Summary: you visit Crowley while he's locked up in the bunker.
Warnings: fluff? S9
WC: 1.1K
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Crowley’s chains rattled, the sound echoing through the cold silence of the bunker. He leaned back against the stone wall, his sharp eyes trained on the steel door, waiting. It had been days—maybe weeks, he couldn’t remember anymore. Time lost all meaning when you were locked away, alone, in this place without a single hint of communication from others. The Winchesters, ever the cautious bunch, had left him there again, their trust barely more than a passing joke, like everything else they did to him.
But there was you. You were different.
The first time you had come, Crowley had expected the usual mockery. The others would send you—some innocent bystander, probably—just to taunt him. To throw salt in the wound, as it were. But you hadn’t. You’d shown up with something simple—books. A few mundane things to occupy your time, a smile, and a glance that made him wonder if you really were one of them.
“What are you doing here?” He had sneered at you, though it was far from his usual biting sarcasm.
“I’m bored,” you had said, shrugging as you sat across from him. “And it’s more interesting here than in the library with Sam. Or dealing with Dean's drinking habits.”
That had been the start. The first of many days where you would come and sit with him, talking—about books, about your life, about whatever seemed to pass the time. You were never afraid. Never repelled by the demon in chains, the one who had once ruled Hell, now relegated to a prison cell. The Winchesters had their reasons for locking him up, for keeping him contained. But you... you were the one who still cared to show up. You were the one who didn’t make him feel like a forgotten relic... It was almost as though you mattered to him, in a sense.
At first, Crowley had kept his distance. He'd tried his best to hide the growing attachment, to mask it behind his usual mask of sarcasm and arrogance. He wasn’t one for bonding, not when you’d spent centuries betraying and manipulating. But somehow, with you, it was different. You were the only one who saw beyond the demon he was. You didn’t look at him with distrust, didn’t react to him like a threat.
He had once mocked you for reading him books, and yet now, he cherished those moments. There were even times when he found himself waiting for you, eyes flicking to the door, willing it to open. Sometimes he wondered what he was hoping for. Another conversation? Another hour of companionship? Or was it something deeper?
You came again that day, your soft footsteps echoing in the corridor outside his cell. Crowley, ever the observer, sat up a little straighter, his eyes fixed on the door. When you stepped into view, holding a new book, he couldn’t help but offer you a small, almost hesitant smile.
“Got something new for me, love?” he asked, his voice smooth, though there was an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite name.
You grinned back, a spark in your eyes. “A book on the history of Hell. I figured you might appreciate it.”
His heart skipped a beat, and he cursed himself for it. You handed him the book, your fingers brushing his. The light touch lingered for a second longer than necessary, and Crowley quickly looked down at the book in his hands, unwilling to meet your gaze.
"You know, you could just ask them to release me," he said, though there was no real venom behind the words. "I’m sure there’s a far more comfortable way for me to spend my time."
You sat across from him, that same calm, gentle smile on your lips. "Maybe. But I think you’re better off in here. Keeps you from making trouble.”
“Ha, yes,” Crowley chuckled darkly, flicking through the pages of the book. “I suppose you’re right. No one else would come to visit me if they thought I was out and about.”
There was a pause between you, one filled with understanding. He wasn’t used to that—being understood. But here, in the quiet of the bunker jail cell, he felt it more and more with you. It was a dangerous thing for someone like him to feel.
"You should come with me sometime," you said, surprising him. "The world isn’t all bad. There’s still a lot of beauty out there. You’ve been trapped here for too long. There's this river I like to go to after hunts and sit and think."
Crowley’s gaze lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, the mask of indifference slipped. He was vulnerable now, more than he ever let on. Your compassion had chipped away at his walls. And that scared him.
"I’ve been in Hell for centuries," he said softly, his voice betraying a hint of something raw. "What could the world offer me that I haven't already seen?"
"You’ve never seen it with someone who cares," you replied simply, your gaze unwavering. "Maybe that’s what you need."
Crowley didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t used to hearing words like that. Not directed at him. Not from someone who wasn’t trying to manipulate or use him for some purpose. He swallowed hard, feeling an unfamiliar lump in his throat.
“Maybe,” he finally muttered. “Maybe I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like.”
You leaned forward, your gaze softening. “I’m here,” you said, and the sincerity in your voice left him speechless. You didn’t need to say more. In that moment, he understood.
You were here because you cared, and that small, fleeting truth was enough to make the walls of his heart crack just a little bit more.
Crowley let out a long breath, setting the book aside. His eyes were locked with yours now, something unreadable swimming in their depths. He had never been good at showing affection, never good at trusting others with his vulnerability, but here you were, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away.
"You’ve got a lot of faith in me, don’t you?" he asked, his voice softer than it had been in ages.
“Maybe,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Even demons.... Even the scary King of Hell.”
There it was again. That damn warmth. Crowley wanted to pull away, to shut it down before it could grow, but something inside him rebelled. Maybe he didn’t want to shut it down. Maybe he wanted more of it.
“You’re a strange one,” he murmured, leaning back against the wall again. “But I think I’ll keep you around.”
And with that, he allowed himself to rest in the strange, delicate comfort of your presence, knowing that for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t truly alone.
--
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word count: 2.8 k
summary: You’d rather bury yourself in books than deal with real-life feelings – especially the very real ones you have for your boss. Too bad she’s already noticed your crush… and might just feel the same.
tags: shy!reader, flirty!EmilyPrentiss, mention of alcohol, no use of yn, clueless!reader, booknerd!reader, flustered!reader, Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, Season 18, younger agent (?), I wrote it in my head with some age differnce (undefined) but it could also be the same age, breakthrough against the network
The bass is a low, steady throb in the narrow, overcrowded bar, vibrating through the floorboards, through your ribs, into your bloodstream. It’s insistent and inescapable. It’s louder than usual tonight, maybe because the room is so full it barely breathes, filled with people pressed too close together, their laughter too sharp, their movements uncoordinated from their drinks, their boundaries thinning like the fog that’s being pumped across the dancefloor, curling around legs and faces, making it hard to see clearly though clarity was never what anyone here came looking for.
You’ve already fended off one man tonight, not entirely gracefully but firmly enough, a man whose gaze had lingered for far too long, heavy and possessive. You know this place. It’s not unfamiliar. And yet, you never quite feel like you belong. But then, you don’t feel at home in bars or clubs or parties at all, not really. You prefer the silence of a good book, the slow intimacy of a quiet dinner, or the comforting anonymity of a darkened cinema, if the film is good and the seats are far enough apart.
The light flickers above you, catching in the artificial mist, dimming the room just enough that every face seems half in shadow. Beside you, Luke dances without inhibition, and though he doesn’t seem to notice it, Penelope is standing closer than usual, her arm brushing his more often than coincidence would allow. You’ve half a mind to nudge them together, just a little, just enough to disrupt the fragile balance they pretend isn’t there. But ever since their ill-fated date a few years back, they’ve both shut down the idea entirely, as if naming it made it less real. Everyone else sees it, though. Even Emily, who’s been assigning them to joint tasks more and more, though whether out of strategy or subconscious hope, you’re not sure. She plays her cards close to her chest. Always has. But after your last comment and Rossi’s knowing smirk, you’re inclined to think it’s deliberate.
Tara bumps your shoulder softly, her arm wrapped casually around Rebecca’s waist, and drags you out of your thoughts. “You’re already planning your escape, aren’t you?” she teases, raising a brow.
Rebecca throws you a look, equal parts mock-threat and amusement, her lips pushing into a pout as she warns, “Not this time. We’re celebrating. This is a breakthrough in our case.”
You don’t respond, as usual. Silence is often your best defense. So Rebecca presses on. “Together,” she says pointedly.
You give her a crooked grin and sip from your drink, eyes trailing briefly over her. You like testing Rebecca’s limits, she gives you plenty of chances, and as one of her future bridesmaids, you’re allowed a little mischief. With Tara and Rebecca, you feel a kind of ease that you rarely allow yourself. There’s no tightness in your chest, no breath caught behind your ribs. You can simply exist, without the weight of self-consciousness dragging you down. The rest of the team feels like family, too, but they love nothing more than teasing you, pushing your buttons just to watch you squirm. Maybe you should go easier on Rebecca, though, if she ever feels the way you do under the weight of all that attention.
“I’ve been here long enough,” you begin to explain, nudging Rebecca playfully when she rolls her eyes. “You know me, Becca. This just isn’t my thing.”
“I know,” she grins, “you’d rather be curled up on your couch with one of your hundred fantasy novels.”
You can’t help but laugh, she knows you too well.
“Probably the ones that are just a little filthy,” Tara adds with a smirk, and your cheeks burn with heat. She’s not wrong. Ever since the evening they visited and found your not-so-innocent book collection while you were in the kitchen, it’s been their favorite joke.
“Who’s filthy?” JJ cuts in, appearing with a fresh glass of wine in hand, and her question draws the team’s collective gaze toward you like a spotlight. You feel your stomach twist.
“No one,” you reply quickly, too quickly, voice thin, eyes down. Your blush gives you away. It always does.
“Is it one of your books again?” Garcia beams at you, the kind of smile that exposes everything without saying a word.
You don’t miss the way Emily approaches then, a drink in hand, her gaze cutting through the noise and laughter like a scalpel. Her dark eyes settle on you with surgical precision, unblinking, unreadable, and you feel like she sees straight through you again. Her presence is electric, every cell in your body suddenly alert, and all at once you’re forgetting how to breathe.
You hate how she does this to you. You inhale slowly. Center yourself. Offer your friends a half-hearted smile, because they are your friends. More than that: your family. And you’re supposed to be celebrating, not spiraling.
“Maybe,” you say vaguely, eyes fixed on the bartender mixing drinks behind the counter, grateful for the distraction. You need to look at anything other than the amusement on your friends’ faces. Anything but Emily.
Luke starts in, teasing you about that fantasy novel from last month, the one with the elves and humans and too much tension in too many corners. JJ jumps in with something about vampires and insatiable hunger, and you can’t take it anymore.
But before the teasing can tip into something unbearable, Emily cuts them off. One sharp look and JJ and Luke back off with silent shrugs.
“Whatever you’re reading,” Emily says, stepping beside you, her voice calm and precise, “it’ll still be there tomorrow.” Her hand rests on your shoulder, grounding and steady.
“Tonight, we toast. We didn’t let the case beat us. We got ahead of the network. We outmaneuvered them. That matters. That’s worth something.”
You hear the words, but they dissolve in your mind, because all you can focus on are the long fingers pressing gently into your shoulder. They’re warm and steady. Grounding, almost, the way they seem to root you here, tether you to this moment when all you want is to disappear. You glance at her. She’s standing close, and her silver hair catches the colored lights, blue, then red, then green, casting her face in shifting hues.
Her lips are dark, her jawline severe, her shirt loose and grey, hanging just over her hips, the blazer she wore earlier presumably abandoned somewhere out of sight. Her bare arms catch your attention before you can stop yourself. And when you look back up, she’s already watching you. Smiling that smile. The one that says she knows exactly what you were thinking.
“You in?” she asks, eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“I… I’ll go get the next round,” you stammer, horrified by the way you were just caught staring. “Same as usual?”
She tilts her head, tongue sweeping across her bottom lip in thought, then nods. You don’t wait for more, you’re already moving, fleeing, stumbling over your own feet. And for a moment, you’re almost sure you hear her laugh.
About an hour later, drink number three in hand, you’re standing in a dimly lit corner of the bar with Tara, when you feel Emily’s gaze settle on you again. She’s barely taken her eyes off you all evening, which has made you distracted, kind of nervous. You turn away with a quiet sigh, but nothing slips past Tara. Not a single reaction of yours. A knowing smile plays on her lips as she glances from you to Emily, who’s just turned back to Rossi.
“You do realize she’s flirting with you, right?” she asks bluntly, and you nearly choke on your wine.
“Who are you talking about?” you ask, trying to sound casual, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the spike of panic crawling up your throat.
She raises a brow. “Your crush,” she says easily, making exaggerated air quotes before sipping her drink.
You glance at her with a puzzled expression, doing your best to act as if you have no idea what she means, holding onto the hope that a little performance might protect you from the weight of her words, but she simply snorts, a gentle, amused sound that makes it clear she isn’t fooled for a second.
“The woman who hasn’t taken her eyes off you all night, who touches you whenever she gets the chance, and who’s clearly amused by how you turn into pudding whenever she’s nearby,” she lists off. And with every word, your heart rate doubles.
Could it really be that obvious? Could Emily actually be interested in you? You want to dismiss it. You should dismiss it. And yet hope stirs low in your chest. Just as you’re about to deny it, to come up with some clever excuse, mostly for your own protection, Tara lifts a hand.
“Don’t even try to argue. Emily’s good at hiding things, but only when you’re not around. The second you get close, she goes soft like a cat.” She laughs at her own comparison, and you bite your lip. “But you, my dear? You’ve got literal hearts in your eyes whenever you look at her.”
