water, you glance over.

“You wanna go a round, Barnes?”

This is it.

This is his moment.

He pushes off the wall like he’s in some kind of slow-motion action movie. Rolls his shoulders. Gives you what he thinks is a smolder.

Sam, who has wandered in for popcorn-worthy entertainment, immediately covers his face.

“You sure you can handle me?” Bucky says.

There is an audible collective inhale from the room.

You raise a brow. “Handle you?”

“I mean—sparring. Handle me sparring. Because I’m—uh—very… intense.”

Natasha whispers, “Why is he like this?”

You grin, stepping into stance. “I think I’ll survive.”

He lasts all of ninety seconds before you sweep his legs out from under him.

He lands flat on his back with a heavy thud.

You straddle his waist to pin him, breathless and triumphant. “Yield?”

He stares up at you.

This close, he can see the faint flush in your cheeks, feel the warmth of you through the thin fabric of his shirt. His heart is pounding so loud he’s positive you can hear it.

He opens his mouth.

“I let you win.”

The gym erupts.

Sam cackles. Natasha actually claps once, slow and brutal. Even Steve rubs his temple.

You blink down at him.

“You let me win.”

“Yeah,” he says, doubling down yet again because apparently self-preservation has left the building. “Didn’t want to, uh, embarrass you.”

Natasha calls out, “You’re doing that fine on your own, Barnes.”

But you’re looking at him differently now. Not annoyed or offended.

Amused.

Soft.

You lean down slightly, lowering your voice. “That so?”

His brain short-circuits again.

He nods, trying to look mysterious instead of like a man who’s currently being pinned to the mat by someone half his weight.

You hold his gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Then you push off him and stand, offering a hand to help him up.

He takes it.

And when you pull him to his feet, you don’t let go immediately.

---

The third—and arguably worst—incident involves a smoothie.

You mention, in passing, that you’ve been craving something sweet after missions. Mango, maybe. Pineapple.

The next afternoon, Bucky storms into the compound kitchen like a man possessed.

He has Googled “how to make tropical smoothie.” He has watched three YouTube tutorials. He has, inexplicably, decided that garnishing matters.

When you walk in, he’s standing behind the counter with two glasses.

Each one has a tiny paper umbrella stabbed into the side.

Sam is at the table, openly recording on his phone.

“Hey,” Bucky says, way too casual. “Made this. For you.”

You step closer. “You did?”

“Yeah. Thought you deserved something refreshing. After, uh. Existing.”

Sam chokes. “After existing?”

Bucky ignores him, shoving one of the glasses toward you. His ears are red.

You take it, eyeing the umbrella. “This is cute.”

He freezes.

Cute.

Cute is good, right?

You take a sip.

There is a tense silence.

Natasha has wandered in now too, clearly drawn by the scent of disaster.

You swallow. Blink.

“It’s really good.”

Bucky’s entire posture changes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling up at him. “Thank you. That was… really sweet.”

Sam lowers his phone, frowning. “That’s it? No roast? No public execution?”

You ignore him.

You reach up and adjust the collar of Bucky’s shirt. It’s crooked. Probably from him pacing nervously before you walked in.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur.

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “Wanted to.”

The kitchen feels quieter now.

Even Sam senses something has shifted and wisely backs out with Natasha in tow.

You and Bucky are left alone.

He clears his throat. “I know I’ve been… I dunno. Weird lately.”

“A little.”

“Yeah.” He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just— I’m not good at this stuff. The normal stuff. And I keep trying to… impress you, I guess.”

The admission hangs between you.

“You don’t have to impress me,” you say softly.

His gaze flickers up, uncertain. “No?”

“No.” You smile, small and sincere. “I already like you.”

He goes completely still.

“You… what?”

“I already like you, Bucky.”

For once he doesn’t say anything embarrassing. Doesn’t posture. Doesn’t brag.

He just stares at you like you’ve handed him something fragile and priceless.

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “So the doorway thing—”

“Adorable.”

“The gym?”

“Painfully cringe. But kind of hot.”

“The umbrella?”

You reach up, pluck the tiny paper umbrella from your glass, and tuck it behind his ear.

“Very effective.”

His breath catches.

“You’re serious?”

“Very.”

He studies you for another second, like he’s bracing for the punchline.

When it doesn’t come, something in him softens.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Then maybe I can stop trying so hard.”

You tilt your head. “Or you can keep being a little bit of an idiot.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s working for you.”

For the first time since this whole disaster began, Bucky Barnes smiles without trying to be cool.

[daydreaminginmonochrome]

Hi thank you so much for opening up requests! Can I ask for a continuation of oblivious Mira? Now that her and her reader are finally on the same page Mira is doing everything to make up for lost time. Shes determined to shower reader in a barrage of love every day. Reader has no complaints of course even if they tease her a little about it sometimes. If Rumi and Zoey thought they were inseperable before its gonna take a crowbar to pry Mira away from reader now. It was cute at first but you can only walk in on Mira and reader making out so many times before it gets tiring. Mira is shameless about it all until Bobbys the one who walks in on them (oh shit thats her dad). You can decide what happens next xD

Self Restraint

Tags: Mira/Reader, Childhood Friends To Lovers, Guitarist!Reader, Oblivious!Reader verse, Fluff, RomCom, Bobby Gets Traumatized

WC: 3400

Sequel to Slow On The Uptake

When it came to running errands, Zoey liked going on them with Mira the best. It was nothing against Rumi, of course, it was just that Rumi tended to stick to only going to the stores they needed to, and avoided taking detours to other stores. A result of being raised by Celine, she supposed.

With Mira, the two could turn what should have been a forty-minute trip into several-hours long shopping spree, going into every store that caught there eye, regardless of whether it had something on their errand list or not. Be it to coffee shops with a sign advertising a new drink, or a clothing store that had a cute outfit. The two would leave the penthouse only needing to grab a couple of things, and return with armfuls of shopping bags.

But, admittedly, taking a detour into a flower shop was certainly a new one for Mira.;

And yet here the two of them were, inside a small flower shop with Zoey carrying an armful of shopping bags and Mira scouring the rows of plants like a woman on a mission. The person the flowers were for was obvious.

“Soooo… did something happen between the two of you?” Zoey asked tentatively as she watched Mira look over the flowers in front of them. She swore, Mira was practically analyzing each individual petal to make sure whatever bouquet she picked was nothing short of perfect.

Mira hummed as she looked up from the flowers—your favorite flowers, Zoey noted—to look at her. “No? Why do you ask?”

Why did she ask? Zoey wasn’t sure how to answer that without coming across as, well, rude.

She just knew that Mira had been a lot more attentive to you lately. Like, a lot more. An insane amount of a lot more. Zoey wasn’t sure what triggered the drastic change.

Seemingly overnight Mira went from being comfortable in the quiet intimacy where only those close to you two seemed to know about your relationship, getting flustered and denying it whenever someone brought up your relationship, to suddenly needing to announce to the world every chance she got about how in love you two were. She was pulling you into kisses all the time, clinging to you like she’d die if she let go.

Zoey swore she’s heard Mira tell you ‘I love you’ more times in the last week then in all the years she’s know you two.

It certainly wasn’t like Mira was trying to hide her relationship with you from the world anymore. While the two of you hadn’t officially launched your relationship to the public, a person would have to be blind and deaf to not know the two were dating at this point with how Mira’s been acting.

It was such a huge change from the quiet, almost shy, kind of love Mira showed towards you, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Were these grand gestures of romance her attempt to apologize for doing something? Or was she just feeling extra sappy lately? Zoey didn’t know and it was driving her mad.

But it wasn’t like Zoey could just ask Mira that.

“It’s just…you’ve been a lot more affectionate lately.”

Mira looked back to the flowers, “Nothing wrong with wanting to shower my partner with attention,” she answered, and the way she called you her partner—the pride and glee was etched in every letter. As if this was somehow still new and in the honeymoon phase, and not a many-year-long relationship.

And, fair. Zoey really couldn’t argue with wanting to shower someone she cared about with love and affection. If she was dating someone, she’d do the same.

It just felt weird that Mira was only starting to do that now. Did it just take a few years for her to feel comfortable enough in a relationship to be so openly affectionate?

She didn’t get a chance to ask any more on the subject before Mira found the bouquet she was looking for it and promptly took it up to pay, leaving Zoey to stand between the daffodils and asters without any further explanation.

Even if she hadn’t walked off, Mira seemed so happy with the flowers—with getting to give you flowers—that Zoey found she didn’t want to ruin the mood with additional probing.

It went without saying that Zoey was the songwriter of their group.

That’s not to say that Rumi and Mira couldn’t write songs. They’ve written their fair share, and they always collaborated together and pitched during the songwriting process. But Zoey was still the lead lyricist of their group, and for good reason. None of them had quite the way with words that she did, and so they tended to leave the heavy lifting to her.

They each had their strengths and weaknesses. Rumi was able to hit and hold notes that the others couldn’t dream of. Mira’s choreography was out of this world, completely unmatched, able to move in ways the others couldn’t. And Zoey was their lyricist, writing lyrics that were poetic and powerful.

So it was rather surprising to find sheet of paper scattered around Mira’s room with lyrics written on every one of them, lines crossed out, notes made in red. Even more surprising were the lyrics themselves.

She only had to skim a few lines to clock that all these songs Mira was writing were love songs. It took only another few lines to see that these songs were specifically about you.

It was perhaps a few dozen half-written drafts of the sappiest love songs Rumi had ever seen. It was adorable, she wasn’t going to say it wasn’t. While there was clearly room for improvement, it was still some of the cutest lyrics she’d seen.

“Oh, hey Rumi,” Mira looked surprised to see Rumi on her bed, sifting through all the song drafts, when she came back to the room. “What are you doing here?”

Rumi glanced up from the current song she was reading, “I came by to see if you wanted to go out for coffee,” she said as explanation, before holding one of the papers up for Mira with a teasing smile. “What’s with all these songs? Have you been holding out on us for a Valentines album?”

“Please, if we were going to be putting together a new album, we’d go to Zoey,” Mira laughed, waving off the idea.

Okay, so not a new album. Not surprising there, besides Rumi had a pretty good idea of what these songs were for, considering the obvious subject matter, but she wanted to hear Mira admit to being a sappy romantic.

She grinned, leaning back to look up at her friend. “Oooh…then care to explain what all these romantic songs are about, if not for an album?” she teased.

That earned a blush from Mira who tried to hide her smile behind a fake cough.  “Well…you know how they’re gone for a tour right now, right?”

Rumi nodded along. The ‘they’ in question was obvious. She was pretty sure everyone who’s been in the tower recently knew you had gotten hired on as the backing guitarist for a pretty popular singer for his latest tour, what with how much Mira bragged about it.

They were all proud of you, of course. Your musical career had been gaining traction these last couple of years, which Rumi was fully aware was a far harder climb for you than it had been for Huntr/x.

Sure, you were in the music industry, but you weren’t an idol or a singer. You were an incredibly talented guitarist who did the musical accompaniment for different groups. Despite the challenge, you were rising in popularity, showing up on the occasional show and being part of magazine shoots. This tour was just the latest in your steady rise of stardom.

“They aren’t due back for another few months, right?”

“Right,” Mira offered a soft laugh, scratching her neck, looking almost embarrassed by the whole thing. “Well, every time I started missing or thinking of them, I found myself writing about these feelings, and they just…kind of became songs.”

Rumi looked at Mira, and then at the pile of papers around her.

“These are from every time you started missing them since they’ve gone on tour?” she asked, earning a sound of confirmation from the dancer. She looked back at the pile. There had to have been dozens upon dozens of songs surrounding them. “Mira, they’ve only been gone for three days.”

“And I’ve been miserable with how much I’ve missed them these last three days.”

The moment you’d come back from that tour, Mira was stuck on you like glue.

You two always gravitated towards each other, even with your busy lives, so it wasn’t like Rumi or Zoey weren’t used to seeing you and Mira tangled together on the couch watching bad movies, or for one to be sprawled across the other’s lap in the studio a few floors down while you two drafted music together.

But it was definitely odd seeing Mira this clingy. She’d always held herself when the others were around, Rumi and Zoey used to gossip that she was just shy about it. But now that you were back, it was like she was trying her hardest to fuse herself to you.

Wherever you went, Mira went. Always holding your hand, or having her arms wrapped around your shoulders as she leaned against you, or pressed to your side. Like she might die if she didn’t have some kind of skin-to-skin contact with you.

It was adorable the first two days. Now it’d escalated into being hilariously ridiculous how she’d pout and grump about it if she had to be separated from you for any reason. It was definitely getting harder to get her to attend practices and rehearsals if you didn’t come along to watch. Which meant it was gradually shifting from amusing to frustrating for the others. Not that Mira cared.

“You know they’re definitely judging you, right?” you asked with a laugh as Mira sat snuggled on your lap, face resting in the crook of your neck.

Mira scoffed, and pressed herself further into you, the show on the tv being largely forgotten. “They’re just jealous of us,” she said, as if it were that simple. “I get to show off how wonderful my partner is, while they’re still single.”

You laughed, running your fingers through her hair. “You know, I really don’t think that’s the case,” you teased, earning a huff of disapproval against your throat. “For someone who was so adamant about not telling anyone that you didn’t know we were dating; you sure are making it obvious this is a ‘new relationship’ for you.”

“I’m not being obvious. They don’t suspect a thing.”

Unable to help it, you let out a bark of laughter. “Mira, babe, love, sweetheart—you went from being so afraid to do anything that might give away that you liked me, to suddenly jumping me every chance you get like you’re trying to devour me overnight. They absolutely suspect something.”

