#and a three parter no less! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ginnsbaker · 6 months

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In Silent Screams (3/3)

Chapter word count: 11.8k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision (past) Warnings in this part: Smut (F/F), Angst, Gaslighting, Blackmail, Mild attempted sexual assault

A/N: This is probably the most uncomfortable fic I've written after In Flames (for good reason lol), so I'm nothing short of amazed if you were able to go through every line in this three-parter. P.S. For some reason, third part was the hardest to write for me, I guess it's because a lot of the scenes now are the same ones from In Flames after R found out and switching perspectives was a lot harder than I anticipated :P

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It all feels like a dream, starting from the moment she opens her eyes and a few rays of light have filtered through the slats of the blinds. For a few moments Wanda pretends she’s back to that day—to that first morning she woke up next to you as your wife. She can still vividly recall the setting: your old bedroom in Montauk. Less than a year out of college, both you and Wanda were being frugal about the whole marriage thing, opting out of checking into a hotel after the festivities the night before.

Wanda smiles to herself at the fond memory. She glances to the side, and the alarm clock reads 5:30. It's too early to be waking you up, or anyone in this sleepy town. Nevertheless, she has to talk herself into extricating herself from your arms if she wants to pull off a very special breakfast-in-bed. A hesitant decision, a quiet sigh, and Wanda's slowly pulling herself from the warmth of the bed. The wood floor feels cool against her bare feet, prompting her to reach for one of your used polo shirts hanging over the back of the desk chair.

She enters the kitchen, her hands immediately getting to work. The spinach and mushroom are her first go-to, swiftly layered with day-old bread, and custard mix, forming the base for her strata. Next come the eggs, which she sets to poach, anticipating the smooth burst of yolk that'll cascade over the muffin once all is said and done. And then finally, bacon—your favorite.

Sparky trots into the kitchen, inevitably drawn by the wafting aroma, his tail wagging in tandem with his eagerness. He settles by her feet, watching with those pleading puppy eyes, occasionally letting out a quiet whine that speaks of his impatience and hope. Wanda chuckles, bending down to ruffle his fur. “You think this will get you a piece, huh?” she teases. But, she already knows that she'll give in, sneaking him a piece or two. He's your and Wanda's baby after all.

After she’s finished plating the meal, she sets them on a tray and carefully carries it back to the bedroom. The morning sun presents itself more boldly, almost spotlighting you in bed. Your face is tucked beneath a pillow, the sheets haphazardly pooled around your waist, revealing the bare expanse of your back, without a care in the world. Warmth floods Wanda's chest. She places the tray on a nearby desk.

Breakfast can wait.

Slipping into bed behind you, she becomes a shadow to your form. Her fingers gently trace the curve of your shoulder, lightly skimming over your skin. A shiver runs through her, and she lowers her lips to your nape. The temptation is too great, and soon, her tongue joins the fray, drawing a wet path down your spine. And then, unable to stop herself, she begins to rub herself against you, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sheer fabric of the polo shirt she's wearing, infused with your scent, rubs tantalizingly against her sensitized skin, heightening her need.

She can't stop thinking about last night, and the times before. She can't stop thinking about you—having you, being had by you. However, as your muscles start to tense, indicating the micro movements of your awakening body, a soft “fuck” slips from Wanda's lips, distracting her rhythm. She waits, a small smile tugging at her lips, silently asking if you're ready to greet the day—together.

You lazily roll onto your back, causing Wanda to reposition herself, now straddling your abdomen. With a drowsy smirk, your eyes half-lidded, you murmur, “Good morning,” squinting at the enthusiastic goddess—my wife, you think possessively to yourself— hovering above you.

Her face lights up, her morning energy nearly palpable. “Morning,” she chirps back, leaning down to capture your lips in a short but sweet kiss. Breaking away only slightly, she gives you a playful eskimo kiss, her nose rubbing affectionately against yours. A giggle escapes you, and she continues until you feel her nose scrunch up from how hard she’s smiling, all the while relishing the sound of her laughter.

When she's done teasing you, she buries her face in your neck. Drawn to the soft, milky expanse of her thighs, your hands begin to wander. As your fingers brush the curve where her thigh meets her hip, the subtle absence of fabric gives you pause. She's without a stitch beneath your polo. Your thumb ventures further south, discovering the dampness tangled in her soft curls. Heat surges to your cheeks, and you bite your lip, stifling a moan.