“You’re exaggerating,” you reply flatly, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know there’s truth behind them. You don’t just get nervous around Emily, you flush. You lose your train of thought. Half the time you can’t even remember what you were about to say. And if you’re being brutally honest, you probably do have hearts in your eyes when you look at her. So much for staying subtle.
“Or maybe not,” you add, shaking your head. “I was hoping no one would notice. But who am I kidding, right? We’re profilers.”
“Exactly.” Tara chuckles and tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “And so is Emily. A damn good one, too.”
“Did she say anything?” you ask, caught off guard, heart suddenly in your throat. You’re desperate to hear a “no.” But Tara’s apologetic smile steals the hope right out of your chest.
“Not directly,” she begins, just as Rebecca appears beside you, tugging excitedly at Tara’s arm.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she says, offering you a quick, apologetic glance, “but… Tara, they’re playing our song. Will you dance with me?”
How could you possibly be upset now? When Tara turns to you, checking to see if you’ll be okay alone, you nod with a warm smile.
“Go on, lovebirds,” you say, feigning exasperation with a playful roll of your eyes. “I’m a grown-up, I can survive ten minutes on my own.” You smile as they drift off into the crowd, the buzz of the room swelling around you, though you’re suddenly more aware of your own stillness in it.
You stay behind, your gaze drifting across the room. You weigh your options. JJ and Garcia are at the bar, likely gossiping about Luke. Emily, Luke, Tyler, and Rossi are gathered around your usual table, exchanging theories about Voit. But before you can decide what to do, you feel a presence approaching. You glance to your right and see the young man you already brushed off earlier in the night. You’d tried to be polite. A vague smile, short answers, no eye contact. Still, none of it seemed to register. Some people don’t pick up on signals or worse, choose to ignore them. He struck you as the latter type. Too sure of himself.
“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, voice low. Lower than necessary. Close to your ear. Too close. Almost intimate.
The hairs on your arm rise and you quickly shake your head. “I’m good,” you say, lifting your glass as proof. But he doesn’t back off.
“Oh, come on,” he presses, as if your hesitation were some kind of flirty game. “No need to play shy. Are you here with someone?”
You don’t respond immediately. You don’t want to provoke him. It’s a reflex. A layer of caution. That stubborn hope that maybe this will resolve itself if you don’t escalate things. And after all, he must’ve seen you with your colleagues tonight. Surely, he’s been watching. But you know what he’s really getting at.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks next, a smile in his voice that sends a chill down your spine. He runs a hand through his blond hair, rubs the back of his neck, and winks — as if that might change your answer.
You shake your head again, but before you can clarify, he adds, “Then I guess I got lucky.”
His gaze is insistent, his presence intrusive. It’s becoming very clear that this man doesn’t understand the word no. You take a step back, shoulders tense, throat dry but he leans in again.
“So… what do you say? Just one drink?”
You search for words, for an excuse, an escape, when a hand gently rests on the small of your back.
“She’s not interested,” comes a calm, steady voice right beside you. Your heart skips a beat. You know that voice. It’s Emily.
The guy looks up, clearly thrown off, brows furrowing. “I was just asking. No offense in that, right?”
Emily steps between you, not threatening, not intrusive, but with a quiet confidence that allows no room for argument. Her cool gaze meets his, and her presence clearly throws him off.
“Ask all you want,” she says calmly, gesturing loosely toward the door, “but when someone’s not interested, the next step is: you leave.”
The man, who had seemed so self-assured just moments ago, suddenly looks so much smaller. “Alright, alright,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to bother anyone.”
Emily says nothing more. She simply watches him go as he turns and quickly disappears into the crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes lowered. Once again, your boss had to step in but this time, in a situation far more personal than anything before.
Emily turns to you, a smile on her lips, different from her usual ones. Warmer. “Anytime.”
Then, slowly, she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, and where her fingers graze your skin, it tingles.
“I’m just not a fan of other people trying to flirt with you,” she murmurs, flashing you a roguish grin. “Really. That’s kind of my job.”
You blink once, then again trying to keep up. “You… what?”
She steps half a pace closer. Her perfume lingers between you, it smells earthy and refined, with a floral note that only reveals itself when you’re close. You feel her warmth and swallow hard at the proximity.
“Besides,” she continues, her eyes wandering over your face, “you’re ridiculously cute when you’re overwhelmed.”
“God,” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, a nervous little laugh escaping as you glance away.
Emily grins, tilts her head slightly, and laughs. “And now you’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not,” you protest softly but without conviction. Because she’s right. You can feel it yourself.
She winks, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are. It suits you.”
You somehow manage to gather yourself and ask, “Was that… on purpose? Just now?”
She pretends to think for a moment, head tilted again. “What exactly?”
“That you stepped in. So… clearly,” you say, unsure how else to put it, hoping you haven’t just embarrassed yourself.
Emily smiles and slowly moves to stand beside you, casually placing her hand at your hip. “Call it impulse. Or jealousy. Whichever you prefer.”
You stare at her, turning her words over in your mind. Do they mean what you think they mean…?
“He looked at you like you were some kind of game,” she goes on, not waiting for a response. “But I know you’re more than that. You should never be a game to anyone.”
Something in your chest tightens unexpectedly. And when her eyes flick from your lips back to your eyes, you shove your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. Then she reaches out and gently pulls you along with her. There’s a hint of uncertainty in her touch, but she hides it well. You want her to know she’s not alone in this, that you feel it too, so you squeeze her hand gently in return.
Her thumb strokes lightly over the back of your hand. A quiet, grounding reassurance in the noise around you. She glances back at you, and you offer her a warm smile. One that says, I understand what you’re saying, what you mean. You’re not alone in this.
“Come on,” she says quietly, “you still owe me a story about the vampires and elves. I heard there was glitter involved?”
You laugh nervously, unable to stop yourself from staring. “How do you…?”
“I know everything,” she says, turning on her heel. Then, over her shoulder, she adds with a smirk, “Especially when it comes to you.”
Take Me To Church by Hozier except he’s practicing it alone in the front of an empty cathedral, while you watch, hidden, from far behind the pews. He’s at least physically alone, because when you search for the source of the backing vocals, you see no one else.
summary. if god created weed, it was to be experimented with. and who better to smoke your first joint with, than with an unexperienced angel?
pairing. castiel x reader genre. crack
wordcount. 653
notes / warnings. drug use (weed), strong language, and dumbassery of the highest order. no actual angels were harmed in the writing of this piece
You honestly don’t know how it starts. One minute, you’re talking about stress, the next, you’re in the bunker’s garage sitting cross-legged on the floor with Castiel, a tiny metal grinder in your lap and a suspiciously dusty joint tutorial video playing on your phone.
“This is... illegal in several states,” Cas says, frowning at the plastic bag you bought from a sketchy gas station two towns over.
“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “so is most of what we do. Plus, I googled. It’s legal here. Ish.”
Cas watches as you fumble with the grinder like it’s a cursed object. His brow furrows like the fate of humanity is now tied to this little herbal project. “Why are there so many steps?”
“Because the universe hates convenience,” you mutter, finally dumping the crushed flower into a paper and rolling it with the delicate precision of someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re doing.
It looks... passable. Lumpy, slightly bent, but a joint nonetheless.
“Are you sure this will relax us?” Cas asks, tilting his head like a confused labrador. “It smells like skunk. Evil skunk.”
“That’s part of the charm.” You hand him the lighter. “Here. You can have the honor.”
He squints at it like you just gave him a tiny bomb. “What is this?”
“Oh my God. It’s a lighter, Cas. You flick it.”
He flicks. Nothing happens.
You flick. A spark. “Okay, now suck in while I light it—no, not that fast, you’re gonna—yep. You coughed.”
Cas is hacking like a dying lawnmower, eyes wide, hand flailing at the smoke. “It’s burning me. Why would people enjoy this?!”
You’re already giggling. “Just give it a second.”
A minute later, the two of you are leaned back against a dusty tire rack, joint passed back and forth like some kind of sacrament. The high hits fast, like a slap wrapped in glitter. The world gets a little floaty. Your limbs stop belonging to you. You feel your own smile stretch across your face and it won’t go away.
“I feel... untethered,” Cas whispers, looking at his hands like they’re the secret to the universe. “Am I still in my vessel? Or did I shed it like a snake?”
You wheeze. “You’re not a snake, Cas.”
He touches his face. “Then why do I feel scaly?”
You double over with laughter. “You’re just high, dude.”
“This is high?” He looks around dramatically. “Then where are the clouds? Shouldn’t there be clouds? Or birds? I want to talk to a bird.”
“You can talk to birds,” you say, sobering for half a second. “You’re an angel.”
“Exactly. So where are they?”
You try to stand but forget how knees work and end up just sort of... hovering over Cas like a melting starfish. “Oh my God. We forgot the snacks. What are we doing without snacks? This is a crime.”
“Is this part of Hell?” Cas asks, blinking at the ceiling.
“No, Hell has vending machines that steal your quarters. This is worse.”
The door creaks open behind you. You both freeze like raccoons caught in a trash can.
Dean pokes his head in. Stares.
You’re 85% sure your pupils are the size of Jupiter.
He sighs. “I told Sam they’d hotbox the garage.”
Cas perks up. “Dean! Did you know clouds are not sentient but should be?”
Dean doesn’t blink. “Okay, I’m gonna go pretend this isn’t happening.”
He shuts the door.
Silence.
Then: “I think we blew his mind,” you whisper.
Cas nods solemnly. “I like being a cloud.”
You both burst into another fit of unstoppable laughter. You never get around to snacks. You fall asleep with your head on Cas’s shoulder and a goofy smile plastered across your face.
Next morning? The garage still smells like a Phish concert.
You blame the skunk.
Cas blames the snake inside him.
Dean never looks either of you in the eye again.
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Summary: You’re dying, and Castiel makes the call to use your body as a vessel temporarily to save you. But now you feel him inside your mind, his emotions bleeding into yours… including the ones he tried to hide.
Castiel x fem!reader
Setting: Season 9, post-Fall of the Angels (around episodes 9x06–9x09
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn Romance, Supernatural Drama
WC: 4276
The cold always comes first.
It creeps in slowly, through your limbs, through the wound in your side, through the fingertips of Dean’s hands pressed against your skin. He’s shouting. You can tell by the way his mouth moves, wide and frantic. But it’s muffled. Like he’s underwater. Like you’re underwater.
Everything’s slowing down. Even the pain. Even the panic.
Sam’s voice joins in, urgent and scared. You try to move, to reach for either of them, but your body is numb.
This is it, you realize.
You’re dying.
You can feel your soul detaching, unmoored, weightless. You see the ceiling of the abandoned church above you, a shattered stained glass window letting in streaks of moonlight. Dust floats in the air like snow.
You wonder if you’ll haunt this place.
Then..
“Y/N.”
Castiel’s voice cuts through the fog like a blade of light.
You see his face above you. Pale. Determined. Blue eyes shining with something desperate.
“I’m sorry,” he says. And you barely have time to register the way his hand presses against your forehead before the world disappears.
It’s not blackness.
It’s light.
It burns.
And then you’re gone.
The light is endless. Not warm. Not cold. It is simply… everything. A breathless, searing presence that wraps around every nerve in your body and pulls you into a place that has no shape, no sound, just him. Castiel isn’t speaking. He doesn’t need to. His presence vibrates through you like a stormcloud threatening to split. He is in your veins, your lungs, your bones, coiled inside your soul like he belongs there. But it doesn’t feel like possession. Not exactly. Not yet. You think it should hurt. It doesn’t.
What hurts is the memory of dying. The fear. The knowledge that this, whatever this is, was the only choice left.
You open your eyes and find darkness.
Your lungs seize in a gasp, like you’ve surfaced from deep water, and you lurch upright before your body remembers how. Air claws at your throat. Sweat beads along your temple. The couch beneath you groans as you move. You know this place, the Men of Letters bunker, but it feels foreign, unfamiliar. Distant. Like seeing it through someone else’s eyes.
Then you realize you have.
You know things you shouldn’t. You feel things you shouldn’t. The weight of thousands of years clings to your ribs. It’s a whisper in the back of your skull, memories like feathers brushing your mind, falling, falling, falling from Heaven.
Castiel’s fall.
You close your eyes hard and squeeze your fists against your temples, like pressure might silence the thoughts that don’t belong to you. But one of them flares brighter than the rest: your name, spoken like a vow. Y/N. His voice in your chest, not your ears. You gasp again, this time softer, and look around.
Dean is in the war room just down the hallway, speaking to Sam in that harsh, too-loud voice he only uses when he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. You can’t make out the words. You don’t care.
Because he’s there.
Castiel is sitting in the corner chair. Trench coat abandoned on the table beside him, sleeves rolled, hands folded between his knees. He looks like a man waiting for judgment. Like he already knows the verdict.
His eyes meet yours.
And you don’t breathe for three whole seconds.
You see the lines under his eyes first. The tension in his jaw. The faint shimmer of remorse in every breath he doesn’t take.
“You’re awake,” he says.
The sound of his voice, real and quiet and his, shatters something inside you. You feel it crack down your spine like thunder.