The smart thing to do would have been for you and Mira to slowly ease into being more and more physically affectionate with each other if they wanted to keep anyone from asking questions.  That would have been the safe, logical way to go about sneaking by them.

But, turns out Mira had zero self-restraint once she learned that she had full permission to do all the things she’s wanted for years to do to you.

Not that she felt an ounce of shame for it.

Just to prove the point, she tilted her head and nipped at your throat. “Can’t blame me when you’re just so tasty looking,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to where she bit. “Besides, I’m trying to make up for years of being denied this kind of affection. Stop looking so good all the time, and maybe I’ll stop needing to drag you in for a kiss every time I see you.”

“Or,” you countered, laughing as she continued to press kisses to your neck, “a revolutionary idea, I know, but you could learn some self-restraint. It’s not going to be too long before the others start asking why you’re acting so needy lately.”

“If they ask anything, I’ll just say that we’ve been together long enough that I felt it was safe to finally be more open about being with you.”

“And you really think they’re going to buy it?” you smirked.

“Of course they will,” it wasn’t the most convincing declaration, but it would do. If the others started asking, either they’d managed to gaslight Rumi and Zoey into thinking that Mira’s always been this absolute clingy sap, or they’d get the fun of learning that Mira was completely unaware that she was your girlfriend these last few years.

Privately you were hoping for the latter, just because it was the funnier of the two options in your humble opinion.

Slowly Mira shifted, off your lap, moving to sit beside you on the couch, though still pressed close against you as she turned her attention back to the show, though clearly not especially interested in it.

They only managed another five or so minutes of the show before she broke the comfortable silence with a question.

“You know,” Mira said softly as she rested her head to your shoulder again, her hand finding yours. “I never did ask, but when did you realize you liked me?”

You hummed in thought. She was right, you supposed. You never told her when you first realized you were in love with her—though to be fair, she’s never told you when that moment was for her, either.

Still…it wouldn’t hurt to share.

 “I think it was the start of our first year in high school,” you said, thinking back to that moment. “We were heading to…I don’t even remember where, but that doesn’t matter. You were talking about some dancer you saw on the TV, face completely flushed in your excitement, talking about how badly you wanted to be as graceful as her.”

Slowly, you brought your fingers to entwine with hers as you talked.  “I’d always known I had felt something for you. My heart would always beat faster when I was with you, I’d feel happier, warmer, feelings I couldn’t put a name to. Couldn’t have just been friendship, I knew that, but nothing else made sense,” you explained softly, smiling just as gently.

“Then you looked at me, there were stars in your eyes as you talked about this ballet dancer you were obsessed with, and the sunset behind you was making you glow. That was the moment I first thought ‘Oh…I know this feeling. This is love.’”

Your smile grew gentle as you turned to her, taking in the pink in her cheeks, the way she looked at you with an emotion you now knew very well.  “I still think that every time I look at you. Find my heart feeling full, my chest warm, and all I can think of is that I love you.”

Mira was watching you with a soft gaze.

“You love me,” She murmured, as if it was still so hard to believe that it was true. That she still couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream.

“Hmm…I think you’re right, maybe I do love you,” you confirmed, bumping your forehead against hers. 

Slowly, Mira’s smile stretched, going from soft and sweet to something far more predatory. “You love me,” she repeated in a coo, cupping your cheeks in her hands. You recognized that dangerous gleam in her eyes.

That was all the warning you got before her mouth was on yours.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to get heated. Which, in Mira’s defense, she was still making up for all the years she could have been kissing you for, just as quick for her to move from you mouth to start covering your neck in kisses and bites.

In hindsight, this was not the best place for it. The two of you were in the middle of the penthouse, right on the couch. Anyone could just walk in and see Mira trying to devour you whole.

But common sense has a funny way of taking a rain check whenever Mira starts kissing you.  Besides, you already knew that if you tried to bring it up, Mira would dismiss it with a ‘I don’t care if Rumi and Zoey walk in on us.’

And the more she kept kissing you, the more you found yourself not caring, too. Could you be blamed? You were just as hungry as Mira was to make up for all those years of not getting to touch her the way you wanted to.

The elevator doors opened not too long after with a soft ding that went unheard, and unfortunately for you both, it was neither Rumi nor Zoey who stepped out.

“Hey, Mira—Rumi said I’d find you up here. There’s some questions about the choreography for the next conceeeeeeroooh my god I’msosorry!” Bobby’s innocent greeting turned into a high-pitched, frightened squeak as he stumbled back several steps, hands over his eyes as if that might undo what he had to see.

Coming into the penthouse to see Mira atop you, lipstick stains covering your face, love bites over your neck, and a shirt shucked off over the back of the couch, was not a sight anyone wanted to walk in on.

Immediately, Mira reeled back from you, face as red as her hair, staring in horror at Bobby’s rapid attempt at a retreat, hand still over his eyes as he blindly stumbled into every corner and end table on his way back to the elevator.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything, I swear!” he could be heard now that he was out of sight.

But, no, it couldn’t have just stopped there. It couldn’t have just been Bobby who stumbled in on the scene. That would have been too kind, too merciful a punishment for yours and Mira’s recklessness.

Celine—fucking Celine of all people— stood at the entryway.

Her expression was as unreadable as stone, taking in the half dressed, disheveled states of you and Mira, crossed her arms over her chest and raised a single eyebrow.

“Mira,” Celine said, and the idol went as ramrod straight as she knelt on the couch, her blush going deeper. “Do we need to implement new rules about having guests over at the penthouse?”

Neither you nor Mira could look her, or each other, in the eyes. “I…uh…no, Celine,” Mira stammered.

With a soft hum, Celine knelt to pick up the papers Bobby dropped in his haste and depositing them on one of the penthouse end tables. “We need you back in the studio at five to rework some choreography for your upcoming concert. Don’t be late.”

“Right…Celine.”

Celine nodded turned on her heels to walk away before pausing for a lingering moment. “A little word of advice, but I strongly recommend limiting these kinds activities to the bedroom."

She didn’t think her blush could burn any darker, but there it went, a boiling scarlet as Celine walked away to join the still profusely apologetic Bobby at the elevator without so much as another word on the matter.

Once the elevator gave the telltale ding of closing and descending, Mira slumped over, burying her face into the couch cushions.

“Kill me now.”

You laughed, pulling your shirt back on, “This really was on us.”

She only gave a muffled groan in response. This was the kind of humiliation she was never going to look down. How in the world was she going to be able to look Celine or Bobby in the eyes again after this?

But you were still laughing. It was embarrassing, you weren’t going to pretend it wasn’t. But if you didn’t laugh at yourself over the situation, what else could you do? “Soooo~ Any reconsideration on that whole ‘self-restraint’ thing?”

Mira raised her head from the cushions to glare at you, “Shut up.”

“Make me,” you taunted back with a smirk.

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[daydreaminginmonochrome]

Slow On The Uptake

I have had so many asks for this one, and so here it is.

Tags: Mira/Reader, Musician!Reader, Childhood Friends, Pining, Role Reversal of the Oblivious Reader. the adventures of long-term miscommunication

WC: 6300

At the age of twelve, a simple seating change in class changed the trajectory of Mira’s life forever. Because at the age of twelve, Mira became desk mates with you.

From that day onward, the two of you had been best friends, wholly inseparable.

The two of you were a match made in Heaven—or made in Hell, according to her parents and brother—you balanced each other perfectly. You always had each other’s back, protecting each other, be it from creeps, irritable teachers, or from disapproving parents.

Even if you weren’t always on the same page, started drifting in separate directions, like a rubber band you two always snapped back into place beside each other.

You had introduced Mira to bands that her parents never would have approved of. Always shared whatever new CD you got your hands on so you and Mira could listen to it together. You snuck Mira out to concerts late into the night more times than either of you could count, and were always able to find a new abandoned place to serve as hideaways where you both were free from the chains that were parental expectations.

In return, Mira introduced you to all her favorite horror movies—slasher film marathons had become a tradition between you two. She taught you how to dance. The abandoned buildings or hidden underpasses becoming a studio for you two. Mira created dance routines to go along with all the songs you shared with her, and taught them all to you.

You were terrible at dancing. Your movements were stiff and awkward; it was like you didn’t know how to move with your hips. You could do a mean Robot, but that was the extent of your skills when it came to dance.

Yet even so, even if you couldn’t match her, dancing together was some of the most fun Mira ever had.

Music was your passion first—and through you, it had become Mira’s as well.

Free time between classes was spent talking about different bands, the current idol groups and their latest songs. Lunch was spent sharing earbuds while you ate, listening to whatever song you two were obsessed with.

When you began learning to play the guitar, and Mira began directing her attention towards singing, you two became a devastating pair. You provided the music while Mira sang and dance. School talent shows never stood a chance.

But most importantly: at the age of twelve, Mira finally met someone who made her feel like she was wanted.

All those flaws of hers that her parents constantly belittled her for, the traits she was shamed for—she was too stubborn and too argumentative, too blunt to the point of rude—you took those flaws and accepted them, embraced them. You made Mira feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the problem.

It should have come to no surprise that Mira would have fallen in love with you so quickly.

A stupid, horrible crush that she kept close to her chest, because if you ever learned that, you’d leave her. Mira had known early on that she wouldn’t be able to handle rejection from you.

She was fourteen when she got her first kiss.

You two had been sprawled out on your bed, some movie playing on your laptop, a bowl of popcorn and bottled drinks between you.

Mira couldn’t even remember what triggered the conversation, only that she was lamenting how it seemed she was the only one in their class who hadn’t had a first kiss yet. “It’s not that I want a kiss, it’s just—it’s frustrating feeling like I’m being left behind.”

You had rolled onto your side, head propped up on a hand to watch her. “I mean, not everyone’s had their first kiss.”

“Have you listened to their chatting? Pretty much everyone has.”

“I haven’t.”

Mira shoved you, letting out something between a scoff and a laugh. “You liar!” because you have to be lying, there’s no way you—with a smile so bright it outshined the sun, infallibly kind and cool, the most attractive person in their entire school as far as Mira was concerned—hasn’t been kissed.

“It’s true, I haven’t!” Grinning wide, a goofy, crooked smile that showed too much teeth, you doubled down on your lie.

You were just saying that so Mira would feel better. You had to be.

Because unlike Mira, you were lovable. You were worth loving. You were the kind of person people would be climbing over each other to love.

It just wasn’t possible that you hadn’t been kissed yet.

But then you’d shifted gears, throwing in a casual comment like you were throwing a live grenade into the mix.

“What if we kissed each other?”

Mira nearly choked on her water when you’d said that. “I—what?” was her face as red as it felt? Her cheeks were burning. You hadn’t just said what she thinks you said, did you? There’s no way you were suggesting—

“I mean, then we’d be able to say we’ve had our first kiss,” you had shrugged as you said that, a kind of indifferent casual like you were talking about the weather outside and not asking Mira to kiss you.

“I—” Mira stammered, trying to find her words, her brain stuttering like a glitched audio file. How was she even supposed to respond to that suggestion?

She’s kissed you before plenty of times, and you the same. But those had always been pecks on the cheeks or a kiss to the forehead, sometimes when they were feeling silly, one would drop to the knee and kiss the back of the other’s hand. Those had always been—what you were suggesting was a kiss kiss.

You watched her, and you must have taken it as a rejection because you’d begun turning your attention back to the laptop, “If you don’t wanna, then that’s cool. It was just a suggestion—”

“No!”

Mira’s face was definitely red now, reeling back from her own outburst, shrinking in on herself when your eyes fell on her. “I, I mean—I do want to. Kiss you, I mean—” was there a shovel nearby so she could start digging her hole? “—I mean, like you said, that way we’d be able to get it out of the way, right? It just makes sense.”

She was an idiot. You were going to laugh at her. She never should have opened her mouth—

Your hand was on her cheek, lifting Mira’s head to face you once more. Your thumb traced light figures over her cheek, gently jostling her glasses each time your knuckle bumped the rims.

Leaning in closer, your forehead pressed to hers with a light tap, your eyes flickered to her lips and then back to her own wide and wavering gaze. “Are you sure?” your asked in a hushed voice.

Heart beating so quickly, so loudly, Mira wasn’t sure if she was even capable of forming words, and so she could only nod.

You smiled—that damnable smile, sunlight personified—and leaned in closer. Mira’s heart threatened to explode in her chest when she felt the warmth of your breath, she couldn’t believe this was really happening. Was this a dream? Please, don’t let her wake up if it were.

Her eyes drifted shut just as your lips lightly brushed her own.

It was quick, barely there, and Mira had been about to protest—but then you were kissing her again.

It was still an innocent kiss, off-kilter and filled with their inexperience. But the anxiety Mira had been starting to feel was replaced with the warmth of your lips. She loved this, she didn’t think she’d ever have enough.

But then you pulled away.

Your cheeks were tinged red, and you had that crooked grin of yours as you let out a soft laugh. “There, now we both can say we’ve been kissed before.

As you turned your attention back to the movie playing on the laptop, Mira continued to stare. The feeling of your mouth on hers lingered, and her heart began to ache. Right—this was just a practice kiss between friends.

Nothing more.

You were getting a love confession.

Mira watched it from the upper windows of the school along with the rest of the audience that she was sure you didn’t know about. The audience she would warn you of if she were a better person.

She wasn’t a better person.

Neither of you were strangers to love letters or abrupt confessions. Mira knew she was pretty, pretty enough that people could overlook her abrasive personality, and you—well, she was probably the worst person to ask because of biases—she was still adamant that you were the most attractive person in their class.