Wanda notices the slight change in your expression and a devilish smirk forms on her lips. “Seems like you found a little surprise,” she teases.

“Did I?” you smirk, tracing the V-line leading to her hidden treasure, teasing her a little. Wanda's breath catches, her pupils blown. But just as she readies herself for whatever comes next, you suddenly shift upwards, unbalancing her slightly. Reflexively, her legs wrap around your waist, anchoring herself to you. Her hands fly to your shoulders, gripping them for support. With a swift move, you part the front of the polo she’s wearing, exposing the smooth curve of her breast to the cool morning air.

The sudden exposure makes her gasp, but before she can utter a word, you close the distance, taking a hardened nipple into your mouth. Her face contorts in unabashed pleasure, her world spinning as you draw her deeper and deeper into your mouth. It's messy and primal, yet at the same time, it's reverent and sacred—something she has only ever experienced with you. She can't help but squirm, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer, urging you on.

Keeping an arm firmly around her waist to ensure she stays secure, your free hand travels down her belly, fingers tracing a sultry path to her soaked center. You leisurely trace her slick folds, gathering her arousal, playing with it.

“Please, baby,” she arches and bucks, grinding her hips, “more...I need more.”

Your lips twist into a devious smirk, reveling in her desperation. Drawing back slightly, you gaze at the flushed, vulnerable state of her, taking a moment to commit the image to memory. “I love it when you’re this needy…” you rasp, the tease evident in your tone.

Oh, but she is. She needs you to claim her, time and time again. She never wants to be anything else other than yours once more.

You lean back in, trailing a path of searing kisses from her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts. Without warning, you nip at her tender flesh, causing her to let out a surprised gasp. Marking her further, you suck and bite gently, leaving a trail of reddened spots, declaring your claim on her. With every purple bruise you leave, Wanda's moans grow more desperate, more wanton.

When you finally lift your head, her chest is littered with bites, then with a wicked grin, you dip your finger into her wetness once more, circling her entrance but never dipping inside.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I... I want you,” she admits breathlessly, biting her lower lip, eyes pleading. “Please, I need you inside.”

Not wanting to make her wait any longer, you slide two fingers into her, curling them expertly. Wanda's body arches off the bed, her inner walls instantly tightening around your digits, pulling them deeper. Every sound that spills from her lips, the way her body arches, trying to get closer, to feel more of you, tells you just how good you’re making her feel.

Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, while your fingers continue to piston in and out of her. The room is filled with the sound of Wanda's ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your fingers moving within her. As you feel her body tense further, you take a chance and slide a third finger into her, stretching her, filling her completely. The sensation of being so full sends Wanda over the edge.

“Oh, God!” she gasps, her back arching, eyes squeezed shut. Her hands grip your shoulders tightly, knuckles white from the intensity of her climax. Her inner walls spasm around your fingers, coating them with her release, her entire body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

You keep up the pace, not wanting to stop until she's wrung out from pleasure. Each stroke of your fingers sends aftershocks rippling through her. When it finally becomes too much, Wanda grabs your wrist.

“Enough,” she breathes out, a sated smile curling her lips.

You can't resist the allure of the taste she's left on your fingers. You raise them to your lips, deliberately and slowly, letting her watch as you savor her taste. The move earns a flustered gasp from her.

“You taste so good,” you murmur, your voice low and husky.

Wanda's cheeks redden, but her eyes darken once more, filled with a burning intensity. “Your turn,” she whispers, reaching for you.

Thirty minutes before she can call it a day, the sound of a knock on her office door sends a ripple of tension through Wanda.

She knows that knock all too well.

Taking a deep breath, she calls out, “Yes?” even as she mentally braces herself for who might be on the other side.

The person almost immediately steps in, and—unfortunately, she's correct about who she thinks it might be. Before she can utter a word, he says, “You know, I can't just come in without an appointment, right?”

“Exactly, Vision. You shouldn't be here without—” she starts to say, but he interrupts her by triumphantly holding up an appointment slip.

His cheeky grin widens. “Got one right here.”

Wanda eyes the slip, pursing her lips as she thinks of a retort, keeping her guard up. The game has changed, but Vision's audacity, it seems, remains the same.