“What did you do?” you ask.
His expression doesn’t change, but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes. “You were dying.”
“You possessed me,” you whisper, and even as you say it, it doesn’t taste right. Too clean. Too simple. It doesn’t account for the after.
“There was no time,” he says. “I..yes. I entered your vessel. It was the only way to heal you before…before you slipped away.”
Your body trembles once, subtle and deep in the bones. You grip the edge of the couch like it might anchor you. “And now?”
Castiel stands. His shoulders are taut, unreadable. “I left.”
“Did you?”
The words escape before you mean to say them, but you know they’re true. He didn’t fully leave. You feel him. Not like another person riding shotgun in your head. It’s subtler than that. He’s… in the seams. In the places that cracked open when you almost died. He left a part of himself in you, and now your soul remembers him like a scent that never fades.
His eyes drop to the floor. “Not all of me,” he admits.
You breathe in deep, and it rattles in your chest. “What does that mean?”
“I didn’t take all my grace with me when I left.”
You blink. “Your grace? But I thought…after Metatron, you don’t-”
“This grace is borrowed. Stolen.” He looks up, and now there’s fire in his expression. Anger, grief, shame. “I thought I could control it. I couldn’t. When I pulled you back, part of it… stayed. In you. I tried to remove it, but your body, your soul, it held onto it.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, chilled. “So I’m… what? Part angel now?”
“No.” He says it quickly. “You’re still human. Entirely. But some of what I am, what I was…is inside you. It will fade. Eventually.”
Your head spins. Not from fear. From weight. From the knowledge that something celestial is knotted inside your bones and you didn’t ask for it. Didn’t consent to it.
You sit with that.
You sit with him.
And then you ask, softly, “What did you see?”
Castiel’s breath hitches. He turns away from you for the first time, as if the answer is too heavy to speak facing forward. “I saw everything. Every memory. Every scar. Every time you prayed and no one answered. I saw the first time you held a weapon. The first time you wanted to die. The first time you chose to live again. I saw your mother’s hands. Your first nightmare. I saw the day you met Dean. And the way you looked at him like he was your last chance.”
Your throat is tight. You hadn’t expected him to answer. Not like this.
“And then I saw the way you looked at me.”
You don’t speak.
He doesn’t ask forgiveness. He just lowers his head, and for the first time, Castiel looks small. Like he’s trying to fold himself into something less monstrous. Less divine.
“I didn’t mean to take it all,” he says. “But I couldn’t bear to let you go.”
The silence that follows is vast.
“I still dream,” you whisper. “Even now. But they’re not mine.”
He nods, slowly. “No. They’re mine.”
You step forward. “I saw angels falling. I felt the wind. The light. The fire. You were afraid.”
He doesn’t deny it. “I still am.”
There’s a pause so thick you could choke on it. Then you say, “You said you left me. But you didn’t. Did you?”
His answer is not in words. It’s in the way he looks at you like he’s been carrying your name in his mouth for centuries. In the way his hand trembles before he reaches up to his own chest, as if checking to see whether you are still inside him, too.
And maybe you are.
Maybe that’s the cost of this kind of salvation.
You don’t ask him to leave. You don’t ask for distance. Instead, you step closer. He doesn’t move. His gaze follows you like a tether.
When you stop in front of him, you whisper, “Next time, ask.”
He nods once. “I will.”
But you both know that if it happens again, if it’s your life on the line, he won’t.
Because angels don’t pray. They act.
And Castiel has already decided that your soul is worth damning himself for.
You feel his grace flicker inside your chest like an aftershock.
And for the first time since you woke up, you feel safe.
You hate that.
You hate that you want to feel him again. That the part of him inside you makes your own thoughts feel less alone. That your soul, cracked open and bared to Heaven, has started to ache when he’s not near.
But it’s the truth.
And even now, you think he knows it.
Because his hand twitches like he almost wants to reach for yours.
He doesn’t.
Neither do you.
Not yet.
He doesn’t touch you.
But he thinks about it.
Not in the crude way humans often mean it. Not with desperation or lust or anything so small. His longing is older. Purer, in a way that terrifies him.
Because Castiel has touched the face of God and felt nothing. He’s stood at the edge of time and watched stars blink out one by one. He’s borne witness to miracles and catastrophes, creation and decay, and never once has he ached for any of it. But when he looks at you, fragile, bruised, still holding pieces of him inside you like shards of forgotten light, he feels that ache everywhere.
Your soul is louder now. He can feel it even when you leave the room. Like a hum beneath his ribs. The part of him he left inside you didn’t just heal your body. It bound him to you. Not completely. Not magically. But intrinsically. Like recognition.
Like belonging.
You don't understand it yet. You barely look at him without suspicion lingering behind your eyes. You still feel the wrongness of what he did, even if it saved you. And he knows that. He carries that guilt with the same reverence he once carried a sword.
But you haven’t pushed him away.
Not entirely.
And that, somehow, is worse.
Because you speak to him softly now. Ask him questions you wouldn’t before. You stand a little too close when you’re angry, and much too close when you’re not. You press your palm to your chest when the grace flickers inside you like static, and your eyes find him every time it does. Like you know he’s still there, watching. Waiting.
He dreams now, dreams of you. Not stolen memories. Not echoes of your pain. His dreams. And they are quiet, always. Simple. You, sitting on the stairs. You, laughing at Dean with your chin tipped to the side. You, asleep beneath a blanket with your fingers curled against your throat like a child. You don’t speak in these dreams. You don’t need to. The silence between you is its own language, and Castiel understands it perfectly.
There’s a moment, in one dream, where your hand brushes his. No intent. No urgency. Just contact. Skin to skin.
He wakes up shaking.
It isn’t desire, exactly, not the way Dean would call it. It’s yearning. A need so total it eclipses everything else. He wants to protect you, yes. But he also wants to understand you. To memorize the curve of your mouth when you frown. To trace the way your soul flares when you lie. To know every thought you’ve ever had, not to own them, but to honor them. To kneel at the altar of your existence and swear he would never deserve to touch it again.
But he already has.
He’s been inside your soul.
He knows the shape of your hope and the weight of your grief. He knows which memories you bury and which you cling to. He knows what it felt like the first time you held someone as they died, and the sound you made when you realized you couldn’t stop it.
He carries those memories like prayers.
He shouldn’t want more.
But he does.
He wants you.
Not just to protect. Not just to serve. Not just because he made a choice in a desperate moment.
He wants to be known. By you.
Wants you to look at him, not with pity, not with fear, not even with gratitude, but with that softness he’s seen you give Sam when he’s overwhelmed, or Dean when he’s pretending not to cry. That human gentleness. That silent permission to stay.
But Castiel is not gentle. Not really. He is wrath in a borrowed body. He is a soldier who forgot how to stop marching. His hands were made for killing. His voice was forged in Heaven. He is not built for softness. Not for love.
And still…
He finds himself watching you when you sleep.
Just for a second. When he’s certain you won’t wake.
The grace inside you hums differently when you dream. It mirrors your heartbeat. It calls to him. And sometimes, just sometimes, you whisper his name in your sleep.
Not loudly. Not pleading. Just… soft. Like it’s the safest word you know.
Castiel doesn’t breathe when that happens.
He doesn’t move.
Because if he does, if he breaks that fragile moment, he’ll ruin it. Ruin you. And he’s already taken so much.
So he stays still. He listens to the sound of your breath. He lets the longing rise and crest and fall inside him like a wave.
And when he can no longer bear the ache, he slips quietly from the room.
Not because he doesn’t want to stay.
But because he wants it too much.
And Castiel knows, when angels want something, they destroy it.
So he waits. Not for forgiveness. Not for permission.
He waits for you.
Because if you ever reach for him again, truly reach, he won’t have the strength to say no.
And in the quiet, shadowed corners of the bunker, with your name etched into every corner of his grace, Castiel lets himself hope for the one thing he’s never dared to ask for:
That one day, you might want him back.
It begins with your jacket.
You leave it draped across the back of a chair in the library, absent-minded. A small, careless thing. You’d come in from the rain, exhausted, soaked to the skin after a salt-and-burn gone sideways. Castiel hadn’t gone with you, Dean hadn’t asked, and Castiel hadn’t volunteered. He knew better than to impose himself now.
But he watched the door until you came through it.
You didn’t see him. Or maybe you did and said nothing.
Your voice was tired when you told Sam you were going to shower. Just your voice, no bitterness. No fight. And that worried him more than anything.
Because exhaustion, for you, was rare. Even battered, bloodied, you were always present. Always fighting. But now, your voice had nothing left in it. Like something inside you had finally bent too far.
So you left the jacket, and Castiel found himself beside it.
He tells himself he shouldn’t touch it.
He touches it.
The fabric is damp, heavy with water and smoke and the faint scent of salt. But beneath it, beneath all that, is you. And something inside him stutters. It’s not carnal. It’s not human. But it’s real.
Because in that moment, all he can think is I carried you once.
Not in the physical sense. In the soul-deep, eternal sense. He held your life between his hands and pressed you back into being. He breathed borrowed grace into your dying lungs. He knows you.
He wants to un-know you. For your sake. For his.
But he can’t.
He sits in the chair and holds the jacket in his lap for a second too long.
And then he hears your footsteps in the hall.
He doesn’t move in time.
You walk in, towel-drying your hair with one hand, wearing a loose t-shirt and sweatpants that don’t belong to you, probably Dean’s, by the size. Your eyes land on him, and they narrow, not unkind but surprised.
And then they drop to your jacket.
To his hand still resting on the shoulder of it.
Your lips part.
Castiel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t make excuses. He simply meets your gaze and waits for you to speak.
But you don’t.
Instead, after a long breath, you step further into the room and sit across from him.
You lean forward, elbows on your knees, studying him the way he studies galaxies.
And then you say, “Do you ever wish you hadn’t done it?”
It takes him a moment to answer. “No.”
Your throat bobs. “Even though it changed everything?”
“It saved you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His voice is lower now. “I would rather carry the weight of what I did than live in a world where you don’t exist.”
Something in you stumbles at that. Your face softens. And the room falls quiet.
Castiel wonders if you can hear it, the thunder of his longing.
Because it’s louder now. Less contained.
You’ve been different these last few weeks. Not open, not exactly, but unguarded. Less careful. You watch him longer. You ask more. You let the silences stretch out like bridges, instead of breaking them.
You’re still angry. Still haunted. But you choose to be near him.
And that, more than anything, undoes him.
Because he can feel the moment approaching. The moment when all the tension he’s buried beneath borrowed grace and dying light will fracture. It’s close. So close. He sees it every time your eyes linger on his mouth instead of his hands. He hears it in the way you say his name now, not reverent, not distant. Human. Soft.
He almost breaks that night.
Because you fall asleep in the chair across from him.
Head tilted. Breathing slowly. And when you shift in your sleep, the grace inside you pulses, reaching for him like a hand in the dark.
And Castiel, who has resisted war and wrath and temptation unimaginable, leans forward.
He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.
But he kneels in front of the chair, lowering himself as if in prayer, and watches the shape of your breath. His hand hovers above your knee, inches from contact.
His mouth opens. No sound.
Because what could he possibly say?
I am no longer an angel of the Lord. I am something smaller now. But everything I am, I left inside you.
He shouldn’t speak.
But he does.
Just barely.
“I think I was made for this.”
You stir, just slightly. Not awake. Not quite.
His voice is almost nothing. “Not Heaven. Not orders. Not grace. Just this. You.”
And then, your head shifts. Your eyes flutter.
He vanishes before they open.
Not out of fear.
Out of devastation.
Because if you had looked at him in that moment, with anything other than complete understanding, he would have fallen all over again.
And this time, he wouldn’t survive it.
He tries to stay away after that.
For three days, he doesn’t enter a room if you’re in it. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Avoids the sound of your voice like it might burn through what little self-control he still possesses. He patrols in the early hours. Answers prayers without comment. Watches the sky from the roof of the bunker as though the stars will give him permission to feel what he already does.
They don’t.
They never have.
On the fourth day, Dean corners him in the hallway with a sideways glance and a half-hearted scoff. “You and Y/N have a fight or something?”
Castiel doesn’t answer.
Dean shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me. She’s been quiet. Weirdly quiet. And that’s saying something.”
Castiel almost tells him. Almost says I’ve made her a vessel and I ache when she breathes. But he doesn’t. He just nods once and disappears.
By sunset, he's in the war room, pretending to read a lore book he’s already memorized, when your voice hits him from behind.
“You don’t have to avoid me.”
It’s not angry. Not accusing. Just honest.
And it hurts.
He closes the book. Doesn’t turn around.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he lies, gently.
You step closer. He hears it, the soft sound of your socked feet on the stone floor. You stop a pace behind him.
“So what are you doing?”
Castiel lifts his eyes to the book. Blank pages. Meaningless ink. “Trying not to want something I can’t have.”
The silence after that is so long it echoes.
When you finally speak, your voice is low. “You’re talking about me.”
He turns then.
And the way he looks at you, it could crack glass.
“Yes.”
You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for hours. “Why can’t you?”