Not just class; in the entire academy.

So this scene wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for either of you, and yet it still drew a crowd of onlookers.

The girl who’d brought you out here to talk was from a different class. Mira only vaguely recognized her, but she could tell even from here that the girl was pretty. She had something of a timid air to her, a shyness that made some people want to protect.

Her voice was too soft to hear from up here, but yours carried well against the concrete of the academy building. “I can’t,” you told her, and Mira felt the tension in her gut begin to uncoil—but only for a moment, because then you followed it with, “I’m kind of seeing someone already.”

The floor slips out from under Mira, she only faintly felt someone grabbing her by the arm before she could fall out the window and meet her untimely demise at your feet.

Someone else leaned in close on her other side and whispered, “They’re taken? Did you know?”

The hushed whispers filling the room died as the entirety of the class looked to her for an answer. Did she know you were seeing someone? She— you’ve never mentioned seeing anyone. Never mentioned any crushes or showed any interest in anyone around her. When did you even have the time date? You and Mira were always hanging out.

Maybe—maybe you were just saying you had a girlfriend. Maybe you thought it’d be less painful of a rejection if you had the excuse of already being in a relationship?

A desperate part of Mira clung to that hope.

And to the rest of the class, she straightened her back and raised her head high, her gaze not leaving you as you stood below. “Of course I knew.”

But she didn’t. And she couldn’t stop wondering why she didn’t. Why you never told her.

“You need to stop growing.”

Mira scoffed as she effortlessly grabbed the bag of cookies that had been stored on the top shelf. “Or you just need to start growing,” she taunted back, earning an indignant noise from you.

She’d gone through another growth spurt recently, and you had not taken it well. It used to be that you and her were eye-to-nose, but now it seemed like you were more eye-to-mouth at Mira’s current height. A height that she lorded over you every chance she got.

Especially in times like these when you were forced to rely on her to retrieve the sacred snacks from the high shelves. Oh, the perks of being tall.

Technically they were supposed to be studying. Exams were coming up, and then it would be summer break.

Instead, when you two returned from the pantry, the evening found you situated between her legs in Mira’s room while she craned her neck to read the magazine you were holding, bag of the opened cookies at your side, and you pointing at the different idols and bands.

Having all of you right there, close and warm, was doing unspeakable things to Mira’s heart. But she hid it all behind a well-practiced mask, listening intently as you began rambling about a guitarist the magazine had written about. Your head was resting against her chest, half-lying on the floor as opposed to any kind of sitting, practically sprawled across her.

It was cute.

One arm was draped loosely across your midsection, the other slid to your head, carding through the strands of your hair. You instinctively leaned into her touch, letting out a pleased noise. It was a tender kind of intimacy, one that the two of you have shared many times since you were kids.

“Do they mind?”

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend…or girlfriend…” it was the first time Mira had broached the subject since the confession the class witnessed, and she nearly choked on the words. “Do they mind that you’re here all the time?” Would they mind the way you were draped across her lap? Or the way Mira held and touched you?

You let out a sharp laugh, something playful glittering in your eyes, as if there was some kind of joke that Mira was expected to understand. “Well, I sure hope she doesn’t.”

She. So girlfriend. That was more information than Mira had moments ago, and still nothing. Were you dating one of the girls from their school, or someone from another? Was it someone she knew? Someone she’d met? Mira couldn’t think of any girls in their social circle who seemed particularly datable.

Instead of asking any of that, Mira scoffed. “Wow. Your girlfriend must be a real saint if she’s not even a little jealous.”

“I don’t know about a saint. She’s kind of devilish,” you had that crooked grin again. “But I don’t think she has any reason to be jealous of this.”

Wow. Was that your way of saying that Mira wasn’t even considered a threat? As if it never even occurred to you or her that Mira might be on the table? That stung. Had Mira ever even been an option in your eyes? Had you never looked at her that way?

Of course you wouldn’t have. You may have been friends, but even you couldn’t love Mira the way she loved you. She wasn’t the kind of girl who could be loved. Liked—yes. But never loved.

You looked up at her, gaze sharp. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mira answered quickly, forcing her fingers to continue to comb through your hair, “Just thinking about stuff… it’s going to be weird not seeing each other as often once exams are over.”

Once exams were done, Mira would be heading off to another city to participate in a survival show with a hundred other girls auditioning to become idols. A part of her still couldn’t believe it was actually happening, and a bigger part of her was wondering how she was going to survive it without you at her side.

“More like it’s gonna suck,” you lamented, sinking deeper into her hold as you pouted—and what right did you have to look so adorable like that?—your grip on the magazine tightening. “It’s not fair, I’m going to be bored and lonely with you gone.”

She doubted that, how could you be when you had a girlfriend. If anything, you were going to have more time to spend with her now that Mira was going to be out of the picture.

Her chest burned at the thought.

Mira hated herself for being jealous; you deserved a better friend, one who could feel happy for you. If this girl made you happy, Mira had no right to ruin it for you because of her own feelings.

Forcing her expression to stay pleasant; the conversation drifted, complaining about how you would miss each other, assuring Mira that she was going to kill it out there because “no one else can match you, you’re the best singer there is,” which definitely did not have Mira blushing.

You were always very liberal when praising and complimenting her, and she greedily soaked it all in just as much as she anxiously shied away from it.

Did you talk to your girlfriend like this, too?

After a while, your breathing evened out and the magazine tipped against your chest. Mira only noticed because it jolted her out of her own reverie of staring at your hands.

She should get up, wake you, or at least move you to where you wouldn’t end up sore. The sun was setting outside, your own parents were probably wondering where you were. Mira considered it for two seconds before pulling out her own phone to text your mom. She got the number after the first time you two had spent the night together, and had kept it ever since.

[We’re studying late, is it okay if they spend the night?]

Her phone buzzed in her hand a moment later, just as her own eyes were drifting shut. [Of course they can. Thank you for taking care of them!] it came with a heart emoji, and Mira tried to pretend it doesn’t warm something in her.

As her eyes slipped shut, she wondered if your girlfriend sent messages like this to your parents. Wonders if they’ve met. Do they like this girl more than Mira? Trust her to take care of you the way Mira does?

It isn’t fair. It aches worse than anything.

After exams, you caught Mira before she could leave, smothering her in hugs, covering her face in kisses that sent her heart thundering, and gifted her your lucky guitar pick, your most cherished possession.

She nearly cried.

That pick became a permanent part of her wardrobe.

You were both adults now.

It had been two years since Huntr/x debuted, and the life of an idol was more than Mira had expected. Granted, no one really considers killing demons as part of an idols job, but that was beside the point. True to your constant assurances, Huntr/x had made it big.

Even you had begun to make a name for yourself in the music world. You were not an idol, but you were growing in popularity as a musician, having already amassed a sizable following.

It was easier for your schedules to align now then when she was in training, though gone were still the days she could spend all day with you like when you had been kids.

But these stolen moments together were still what Mira treasured most.

“You two are so cute together,” Zoey said as she passed by, catching the two of you curled up on the couch after a long day of practice.

Just like before, you were sprawled out on her lap, your head resting on her chest like it was a pillow as an old slasher film played on the tv before you. And just like before, Mira had one hand lazily combing your hair, and the other draped around your waist.

Her face turned red when Zoey said that, fixing her with a glare. “Zoey,” was her only warning.

You, on the other hand, had laughed. Reaching up, you patted the hand that was draped across you, grinning up at the younger girl. “Aren’t we? The cutest peas in a pod you’ll ever see.”

“Man, I wish I could date someone, too. You two look so happy together.”

Mira's brain stuttered.

Did—did Zoey think you and Mira were dating? The idea that you two could pass for a couple had filled her with such an intense rush of joy.

Only to quickly be crushed when she forcibly reminded herself that you already had a girlfriend.

That joy turned quickly to guilt; because what right did she have to be acting so cute and lovey with you when your girlfriend was gone? Followed by the shame of knowing she wasn’t going to push you away despite knowing that she should, that she was crossing lines clinging to you like this.

She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed Zoey had already left until she felt you shifting in her arms again.

Swallowing hard, Mira tightened her hold on you, knowing what she was going to ask would hurt.

“Can you…tell me more about her? Your girlfriend?”  You had been dating this girl for years, and still Mira felt like she knew nothing about her. Had never even met her—why had you never introduced her?

Your shoulders are shaking with that thinly held laugh, grinning up at her once more like there was a joke she had missed. “What do you want to know?”

“Is she taller or shorter than you?”

You hummed, tilting your head to the side, “Taller.”

“What are her best qualities?”

“Well, once you get past her tough exterior, she’s the kindest, sweetest woman I know. She helps me out, even when I don’t know I need it, she’s patient with me when I’m struggling, always there to listen. She makes me smile without even trying—”

She slapped at you, “Okay, okay. My teeth are going to rot out with this sappy sweetness.” Those were all things Mira could do for you, if you would let her. Nothing special, nothing new. It did nothing but make her jealousy burn hotter. “What does she look like?”

This time you didn’t even hide the laugh as you patted the hand she still had draped across you. “She’s the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, not even Helen could match her.”

Mira swallowed hard. “Well, what does she do?”

“She’s  in the entertainment industry. She sings and dances—” you sounded breathless as you said that, there was a look of adoration in your eyes, “no one else can match her, she’s the best there is.”

You—you always told Mira she was unmatched, that she was the best when it came to music, when it came to her dancing. Hearing you say that about someone else, it was a knife to her heart.

“Oh.” Her stomach was burning. She might be sick.

When you announced that you got hired on as a host for one of the weekly music variety shows, Mira couldn’t have been happier for you.

This kind of exposure was always good for a still up-and-coming musician, and she knew that you were going to do great. You were charming, you were funny, it was impossible for an audience to not like you.

But then she heard the catch, and that happiness soured into jealousy.

Your co-host for the show was a veteran idol.

She knew that it wasn’t going to mean anything, it was just a show, she was just another host. But she was a pretty woman, confident in everything she did. You two looked cute together in the pictures, what if the producers leaned into that dynamic for the views?

That jealousy only worsened when she watched the first episode after it had aired.

You had smiled, charming as ever, a grin that anyone would fall for, and your co-host was sweet, bubbly in the way a more lovable girl was, her laughter pleasant and airy. She would always lean in close to you when she spoke.

Like any show, you two were paired in silly, childish games, you shared snacks, you had inside jokes that Mira couldn't tell whether they were scripted or genuine.

The girl was constantly touching you, and every time Mira saw her hand brush against you, her jealousy spiked.

You were laughing back, bantering back, smiling at her, and something cruel whispered to Mira that this was what a couple was supposed to look like.

The second episode hadn’t been any better for her

It was only a temporary gig, you had told her. You were just going to be the host for four episodes. It was only for a month.

But she wasn’t sure she could handle watching you two acting so cute for four entire episodes. Mira barely managed to watch the first, hadn’t been able to finish the second before the writhing inside her became too much.

But whenever you called, eager to tell her how much fun you were having with this job, how well you were getting along with your co-host and the crew—all Mira could do was plaster on a smile, shove her jealousy deep, deep down, and tell you how happy she was for you.

She wondered if your elusive girlfriend, your pretty and oh-so talented girlfriend, was as jealous as Mira was over the show, if her insides coiled with envy and heartbreak seeing another woman hanging off of you.

She wondered if your girlfriend registered this girl as a threat in the way she hadn't for Mira.

The party was to celebrate the end of Huntr/x’s latest world tour; everyone was having the time of their life enjoying the drinks and music.

Everyone but Mira.

It was hard for her to be happy when she was seething with jealousy watching you from across the room. You were surrounded by people, as you always were, laughing and chatting with people you had never even met before that night.

But with the jealousy came the sucker punch mix that was shame and guilt—what right did Mira have to be upset that people flocked to you? You were the sun itself in a human shell, warm and inviting.

You were so, so easy to love. You were sweet and soft; you were unyieldingly kind. Everything Mira was not. She should be happy people liked you. She shouldn’t be wishing you were on her level—feeling like you were unlovable and lonely.

And yet no matter what she did, she couldn’t cool that boiling rush of jealousy and spite that flowed through her veins as she watched you.

How awful did she have to be to be miserable at a party meant for her?

Sighing, Mira downed another glass of champagne. This whole night had been depressing, and she just wanted to go back home. The only good thing to come from the party was getting to see Zoey and Rumi have fun.

At least the alcohol was free.

You were smiling, your face slightly flushed, the stars in your eyes. Laughing at what one of them whispered to you.

She wondered what you were talking to with your little fan club over there. Wondered if one of the women surrounding you was your mysterious girlfriend. There were quite a few who were a bit taller than you, a few who were rather pretty.

“…ra. Mira!”

Oh. You were so close now—Mira could reach out and touch you. Your eyes were glazed over and twinkling as you slid into the seat next to her, slumping against her side with an airy giggle.

And Mira may have had a few drinks already since this party started, but she was adamant that she wasn’t drunk—wasn’t that drunk—but that didn’t explain why it was taking all her fraying willpower to not grab hold of your face and start squishing those blushing cheeks of yours.

“Why are you hiding all the way over here?” you asked, nuzzling against her shoulder.

Mira struggled for a moment, trying to weigh the risks and benefits before she wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you back into her lap, right where you belonged. “It’s nicer over here.” Far nicer, now that you were here.

You laughed, burying your face into her neck, your warm breath tickling the skin and sending shivers down her spine, filling her brain with static. “Comfy,” you murmured as you nestled into her.