“Alright, what do you want? And I wouldn’t entertain anything that doesn’t have to do with the course.”

“Just some clarification about our last lecture,” he says as he closes the door behind him, audibly locking it. Wanda maintains her composure, not letting it show that the small act alarms her in the slightest.

“Go on,” Wanda prompts, leaning back slightly against her desk, arms crossed defensively.

But Vision, without missing a beat, launches into something entirely different. “I miss you,” he starts, and Wanda's posture stiffens, her fingernails reactively digging into her arms rather painfully. “I realize I messed up, Wanda. I do. But I can change.”

“Vis—” she warns, trying to interrupt him, but he barrels on, his voice filled with desperation.

“And if, by any chance, you're pregnant, I'll step up. I promise. I'll be responsible,” he continues, his voice quivering slightly. “You have no idea how happy I’ll be if you are.”

“I'm not pregnant,” Wanda whispers, struggling to keep her emotions in check. It's one thing for him to disregard her boundaries and be reckless with his words, but to assume that she would continue a pregnancy, knowing he's the father? Even the thought of it is sickening.

“And I would still choose not to be even if you were successful in your plans,” she adds, just to spite him.

Vision looks as if he might be sick, his complexion turning pallid, and a faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Wanda has never seen him struck by her words this hard, and she realizes she doesn't have any idea what he might do next.

“I just... I thought…” he stammers, eyes glistening, “I just wanted to matter to you, b-by—”

“By what, Vision?” She cuts him off, her tone icy. “Hoping you'd lock me down by trying to knock me up?”

Vision’s face crumples further, tears spilling over. For all his stature—tall, lanky yet broad-shouldered—in this moment, he's stripped of that facade. His body shake as he tries to hold back sobs. “I didn't... I didn't think it through,” he manages to say between choked breaths.

Wanda almost pities him, but she shakes her head. “If you’re not here for school, you need to leave.” Her voice is cold, but inside, she's fighting a storm of guilt for the hurt she sees in him.

Just then, the shrill ring of Wanda's phone startles them both simultaneously. Vision's eyes dart to the screen as her caller ID lights up, displaying your name. In a split second, desperation and panic take hold of him. He lunges for the phone, but Wanda is quicker. She swiftly grabs it from her desk, tucking it safely into her purse.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses, her back pressing against the desk.

Vision's eyes burn with an intensity that chills her. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he looms over her, his presence imposing in the small confines of her office. “That’s her, isn’t it?” he demands with barely suppressed jealousy. “She's coming to get you now?”

Wanda backs away slightly, her breathing erratic. “Vision, you need to think—”

“I am thinking.” His voice drops to a low, menacing growl. He tilts his head, eyes never leaving hers. “And maybe I'm thinking of doing something you won't like.”

“No!” Wanda pleads. “Look, Vision—okay, okay, let’s talk. Just not here. We can go to your place.”

His gaze narrows, considering her offer. “When?”

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough.

“Tomorrow,” he states without room for argument, his eyes drilling into hers. “Same time. Like we used to.” The allusion to their previous meetings isn't lost on her.

Wanda's throat constricts, “Fine,” she whispers, barely audible, a clear note of dread in her voice. She hates the familiarity of this situation. Most of all, she hates that she's put herself in this position to begin with.

Suddenly, Vision reaches out, his fingers nearly brushing the side of her face. Wanda instinctively shrinks back, but the space between the desk and Vision offers her little room to escape. Her back is to the wall, both literally and figuratively. She can feel the cold press of the desk behind her, contrasting with the heat emanating from Vision's body. It’s obvious what he's thinking, what he's restraining himself from doing.

Horrified and trapped, Wanda closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of the touch she anticipates, she hears Vision's harsh intake of breath. The realization that she's retreated from him seems to strike a nerve.

Without another word, Vision pulls away sharply, as if burnt. He turns on his heel, storming out of her office. As soon as he’s gone, her legs give out from under her and she slides down to the cold floor, clutching her chest as she struggles for air. The walls of her office seem to close in on her, trapping her in her own spiraling thoughts.

As the room begins to blur, the sharp buzz of her phone breaks through her spiraling thoughts. Instinctively, she reaches into her purse, pulling out the phone. Your name illuminates the screen, and with it comes a flood of emotions—relief, safety, love.