“Because I touched your soul without permission. Because I altered you. Because I made you carry a part of me you never asked for. And because wanting you on top of that would make me cruel.”
Your eyes are wet. Not crying. But raw.
“I don’t think you’re cruel.”
“You should.”
He steps forward now, slowly, like he’s approaching something sacred. His eyes never leave yours.
“I was not made for this,” he says softly. “I was not made to want. I was made to obey. And I have disobeyed Heaven, God, even myself, but nothing has undone me like you.”
Your hands tremble.
Castiel sees it.
He does nothing.
Because if he moves, if he breathes, if he reaches, it’s over. He will not survive it.
But then you close the distance for him.
Not fully. Just one step. Enough.
“Do you think I don’t feel it too?” you ask.
His heart, what’s left of it, shatters quietly.
“Every time you leave a room,” you whisper, “I feel it. That silence. Like something holy just left. You think I don’t hear it when the grace inside me wakes up at the sound of your voice?”
He flinches.
You keep going.
“I was angry. I was. But I’m not anymore. Because whatever you gave me that day…it didn’t just bring me back. It opened something. I can feel you even when you’re gone.”
He says your name like it’s the last word he’ll ever be allowed to speak. “You don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I think I do.”
“No.” He steps back, breath harsh. “If I break this…if I let this happen, you won’t come out of it the same. You’re human. You feel. You love. And I consume. I will burn you without meaning to.”
You reach for him.
And this time, he doesn’t stop you.
Your hand, small and trembling, brushes the side of his face. His eyes fall closed like the weight of your touch is too much. Like grace itself is bending under it.
“I’m not afraid of you, Castiel.”
He opens his eyes.
There is a storm in them now.
Not rage. Not wrath.
Longing.
Absolute.
And he shatters.
He takes your wrist gently, reverently, and draws your hand from his face to his chest, pressing it over his heart.
“I don’t have a soul,” he says. “Not in the way you do. But if I did…this is where it would live. And you’d be inside it.”
You can’t breathe.
Neither can he.
And for a long, perfect moment, nothing moves.
Then, with the softest voice you’ve ever heard him use:
“Tell me to stop.”
You don’t.
You whisper, “Don’t you dare.”
And that’s it.
That’s the breaking point.
He kisses you like a vow. Not desperate. Not greedy. Just full. Of all the things he’s never said. Of the light he buried in you. Of the war he lost when he realized he couldn’t stop loving you.
He moves slowly, like gravity is pulling him toward you and all he’s doing is giving in. His eyes fall to your mouth and then back to your eyes again, asking you one final time without words.
You answer by leaning closer.
When his lips touch yours, it isn’t rushed. It isn’t sharp or wild or hungry.
It’s devotion.
It’s the first time he’s touched something with the full intent of keeping it.
He kisses you like you might vanish. Like you’re made of glass and scripture. His hand comes up to cup the side of your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly beneath your cheekbone, and the contact sends a pulse of heat through both of you, grace and soul, meeting at the seam.
You inhale sharply against his mouth. Your fingers curl into his coat, holding on, not to pull him closer, not to demand more, but because your body finally has permission to feel him.
And Castiel feels it too.
Your heartbeat, steady but straining. Your breath, faltering like a prayer half-said. The way your lips part under his, like you’re offering him something you’ve never given anyone else, and you don’t even realize it.
He deepens the kiss, but only barely.
Because this isn’t about possession.
This is remembrance.
You, alive. You, whole. You, choosing him, even after all of it.
And when you finally part, the space between your mouths is so thin it hums.
He leans his forehead to yours.
Your breath is still trembling. So is his.
And in that moment, Castiel, angel, rebel, vessel of grace, knows peace for the first time in his existence.
The bunker is unusually quiet tonight. No hunts, no pressing research, no looming apocalypse. Just the hum of the overhead lights, the faint scratch of Sam’s pen against paper in the library, and Castiel’s voice, steady and low, filling the room.
You sit across from him at the war room table, a half-finished beer in front of you, your legs tucked beneath you on the chair. He’s talking—has been for the last fifteen minutes—and you don’t interrupt. You never do.
“…Of course, the celestial hierarchy is more complex than humans often assume,” he says, brow furrowed in thought. “For instance, cherubim are not as affectionate as the name might suggest, nor do they resemble infants with wings. That was an artistic misinterpretation.”
You nod slowly, watching him with something between amusement and fondness. “That so?”
Cas tilts his head, considering. “Yes. They are, in fact, quite fearsome. Their true form is—” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Difficult to describe in a way that wouldn’t inspire existential dread.”
You huff a quiet laugh, resting your chin on your palm. “I think I’ll just stick with the Cupid version.”
He gives a small, almost imperceptible smile. “That would be wise.”
The conversation drifts.
He tells you about the stars, about how humans barely see a fraction of what’s out there, about constellations that don’t have names in any human language. He talks about Heaven—not the version people imagine, but the real one. How it shifts and changes, how souls exist in fragments of memory, how time doesn’t quite work the same way.
“I don’t visit as often anymore,” he admits, fingers idly tracing the edge of his trench coat where it drapes over his lap. “It doesn’t feel like home.”
There’s something unspoken in his voice, something heavy, but you don’t push. Instead, you offer him something simple.
“You feel at home here?”
Cas looks at you, and there’s a beat of silence before he nods. “Yes.”
Warmth spreads through your chest, quiet and soft, like the glow of a candle in the dark.
Neither of you speak for a while. The bunker hums around you, steady, safe. Castiel’s eyes flicker toward your beer, thoughtful.
“I still don’t understand the human attachment to alcohol,” he muses. “It tastes unpleasant and impairs cognitive function.”
You grin. “Yeah, well, sometimes humans like being impaired.”
Cas considers this for a moment. “That is… troubling.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Welcome to humanity, Cas.”
He exhales, almost like a laugh, and settles back in his chair. And for the rest of the night, he keeps talking, and you keep listening—because there’s something soothing about his voice, about the way he sees the world, about the way he cares.
And in the stillness of the bunker, with Castiel’s voice filling the space between you, everything feels a little less lonely.
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Hey, idk if you write for Cas but I thought I’d send an ask anyways! Do you think you could write a fluffy Cas one where he’s just trying to navigate getting a (tired) reader to bed?
⋆˚꩜｡ bedtime for humans,
pairing. castiel x reader genre. fluff
wordcount. 510
notes / warnings. as trying his very best, light touches, sleepy mumbling, cas being confused but patient and so in love
You’re half-asleep on the couch, legs tangled in a throw blanket, cheek pressed against a pillow that may or may not have originally belonged to Cas.
The TV’s still on, muted, casting a flickering blue glow over the room. There’s an empty mug on the coffee table. And you—well, you haven’t moved in twenty minutes. Unless blinking twice counts.
Castiel watches you from the doorway with a furrowed brow and a heavy heart.
“You are clearly exhausted,” he says, softly.
You mumble something unintelligible, followed by a deep sigh. You don’t move.
Cas steps closer. “You should sleep in the bed. It’s warmer there. And… orthopedic.”
You grunt. Possibly in protest. Possibly in agreement. It’s impossible to tell.
Cas tilts his head, puzzled. “You are awake enough to respond. But not awake enough to comply.”
You slowly crack one eye open. “You talk like I’m malfunctioning.”
“You are,” he says. “You’re lying sideways, drooling, and clinging to a remote like it’s a lifeline.”
You don’t even deny it. Just close your eye again and huff. “Too far. Bed is, like… a whole hallway away.”
Cas steps around the coffee table, crouching beside the couch. He’s so quiet about it you don’t realize how close he is until his fingers are brushing your hair back behind your ear.
“You’re going to hurt your neck if you sleep here,” he murmurs.
“Bold of you to assume I have a neck,” you mumble.
Cas’s lips twitch. A smile. Barely.
“You’re a very tired human. Who I care about. Deeply. And who deserves real sleep.”
You blink at him again, slowly.
“Are you guilt-tripping me into bed?”
Cas pauses. Considers. “Is it working?”
You stare at him.
He stares back.
“…a little,” you admit.
Cas lets out a small breath—his version of a triumphant cheer.
He offers a hand. Steady. Warm. Familiar.
You groan dramatically, then finally reach up and take it.
He pulls you upright with more care than force, like he’s worried you’ll break. Once you're sitting, you immediately sag into his side, your head bumping his shoulder.
“You’re heavy when you’re like this,” he notes, not unkindly.
“Cas?”
“Yes?”
“You talk a lot for someone who used to stare at light fixtures and call that meaningful conversation.”
He chuckles, arm winding around your waist. “I’ve learned from you. You’re very expressive. Even when grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy,” you yawn. “I’m just… reluctant.”
He helps you shuffle toward the bedroom like a very sleepy, very slow-moving sloth.
“You know I’d carry you if you asked,” he says quietly.
You glance up at him, eyes soft. “I know.”
“I’d tuck you in. Read to you. Watch over you.”
You pause in the hallway. “Are you offering to babysit me?”
“I’m offering to love you,” Cas says. Simply. “Even when you’re a cranky, blanket-wrapped puddle.”
Your chest tightens in the best way.
“I love you too, weird angel man,” you murmur, finally crawling into bed.
Cas pulls the blankets up around you and kisses your forehead.
You’re asleep before the warmth of it fades.
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pairings: Wanda maximoff x brothers best friend!Reader, pietro maximoff x reader (platonic)
word count: 2.1k
warnings: smut, fluff and angst. public sex (gets messy), best friends sister, au, tension, slow burn, bit of mean wanda.
You could still smell the perfume from her with how close she was, almost touching you.
It’s been years since you’ve last seen your best friend, Pietro, he went overseas with his sister to study abroad, and to live over there in the end. They originally went there for summer, but Pietro's sister fell in love with Italy, then came to Paris, and the rest.
You had dreams of travelling the world, seeing all the amazing different places, meeting all kinds of people. But you still found yourself stuck to your home. The same house you grew up in, where you lived with your nana, who was basically your caregiver as you didn’t have both parents in your life as a kid.
Pietro himself was also a kid without parents, same with his sister. Which is one of the reasons the two of you became close and good friends. You never really got close with his sister, even though people would suspect you would have been friends, though they can kind of see there was nothing there. You were nothing more than her brother's best friend. She was fine with that, from that you knew.
Her name was Wanda, she always intimidated you, she was scary when she wanted to be. She kept to herself, she barely left her room, but was always out when you were at their house.
You wondered if she hated you, but the two of you never really had any known issues, even Pietro didn’t mention anything of importance, you learned that people can just hate anyone without there ever being an issue in the first place. For some reason, it bothered you. You spent so long trying to impress his sister it made you feel stupid. How you wanted her attention so badly, it was pathetic. Some people would have called it a ‘crush’ but you’d make sure those words were never spoken of.
-
Pietro wasn’t dumb, he saw how you were with Wanda. It was obvious, painfully so. He did like how you attempted to befriend the person he cares about the most in the world (aside from you of course) nothing worked. Wanda wasn’t easily won over. She had her… ways.
Pietro may have seen Wanda go out with two, maybe, three people ever in his life. He knew she had plenty of friends, but she didn’t really have anyone to call a bestfriend (that was his title) and he knows very well how much it bothers Wanda whenever he calls you his best friend, so, he stays away from saying that around her.
Even though she knows.
During the time the three of you went to the same school, people had obviously thought you had a thing for her brother. But everyone that knew you two saw it wasn’t that. You had a different type you liked, she wouldn't be surprised if Pietro gained a crush on you at some point, she can see it, you’re pretty.
She couldn’t deny that.
It was as if something had awakened inside her that same night everything happened. The night she and her brother were leaving to catch their flight out of here, she almost wanted to take you with her.
They had a party, with all their friends for their last goodbyes, even though they knew they’d return back at some point, just don’t know when. The world was theirs, just as the night was yours and hers.
God you looked beautiful, she wondered why she always stayed away from you, then she realized why, the way you made her heartbeat faster than anyone else has ever before, how she stutters her words if she doesn’t focus on what she’s saying right then in the moment when you’re looking at her like that. It drives her insane.
That's when she knew, she always did, she had felt something for you.
She just hated it took that long for her to see it.
But that's how it was with her, it was always there, right in front of her, just enough for her to reach, she just never took a leap of faith.
You did, unlike her. She curses herself for not taking the first chance.
You outdid yourself that night, of course you did. You wanted her to see, her eyes on you the entire time, no one else. You wore her favourite color without knowing, scarlet red. It had her mouth watering at the sight, it was like you came out of a painting. Just simply gorgeous.
Wanda couldn’t see it before, but she did now.
Pietro’s friends even wanted a piece of you, she hated that. How they looked at you, flirted with you, treated you, you, however, didn’t seem as upset as she was about it. You liked it. It was clear in the way your eyes lit up.
You never gave them what they wanted though, leaving the boys dry.
After a few shots, and a couple more beers, Wanda found herself walking towards you through the crowded room that was her lounge. Music blasting, she had her gaze set on you like you were her chosen prey.