How could you be so cute? You couldn’t be real, you had to be a figment of her imagination, there just wasn’t any way you could be real. But still, even in the alcohol-induced haze, a voice gnawed at her.

“You sure you wanna be here? There’s probably other people you’d want to hang out with,” like your girlfriend, wherever she is, Mira added to herself.

You grinned, she could feel it in the way your mouth pressed to her neck, leaving little dewdrop kisses along the skin. “Nah,” you slurred, pressing another kiss to her neck, chaste, barely even there, and burning itself into her all the same. “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere but ‘ere.”

You were cruel, she hoped you knew that.

Cruel—but not unwanted. Mira deserved to be a little selfish. She’d face the shame and guilt, the self-loathing in the morning. Right now, she was content to just stay with you like this.

Mira’s eyes were slow to open, resting under heavy eyelids. They fluttered a few times, and after a couple of dry blinks, she realized that something was off about where she was. The bed felt stiffer, the room smaller.

It took her a laughably longer bit of time to realize this was a hotel room, and very much not her hotel room.

She jolted straight up, suddenly on high alert—only to sway and moan as last night’s drinking caught up to her.

A groan clawed past her lips, mostly air as Mira realized how dry her throat was, how rough her eyes felt. Usually she tried to drink plenty of water when she was out drinking—so what happened? She could barely remember the party.

A little piece of it came back to her when she felt something rustle on the bed beside her.

Reflexes tingling, Mira jerked her head to the side—and was rewarded with the hammers inside her skull hitting even harder. She held back the groan this time, but pinched her eyes shut to steady her breathing. Just in time to feel an arm fall limply across her lap.

“It’s too early, go back to bed,” you groaned, voice gravelly from the sleep.

Mira’s eyes snapped open, and she looked down.

Because there you were, rolled over onto your stomach, face buried in the hotel pillow, and very much naked.

Face burning, Mira looked down at her self and realized she was as well.

Oh—oh, no. You didn’t, she didn’t. But it made sense. You had both been drinking, but maybe you two just slept, this didn’t mean you actually did any—

Nope. You two had sex. The fresh hickies Mira could see littering your neck and still-red scratch marks on your back confirmed it just as much as the ache in her thighs.

This was bad.

Oh no, no, no. The rush of shame was more dizzying than the hangover, it nearly sent her toppling,

Mira had never been fond of cheaters. Why be in a relationship if you can’t be faithful? Why intentionally go after someone you know is already taken? It just never made sense to her, it was a powder keg for drama that everyone would be better off without. Even with her feelings for you, she'd always tried her best to not cross any lines.

She’d scoffed and mocked when movies or shows felt the need to add a cheating plotline, she’d rolled her eyes whenever she saw on the tabloids that some celebrity couple had broken up because it came out that one was having an affair.

It was pointless. It was messy. It was something she never wanted to be involved with.

And now, that’s exactly what you and her were.

Clearly they had more to drink than she remembered at the party, she vaguely remembered stumbling back to your hotel afterwards, giggling, hanging off each other, she could—

Your mouth on hers, hot and needy, it was scorched in her memory.

“This can’t be happening,” Mira whispered, covering her face, blushing as the events of last night slowly came back to her, and wanting to disappear from the devastating guilt that came with it.

You shifted beside her, loudly yawning, “Mira?” you had asked, your voice still sleep-heavy. A moment passed and you pushed yourself up to sit. “Mira, are you okay?”

Did she look like she was okay? “What did we do?” she asked instead.

“I mean… I think it’s pretty clear what we did.”

Did you—why did you sound so smug about that? Your tone, the casual pride in it had Mira snapping her head up to stare at you in disbelief. Why would you sound so—so—pleased about this? You had a—

Your girlfriend was going to be devastated. Did you not care about that?

“What the hell?” Mira snapped, shoving you back. “We messed up—that’s not something to sound so happy about!”

You recoiled, “I’m sorry—what are you talking about?” you were looking up at her, your expression confused and hurt in all the wrong ways. “I—did I do something wrong? Mira, what’s going on?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because why were you acting like you didn’t know?

“Your girlfriend! You have a girlfriend and we, we—” she gestured furiously between you two. “Do you not feel any guilt?”

There was no recognition, no shame in your expression. Instead, your confusion visibly soured before you flopped, face down, back onto the mattress, burying your groan into the lumpy pillow.

“It’s way too fucking early for that joke, Mira.”

“Joke?” Mira echoed.

“Yeah. Joke. Are you still drunk or something?” you groaned out.

Mira bristled at the accusation, "What are you talking about?"

You reluctantly pushed yourself back up to a seated position, swaying a bit with the effort, before pinching your brow. “It’s been your favorite joke for years to pretend I’m dating some unknown girl. Don’t know why, but you must have found it fun with how often you bring it up.”

If it was just a joke then… did that mean… “This entire time—you weren’t actually dating someone?”

That must have been the wrong thing to say, because you looked like you looked like you wanted to walk away and never come back. “Mira,” you said, your voice quiet, choking as you buried your face in your hands and muffled a quiet scream. “Please tell me you’re kidding. There’s no way—no way—you don’t actually know.”

“Don’t know what?!”

“That we’re dating? You can't have not known.”

Mira’s brain may have short circuited when you said that. It took a moment, replaying your words. Dating. Dating—you and Mira. She’s dating you—you think she’s dating you. They’re—

“We’re not dating?” she asked, feeling helpless, feeling like she was drowning.

You pulled your hands from your face, looking just as lost and frustrated as she felt. “I thought we were!”

What did you mean you thought they were dating? When did that happen? How long had that been going on? She tried desperately to scour her memories for that moment that you could have mistaken as them becoming a couple, but she couldn’t find anything.

Her body sagged, she didn’t know what else she could say but; “Can we…can we start over?”

The morning was spent in bed. Getting dressed, grabbing water and Tylenol, and just talking.

Apparently you had been under the assumption that you and Mira had been in a relationship since you were teenagers, where Mira clearly thought you two had been friends. Somewhere along the lines—and neither of you could figure out exactly where—the wires got crossed between you which had resulting in this awkward mess.

You’d never said anything explicit about your relationship because you had thought Mira was trying to keep it under wraps because of her career. She was still something of a rookie idol, and a relationship could generate a lot of backlash. Backlash you had wanted to avoid creating.

Mira was sure her face was going to melt with how hot her blush was burning. Because you thought she was the kindest, sweetest woman you knew, the most beautiful and talented woman you’ve ever seen. Because you loved her. That look of pure adoration whenever you spoke about your ‘girlfriend’ to her—that look had been for Mira every time.

She’d been jealous of herself for all these years.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t realize. I mean—I’m saying ‘I love you’ to you every day,” You laughed, wrapping your arms around her as you pulled Mira into your lap.

Mira pouted, ducking her head down to try and hide her flush. “That doesn’t count. You tell everyone you love them. Hell, you told Bobby you loved him yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I don’t use the same tone with them.”

Because the tone was such a telling feature. It was ridiculous, and Mira couldn’t help but let out a wet laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Well, if we’ve been dating all this time, why haven’t you ever kissed me, huh?”

Your arms snaked tighter around her as you let out a sound like a wounded animal. “I’ve tried,” you complained. “But you always shied away from them, so I just assumed you didn’t like that kind of stuff.”

Oh.

“I do,” Mira murmured. “Like that stuff, I mean.”

You shifted, and soon the two were facing each other, a tension like a string pulled taught between you as you stared her down, waiting. You were waiting for an invitation, she realized, and she gave it with a quiet nod.

And then your mouth was on hers. Slow and tender and—ah. This. This is what Mira had been longing for all these years, ever since their first kiss as kids.

She bit at your bottom lip and slipped her fingers under the gap between your shirt and waistband, her other resting on the back of your head to pull you closer, kissing you the way she imagined some faceless stranger had for years.

But this is better, she realized. Because its her, and it’s you, and your mouth opens at just the slightest prodding.

When you two pulled back, it was for nothing more than the need of air. If Mira could survive without breathing, she would have still been kissing you. Her mouth on yours and never pulling away.

Mira collapsed against you, burying her face in your neck, nose pressing against one of the still-tender bruises she had left. She could still see the faint indent of her teeth on your skin. She wanted to leave more, cover them all again and again.

“No one can know,” she murmured, pressing a kiss against the bruise, “if anyone asks, I’ve known we were dating the entire time.”

You shivered and trembled beneath her, fingers playing lightly at her hips. “I don’t know, I can be a bit loose-lipped,” you said with a soft laugh. “Maybe you should seal them with another kiss.”

That, Mira would happily do.

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[aymmgreen]

new mira lore that she ditched med school says from an official merch collab 😭 omgggg

edit:

because i wanna share it here too 🥺

also me: completely ignoring kpdh's timeline lmao jdhshhaha

[urmomslonelycryptid69]

natasha romanoff deserved a trilogy

[natashasilverfox]

Very true or a series like Daredevil it would have been glorious!

[fetusgooseandjuice]

Soulmates

Pairings: Knight!Natasha Romanoff x Princess!Reader

Summary: A silly dream you and Natasha shared as kids turns out to be your destiny.

Word Count: 5.05k

Warnings: Injuries — (broken bones, cuts, bruises)

Author’s Note: Another one that’s been collecting dust. At this point I’m just deep cleaning my drafts I hope you like it 💕

Other mini-oneshots: Forever | Promise | Perfect | Enamored

Natasha and you had been raised alongside each other since birth.

As the royal heir you were born the kingdoms Princess, and would one day step up after your parents stepped down from their positions as King and Queen.

Meanwhile, once Natasha became of age her father began her training as she was meant to become the young Princesses Royal Knight.

Both of your families had always been close friends. Natasha’s father was your father’s best solider, so you and the redhead had practically grown up together.

The bond between your two families meant that you and the young knight spent a lot of time together. So much time that as you grew up, you and Natasha inevitably fell for each other and only continued to as you got older.

Your parents knew you two had something special from the gecko, but no one knew if it was just puppy love, or if it’d turn out to be the love story you’d only ever hear about in books.

That thought always took up a space in your mind, just like it was right now.

How you got so lucky to be the one in a billion to actually live one of those love stories.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Nat! Natty, wait for me!” you call out to the slightly older girl.

Natasha always teased you for being younger than her even if it was only by a few months. She stopped in her tracks and turned around, waiting a moment for you to catch up to her as your feet quickly patted against the pavement outside.

“Sorry, princess,” she gazed at you once you reached her. “I’m just really excited to see where our parents are taking us.”

Your cheeks flushed a pink tint at the pet name and your heart fluttered. People were supposed to formally address you as Princess since that’s who you were, but whenever Natasha called you that you both knew it had a different meaning.

Natasha always had such a soft spot for you. Some might call it puppy love, but both of your parents believed it was the cutest thing to ever exist.

As she had a couple inches over you, you had to latch onto her arm and lean up on your tippy-toes to peck her cheek. This time it was Natasha’s turn to blush.

“Well, now we can go down there together.” you said and gave her a sweet smile that made her heart double in beats per minute.

Both of your mothers playfully shook their heads to themselves as they made their way over to you, watching the interaction.

“She’s a smooth little girl.” Melina commented with a chuckle.

Your mother chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t know where she got that from because it definitely was not her father.”

You two on the other hand were completely oblivious of their presence as you became immersed in chasing each other around the castle garden, your loud giggles rumbling through air.

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Melina laughed along with your mother.

The two women watched as Natasha caught up to you and pulled you into her arms. “They’re too cute.” your mother cooed and Melina nodded her head, smiling widely.

At some point Natasha had picked a yellow flower from the grass and place it in your hair with sophistication, admiring how it just accentuated your already beautiful features.

She brought you into a tight hug and dramatically pleaded, “Marry me, Y/n! Marry me so nothing will ever come between us and we can be together forever and ever!”

“Yes! A trillion times yes, Natasha! I will marry you even if it’s the last thing I do!” You theatrically declared, mimicking a woman in a television show.

Natasha pulled back and leaned in with her lips exaggeratedly puckered out way too far and cheeks puffed out so much they could’ve popped, but before she could reach yours she was lifted up into her father’s arms.

“Alright, you little player. You’re not quite ready for that one just yet.” Alexei teased the young redhead.

Natasha scoffed. “I am not a player! Y/n is my fiancé and I am going to make her my wife! I put a flower on it and everything!” she argued with a pout.

That was when your own father scooped you up into his arms and spun you around. “Aren’t you just the enchantress? You’ve got little Natasha all lovestruck and heart eyed. Poor girl.”

You giggled before you heard Natasha call out in annoyance. “I am not little!”

Amused looks spread across your mothers’ faces at the precious scene. At the time, no one knew that your’ and Natasha’s pretend was destined to become a reality.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Time jump to around 11 years old)

“Nat, are you sure you know we’re you’re going?” you asked, hesitation evident in your voice as she guided you by your hand through the trees.

This would be the third time you asked her this question, so she playfully rolled her eyes at your uncertainty.

“Yes, Y/n, I come here all the time after training. Stop worrying your pretty little head so much, you’ll give yourself a headache.” Natasha assured.

Normally her sweet talk would have you swooning, but this time you were too distracted by the uneasiness you felt about where you were. Natasha had dragged you out to the forest behind the kingdom, saying she had something special that she wanted you to see.

You two had snuck away when your parents were busy, so no one even knew where you were, but you of course agreed because you trust the redhead with everything you have.

“Okay, we’re here.” Natasha’s voice brought you out of your thoughts.

You looked around in confusion, seeing nothing besides an abnormally large tree.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?” you finally spoke.