You happened to look up at the right moment, there she was. The one you’ve wanted for so long, looking at you in a way you only saw in your dreams.
“Wanda?” you questioned, not sure if she could even hear you, instead, you felt her grab your wrist and pull you away from the others, you let her take you.
“Where are we going? It's cold” you shivered, as the two of you were now outside, away from people and the party. You noticed she took you to the river that was by hers and pietros apartment building. You could still hear the music from here.
Somehow everything seemed more quiet when it was just you and her.
She sat down on the grass, despite the fact there was a bench right by you she still chose the ground. You shrugged, joining her. The grass was a bit damp and you cringed. You watched as she pulled out of a packet of cigars and a lighter, you frowned.
“Why did you bring me here just to do that?” you muttered, wrapping yourself in your arms. She huffed, taking off her hoodie and putting it on you without saying a thing, your heart was going crazy and you felt like you could faint at any point.
“Can you light it for me?” she asks, her english was always a bit rough, its gotten way better over the years but her accent always had an effect on you. Her voice alone was your weakness.
“You can’t do it yourself?” you joked, taking her lighter, your fingers brushed against hers and you inhaled, “whatever” you say.
She pushes her hair out of her face as she tilts her head, doing way too much to make herself more sexy than she already is. You licked your lips, trying to not let your hands shake too much, not wanting to ruin whatever this is. She put the cigar in her mouth and leaned in, you helped lit it, almost wishing you were the cigar right now. Which is something you never thought you’d ever wanna be yet here we are.
She wasn't surprised you were a bit standoffish, she hasn't done anything like this before. It was all new, for her too, in a way.
after taking a hit, Wanda took the cigar out of her mouth, blew the smoke away, she knew you were staring the whole time and she couldn't help but grin.
“Do you want to smoke?” she asks, teasing you.
you shake your head, “I’m good thanks. I don't mind watching.”
she raised an eyebrow at that, chuckling.
“You don't mind watching, hm?” she smiles, “oh i know.”
You looked dumbfounded, it was cute.
Your cheeks warmed, you shifted where you sat on the ground, still not sure of what to make of this. “Is there a reason you pulled me away like that? everyones gonna wonder where we are.”
God, why are you talking so much? Wanda thinks, groaning.
“Maybe I wanted you all to myself, is that so wrong?” Wanda says so nonchalantly as if it were the most normal thing for you to hear, you couldn't hide the surprise on your face.
“I’m not doing this” you muttered, she felt you were pulling away, she saw you stand up and was about to walk away, she stopped you.
Her cold hand grabs a hold of your dress, forcing you to stop.
your eyes met hers and you frowned in annoyance, “Wanda, let go.” you hissed.
“If you don't sit back down I'll rip this dress off.”
You went silent, immediately going back to your spot on the ground next to her. She smiled, pleased. You huffed, not looking at her this time and that made her even more happy, wondering how much you were thinking about what she meant when she said that.
A few minutes go by, what feels like eternity, the next day, Wanda will wake up and she will be in Italy, she will be loving every minute, living her dreams.
Though there was one thing she wished she could have done before it was too late.
She placed her hand on your knee, rubbing it. She didn’t notice the way your body tensed at first, then you became more relaxed. Getting used to her, she’s mad it took her so long to do this.
“I’ve realized something” she started, “I always wondered why I was annoyed with you all the time, how easily you pissed me off. How I wanted so badly to not like you, then I kind of found out why, and I think you already know, maybe, I dunno” she paused, shaking her head, she ran a hand through her hair as she put out the cigar.
“Wanda-”
“No, no. Let me speak. I have to say this.”
You nodded, letting her continue, you didn’t know where the fuck this was going you wanted to say your part, this was the first time you’ve seen her like this.
“I know if i don’t do this now, i’m gonna regret it later. So” she muttered, did she look nervous? You frowned, confused, concerned, everything was hitting you all at once. “Can I kiss you?” she asks.
She smiled at the surprised look on your face, you didn’t know what to say, you’ve never thought for a second she’d ever feel the same let alone anything for you.
Wanda leaned in, her hand caressing your cheek as you moved in, giving her permission without having to say a word, your body said it alone. Then, her lips met yours, you felt like you were in a dream. Tasting her on your lips as you kissed her harder. You pushed yourself into her, practically sitting on her lap as she let you straddle her thighs, you wrapped your arms around her as you kissed her, with so much fire. You never wanted to wake up from whatever this was.
You felt her hands travel down your body, feeling you, god you needed her so bad. It was just you and her, you weren’t sure when you were ever gonna see her again, savouring every moment of this.
Then her hand, once was cold, found its way going up your dress as you didn’t even stop her, your lips never leaving hers as she had her way with you. Her fingers brushed against your underwear that was already soaked, she couldn't help but grin as she easily slipped her fingers through, earning a moan from you as you gasped, settling down into her as she fucks you.
Your hands gripped her back as you moaned, leaning your forehead against hers as she sped up her pace, having you choke back a whine, Your face fell in her neck as she touched you so good, better than you could ever imagined.
She felt you clench around her, with how deep inside she was in you, she used her thumb to massage your clit, you were still a whimpering mess, it was cute. Your orgasm hit you hard, you came quickly all over her fingers, she sighed, licking her lips as she pulled out, making eye contact with you as you watched her place the fingers in her mouth.
You grabbed her hand, placing them inside your mouth this time as she moaned at the sight.
There is a great deal of truth there. Sometimes special moments happen purely by accident. But most of them happen because you make a plan and create the conditions to let them happen.
Summary: Wanda's boyfriend is the biggest asshole you've ever met. You think she'll choose you in the end.
Wanda Romanoff x F!R, eventual Natasha Romanoff x F!R
A/N: Don't be fooled by the summary, this is a Natasha Romanoff x R fic
Classes can be a drag. Especially the early mornings, where not even a cup of coffee can make you focus.
And then, there’s Wanda Maximoff, looking at the professor as she speaks, diligently taking notes while looking perfect, as usual.
She catches you staring and you have to look away, pretending that you weren’t just wondering how she manages to look effortlessly beautiful.
Class is dismissed and you take a minute to pack your things, preparing for the next session. You try not to roll your eyes as you find Wanda with her idiot boyfriend right at the door. As usual, they take up too much space, and you have to push one of them aside.
“Coming through, princess”
You don’t have to look back to know Wanda glares at you, annoyed at the nickname.
To be fair, the first time you used it you thought you were both involved in playful banter. Hell, you even meant it to be flirty, but she took great offense in it, which was the case with most things you did, whether they were aimed at her or not.
It was pretty clear she hated your guts. You just didn’t know why.
——
“I don’t know what her problem is” Wanda says, the music loudly booming across the house.
“What?” Jarvis says, leaning forward because he didn’t hear a word Wanda said. Partly due to the loud music and also because he’s looking at other girls, albeit discreetly.
“Y/N. She’s always being a total ass” the girl says, watching as you enter the house, avoiding her stare.
“She’s just jealous because you’re so pretty” he says and that’s enough to distract Wanda.
Across the room, you curse under your breath at the sight of the Maximoff girl. God, you hate her stupid boyfriend. Always runnig his mouth to his friends about Wanda, telling them private things… you’d overheard them at a bar once and it took every ounce of your being not to kill him right then and there.
Not to mention, the rumoured affairs that everyone knew about. Everyone, but Wanda, that is.
“You made it!” Carol greets you, and then follows your gaze. “Ugh, that guy’s the worst”
“Agree” you nod, turning to look at her. “Shots?”
“Hell, yeah” your friend says, taking you to the kitchen where Val is pouring some alcohol.
To your relief, you get to avoid Wanda for the entirety of the night, and as your friends arrive you quickly forget what had soured your mood in the first place.
Wanda, on the other hand, is not having such a great time. At some point while she was chatting with Pepper, she lost sight of Jarvis and can’t seem to find him anywhere. Knowing Stark could get crazy ideas, she worries that they might be doing something reckless so she goes around the house, looking for her boyfriend.
She’s expecting everything but seeing him with his pants around his ankles while a girl Wanda doesn’t even know gives him head.
“Wanda!” Jarvis shouts, startled.
“That’s not my name” the girl says, smiling playfully. “Or are we role playing?”
“I need to get out of here” Wanda says, closing the door.
Of course, he chases her down the hall, desperately sayig any excuse he can think of. Wanda tries to walk past him, but he blocks her from going downstairs.
“Don’t be so uptight about it” he loses his patience when Wanda refuses his apology. “Guys just need to do it more than girls, it meant nothing”
“You’re an ass” she says, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Wanda, don’t leave” he warns, as she finally walks around him to go to the first floor. The shouting makes some people turn around, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the commotion.
You’re standing next to Val and Darcy, unable to look away as the oh so happy couple keeps shouting at each other.
“Guess he got caught red handed this time” Darcy mutters. She and Wanda were friends but had a fallout and you suspected it had to do with Jarvis and his side pieces.
“Let go of me” Wanda insists when he takes her arm, pulling her close to him.
“People are staring, shut your fucking mouth”
“You’re hurting me” she protests, trying to losen his grip.
Maybe it’s the way she says it, so defeated or even scared, but those words make you snap, and you walk up to them, pushing Jarvis away.
“Stay out of it” he warns.
“Make me”
You are expecting the first punch so you dodge it in time, but he manages to land another one on your mouth, and you feel the taste of blood.
“You’re gonna regret this” you say, launching yourself forward until you knock him over, landing on a coffee table that breaks. Grabbing him by the shirt, you land two punches and go for a third one when he kicks you, making you gasp for air.
“That’s enough” Thor steps in, his brother looking delighted at the chaos. “You better leave”
Jarvis glares at him, but truth be told, Thor doesn’t like him and he is your friend. He leaves the Odinson house, cursing under his breath.
“I’m fine” you tell your friends as they bring over ice to put on your cheek.
“Want us to take you home?” Carol offers.
“It’s good” you say, shaking your head. “I should go, take some painkillers”
“Call us if you need anything”
“Ok” you pat Darcy’s back, leaving the house where everyone’s partying like nothing even happened.
As you walk to your car, you spot Wanda, sitting on the sidewalk, wiping away the tears that roll down her cheeks.
“You ok?” you ask, standing next to her.
“He’s an idiot. No, I’m the idiot for being with him” she rambles.
There’s a very sarcastic comment at the tip of yout tongue but you save it.
“Did he drove you here?” Wanda nods and you jiggle the car keys. “Come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm”
“I don’t want to be alone” Wanda hugs her knees, and in spite of everything, your heart aches for her.
“Any friends that can take you in for the night?” she shakes her head no and you sigh. “Wanna stay at my place?”
“Are you sure it’s ok?”
“Yeah, come on” you say, walking to the car. You drive in silence, eager to get home and put some more ice on the punch.
Wanda gets out of the car and follows you to the dorm you share with Carol, who usually stays with Val most nights.
“Take the bed” you say, handing over some clean clothes so she can change.
Wanda looks at you, and you feel uncomfortable at the intensity of her gaze.
“I… thank you, Y/N”
“Sleep tight, princess” you say with a smile and for the first time she doesn’t look upset as you call her that.
——
The smell of bacon and butter wakes you up and you stretch, trying to remember why you’re in the couch.
When you see Wanda in your kitchen, everyhing that happened comes back and you groan, rubbing the sleep off your eyes.
“Ouch” you say when you rub close to the punch on your cheek.
“You’re up” Wanda says, smiling. It’s a strange sight, as she’s used to glaring at you or just ignoring your presence.
“You sleep ok?” you say, trying to hide your blush when you notice she’s still wearing the clothes you let her borrow.
“Yeah, thanks” she nods, pulling up two plates with pancakes. “I wanted to thank you for everythig you did last night”
“No need” you say, grabbing a fork and eating. Wanda’s just being nice and you honestly don’t want to force her to interact with you, so all you want is to finish your food and give her an out so she can leave.
“He’s been texting me” Wanda says, looking at her food but not eating anything. “Saying it was a mistake, a one time thing and that it would never happen again”
“And you believe him?” you try to control your tone.
“I’d heard the rumors… even from Darcy. You probably know already”
“We assumed that’s why you fought, but she told us it was none of our business. And I know this isn’t none of mine, but you deserve better”
Wanda giggles at that and you look at her, intrigued.
“I’m just… I thought you didn’t like me”
“Where’d you get that?”
“The nickname, your constant glares across the room…”
Oh, shit. Here you were thinking you were obvious about your crush, and Wanda thinks you hate her.
“I hate… Jarvis. I knew he was a dick so I always disliked him. Seeing him with you. Yeah”
“Do you like me?” Wanda asks and you take a deep breath, shrugging your shoulders.
The girl smiles, finishing her food. You stay in the kitchen, fidgeting with your fork until she comes back, changed into her own clothes.
“I should get back. Do you need anything? Painkillers, ice?” she leans forward, her hand touching your bruise gently. Then, you notice her eyes drifting to your lips.
“I’m fine” you say and she nods, stepping back.
“See you in class?”
“Yes” you say, smiling as she waves goodbye. Carol walks in ten seconds later, looking behind her.
“Was that…?”
“Yes”
“Did you…?”
“No” you cut her off. “She just didn’t want to be alone after what happened”
“Y/N…” Carol says in that tone you dislike so much. You’re about to get scolded over something that isn’t that big of a deal.
“Carol, come on. She slept in my room, I stayed on the couch. That’s it”
“I just don’t want to see you getting hurt” your friend says and you nod. “I mean, you got a split lip and a black eye already so maybe it’s a little late for that”
“Yeah, that’s true. Come on, there are some pancakes left”
——
You tell yourself it means nothing. Wanda sits next to you during class, and offers a second scone she got from the cafeteria.
“How’s the eye?”
“I’m not blind” you shrug your shoulders. “Jarvis hits like a little bitch”
Wanda snorts at that, and you can’t hold back your own laugh. That attracts the attention of Professor Harkness, who focuses on your eye.
“Do I even want to to know, Y/L/N?”
“Nah” you shake your head and she rolls her eyes.
“Alright”
With that, the lesson begins. You try hard to focus, but Wanda smells really nice and you’re only human. At one point, she shuffles in her seat, her leg coming in contact with yours and you give up on taking notes.
“You ok?” to your surprise, Wanda follows you out of the classroom. “I can let you borrow my notes, if you want”
“Wanda” you stop abruptly, sighing. “Listen, you don’t owe me anything. I helped because it was the right thing to do. So don’t worry about paying me back in any way”
“That’s not… ” she stutters, fixing her hair. “I don’t really have any friends. I was always with him”
“Oh” you feel like an idiot. “Well, ok. I could use those notes”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, come on. I’ll trade them for a coffee” you smile, walking next to her to the library.
—
It surprises you, how much you and Wanda have in common. She likes sitcoms and though you’re more of a Friends kind of girl, it’s fun to watch those old shows where they dance and sing from time to time.
“I only know Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins” you confess one time, which prompts Wanda to invite you to her dorm for a marathon.
“Where are you going?” Darcy says when you walk past her and Carol that evening.
“Oh, this is gonna be fun” Carol smiles and you glare at your friend.
“Well, Wanda and I…”
“Oh, my God! You traitor. Brutus!” Darcy shouts, throwing a napkin at you. “She’s the worst”
“I wouldn’t know. You didn’t tell me what happened”
“She got you there” Carol points out, eating popcorn while she enjoys the show.
“That is besides the point”
“Look, I’m not putting Wanda on my will or anything, we’re just hanging out. And if she mentions you, I’ll be the first one to defend you”
Darcy sighs, chewing on her lip.
“It’s not about me. Wanda has the habit of just… using people when she’s bored or on a break from that idiot. And then they get back together and forgets about you. Which sucks. I wouldn’t want it to be the case for you, that’s all”
“I’ll be careful” you promise.
Once at Wanda’s, you’re trying to enjoy the show, but Darcy’s words are echoing in your head. You had to admit that if you spent more time with Wanda, you’d probably develop an even bigger crush. And if she went back to that asshole, it would hurt you.
Was it really worth it?
“Is the show boring? We can watch something else. I know it’s weird that I like this” Wanda pauses mid episode.
“No, it’s just… Darcy said some things…”
“Oh. I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to hang out anymore” she sighs, looking down at her hands.
“I’m just thinking… maybe it would be good if you fix things with her? Say sorry. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it”
“I can try, but you know her. She won’t make it easy” you both laugh at that. “Is that all?”
“Yeah” you lie. “Come on, let’s keep watching. I wanna know if Rob goes to Ritchie’s play”
Wanda smiles, this time moving closer to you. Her head rests on your shoulder, relaxing against you. It’s so intoxicating, to have her so close, to feel her warmth.
And all you can think over and over again is “please don’t break my heart”. But you can’t ask for the impossible.
—
You’re really not expecting Wanda to take your suggestion at heart, but one day you see her speaking with Darcy in the hallway, your friend pretending to not be interested in the conversation at all.
The only sign that she actually forgives Wanda is when you’re sitting with the girl at the cafeteria and Darcy sits next to you, carrying a tray.
“This is the only seat that I could find” she mutters unconvincingly, making you and Wanda smile.
Though you spent most of the time in each other’s dorms, watching movies or shows. You learn that Jarvis was the one that dragged Wanda to all those parties and anytime you invite her to one she politely declines.
Now, you’re staying in while the rest of your friends are at the Odinson mansion. You don’t know if they’re allergies or a mild cold, but you’ve been feeling sick all day and wanted to rest.
“Coming” you groan when someone knocks. You open the door to find Wanda on the other side. “You’ll get sick, what are you doing here?”
“I made you soup”
“Thanks” you take the container, and you gotta admit the idea of warm soup makes your mouth water. “I’d say do you want to come in, but I really do worry this might be contagious”
“I’ll be fine” she walks inside, finding her usual place in the couch and patting the spot next to her. “Come on. We’ll even watch that boring show you like”
“The Office is not boring!” you huff, making her laugh.
A couple of episodes later, and you feel your eyes slowly closing, a side effect from the medicine you took. Wanda notices, and makes you walk to your room.
As you lay in bed, you’re drifting off to sleep when you feel Wanda sliding next to you, her hand on your forehead.
“Your fever is down”
“Mhm. Thanks to the magic soup”
“I’m staying, in case you need anything”
“Ok, baby” you nod, too sleepy to notice what you’re saying.
Wanda’s heart flutters at the term of endearment, and she watches you sleep peacefully, her mind racing with thoughts about what could this possibly mean to you both.
On the other hand, you don’t remember anything and are startled when you feel someone sleeping next to you.
“Wanda?” you say when you turn around, smiling at how cute she looks, all confused.
“I must have fallen asleep here. How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks” you lay on your side, still smiling. Wanda is still thinking about the way you called her and it’s fairly obvious you don’t remember.
Still, she leans forward and you almost watch in slow motion as her lips meet yours in a short kiss.
“Why did you…”
“You make me feel… I don’t know. Safe. I’m sorry, if I crossed line. Maybe I should go…” she sits up and you follow suit, making her turn to you.
This second kiss is a bit more urgent and less delicate, but you hope it makes a point.
“Now I really hope that what I had wasn’t contagious”
Wanda laughs at that, her hand over yours.
——
The next few weeks you grow closer to Wanda. You spend most of the time at her place, watching sitcoms and more often than not, you end up making out on her bed, until you’re both out of breath.
She also enjoys teasing you endlessly, like that time she sat next to you in Agatha’s class and put her hand on your thigh. Your knee jolted forward, crashing against the table and making the professor glare at you.
This time, you’re supposed to be studying in your room, but you find that looking at Wanda as she goes over her notes is far more interesting.
“Stop” she says after a few minutes and you smile.
“I’m not doing anything”
“You’re staring”
“Can you blame me?” you crawl behind her, placing small kisses down her neck. She sighs at the contact, leaning against your front.
“Are you doing this to get my notes?”
“Maybe” you laugh against her shoulder, making her turn until you’re kissing her, and she pushes you down on the bed, straddling your lap.
“You better work for them, then”
Next day, when you’re done with your test, the first thing you do is reach for Wanda’s hand. To your surprise, she flinches away, grabbing the strap of her bagpack.
“Did you do ok on the test?” she’s quick to ask, hoping you won’t push it too much.
“I think so, yeah”
“If you pass, I’d say you owe me for borrowing my notes” she smiles.
“Well, we could go out to the movies. Or dinner?” you suggest, your heart beating faster. It’s a thought that has been going through your mind recently.
Not that you don’t enjoy the kissing and sneaking around, but you’re eager to take Wanda out, find new places together, talk about something else other than classes and her old shows.
“I’m not sure I can make it” Wanda says, avoiding your eyes again.
This new rejection stings and you drop your shoulders, looking for an excuse to leave.
“Yeah, you’re right. We have lots of stuff to do. I’ll catch you later” you say, walking faster and not waiting for Wanda’s reply.
The rest of the day is spent in your dorm, which isn’t unusual. The only difference is that you’re alone instead of enjoying Wanda’s company, and hiding from seeing her.
“Wanna go to Joe’s with us?” Carol offers. “To celebrate midterms are over”
“Sounds fun” you agree, because it’s been forever since you’ve been with your friends.
“You can invite your girl”
“She’s not my girl”
“Oh?” Carol tilts her head to the side, putting the pieces together. “So that’s why you only hang out in the dorms”
“What did you think we were doing?”
“Having sex like crazy”
No answer comes to you, because sex is something that hasn’t happened yet. Or maybe never, considering Wanda doesn’t want anything more.
“I don’t think she knows what she wants, Carol”
“Do you?” she asks gently. Your immediate response is a shrug of your shoulders, and it’s a lie, because you know exactly what you want. “Come on, it’s her loss then. Let’s just go out and have fun”
Meeting your friends does improve your mood and you’re happy you listened to Carol. You eat and play pool, until everyone gets restless and looks for something else to do.
“Heard Stark is having a party” Carol says, knowing he always gets the fancy booze.
“Pass” you’re the first one to speak.
“Why?”
“Isn’t he best friends with Jarvis?” Darcy says. “We don’t want to have another fight, do we?”
“Oh come on, there will be so many people he won’t even notice that you’re there!” Carol insists, and you can tell she’s gonna be stubborn and annoying until she gets what she wants.
So, you agree, but spend the whole time looking around, waiting for that jerk to pop out of nowhere and pick up a fight.
“I don’t think he’s here” Darcy says, patting your back. “Let’s just have some fun, then Val will drag Carol out of here and we can go home, yeah?”
“Sounds like a plan” you nod.
For the next hour, you do enjoy the party and are even surprised when Tony seems happy to see you. To be fair, he is a lot nicer than most of his friends. You’re relaxed, dancing to the music and doing shots with Darcy and Val, almost forgetting why you were so sad in the first place.
That is, until you walk out of the living room to get another beer, but the place is so crowded you bump into a girl.
“Sorry, are you ok?” you say, turning to make sure she’s fine.
Your stomach drops when your eyes meet Wanda’s.
She calls for you, but the sound of her voice is drowned out by the music and the ringing in your ears. Jarvis says Wanda’s name, and you take advantage of the distraction to escape, pushing people out of the way.
When the fresh air hits you, the first thing you do is bend over the railing of the porch and throw up, coughing and wretching violently.
“It’s ok” Darcy comes out of nowhere, getting the hair out of your face.
“Shit” Val sobers up immediately. “Time to go home?”
“Yeah, come on. Let’s get a cab” Carol says, patting your back.
They think you’re wasted, but all you are is heartbroken. Wanda was with him, after everything you’ve been through.
The shame over being so naive makes you stay in your dorm for the entire day.
Wanda shows up the minute Carol leaves.
“You should go”
“Please let me explain”
“I don’t think that’s possible” you shake your head. You know it, deep down. She’ll never give you a place in her life.
“We’re just… friends. He wanted to talk, apologize”
“Wanda” you plead, hoping she’ll stop. But instead, she pushes past you, her hands in your face.
“I can’t lose you”
“Why would I stay?”
Wanda answers with a kiss, that is slow at first, and then borderline agressive. You’re pushing, then pulling, unsure of what you want from her, but she pulls your pants down, just enough for her hand to fit, moving past your underwear and circling your clit. Your nails dig into her shoulders, gasping and breathing as she enters roughly, her fingers moving fast and hard.
It’s not nice or affectionate, but a way to further claim you, ruin you, brand you. Now she’s reached and touched more of you, and you’ll never be able to erase it.
Your orgasm comes unexpectedly, and after the high, you come crashing down. All you feel is bitterness and guilt and anger. Wanda stays inside, biting your neck. The sting reminds you, you’re only gonna get pain out of this.
—
It becomes a vicious circle. Wanda is distant in public, because more often than not Jarvis is by her side. And then, she corners you in any spot she can find, kissing you and pressing her body against yours.
The more you let her in, the weaker you are and it’s nearly impossible to stay away. It will hurt if she leaves, and it hurts to be with her.
“I don’t know how to stay away” you confess to Carol one particularly hard night. Darcy was called to offer her support, and she provided that along with snacks. “You were right, Darcy”
“I didn’t want to be” she says, holding your hand. “You’re the only one who can put a stop to this. She’ll never stop looking for you”
You can’t see yourself doing that, but then you walk past her in the hallway, and you hear her saying those words to Jarvis.
“I love you”
You couldn’t even get her to hold your fucking hand.
Pushing past her, you walk away, hoping to find the nearest bathroom and lock yourself there. Lucky for you, Wanda doesn’t follow you.
There’s someone else waiting outside.
“Miss Y/L/N” Professor Harkness greets and you nod, looking at your feet and hoping she doesn’t notice your red eyes.
“Professor”
“You’re too advanced for my class. My wife has a spot in her lecture. New people to impress, most of them pHD students”
Her emphasis in the new makes you understand.
You won’t have to see Wanda in class.
“Ok. I’d like that”
“Keep your head high, kiddo” Agatha says, her hand on your chin. “And don’t tell any of this to Rio or she’ll accuse me of going soft”
“Yes, Professor Harkness. Thank you”
“Mhm” she nods, giving her signature smirk and turning around.