The young knight chuckled at your slightly furrowed eyebrows, “Follow me.” was all she said before beginning to climb up the tall tree.

“What— Natasha what’re you doing?”

“Come on, this is the only way you’ll see it.” she attempted to encourage you.

You were still very unsure about it so you just watched from the ground as she made her way up the tree. She eventually stopped and made herself comfortable on one of the limbs. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” you projected your voice up to her.

“Come on, Y/n, trust me! The view is beautiful from up here. It’s like you can the whole world!” Natasha called down to you.

You contemplated once more before finally giving in. You followed the path you had watched the redhead take and began climbing the tree. However, you had only made it about halfway when a branch you had grabbed onto began to snap.

Before you could even yell for Natasha like you had originally intended, the branch snapped completely and you yelped instead as you fell.

Your mind had barely registered the young knight calling out your name when you hit the ground. The air was knocked out of your lungs, but you noticed the sharp pain that shot up your arm the most.

“Y/n!” Natasha panicked, and when she heard you cry out tears she quickly made her way down to you.

The words to ask you what was hurting were on the tip of her tongue, but that question was answered when she saw you holding your arm and a few scratches on the side of your face.

Natasha didn’t know what to do.

You were sobbing and clearly in a lot of pain, so she lifted you into her arms bridal style and ran as fast as her legs would take her back to the kingdom without causing you any further discomfort.

Ignoring all the looks from passing townspeople, she bolted up the castle stairs and rushed inside.

“Mom! Mom, dad, where are you! Mom!” Natasha frantically searched every room for either of your parents.

They must’ve heard her shouting because they exited the meeting room and saw the young knight running straight towards them with you crying in her arms.

“Natasha, what happened?” Melina asked her daughter with furrowed eyebrows.

“I wanted to show Y/n this really nice view, but we had to climb a tree in order to see it. She didn’t even want to do it in the first place but I convinced her to, and she fell and I think she hurt her arm.” Natasha explained to the four adults as your father gently took you into his arms.

She began to tear up and followed them to the infirmary, “I— I just wanted to show her something I thought she’d like. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t mean for her to get hurt.”

Your mother placed a comforting hand on the young girls shoulder to get her attention, “It’s okay, Natasha. We know you’d never put her in harms way on purpose, but you did good bringing her back because now we can help her.”

Natasha wiped away the tears in her eyes, although it was no use because more began to fall anyway, “It’s all my fault, I’m the one who took her out there to begin with. She’d be okay if it weren’t for me.”

“Now, now, Natasha. Stop being so hard on yourself. I’m sure Y/n won’t blame you once she’s all patched up.” Your mother reassured, and she was right.

A couple hours later your parents informed the young redhead and her parents of your condition. The force of the impact when you hit the ground had broken your arm, and you had a few light scratches on your cheek that should quickly fade.

The doctor gave your parents some medication to help with any pain you had, and allowed them to take you back to your own bedroom. When Natasha was asked if she would like to see you she of course said yes, but couldn’t ignore the nerves she felt.

Would you be upset with her?

Your mothers led Natasha to your bedroom and opened the door for her to enter, but she hesitated. She felt as though her feet were glued to the floor.

“Are you sure?” the knight in training asked. “I don’t think she’d want to see me.”

Your mother crouched down to Natasha’s height to look at her. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” she said and Natasha nodded. “Between you and me I think you’re the first person she’d wanna see.”

The young girl sat with those words for a moment longer and contemplated before finally stepping into you room. When she reached your beside she realized that you were sound asleep.

Natasha’s eyes scanned the peaceful expression on your face. Your eyelashes just barely brushed against your cheeks, and your slow breathing was heard through the quietness of the room.

Her gaze traveled down to the white cast around your arm and a sense of guilt washed over her, but she tried to disregard that feeling and just focus on you.

She noticed a lock of hair that had started to fall in front of your face, so Natasha tucked it behind your ear. However, she regretted that decision when your eyes fluttered open and met hers.

Your lips pulled up into a small smile. “Hi, Natty.”

“Hey,” she practically whispered.

You frowned at her vague and quiet response. “What’s wrong?” you wondered.

Natasha sighed and let her eyes travel back to your injured arm. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened when you said you didn’t wanna go up, and now you’re hurt because of me.”

“Hey,” you sat up and placed a hand over the young knights hand. Her heart skipped a beat at the contact and she met your gaze again. “It was an accident, Nat. I don’t blame you for this, and I’m okay now.”

“I know. I just hated seeing you in so much pain knowing I talked you into doing it.”

You looked at her with soft eyes that instantly calmed her racing mind. “Well you did carry me all the way back, so I guess that makes up for it. All of those extra hours you put into your training finally paid off.” you both giggled.

Maybe this whole situation wasn’t as bad as Natasha convinced herself it was.

“You wanna sign my cast? It looks kind of boring right now.” you asked.

Natasha smiled and nodded her head, looking around the room for something to write with. She spotted a red marker on your large dresser and grabbed it before returning to your side.

She gently took your arm into her hand and signed her name, attempting to draw a few hearts around it, but they just ended up uneven and lopsided.

Nevertheless, they were special.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Time jump to 16 Years Old)

“Mom!” Natasha called out as she rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step whilst she tucked her maroon button-up shirt into her black slacks. “Does this look okay? Should I try on a different one?”

Melina examined the outfit her daughter was wearing before smiling at her, “You look wonderful, sweetheart. Stop worrying so much, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Are you wearing my pants?” Yelena said as he walked into the room alongside Alexei.

Natasha glared at her sister while slipping on the jacket and straightening out the collar of her shirt with the help of Melina.

“Your mother is right, honey. I’m sure Y/n will love it.” Alexei chimed in.

Today was your sixteenth birthday, and your parents thought it would be the perfect opportunity to throw a ball to celebrate this milestone. Everyone in the kingdom received an invitation in the mail, but the Romanoffs were obviously at the top of the guest list.

Natasha was no doubt nervous. She so badly wanted to make an impression on you, but would never admit it to avoid her family’s very unfunny jokes.

Unfortunately for her, she didn’t have to disclose that information in order for her parents and sister to know that she and the young princess always had a thing for each other, even as little kids.

“Oh, so that’s why you stole my pants.” Yelena smirked. “So you could impress your little girlfriend.” she spoke in a teasing tone.

The young knight rolled her eyes, “She is not my girlfriend.”

“Well I suggest you try to change that before someone else decides to sweep her off her feet.”

Before Natasha could retaliate Melina saved her the trouble, “Alright you two, let’s get going before we’re late.” She ushered her family out the front door and gave Natasha a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder.

~

People were still making their way inside when they arrived. Your parents stood at the entrance welcoming people into the castle, and their eyes lit up when they saw their most dearest friends walking up the steps.

“Melina, Alexei, Natasha, Yelena! You’re finally here, thank you for coming!” Your father greeted the family while your mother gave each of them a quick hug.

“You all look lovely tonight.” she said.

“Oh, the same goes for you two as well.” Melina returned the compliment.

Your mother looked towards Natasha, “Y/n is still in her room getting ready and should be down in just a few minutes, but you’re welcome to go find her if you’d like.”

Natasha nodded, “Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n.” she responded before moving past them to make her way to your room.

She knocked on the door and smiled to herself when she heard your comforting voice call out.

“Just a second!”

A few moments later the door opened and you stood face to face, “Nat!” you exclaimed happily and pulled her in for a tight hug.

“Hey, birthday girl.” Natasha chuckled. “Am I interrupting anything?”

You let her go and shook your head, “Not at all. I’m just about ready anyway.” you answered and returned to your spot in front of your mirror.

Natasha migrated further into the room and rested against your bed frame. “Well, you look amazing.” she said.

You turned to look back at her with a smile on your lips, “Thanks,” you replied and took in her attire. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

The young knight smiled and looked down while you went back to fixing your hair. Natasha tried her best not to stare, but that was proving to be difficult as she kept lifting her head to glance at you.

She decided to break the comfortable silence to distract herself. “Is now a good time for me to give you your gift? I know it’s not time to open presents yet, but I think it’ll look good with your dress.”

You looked back at her again, “Nat, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I knew you’d say that, but I wanted to.” Natasha moved to stand behind you before meeting your eyes through the mirror.

When she pulled something out of her pocket and gently placed it around your neck, you realized that it was a necklace, the charm attached shimmering in the light.

You looked down at the piece of jewelry in awe, “Oh Nat, it’s beautiful.” you said and turned around completely to face her.

“It looks even better on you.” she flattered. You couldn’t stop your cheeks from turning a light shade of pink and Natasha grinned at the effect she had on you.

It took a moment for you to gather your composure before taking her hand in yours. “Come on, there’s an entire party downstairs and I wanna see what kind of food they have.” you both giggled as you dragged her down the stairs and to the ballroom.

Hours later the party was now in full swing. You had received happy birthday wishes from so many people you lost count, and ate so many different desserts that you’d probably have a stomachache the next day.

When people began setting down their drinks to find space to dance, Natasha looked towards you and thought she’d take the opportunity to ask you to dance with her.

“May I have—” she started to say, but was interrupted when a young boy around your age approached you.

“Um, excuse me, Princess. Would you like to dance with me?” he asked, clearly nervous considering his fidgeting hands.

As much as you wanted to decline his offer, you felt obligated to accept as you were the kingdoms princess. You looked at Natasha with an apologetic expression and told her you’d be right back before following the boy.

Anyone that looked at the redhead would be able to tell she was annoyed— it was written all over here face.

So when she made her way over to her family, Yelena raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

The young knight sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, “Someone else decided to sweep her off her feet.”

All she could do was watch as you kept getting pulled away to dance with people. Whenever a song ended and you tried to make your way back over to her, someone else was by your side asking to dance. To both of you, it felt like forever before you were finally back together.

The song came to an end you were practically speed walking to where Natasha was standing off to the side in a successful attempt to avoid getting pulled away again.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I swear they just kept coming out of no where.” you breathed out, gulping down your glass of water to catch your breath.

Natasha smiled and shook her head, “It’s okay, is it my turn now or are you too worn out?”

You playfully rolled your eyes and laughed, “Don’t be ridiculous, Natty.” you took her hand and led her to an empty space amongst other dancing people.

Her arms encircled your waist while yours wrapped loosely around her neck. Neither of you exactly knew how to dance, so you just gently swayed with the music.

The young knight found that the annoyance she was feeling early could no longer be felt now that she finally had you. She was too happy to focus on anything except you— but there was one other thing on her mind.

“Can I ask you something?” Natasha said.

You hummed, nodding your head. “Of course, Nat.”

She sighed contently and tightened her hold on you. “I think we both know that we’ve felt something for each other that’s more than best friends, even as little kids. I mean my parents still won’t let me forget about that time I asked you to marry me when we were what? Six?” she spoke and you both laughed at the memory.

“And I did say yes. Actually, if I recall correctly I was pretty enthusiastic about it too.” you giggled.

“Yeah, you were.” Natasha grinned. “But I wanted to know if you’d maybe wanna make our relationship official. You know, so I can be the only one you dance with at parties like these.” she asked hopefully.

You looked at her with a smirk plastered across your face and raised eyebrows. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Well— yeah…I am.”

You smiled and laid your head on her shoulder, “I’d love nothing more, Nat.” you said and your answer brought an even bigger grin to her face.

What you didn’t know was that your mothers were watching the scene unfold from across the room, sipping on glasses of expensive wine.

Your mother playfully shook her head, “Like true soulmates.” she spoke and Melina hummed in agreement.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Two years later)

“Do you have to go?” you said sadly.

You stood on the dock clutching onto the young knight as if she’d disappear into thin air if you let go while she held you just as tight. Both of your families stood around talking, watching the saddening encounter.

Natasha was about to leave for her first ever commission. It was an overseas assignment for her to prove her ability to protect the kingdoms Princess, so as much as she didn’t want to leave you, she had to.

The young knight cupped the back of your head with one hand and pressed her nose into your hair, basking in the comforting scent of your shampoo to soak up her last few moments with you before her departure.

“You’ll be okay, Y/n. Three weeks, and then I’ll be back with you again.” she assured.

“Three weeks without you is too long.” you said. You and Natasha had always been inseparable, so it was hard knowing that she’d be so far away.

“I know, princess, I know.” Natasha whispered into your hair. It was only when she heard you sniffle and felt tears wetting her neck that she pulled back to look at you. “Hey,” she cooed and cupped your cheeks.

“It’ll go by so fast you won’t even remember I’m gone. Yelena promised me she’d keep you company, and she basically is me because she’s my sister, so hopefully you won’t miss me too much.”

That made a small smile pull at your lips. “No offense to Yelena, but no one could ever compare to you, Nat. I’ll miss you so much, and what if you get hurt over there?” you said.

Natasha smiled and kissed your forehead, “I’ll be okay, princess. It’ll all be okay, I promise.”

Her thumbs swiped under your eyes to wipe away your tears before she closed the distance between the two of you and connected your lips.

You both knew you had to keep it short and sweet considering both of your families were still there.

“I love you so much, Nat.” you whispered.

She gazed lovingly at you, “I love you more, my beautiful girl. So much more.” the words fell from Natasha’s lips ever so softly.

You were unfortunately brought out of your little bubble with Natasha much sooner than you would’ve liked when over her shoulder, you caught sight of Natasha’s commander walking off of the ship and towards you.

He cleared his throat, now catching everyone’s attention. “I hate to do this, but the captain’s ready. It’s time to go, romanoff.” he announced.

Your heart dropped as you’d been dreading this moment.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be just a second.” Natasha said.