One less place where you’ll have to see Wanda.
Soon after that, you change everything about your routine. Where you eat, study, even go out for runs. Hell, you change your phone number and Darcy is kind enough to let you stay with her for a while. That, and the Thanksgiving break are enough to give you three weeks of space.
It hurts and more than once you have to stop yourself from looking for Wanda. But what’s the point of being a secret? The longer it goes on, the more it will hurt.
Still, there are days when anger weights heavier than sadness. You’re mad at yourself, for being so stupid. At Wanda, because she was a coward and a liar. And those times, you get restless and go out to run, listening to music until you reach a hidden lake. It’s one of the few places you can be at peace, because you found it after Wanda broke your heart. So, there’s no ghost of her here, only you and your conflicting emotions.
Throwing stones at the lake is a way to pass time, and you’re doing exactly that when you hear rustling behind you.
“Sorry” a raspy voice says. Your eyes meet green ones, but these are softer, almost shy. The girl has beautiful red hair, braided with a few strands lose. She misinterprets your silence, and quickly retreats. “I’ll find another spot”
“That’s ok. I can… I can go”
“No, you don’t have to” she’s quick to reassure.
“Well, we can always share” you propose, smiling. The girl nods, and places her bagpack next to a log. She pulls out a book, and begins reading. You continue throwing rocks, stealing glances here and there.
“Is the book any good?” you finally ask.
“Depends”
“On what?”
“On your fascination with social expectations in Russian society during the 19th century”
“Pass. Got anything lighter?” you joke. To your surprise, the girl pulls out another book.
“How about the perils of indulging in romantic fantasies?”
“I know those very well” you say, grimacing. She puts the book down, smiling at you. You try to smile back, but turn your attention back to the lake until you’re able to calm down.
“Lit major?” you guess, pointing at the spot next to her. She moves her bag, allowing you to sit.
“Yeah. You?”
“Anthropology. Minor in Art History. I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other in the building”
“I'm a grad student, so I’m usually at the library” the girl says.
“No parties?”
“No one ever invites me” she shakes her head.
“I’d invite you” you blurt out, finding her blush adorable. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be forward”
“It’s not… you’re fine”
“So. Anna Karenina and Madame Bovary. Are you trying to find out if Tolstoy really wrote his book with Flaubert’s in mind?”
The girl gives you an appreciative smile, nodding.
“Yeah, but it’s more about how men in 19th century wrote about women. Even in two different societies, the protagonists are punished for following their desires”
“No one should be punished for that” you say, looking at her. She averts her eyes, holding back a smile.
“Why Anthropology?” she changes the subject.
“Because. We’re the same and we’re not, even thousand of years apart. Isn’t that fascinating?”
“How so?”
“Do you think you have anything in common with someone who lived thirty thousand years ago?”
“We need food to survive. Sleep, water, oxygen” she lists, and you nod.
“Mhm. All basic needs. Next question, did you make a drawing of your hand when you were a kid?”
“Everyone did” she says, as if it’s obvious.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see what it looked like. Because it was my hand and no one else’s”
“And people thirty thousand years ago thought the same thing. And left their handprint in a cave in Southern France. Isn’t that something wonderful?”
She stays silent for a second and then smiles.
“I suppose it is, yes. To have an impact, so long after you’re gone too”
“You get it” you nod. “I’m Y/N, by the way”
“Natasha” she says, smiling at you.
The next few days, you catch yourself thinking about Natasha, and even with all the distractions, your mind goes back to her. It takes every ounce of self control to not wait everyday by the lake. Why would you want to get hurt, when you just started healing?
Love never ends well for Anna Karenina, Emma Bovary or yourself.
And yet… three days later you’re by the lake, holding a book of your own collection and an extra scone. You’re about to give up when Natasha shows up, and she seems as eager as you.
“Hey”
“Hi” she answers, a smile on her face. “Am I interrupting lunch?”
“This is for you. I mean, I was hoping I’d see you here” you stutter, looking everywhere but Natasha’s eyes.
“I was hoping to see you too” she confesses. It takes you by surprise, so she grabs the scone and the book as you try to gather your thoughts.
“Emily Dickinson” she reads. “Enjoying it?”
“You can borrow it if you want. I mean, yes I enjoyed it when I read it. But I just thought, you might like a change from male authors”
“Thank you” she nods, holding it close to her. “I actually have to go…”
“Oh, right” you nod, trying not to look disappointed.
“Can I have your number?” Natasha blurts out, her cheeks turning almost as red as her hair. “To give you your book back”
You smile, handing over your phone.
“I recently changed my number and I haven’t memorized it yet. So give me yours”
“Ok” she says. As soon as the device is back in your hands, you send her a text.
“See? Now I’m sure I gave you the right number”
“Talk to you soon. Thanks for the food”
When is it appropriate to text someone without looking desperate?
Either way, you can’t hold back your excitement as you walk to your dorm, jumping on Carol’s back as she’s eating her cereal.
“Are you mad?” she says, flakes and milk flying all over the counter.
“I’m just happy!”
“Why?” she glares, hoping you’re not back to your old ways.
“I spoke to a girl. And she gave me her phone number”
“Oh, my God! Y/N!” Carol shouts, the rest of her cereal thrown away as she dances around.
“What’s all the fuss?” Val says from the shower, concerned over the noise. Carol runs to the bathroom and opens the door wide.
“Y/N met a girl”
“Way to go!” Val joins the celebration and you’re about to say thank you when you notice she’s stepping out of the shower.
“Gah, bye”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want your new girlfriend to think you’re a pervert!”
“Shut up” you say, walking to your room and flipping her off without turning back.
The rest of your evening is spent studying, but also looking at your phone waiting for anything to come through.
As you’re getting ready to sleep, there’s a text.
Nat: I’m ready to give the book back.
Y/N: It’s been… seven hours?
Nat: I’m a fast reader.
Nat: Secret spot? Saturday morning.
Y/N: I’ll be there
—
It’s the first time you’re there so early. The light filters through the leaves, birds chirping as their day begins with the rays of sunshine.
The walk to the lake is lovely, and you spot a couple of small flowers as you find your way to the place. Deciding to get one for luck, you twirl it around in your fingers.
You sit by the log, looking at the fog over the surface of the water when you hear soft footsteps approaching.
“I was afraid you’d stood me up” you joke when Natasha sits next to you.
“And stole your book?”
“The book, I could get over” you admit, giving her the flower. Natasha smiles, her fingertips caressing the petals delicately.
Your eyes are focused on the curve of her lips and those beaufitul eyes.
“Well, I’m here” she says, smiling when your eyes meet hers. “Thank you, I enjoyed reading it”
You take the book, your hands touching briefly.
“There’s a problem, though”
“What is it?” you say, worried that something’s wrong.
“I gave the book back, but I still have to thank you for that scone”
“Oh” you laugh.
“So, what is your preferred payment method? Ice cream? Coffee?”
“It’s a little early for ice cream”
“Then we’ll get it later. I know just the place”
“Yeah. I’d like that”
Though there are no classes, Natasha still has to meet with her advisor, so you chat for an hour until she has to go back to uni, agreeing to meet at your dorm in the evening.
“Is this a date?” you ask your friends on the video call as they agree on what you should wear.
“Of course it is, you silly goose!” Carol says, her face occupying half of the screen. “Wear something hot!”
“No, something comfortable. It’s an ice cream date, not a club” Val argues, trying to get a glimpse of the options.
“Something comfortable AND hot”
As they keep arguing, you opt for a pair of jeans, a white cotton t-shirt and a light jacket.
“Gotta go” you say when someone knocks. After hanging up, you are surprised to check Natasha’s ten minutes early. Plus, you don’t remember giving her your exact room number, agreeing you’d come down and meet at the lobby.
You’re about to open the door when the voice on the other side makes you stop in your tracks.
“Y/N? Please. Open up. I need you”
Wanda.
That voice, those words, the feelings you’ve been trying so hard to push away and bury come back. But instead of hurting you, they make you angry. You’re about to go out with a wonderful girl, who seems geniuenly interested in you. And here comes Wanda, trying to stain that as well.
Without thinking twice, you climb out of the window, holding on to the emergency ladder. You look down, unsure of what to do when you reach the last step.
"What are you doing?" Natasha says, rushing to stand above you.
"Parkour?" you reply weakly. "Is it too high?"
"Don't worry, I'll catch you"
Trusting her, you jump. Truth to her word, she eases the fall as you land, but you drag her along with you as you stay on the floor.
“Are you hurt? Why did you do that?”
Her hands are running over every inch of your face, going down to your shoulders and arms. The worry in her eyes only makes your heart beat faster.
“My roomate accidentally locked me inside”
You figure it's better than saying "My situationship is outside my door and I wanted to avoid her"
“You could have told me, and I would have gone and find her” Natasha insists.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s get ice cream? I won’t ever do this again” you promise, holding her hand. The redhead rolls her eyes, but nods and leads you away from the building.
You make small talk, appreciating how her hand doesn’t leave yours as you get away from campus and to the walking district. You try to look discreetly behind you, hoping Wanda didn’t see you and followed you.
Natasha finds the store, opening the door for you.
“Rocky road, please” you give Natasha puppy eyes and she smiles, ordering strawberry ice cream for her.
“So, what’s your deal?” she asks as you leave the store.
“My deal? What do you mean?” you say, mouth full of ice cream. The girl wipes the corner of your mouth with her napkin.
“You mentioned parties. Are you some sort of wild girl looking for someone to charm every night?”
“Oh, yes, I’m quite the Casanova” you laugh. “No, come on. My friends are cool and we just like to have fun from time to time”
“So, not a player” she notes with a smile.
“I did get my heart broken, though”
“Fella done you wrong?”
“His girlfriend done me wrong” you correct, wishing you were talking about anything else. But truthfully, if you want things to work out, you better be honest. “She was with me, but only on her terms and as if I were a secret”
“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve that”
“I moved on. So, don’t think I’m just messing here, Nat. I really like you” you hurry to say, blushing slightly.
“I like you too” she takes your hand. “Now, let’s finish our ice cream so I can show you this awesome bookstore I found”
The next few hours are spent talking about college, some of your plans for the future and also, your friends. You smile when Natasha comments she’d love to hang out with them.
Before it gets dark, you walk back to campus. Worried that Wanda might still be at your door, you asked Darcy a while back to go check. Apparently, the coast was clear.
Natasha walks you to the door.
“I had the best time” you say, smiling. “We should do it again. Maybe go to the movies?”
“Would love to” Natasha nods, her eyes drifting to your lips. You lean forward, heart beating fast as you’re eager to feel her lips on yours.
“Are you still here? I told you to beat it!” Darcy opens the door, making you both jump back. “Oops, I thought you were someone else. Sorry, I’ll go back inside. Pretend this didn’t happen, make out”
“Darcy” you groan. Your friend doesn’t get inside, though.
“The famous Natasha. Y/N here won’t shut up about you”
“Shhh, don’t listen to her, she’s off her meds” you ask Nat, covering Darcy’s mouth and pushing her inside. As you close the door, you hold it so she can’t open it again.
Natasha laughs, her hands going to your hips and pulling you softly. You take a few steps forward, smiling as she lifts your chin, leaning to connect your lips in a slow kiss.
It’s mindblowingly good, although too short for your liking.
“So, when are we doing this again?”
“The date or the kiss?” she jokes and your hands go around her neck.
“Both”
“As soon as you’re free” she says, kissing you once more before leaving for the day.
Darcy snaps a picture the second you walk inside.
“That’s the gayest you’ve ever looked, congrats” she says, sending the picture to the group chat.
You roll your eyes, pulling out your phone and smiling.
Y/N: Best I’ve ever had
Nat: The kiss or the ice cream?
Y/N: What do you think?
Smiling at your phone, you walk to the couch where your friend is sitting.
“I’m happy that you’re happy” she says, relieved that you’re healing from everything that Wanda put you through.
“Me too” you sigh, pulling your knees against your chest. “Though I do have to ask. Did Wanda say why was she here?”
“I didn’t care enough to find out. All I did was tell her to leave you alone. And then I pretended you were inside so she wouldn’t go anywhere else looking for you”
“You’re a great friend” you nudge her with your foot and she glares.
“Ew, get that thing away from me”
“I take it back” you show her your tongue.
The next week, you text Natasha between classes, and though she’s very busy, she’s always making time to get back to you. You agree to go out on another date on Friday, but neither one can wait to see each other, so you end up at the library on a Wednesday evening, each one focused on your work.
Well, Natasha is focused on her work. You’re looking at her, because this is the first time you’ve seen her wearing glasses and it’s adorable.
“Find anything interesting?”
“Plenty” you say, not even pretending to be reading your notes.
“You’re not the only one who’s staring” Natasha’s eyebrow arches, speaking without looking up. “Brunette, green eyes, a lot of rings and eyeshadow”
“Oh”
“Is that the infamous ex?” she says and you’re scared she’ll be upset about this whole situation.