He nodded his head and walked back onto the ship.

The young knight turned to you and sighed, “I guess that’s my cue.” she said and you nodded in understanding.

Natasha let go of you to approach her family, giving her parents and a hug as well as your parents. She exchanged words with them that you couldn’t really hear before making her way back over to you.

She delicately cupped your face in her hands and pressed her lips to yours once again. You both poured all of your love and passion for each other into the kiss, knowing it’d be the last one until she got back.

You pulled away and rested your forehead against hers. “See you in three weeks?”

“See you in three weeks.” she promised.

You let Natasha go and watched as she boarded. The ship departed soon after.

The castle suddenly became quieter for you with the young knight gone. You of course had to continue with your usual duties and responsibilities because life goes on, but it wasn’t the same without Natasha around.

What made it bearable was that you still had your parents to go into town with every Tuesday and visit all of your favorite spots like normal, conversing with the workers there that you’d become good friends with over the years.

Yelena kept her word and would hang out with you whenever you had free time to distract you from the thought of Natasha being overseas. Melina and Alexei were great as well and did whatever they could to help.

With all of that combined, everything turned out to be okay just like Natasha had said.

And the young knight made good of her promise to you because three weeks later, your father had knocked on your bedroom door, pulling your attention away from the book in your hands to inform you that Natasha’s ship had just returned.

You jumped out of bed so fast, not even bothering to mark your page as you rushed out of the castle and down to the docks. You probably looked like a madman with the way you were running, a huge smile plastered on your face.

But you didn’t care because you got to the docks right on time to see Natasha walking off the ship. When her eyes locked on you she grinned widely and dropped her bags to meet you halfway as you practically leaped into her arms.

~~~~~~~~

(Time jump a few years later/present day)

You turned off the faucet and shook your hands to rid them of dripping water before drying them completely with the hand towel hung on the wall. A gentle smile sat on your lips, one that hasn’t left your face since the night began.

It was the day that you could only dream of as a little kid.

Literally.

You opened the bathroom door and started to walk out, wanting to get back to the after-party before you missed out on too much of this important night when you felt a gentle grip on your wrist.

Whoever grabbed you had pulled you back into them so your back was against their front, but you didn’t panic too much because you immediately recognized the familiar cologne of your wife whom you just tied the knot with merely a couple hours ago.

She wrapped her arms arms around your torso and pressed a feather light kiss to your neck. “There you are, my love. I lost you there for a moment, I missed you.”

You giggled as her breath tickled your neck. “I was only gone for a few minutes, Nat.”

“A few minutes too long. But now that I found you, I can have a moment with you alone before we go back to everyone.”

You hummed and relaxed back into her, letting out a content sigh as you admired the shining ring that Natasha had slid onto your finger after vowing to you that she would spend the rest of her life by your side.

That this was forever like it was always meant to be.

“I can’t believe we’re actually married.” you whispered out.

Natasha smiled against you. “I know, it feels so surreal. Six year old me would be over the moon right now.”

You both laughed at that. It probably was true.

“You know our moms always called us soulmates.” Natasha said as she reached to take your left hand into hers, staring at the ring and smiling to herself at the memories coming back to her.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “They were right though, weren’t they?”

The redhead sighed happily, “They were.”

You two basked in each other’s presence in silence for a moment as Natasha pressed small kisses to any part of your skin she could reach. You giggled whenever her lips touched a ticklish spot.

“We should probably go back out there now. Before people start thinking we abandoned our own wedding.” you joked.

Natasha chuckled, though continuing her ministrations, “We can spare a few more minutes, right?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, “No, we cannot. Because you’re going to get carried away and then we’re going to actually abandon our own wedding.”

The redhead groaned when you began pulling away from her, but you made it up to her by pressing a kiss to her lips which seemed to satisfy her for now before taking her hand and leading her back to the after-party.

“There you guys are!” Yelena said once she saw the two of you, “We’ve been looking for you. It’s time for your guy’s first dance.”

She dragged you both over to your parents where they were waiting.

You couldn’t help the smile that seemed to take over your face.

Everything was perfect as can be, and now you get to enjoy it all with your soulmate.

~ end ~

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Something Safe to Come Home To

The Vet

Wandanat x werewolf!reader

Summary: Natasha thinks you'd be a good K-9 dog the problem is they need to take you to the vet for a blood draw...

word count: 2.1K

Warnings: Past trauma, involuntary loss of autonomy, feral/animalistic POV, food insecurity, fear responses (growling/snapping), hurt/comfort, found family, consent-focused touch, slow burn healing, mentions of blood draw

Authors note:

Taglist: @julieromanoff @bread-crumbs-on-the-bed @aurtymcquarty @ayrtonwilbury @moonxytcn @kermittedfelony @yearning-ka @xeiinpain @lizziescutiepie @poppyshuman @phixiesworld @beggingonmykneesforher @seventeen-x @toe19 @luckilygrimconduit @tigerlillyruiz

You had picked up on the commands quickly. The redhead, Natasha, had been going through commands over the past week with you. You understood each of them perfectly. You weren't sure if it was the animal instinct or just you being weird, but listening to her commands made you happy, a flutter in your chest every time you got called “good girl” and a treat getting hoovered up. 

“Did you even taste it, Shaggydog?” Wanda chuckled, a question that was asked often which you'd give a small ‘boof’ in response.

“She's really smart. I think she'll do great at the K-9 school.” Natasha spoke, your head tilting. You knew the words and you'd seen her uniform. Another bark coming out, a bit louder, more confident. “See Wands? Even she knows she'll be good at it.” Nat scritched the sides of your face a bit, making you melt.

“I just don't want her getting hurt Nat.” Wanda patted her thighs and you pawed over. Letting your head rest in her lap as she gives you scritches. “We still need to take her to the vet and get that DNA test for her. We dont know if she'll be able to do it.” 

“Well even if she cant she'll still be here to protect you when you work from home.” Natasha sat next to Wanda, pulling her close and away from you as you decided to climb in their laps.

You'd grown close to the two women, hoping they'd see the real you somehow. You whine as you crawl across their laps making the two laugh as you look up at them. 

“Such a scary guard dog we have here Nat.” Wanda says as she rubs your tummy, making your leg kick. 

“She just has to look the part. We both know if anyone saw her they'd shit themselves.” Nat retorted, making Wanda snort. 

“This is very true.” 

⋆˚🐾˖°₊˚⊹ 𐂯⋆˚🐾˖°

The building smells wrong.

You know it before the engine even shuts off.

Antiseptic. Alcohol. Bleach soaked so deep into tile it has a permanent bite. Underneath it—fear. Old fear. Fresh fear. Cats sharp and electric. Dogs anxious and loud. A copper tang that never fully leaves.

And something older.

Something that smells like endings.

Your hackles lift before you can stop them.

“It’s okay,” Wanda murmurs softly as she opens the back door. “Just a check-up.”

Check-up.

Natasha circles the car automatically, scanning the lot before opening your door. Her hand lands at the back of your neck, firm and steady. Not restraining.

Grounding.

You step down.

The pavement is warm. Solid. Real.

The doors hiss open and the smell hits full force.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Too bright. Too white. The air is over-processed, sterile in a way that feels aggressive. Your claws click sharply against the floor.

Too loud.

A golden retriever sits across the room, tail thumping nervously. A terrier trembles in someone’s sweatered arms. A cat in a carrier hisses low and constant, eyes blown wide.

Their heartbeats layer in your ears.

You catalog without meaning to.

Front desk. Two staff. Back hallway. One visible exit. Windows sealed. No clean run path.

You sit. Perfect posture. Tail wrapped neatly around your paws. Ears forward but soft. Natasha notices the rigidity anyway. Her fingers brush the top of your head. “Good girl.”

It warms you instantly. That stupid, human part of you preens under it.

Wanda doesn’t take a chair. She kneels beside you, always lowering herself to your level. Her fingers sink into your fur and stroke down your neck in slow passes.

“You’re okay,” she whispers.

You wish that were true.

A door opens down the hall.

A sharp yelp.

Then,

Blood. Fresh. Hot. Metallic and alive. Your head snaps up before you can stop it. For a fraction of a second, the waiting room dissolves.

You are in the woods. Moonlight filters through pine branches. Snow crusts under your paws. You are tracking. You are starving. You are something large and silent and merciless. The memory fractures before it completes. Always does.

You swallow it down and press your body into Wanda’s knee instead.

Cherry blossom shampoo. Green tea. Laundry detergent. Home.

“Hey,” she murmurs, feeling the shift.

Natasha’s palm settles heavier at your shoulder now. Not forceful, just anchoring.

“Shaggydog?”

You stand quickly, a little too so,

The technician smiles. “Wow. She’s attentive.”

You lower your gaze deliberately. Soften your posture. Tail relaxed and you follow behind. The hallway smells stronger; alcohol wipes, latex, stress sweat, ozone from machines.

The exam room is smaller than you like,  a cold metal table. You don’t hesitate climbing up when they guide you. 

The vet is an older woman with sharp blue eyes. She doesn’t crouch first. She watches. You can feel her assessing you.

“Well,” she says mildly. “This is our mystery girl.”

Natasha’s shoulders tighten a fraction.

“She’s just here for the DNA panel,” Natasha says evenly.

“Of course.” The vet’s hands are practiced as she checks your ears, your teeth. She lingers at your gums slightly longer than necessary. Presses along your ribs. Your abdomen. You keep your breathing even.She frowns faintly.

“Excellent muscle tone,” she murmurs. “Low resting heart rate.”

Natasha smiles faintly. “We like to keep her active. Thinking of having her come work with me as a K-9.”

“Well judging by just the muscle tone and her listening skills I’d say she’d make an excellent candidate for the program. We’ll take a small blood sample and send that off.”

Your pulse spikes.

Blood.

No.

The tech wraps around you. Holding your head against her chest, she smells like medicine and you don’t like it. She holds your leg, rolling it outward slightly. The other tech holds near your paw, feeling for the vein before grabbing a bottle of alcohol and squeezing it on your leg. 

Every fiber is too loud against your skin. The latex gloves squeak faintly. Your pulse pounds in your ears like a drumbeat.

What if it smells wrong?

What if it looks wrong?

What if…

The needle pierces. It barely hurts, but the second your blood hits air,

Everything in you surges.

It’s stronger than before. Not just scent. It smells… different. Thicker and wilder. Like the forest floor after rain. Like iron and sap and something feral beneath it. A low sound vibrates from your chest before you can stop it. It’s not loud, but it’s certainly not a dog’s growl.

The room stills.

The vet doesn’t flinch, but her eyes sharpen.

“Easy,” Natasha says quietly.

Wanda presses her forehead against your neck immediately. “You’re okay. I’m right here.” You lock onto her voice. Not the blood. Not the instinct screaming to bare teeth.

Her.

The vial fills.

The moment the needle slides free, you feel it, that familiar internal shift. Skin knitting. Cells tightening. You tense, terrified they’ll see it.

The tech hands the vial off and wraps a bandage around your forearm. The vial disappears through the swinging door, something inside you feels untethered. Like a thread cut.

⋆˚🐾˖°₊˚⊹ 𐂯⋆˚🐾˖°

Three days later, the call comes in. You know before Natasha answers. Her voice is neutral. Too neutral.

“Yes. This is her.” A pause. Her posture shifts. “I’m sorry…what?”

Wanda looks up immediately.

“Inconclusive how?” The word lands cold. “You ran it twice?” Natasha asks. Your ears flatten. “It separated?” She repeats slowly.

Wanda whispers, “Separated into what?”

Natasha listens, jaw tightening.

“Standard canine markers,” she says. “And then unstable sequencing?” Your stomach drops.

“They’ve never seen structural fluctuation mid-analysis?” Natasha asks.

Fluctuation. The person on the other end speaks longer this time.

Natasha’s eyes flick to you.

You freeze, look away like you’ve done something wrong.

“They’re recommending we bring her back,” she says finally. “For a monitored redraw.”

Wanda’s hand stills in your fur.

“Why monitored?” she asks sharply.

“They want to observe the sample immediately post-draw.” The room feels smaller.

Wanda stands. “That sounds excessive.”

“They said the first sample…” Natasha hesitates. “Didn’t behave predictably.”

You feel sick. 

⋆˚🐾˖°₊˚⊹ 𐂯⋆˚🐾˖°

The second visit feels different before you even step inside.

Two staff members are already waiting near the front desk when the door opens. They don’t smile the way they did last time. There’s no clipboard shuffling, no light “Hi there!” Instead, they exchange a look and gesture you forward immediately.

No waiting room.

No small talk.

You’re taken straight down the hallway, past the other exam rooms, to one at the very end. The air smells sharper back here. Stronger disinfectant. Less traffic. More isolation.

The exam room is different.

The table isn’t the standard padded one from before. It’s stainless steel, heavier, bolted to the floor. There are restraint hooks at each corner. Not subtle. Not accidental.

Wanda notices immediately.

Her hand stills on your back. “Why is that there?” she asks, her voice polite but already edged.

“For safety,” the vet replies calmly, stepping in behind you.

Natasha’s tone drops half a degree, cool and controlled. “From what?”

The vet offers a small, practiced smile. “We just want to ensure everyone is protected.”

Protected.

From you.

Your chest tightens, a slow constriction beneath your ribs. You haven’t done anything. You haven’t even pulled against the leash.

Wanda steps closer to your side, her thigh brushing your shoulder. “She didn’t need restraints last time.”

“It’s protocol,” the vet says.

“It wasn’t protocol three days ago,” Wanda snaps, and there it is, the shift. Not fear. Anger.

The technician moves toward the tray with the needle, her posture cautious, weight balanced like she expects you to lunge.

You haven’t moved at all. You’re sitting exactly where they placed you. Tail still. Ears neutral. Perfect posture. Perfect dog, but inside, something is unraveling.

Your heart is beating too fast. Your senses are too sharp. The metal table smells like old adrenaline and restraint straps. Something about it presses against fractured pieces of memory you don’t want to touch.

You hear it before you mean to, the faintest whisper drifting in from the cracked hallway door.

“…elevated cellular regeneration…”

“…not normal clotting…”

“…should we notify…?”

Natasha hears it too.

You see it in the way her shoulders square, the way her spine goes straight and unyielding. Her expression doesn’t change, but something in her sharpens. Cold. Calculating.

“No,” she says suddenly.

Everyone looks at her.

“We’re not doing this,” she continues evenly. “You didn’t mention anything about abnormal findings that warranted escalation. You said contamination. Now we’re walking into a room set up like she’s a liability.”

The vet lifts her hands slightly in a placating gesture. “We’re simply being cautious.”

“With my dog,” Wanda says, her voice trembling now, not with uncertainty, but with fury. “You’re being cautious with my dog.”

You feel it as clearly as a scent in the air.

The shift.

Wanda steps fully between you and the table, one hand resting firmly on your back. A barrier. A line drawn.

“You’re not restraining her.”

The room goes very quiet.

The technician hesitates, needle hovering uncertainly over the tray. The air feels charged, like the seconds before a storm breaks.

Natasha steps forward as well, calm but immovable. “If there’s a medical concern, you can explain it. Clearly. But you don’t get to treat her like a specimen.”

Specimen. The word detonates in your skull. Specimen. Metal table. Bright lights. Hands that did not comfort. Voices that did not soothe. The smell of your own blood and something chemical beneath it.

You had remembered something: a fractured piece of you, of a voice, reminding you of how cautious you needed to be. To never be caught. To them…you will just be a specimen…something to study and use.

The memory fractures before it completes, splintering into white noise and instinct. Your breathing quickens despite yourself.

Wanda turns instantly at the change in you. She cups your face in both hands, pressing her forehead gently to yours.

“Nope,” she says softly, decisively. “We’re done.” She looks back at the vet, eyes bright and unwavering. “We rescind consent. You are not taking her blood.”

The technician freezes.

The vet tries once more, carefully measured. “We really do recommend-”

“No,” Natasha says.

Final. Absolute.

There’s no arguing with it.

They lift you down from the table, not because you resisted, but because they refuse to let you stay there another second. You go willingly, stepping into Wanda’s space, pressing against her leg.

You would follow them anywhere. Even if it means never knowing what your blood would have revealed. Even if it means living forever in that fragile space between secret and safety.

As they walk you out, Wanda’s hand never leaves your fur. When you get to the car she sits in the back with you. Arms wrapped around you. 

“You’re not a science project,” she murmurs fiercely into your coat.

You press closer.

You don’t know if you’re more wolf than human. You don’t know what your blood does under a microscope. You don’t know what would happen if someone pushed hard enough for answers.

You only know this:

They chose you.

And when it mattered,

They chose you over answers.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Something Safe to Come Home To

Coming Home

Wandanat x werewolf!reader

Summary: Once a wolf with too much human in her eyes, you lose your freedom and your voice, mistaken for something feral and left to wait in a shelter where no one chooses you. Until two women do and slowly, carefully, teach you that safety can feel like soft hands, quiet rooms, and being wanted exactly as you are.

word count: 1.6K

Warnings: Past trauma, implied capture/violence, animal shelter/pound setting, involuntary loss of autonomy, feral/animalistic POV, food insecurity, fear responses (growling/snapping), hurt/comfort, found family, consent-focused touch, slow burn healing

Authors note: Here is part one of a highly anticipated series by you guys. Thank you for all the support in this before I even wrote any of it!

Taglist: @julieromanoff @bread-crumbs-on-the-bed @aurtymcquarty @ayrtonwilbury @moonxytcn @kermittedfelony @yearning-ka @xeiinpain @lizziescutiepie @poppyshuman @phixiesworld

The white cloud came spewing out your mouth. Your teeth chomp together to let out a low threatening growl as a few men surround you. It's your last taste of freedom; it's something you feel in your bones. A sharp sting to your thigh. The world tilts and a growl dies in your throat. 

“Its going to be okay, big girl. You're safe now.” That was the last thing you heard before it went dark. 

You don't know just how long you'd been in the pound, but it was long enough that many people passed you by. Meals of kibble that you didn't remember the thrill of the hunt or the smell of blood. You stay curled up in the corner. A cot for a bed, a bowl for water, and a singular toy. You noticed the dog across you had one. They all must. 

Different employees would sit with you, trying to comfort you in different ways. They'd try to get you to be more friendly, but you'd growl when they'd get too close. You wouldn't eat the treats they tried to give you. Eventually they stop. 

At the front of the shelter you hear the bell of the front door. You were used to the noise. Your ears perked on instinct, flicking towards it. It didn't matter though. None of it did. This is just another day that you wouldn't be picked. Just like all the others. 

“We have dogs of various breeds, different sizes, and different needs based on what you've told us of your work, house, and the extra details of preferably a bigger breed as use of a guard dog we have a few options.” You hear the voice of an employee, a young girl. You hear the page flip on the clipboard, “We have Roxie a German Shepard she came to us last week and is up to date on shots, there's Duke a Pit Bull Terrier also up to date on shots and has an amazing temperament, and lastly there's Ford a Black Mouth Cur mix…” she carried on as they passed your cage and then,

“Who's this? Why wasn't she on the list?” an unfamiliar voice asks. 

You look up lazily to see a brunette looking at you curiously, she smells of cherry blossoms and green tea. 

“Oh well this is Shaggydog. One of our younger employees said she looked like one of the Direwolves from Game of Thrones. We believe she's a wolf dog, but she's got a bit of a temperament issue and doesn't let any of us near her. So we don't have her on the adoption list currently.”

The brunette crouched down to look at you. You look at her and she looks into your eyes.

“Her eyes are beautiful. They almost seem human.” She mentioned and you perk up. 

‘She sees me!’ You get up from your spot, slowly padding to the front of your cage, sniffing cautiously. You pick up the scent of the redhead mint and metal. 

The brunette's hand reaches out slowly, trying to let you decide if you want her or not. 

You do.

You press your head into her hand. A soft gasp coming out of the employee. “She's never done that.”

“We'll take her.” The redhead speaks without warning, giving no room for argument. Though the employee did try, but both the redhead and you gave her the same look. 

“I'll get the paperwork ready.” She said quickly before walking off. 

“Did you hear Tasha? We're taking you home Shaggydog. You're going to be our good girl huh? You're going to be so pampered and loved.” The brunette spoke in a higher pitched voice. One that people saved for animals and babies. 

“Wands I dont know if she understands you.” 

The brunette now known as Wands looked at you. Looking into your eyes again. 

“I think she does though Nat. I don't know, there's just something in her eyes.” Wands gave you head scritches and you practically melted. 

Wands put the collar on you when you growl at the employee. “It's okay, Shaggydog. No one is going to hurt you.” She presses her forehead to yours, closing her eyes and you close yours.

‘Can you see me? Can you see who I am inside?’ You think, hoping she can hear you.

She pulls back and smiles. 

“Come on, let's go home sweet girl.” 

⋆˚🐾˖°₊˚⊹ 𐂯⋆˚🐾˖°

You were overwhelmed by the house.

Too big. Too many smells layered over each other—wood polish, old fabric, soap, something citrus, something floral, something sharp and metallic that belonged to the redhead. You padded through it all, nails clicking softly against the floor as you mapped every corner like your life depended on it.

Because it used to.

You sniffed the couch first, then rub along it, pressing your scent into it. Then the doorways. The corners. The shoes by the wall; two pairs worn often, familiar, safe. No blood. No fear soaked into the floorboards. No shouting trapped in the walls.

You paused. Listened. The house listened back.