“Uhm… yeah. I’m sorry. If she’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll just leave…”
Natasha looks up at that, eyeing you up and down as you struggle to read her expression. She surprises you by pulling your chair until it bumps against hers, leaning forward and kissing you, one of her hands on your thigh and the other holding your chin, in that signature move that always makes your head spin.
“Maybe that’ll keep her away” Natasha says, smiling and bumping her nose against yours.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and expect me to focus on an essay” you say, biting your lip.
“Then let’s get something to eat. We need a break from all this studying” she proposes, picking up her things and leading you out of the library, her hand in yours.
You don’t care to look around for Wanda to check if she’s watching, because this moment with Natasha is yours. She’s holding your hand, kissing you, spending time with you whenever she can, instead of hiding you like you’re a dirty secret.
By being herself, she’s given you the one thing you always craved for. Something real.
Finally, Friday comes and you’re buzzing with excitement, getting ready to meet Natasha.
“Wanna go to a party tomorrow? You can invite your girlfriend” Val says, painting her nails while Carol throws a ball in the air.
“We haven’t had the talk about being each other girlfriends”
“What? And you call yourself a lesbian? This is the second date, you should be adopting a cat by now”
“Like you and Val with Goose?”
“Yes!”
“Well, sorry to disappoint the sapphics, I’m just trying to not scare her away. And about the party, yeah, if Natasha’s up for it, we’ll stop by”
“Alright, it’s at Stark’s”
“Oh. Maybe not, then”
Your friends share a look, and you glare as they both stay silent.
“You can’t avoid her forever” Val is the first one to speak. “She’s gonna keep looking for you, getting in the middle of what could be a good relationship just because she thinks she can”
“Yeah, next time you see her, don’t jump out the window. Open the door and tell her off” Carol agrees.
“You did what?” Val looks at you, baffled.
“It’s ok, Nat was there to catch me. Speaking of which” you hear a knock on the door, and stand up. “See ya, cat ladies”
“Hey! We only have the one”
You laugh as you open the door, but then you’re interrupted by Natasha’s lips on yours.
“Hey”
“Hello” she smiles, and then looks behind you as your friends whistle.
“Meet Val and Carol. My two former best friends” you grumble when they make kissing sounds.
“Nice to meet you” Natasha greets over your shoulder.
“Bring her home at a decent time” Carol says. “Unless you plan on having sex. In that case take her back to yours so she doesn’t wake me up”
“I hate you so much” you sigh, pulling Nat away.
“We’ll see you at the party tomorrow”
“Sorry about them” you mumble when you’re going down the stairs.
“What was that about a party?” she asks, opening the car door for you.
“Ever heard of Tony Stark? Big house, bigger ego. Loves to have parties. We don’t have to go unless you want to” you say, half expecting her to turn down the invitation.
“If you want me to go I’ll be there”
“I just want us to spend some time together, doing whatever you want” you say, blushing.
“I did promise I’d try going to a party with you, and it seems like the perfect time. Could meet the rest of your friends”
“Alright then” you nod, excited and terrified about how things could turn out if a certain someone is there.
Carol is right, though. You can’t be looking over your shoulder all the time, expecting Wanda to approach you and open those wounds.
If you have closure, in whatever way that is, she won’t have the power to hurt you anymore.
It’s hard to focus on the movie with Natasha by your side, her hand clasped in yours over your leg. At one point, you lean against her shoulder and she kisses your temple.
She’s so perfect, it makes you dizzy.
“What did you think about the movie?” she asks as you go out of the theater, her arm around your waist.
“It was good. I’m glad I understood most of it without having watched those other Alien movies”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have picked a different one” she protests, pulling you to a stop.
“I just want to be with you. Plus you looked so excited to watch it, I had a hard time saying no”
“Is that so?” she arches an eyebrow.
“Don’t use that against me, Natasha” you warn, getting ready to argue but her lips silence you, and you moan against the kiss.
It’s not nearly enough, and you need more of her, not just kissing.
“So if I ask you to go back home with me, will you still have a hard time saying no?”
“On the second date? What do you think I am, a harlot?”
“I’d count the lake as a date of it’s own. And the library too”
“So, this is like the fourth one?” you say, counting with your fingers.
“You don’t have to, I was only…”
Natasha’s words are cut off by your lips on hers, and she holds back a moan of her own when you run your tongue over her bottom lip.
“I’d very much like to go back to your place”
The drive back is silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. There’s a certain tension, and the expectation of what is about to happen makes you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest.
“This is home” Natasha says, opening the door to her apartment. Of course, as a grad student, you expected her to have her own place, but you still admire how homey it feels. There are books everywhere, which makes sense, and pictures of Natasha’s family.
“It’s lovely” you say, turning back to look at her. The tour of the place is forgotten, as you watch Natasha approach you slowly, her hands dropping to your waist.
“Nervous?”
“Yeah. A bit” you admit, because lying to Natasha has never been something you’d consider doing. “I want this to be perfect. And for you to really like it”
For me to be enough.
“It’s already perfect” she says, coming closer and kissing you slowly. Your eyes close as you enjoy the sensation of her lips against yours, hands wandering to your lower back. Without breaking the kiss, you discard your jacket and take hers off as well, and she immediately pulls you against her, your hands holding her cheeks as she deepens the kiss.
“Are we doing it standing up?” you ask when she breaks apart, breathing heavily against your neck. “Because I’ve never tried it, but I am open to experimenting”
“You could just say that we should take this to the bedroom” she laughs against your temple.
“Now, where’s the fun in that?”
Still, she laughs as you pull her by the belt loop of her pants, guessing that her bedroom must be that last door to the left.
“Bingo” you smile, opening the door. There are more books scattered on the nightstand and the floor, but at least the bed is clear. “God, Nat, your reading is gonna kill me” you say as you fall to the bed and make her land on top of you.
“Sorry, I don’t have company very often”
“Are you a virgin?” you tease, knowing full well she’s dated in the past, though nothing serious.
Instead of answering, she kisses you again, her lips drifting down to your neck, and then lower to your stomach. In one swift motion, she unsclaps your bra and lifts your shirt up, her tongue swirling around a nipple. You moan, surprised at the contact, holding her head in place as she moves to the other nipple.
“Does it look like my first time?” Natasha says against your lips, her hands going down to undo the button of your jeans.
“I’m sorry, I was only joking, baby” you say, and it’s almost embarassing how desperate you sound.
“Good girl” she comments, pulling your pants down. You struggle with your underwear and Natasha’s too impatient, so she pulls it aside and starts eating you out, her tongue making circles and swirling around your clit.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you say, biting your hand to keep you from screaming. Natasha nudges your clit with her nose as she moves to go up and down and you’re close when she stops. “Why?”
“I want to be inside you”
It’s a mystery, how your brain doesn’t stop functioning at that, but you manage to discard your shirt and start to undress Natasha, eager to feel her skin against yours. Once you’re both naked, she flips you, so you’re on top of her, straddling her lap.
“I’m debating if it would be better to have my fingers or my strap buried in your pussy” she says, and you wonder how the girl who is so well spoken can manage to be so crass.
Not that you’re complaining.
“Anything you want” you say, aware that you’re rubbing your center against her thigh.
“What’s that?”
“I… please. Just use me” you plead, desperate for some release.
Those words do it for Natasha, who takes out a strap on from her nightstand. You protest when she stands up to fasten it around her hips, feeling like you’re gonna combust if she’s not touching you.
“Shh, I’m here” she soothes you, laying on top of you and rubbing the strap against your entrance.
“Fuck me, Nat” you squeeze your legs around her, hoping she stops teasing you.
“That’s the plan, baby. Tell me if it hurts?” Natasha asks as she begins to fill you up, and you’re too far gone to give a verbal confirmation, nodding instead.
“More” you insist when she stops, searching for any sign of discomfort. Natasha thrusts forward, sinking the entire shaft and you moan, arching your back. “Harder”
Truthfully, Natasha’s never been so adventurous or forward in her sex life, but the way you’re pleading, clenching and panting underneath her, wakes something entirely new inside her. Pushing your knees against your chest, she moves in and out, reaching new spots that make you see stars.
“Yes, yes, yes” is all you manage to say, holding on to the sheets as your knuckles turn white. “Nat, I’m gonna…”
The words are stuck in your mouth as a powerful orgasm takes over, leaving you breathless. You feel Natasha slowing down her movements, and then she goes to kiss your neck, the strap still buried inside you.
“That was…” you sigh, trying to make your brain work. As your breathing steadies, your muscles relax and you let a finger run up and down Natasha’s side. “I don’t know what to say. You’re the one with the big words”
“That was fucking hot” she says, making you laugh. “And I’m not done with you”
Good thing your schedule was clear for the next day, because you weren’t getting any sleep tonight.
—
Your muscles feel sore when you wake up, stretching and turning in Natasha’s arms, watching her sleep.
Her alarm woke you up, but she’s still sound asleep.
“Nat” you say, moving her fiery hair out of her face. “Baby”
“No” she protests.
“Time to get up. You’re meeting your advisor, remember?”
Natasha curses under her breath, clearly not caring enough to wake up.
“Hey… what if I sit on your face?”
“I’m up” she says, opening her eyes and pulling you by the waist. “Come on, giddy up”
“Nuh-uh. Get dressed”
“Why would you lie about something like that?” she whines, burying her face in your neck.
“I didn’t lie, because technically, I didn’t say I’d do it right now. Get dressed, I’ll make breakfast and then we can go back to uni”
“Fine. But this discussion is not over” she kisses your cheeks, neck and then your lips, smiling as you laugh. “Morning”
“Morning, baby” you say, appreciating how beautiful she looks even with bed hair.
When she gets up, you find one of her t-shirts and go to the kitchen, looking at your options. You opt for french toast and make some coffee, because Natasha is definitely gonna need it to stay awake.
“Tastes amazing” she comments when you sit down to eat.
“Breakfast or me?” you tease and she almost chokes with her coffee. “Sorry, let’s eat”
“So, what are the plans for today?”
“Laundry, some homework. Standard stuff”
“Do you have any plans for lunch?” Natasha asks and you shake your head no. “Would you like to eat with me? After I’m done with my meeting and you finish your stuff, of course”
“Would love to” you say, smiling at how domestic and perfect it all feels.
Once you finish breakfast, you get changed and walk to Nat’s car. Parking close to your dorm, she kisses you goodbye and walks to the professor's offices.
You’re so distracted, thinking about everything that happened that you don’t notice Wanda sitting outside your dorm until you’re at the door.
“Wanda” you say, your hands in the pocket of your jeans. “Hey”
“Y/N? Did you just get here?” she says, looking around and then at the time on her phone. “You didn’t sleep here?”
“What do you want?”
“I want… to apologize”
You sigh, hoping the conversation ends soon so you don’t have to ever talk to her again.
“Anything else?”
“I thought he would change. He promised. But then it happened, again and again. And all I could think about is how you’d never do that to me”
“No, I wouldn’t. But now it’s too late. You made your choice”
“It was the wrong choice. Please, just give me another chance. I was scared before…”
“No, Wanda. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it and we’re not gonna be anything at all. Natasha is… she’s amazing and I want to be with her. You had a choice to make and you went with him. And now… I have to choose the girl I’m in love with”
“Is there anything I can do or say…?”
“No. I’m sorry” you shake your head. Wanda nods, wiping away the tears. It does tug at your heart, seeing her so alone and broken. But it’s not on you to fix this.
Not anymore.
You let out a sigh when she leaves the hallway, turning in the other direction so she doesn’t see you wiping away a tear of your own.
Your eyes meet Natasha’s. She’s holding a bouquet, looking at you intensely.
“Nat. I can explain.”
The redhead drops the flowers and you’re scared she’ll walk away, but instead, she approaches you, lifting you as she kisses you. You sigh against her lips, holding on to her as if she’s the only thing in the world.
“I heard. Everything. You don’t have to explain anything” she puts you down, smiling. “I’m in love with you too”
“I don’t… know what to say” you laugh, craddling her face in your hands.
“No need to speak” she pulls you closer again, walking back until your're cornered against your door.
“I swear to God, if it’s that girl again I’m going to…” Carol opens the door without a warning, making you almost fall. “Awww, you guys! Val, come look! They’re kissing”
“With tongue?”
“I hate you so much” you complain, hiding your face in Natasha’s neck. She laughs, kissing your temple. “Now close the door so I can say goodbye to my girlfriend”
“Girlfriend? Val, they’re girlfriends!”
“Wohoo!” the girl screams from somewhere inside the apartment.
“Agh, it’s like having overbearing lesbian mothers” you slam the door shut, turning to Natasha. “I’m staying at your place tonight, or they will drive me insane with all their questions”
“Tonight, every night. Whatever you want. Just know… you’re getting very little sleep” she says with a smirk, kissing you.
what if you were GAY and your girlfriend was the personification of DEATH and then your SON died and she had to reap his SOUL or whatever because it was her JOB and then you never forgave her but she still LOVED you and then you projected your GRIEF onto a random teenager while battling through DEATH trials with PATTI LUPONE