The brunette, Wands, sat on the couch, watching without speaking. Smart. Still. Letting you decide. The redhead hovered near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp. To you she was guarding.

Pack behavior. You didn’t realize your tail had lifted until it brushed the side of a chair. There was a hallway. Narrow. Enclosed. Good.

You slipped down it, nose close to the floor, following scent trails like ghost-memories. One room smelled like sleep;warm blankets, shared space, something deeply theirs. You didn’t enter. Just lingered at the threshold, cataloging.

Another room smelled like books and ink and dust. Calm. Quiet.

Then,

A room that felt right.

Low light. Soft rug. A corner tucked away beneath a window. There was a bed, it was set up but barely smelled like them. Your body made the decision before your mind could interfere. You circled twice, then curled into the corner, spine to the wall, eyes on the door.

Safe angle. No blind spots. You exhaled for the first time since stepping inside. Wands noticed immediately.

“Oh,” she whispered, like she’d just witnessed something sacred.

She didn’t approach. Just smiled softly, hand covering her mouth for a second like she was overwhelmed. The redhead glanced at her, then at you.

“She picked her spot,” Nat said quietly. Approval threaded through her voice.

You flicked an ear. You felt a smirk on your face, but you were sure it didn’t translate.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time still felt strange.

Eventually, Wands stood and moved slowly, deliberately, grabbing something soft from the couch. A blanket. She lowered it near you, not on you. 

Your nose twitched. You pawed at it until  it was pulled close. Then you grabbed it with your mouth and attempted to put it over yourself. A human instinct you thought long forgotten.

The brunette’s smile went watery.

“You’re doing so good,” she murmured.

Your eyes slid shut. Just for a second. Not sleeping, but resting. Letting your body settle into the shape of the room.

For the first time in a long time, nothing hurt. Nothing chased you. Nothing tried to take and somewhere deep in your chest, beneath fur and instinct and memory, something fragile and human stirred and thought,

Maybe this is where I stay.

Wands disappears for a moment.

You hear her moving in another room; soft footsteps, drawers opening, the whisper of fabric shifting. Your ears flick, tracking her without you meaning to. When she comes back, she’s holding something.

Small. Soft. You lift your head, instantly alert.

It looks like a wolf.

Not real. No smell of blood or dirt or fear. Just fabric and stuffing and something faintly like the store and the hands that chose it.

Nat crouches beside her. “We bought it weeks ago,” she says quietly, like it’s a confession. “Didn’t know who we were bringing home yet. Just… knew.”

Wands kneels slowly, setting the toy down on the floor a few feet away from you. She doesn’t push it closer. Doesn’t make it a test.

“We wanted the right one,” she murmurs. “And that turned out to be you.”

Your chest tightens.

The wolf toy lies there, still and harmless, black fur stitched soft and plush. Familiar shape. Safe shape. A thing meant to be held, not fought.

You inch forward, nose stretching out first. You sniff it carefully. No threat. No trick. You nudge it with your muzzle.

It topples over.

You freeze.

Nothing happens.

You grab it.

Your jaws close around it instinctively—not hard, just enough to feel it. The fabric gives. Warmth blooms in your chest so suddenly it almost knocks the breath from you.

Mine.

You retreat with it, backing into your corner, curling around it protectively. Your body tucks the toy against your chest, chin resting over it like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged there. A sound slips out of you before you can stop it soft, low, almost embarrassed. You close your eyes.

The toy smells like them now. Like home. Like something that was waiting for you before you were ready to be found. 

You press your nose into it and finally, finally let yourself sleep.

The two women retreat, letting you rest, but not before Wanda takes a sneaky picture to share with their friends and more than likely make it her lockscreen. 

You hear the soft click before you understand what it means. Your eyes slit open just enough to see Wands standing a little too still, phone held low, her smile guilty and glowing all at once.

Nat catches it immediately.

“Wanda,” she murmurs, warning threaded with amusement. “Did you just-”

“I know, I know,” Wands whispers back, already lowering the phone. “I couldn’t help it. Look at her.”

Nat glances at you, curled around the stuffed wolf, chin tucked over it, black fur rising and falling slow and even.

Her mouth softens despite herself.

“…Okay. One picture.”

They retreat after that. Back down the hallway and to the living room. The lights dim. Footsteps fade. The house settles around you like a held breath finally released.

[richonnefan50]

Bringing this video back of Sepideh singing opera

[dailylgbtq]

Ariana Debose at the Time 100 Gala (06.08.2022)

[givemeursweater]

Can I have a kiss? | Baran Al-Hashimi

pairing: Baran Al-hashimi x Fem!Reader

summary: After a soft dinner, Baran is feeling needy.

word count: 1k

author's note: HELLOOOO ITS BEEN SO LONG i came here just to post this and then disappear again cus ive been failing all my classes (LIE) so ive been really burned out, WELL I HOPE U GUYS LIKE THIS i might write something more for al hashimi idk i love her

The apartment is quiet again after dinner with Baran and her son—soft, warm, lived-in.

The plates had been good, simple, something easy after a long day, and now the only thing left is the low sound of running water and the occasional clink of glass against the sink.

You’re standing at it, sleeves pushed up, hands submerged in warm, soapy water as you rinse the last few things. It’s not much—just a couple plates, a few glasses—but still.

Behind you—

Baran.

She had insisted you leave it. Had told you, very clearly, that it could wait until morning. That you should sit, rest, stay with her. Lay in bed and do something more fun.

You hadn’t listened.

And now she’s making that known.

Her arms slide around your waist from behind, slow and deliberate, her body pressing into your back as she tucks herself against you like she belongs there—which, at this point, she kind of does.

“You are ignoring me,” she murmurs against your shoulder.

“I’m washing dishes,” you correct, smiling faintly as you keep your focus on the glass in your hands.

“Is that more important than me?"

“It is when you get cranky seeing the mess of dishes.”

She huffs softly, but doesn’t move away.

Her chin brushes your shoulder as she nudges your hair aside, fingers gently gathering it and moving it over to one side—

And then her lips press, slow and warm, against your exposed shoulder.

You inhale quietly.

“Bee…”

She hums in response, already pressing another kiss, closer to your neck this time.

“You are paying more attention to the plates than to your girlfriend,” she murmurs, very pointedly emphasizing the word.

You can’t help it—you laugh softly under your breath.

“My girlfriend?” you repeat, amused.

“Yes,” she says simply, like that settles it.

Her hands tighten just a little around your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, resting warm against your skin now instead of fabric.

“You have been doing this for too long,” she adds, voice quieter, her lips brushing your neck again.

“It’s been like five minutes.”

“It has been at least ten.”

“It hasn’t.”

She doesn’t answer.

Instead, she kisses your neck—longer this time, slower, bitting carefully, lingering just enough that it makes it harder to ignore.

You exhale softly, shifting slightly in her hold but not pulling away.

“Almost done,” you tell her. “I’ve got like—three glasses left. Then I’m all yours.”

“I want you now.”

You laugh again, shaking your head a little as you rinse another glass.

“You’ll survive.”

“I am not sure I will.”

One of her hands slide further up under your shirt, just barely brushing the underside of your chest. The other hand settles more firmly at your waist, fingers pressing lightly into your skin as she leans into you again.

Then—

Another kiss.

Higher.

Closer to your jaw this time. More bitting than kissing, if you're being honest.

“Bee,” you warn, softer now.

She ignores you.

Her lips find your neck again, and you feel her breath warm against your skin before she presses another kiss there.

“I want a kiss,” she murmurs.

“You’re getting one,” you reply, trying to stay focused, “in like—thirty seconds.”

“That is too long.”

“It is not too long.”

“It is.”

You shake your head, but your voice is starting to betray you just a little.

“I’m almost done—"

“Please.” She whispers right against your skin.

Her fingers tighten slightly at your waist, one of her thumbs brushing more surely against the underside of your boob.

“I want a kiss,” she repeats, quieter now.

You exhale, half a laugh, half a whine.

“Bee—”

“Please,” she says again, and this time there’s a faint, almost stubborn edge to it. “Just one.”

You rinse another glass, set it aside.

“Two glasses,” you mutter.

She does not care.

Her lips press to your neck again, slower, more insistent now, and her hands shift—one cupping your boob and brushing over your clothed nipple, the other anchoring at your waist, moving softly lower.

“I am asking nicely,” she murmurs.

“You are being very distracting.”

“That is the intention.”

You huff a breath, trying not to smile too much.

“One more glass.”

“I want a kiss.”

“One—”

“Please."

You laugh under your breath again, shaking your head as you rinse the last one, water running over your hands.

“I’m literally finishing—”

“I know.”

“And you’re still—”

“Yes.”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Because the second you set the glass down—

She moves.

Her hands move to your waist and she gently but firmly turns you around, pressing you back against the edge of the sink before you can even properly react.

Your hands are still wet, lifted slightly away from her on instinct—

And then she’s kissing you.

Her hands stay at your waist, grounding you as she leans in fully, closing the distance like she’s been waiting the entire time—which, clearly, she has.

You let out a quiet moan against her lips, instinctively wanting to reach for her—

But your hands hover uselessly in the air, droplets of water still clinging to your fingers.

“Bee—my hands—” you murmur against her mouth.

“I do not care,” she whispers back, and kisses you again.

It’s slower this time. Deeper.

Her grip on you softens just slightly, one hand sliding along your side while the other stays firm at your waist, keeping you right where she wants you.

You tilt your head into it despite yourself, laughing softly under your breath between kisses because you literally can’t touch her back.

“Unfair,” you mumble.

“You had your chance,” she replies quietly, lips brushing yours again.

The kiss lingers like she’s making up for every second she had to wait.

Her hands move slowly—down, deliberate—traveling from your waist to your hips.

Then lower.

And then—

A firm squeeze. Nails digging into your cheeks.

You let out a surprised laugh and moan against her lips, pulling back just slightly, breath a little uneven now.

“Okay—okay—”

She pauses, just enough to look at you, eyes softer now but still very much focused.

“…Now?” she asks, voice quieter again, but still carrying that same need underneath.

You shake your head, smiling, still a little breathless.

“Yeah,” you admit.

She leans in like she’s about to kiss you again—

But stops just short.

“…Can we go to the bedroom?” she asks, softer this time.

You laugh again, a little helpless, a little fond.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching for the towel with one hand, finally drying them off. “We can go to the bedroom.”

You toss the towel aside, leaning in just enough to press a quick, soft peck to her lips—

And she immediately follows you when you pull away.

[alhashimigf]

right person, right time. nsfw

pairing: baran al-hashimi x fem!reader

summary: you broke up with your ex, and Baran finds another way to comfort you. contains: nsfw, sex, oral, baran!giving, reader!receiving, dirty talk, bff to lovers, jealousy, possessive baran word count: 1393

You’d been crying on Baran’s couch for almost half an hour, mascara running down your cheeks, voice raw from telling her every detail of how your ex had made some accusations against you. He’d been calling you “clingy” and “dramatic” before storming out after another fight. Baran sat beside you in her faded Stanford alumni shirt and some loose sweats, one arm draped around your shoulders. She rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, the way she always did when you were ranting about your now ex.

“I can’t believe I wasted almost a year on that asshole,” you sniffled, wiping your nose with the sleeve of the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from her closet months ago. “He was such a dick, Baran. Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

Baran’s jaw tightened, but her voice stayed gentle, low, and warm with that faint accent that always made you feel safe. “Because you’re too good for him, angel. Way too good. I told you time and time again that he didn’t deserve you. Every time you came over smiling about some shitty ass date, I wanted to shake you and tell you how I truly felt. You never listened, sweetie.”

You looked up at her, confused through the tears. “How you felt? Wait, what are you talking about?”

She exhaled slowly, her brown doe eyes searching yours. Her hand moved from your back to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. “So, um—I don’t know how to say this without it possibly ruining our friendship, but fuck it. The truth is that I uhhh—I’ve been in love with you for months. I’ve been crushing on you so hard it hurt watching him touch you. I was jealous as fuck, but I never said anything because you were happy… or at least I thought you were. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Your heart stuttered. “Baran. . . I had no idea. You never. . .I—”

“I know,” she cut in, voice dropping an octave, rougher now. “I kept it locked down. But you’re single now. And you’re here, crying on my couch, looking so fucking beautiful even when you’re broken. Please let me make you feel better. Let me make you feel good,” she whimpers as she grips your thighs. “I know your piss poor ex couldn’t make you feel good. That bugged the shit out of me, knowing I’ve been feigning for you, knowing I can satisfy you,” her voice husky.

Heat bloomed low in your belly despite the tears. “Wait? What? You. . .want to. . . uhh, you know with me?” you say with fake innocence.

“I want to bury my face between your thighs and eat that pretty pussy until you forget he ever existed,” Baran said, blunt and hungry, her eyes darkening. “I want to taste how wet you get for me. Been fantasizing about it every damn night. You don’t know how many times I’ve played with my pussy on the phone with you, imagining how your moans sound. Please, baby. Please. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding, stunned and suddenly aching. Baran didn’t waste time. She gently pushed you back against the cushions, peeling your leggings and damp panties down your legs in one smooth motion, spreading your thighs wide open with strong, steady hands.

“Fuck,” she breathed, staring at your exposed pussy like it was something sacred and filthy at the same time. “Look at you. So fucking pretty. You’re fucking drenched already. All that crying got you worked up, huh? Or is this because you finally know how bad I want to eat that pretty pussy and claim it as mine?”

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, voice shaky with surprise and arousal. “I swear I didn’t know you felt like that.”

Baran smirked, leaning in until her breath ghosted over your slick folds. “Now you do.” She dragged her tongue in one long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, moaning deeply the moment she tasted you. “Mmm. . . so fucking sweet. Better than I imagined. This pussy is mine tonight and forever, angel. Gonna devour every inch until you’re shaking.”

You gasped, hips twitching. Baran’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as she dove back in. She started slow and deliberate—broad, flat licks that covered your entire slit, savoring every drop of your slick like it was her favorite meal. Her tongue circled your clit lazily at first, then flicked faster, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves until your breath came in short, needy pants.

“Oh god—”

“No god. Just me, angel. Mmmm, that’s it,” she murmured against your pussy, the vibration making you whimper. “Say my name while I eat this sloppy little cunt. Your ex never did this right, did he? Never spent hours down here as he should’ve. You don’t have to worry about that now, baby. I’m gonna tongue-fuck you until you can’t think straight.”

She pointed her tongue and pushed it inside you, thrusting in and out in shallow, wet strokes while her nose bumped your clit. The sounds were obscene—loud, wet slurping mixed with her low, hungry moans filled the room. She pulled back just enough to spit directly on your clit, watching it drip down your folds before licking it up again, messier this time.

“Fuck, you’re dripping down my chin,” she groaned, voice thick with lust. “Such a messy girl for me. I love it. Been jealous for so long, watching you go home to him when I wanted to drag you to my bed instead. Now look at you—spread open on my couch, letting your best friend devour your pussy.”

Baran slid two thick fingers into you without warning, curling them perfectly against that spongy spot inside while her mouth sealed around your clit and sucked hard. You cried out, back arching, one hand flying to her dark curly hair, fingers tangling tight.

“Baran—right there, please—don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping,” her voice low, pumping her fingers faster, the wet squelching sounds filling the room. “Gonna make this pretty cunt gush all over my face. Come on, baby. Ride my tongue. Use me. I’ve waited forever for this.”

She alternated between sucking your clit with filthy, rhythmic pulls and lapping broad stripes, occasionally pulling her fingers out to replace them with her tongue again, fucking you deep and messy. Your thighs started to tremble, slick coating her chin and dripping onto the couch. Baran didn’t care. She just moaned louder, grinding her own hips against the cushion like she was getting off on your pleasure alone.

“You taste so fucking good,” she panted between licks, lips shiny and swollen. “Sweet and tangy and all mine now. I’m gonna keep eating this pussy until you’re begging me to let you come. Then I’m gonna do it again. And again. Forget that asshole. Fuck that ugly ass dude. This is what you needed—someone who actually knows how to worship this sloppy, needy cunt.”

The pressure built fast and overwhelming. Your hips bucked against her face, grinding shamelessly as she worked you higher. Baran added a third finger, stretching you open, curling and scissoring while her tongue flicked relentlessly over your clit.

“Baran—I’m gonna—fuck, I’m so close—” you were barely able to whimper.

“Cum for me, angel,” she demanded, voice rough and desperate.

The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing hard. Your whole body shook, thighs clamping around her head as you came with a broken cry of her name, slick gushing against her tongue. Baran moaned loudly, licking and sucking you through every pulse, swallowing greedily, refusing to pull away until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly.

Only then did she crawl up your body, lips glistening, a satisfied, wicked grin on her face. She kissed you deep and filthy, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Better?” she asked, voice husky, brushing a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead.

You laughed breathlessly, still trembling. “So much better. . .I can’t believe we haven’t done that sooner. Fuck I’ve been missing out.”

Baran chuckled softly, nipping your bottom lip. “Well, now we did. And I’m nowhere near done. Spread those legs again, baby. I’m eating this pussy for the rest of the night—until you forget every man who ever touched you.”

[yearsarewatchingyou]

Summary: thoughts on Dr. Al-Hashimi eating you out in the morning after she switched to night shift attending

WC: >1k

Notes: Inspired by gif above. Not proofread. MDNI

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪⭑

Baran Al-Hashimi looks so pretty eating you out. Truly a mesmerizing sight. Big brown eyes, wet lashes, wild curls, and a flat tongue pressed against your clit. After she began working nights you got the blessing that is waking up to her nestled between your thighs. She's so gentle and soft when you wake up, coming up to kiss your cheek and whisper good morning in your ear. She sweet talks your pussy in Farsi. She kisses down your navel to the lips, letting her tongue caress the seam of your throbbing pussy.

Work scrubs still laying forgotten on the floor from last night. Both of your bras tangle together somewhere next to the bed as she massages the soft underside of your breasts. Her lids flutter shut as she got lost in the gentle roll of your hips against her tongue. Her hands massage the silky skin of your thighs, up and down up and down, grounding you from the pleasure shes causing. As you grow closer to your release, you clutch at her curly locks with one hand and try to mute the loud embarrassing sounds coming from your lips with the other.

She takes your other hand and holds it in her own, her a voice a gentle coo about how she wants to hear your pretty voice. She resumes her ministrations, taking notes of her movements that make you moan or writhe in pleasure against her mouth. She definitely works you through your orgasm by keeping up her pace. She sucks on your clit to prolong the tingling pleasure. If you squirt she laps it up happily and flashes a dopey smile up at you. She's just so content between your legs.

Being in the hospital all night, barking orders, dealing with ED traumas and her own; there is nothing she looks forward to after a long shift more than tucking herself between your legs. Let her brain mellow out and make you feel good. The one thing she knows she can't mess up. At home she can be sweet and soft spoken only making the gentlest requests to scoot to the edge of the bed or tilt your hips up. She LOVES eating you out. ♡