The mere thought of you—so close, just beyond these walls—stops a panic attack from consuming her.

“Would you like to go bowling?” Wanda asks you as soon as she fastens her seat belt.

The randomness of the suggestion takes you aback, and a hearty laugh escapes your lips. But as you glance over to see Wanda's reaction, expecting to see her sharing in the moment's levity, you're met with a pained expression.

Your smile fades immediately, replaced by concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Wanda mentally curses herself, realizing just how easily you can read her, see past her defenses. Needing to come up with something plausible, she quickly blurts out, “I had something super spicy when you called earlier. Didn't handle it too well, it seems.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up in a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, hoping you'd buy the lie, or at least not press further.

You don’t. “Hmm… how about we take Sparky out for a stroll today?” you suggest.

“A walk sounds great,” Wanda replies, her voice softening.

“Good,” you say, starting the car. “Let's head to the park. A bit of nature might do us both some good.”

The engine rumbles softly as you shift the gears, transitioning smoothly from one to the next. And then, almost instinctively, you reach out to take Wanda's hand, your fingers lacing with hers in a gentle yet firm grip. You hold her hand throughout the entire ride home, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze whenever you feel them tremble between yours.

That night, while you sleep soundly beside her, she finds herself unable to sleep. She spends the empty hours simply studying your peaceful face. There's a childlike innocence in the way your lips part slightly, a soft snore escaping occasionally. It's endearing, and it makes Wanda smile, even through her turmoil. She imagines traces of age on your face—the lines that will mark years of laughter, the silver that will streak through your hair. She tries to picture herself beside you, her own face carrying the weight of the years, both of you holding on to each other until the last breath. Her smile is teary as she hopes and hopes that this is where she's headed—to this future.

Because tomorrow, she will have to see Vision, and if everything goes well, she'll never have to see him again. Then she will finally express how she needs you to take her back to Manhattan or anywhere far from here, so she'll never have to relive this nightmare she’s created.

The next day comes like any regular day of the week. She kisses you goodbye as you head off to work, and she feeds Sparky to his heart's content before getting into a pinstripe blue blazer set. She fails to notice just how good she looks in this well-fitted ensemble, the fabric hugging her waist perfectly. Her focus is solely on feeling powerful, as she knows she'll need all the strength to finally put an end to things with Vision.

Wanda takes a deep breath, then another, and then two more, before she finally gathers enough courage to knock on the door. Vision answers almost immediately, as though he had been anticipating her knock down to the very second.

The man before her now looks wholly different from the one she had encountered just yesterday. His blue eyes are bright and clear, his face clean shaven. The scent of a cologne she doesn't recognize wafts to her. New, she thinks. It's heady and distinctly masculine, unsettling her slightly.

“Wanda,” he greets with a charming smile, one that reaches his eyes, but doesn’t quite touch the soul behind them. For a moment, she's transported to the countless afternoons she spent here, entangled with him with nothing—not even air—separating their sweating, writhing bodies. His lips quirk into a sly, familiar smile, as if he too remembers those days and expects this visit to be a similar occasion.

“Vision.” Gripping her shoulder bag tighter, almost using it as a shield, she quickly sidesteps him. “May I?” she asks, though it sounds more like a statement as she makes her way into his apartment.

He chuckles softly behind her, the sound dripping with memories she would rather forget. “Of course. After all, you've always felt at home here.”

Wanda's stride falters for a fraction of a second at his words, the implication threatening to pull her under. But she needed to keep her wits about her. If she wants this conversation to go her way.

“Let’s just get to the point, Vision,” she says curtly.

“I intend to,” he replies, closing the door behind them with an intentional finality. Wanda allows herself to glance around, seeking even a brief distraction from what's about to unfold. His apartment is in disarray, a stark contrast to his appearance. Her eyes are drawn to one particular piece amongst the chaos—the finished nude painting he had made of her. The realization catches in her throat. It appears he’s finished it.

Wanda shoots him an expectant look, urging him to speak first.

Vision clears his throat, attempting to sound casual but failing. “Wine? Or should we skip the formalities?”

Her eyes narrow, her patience waning. “We skip.”

“Alright.”

He sighs and drops onto the couch. “Look, I've said sorry over and over, but I’ll say it again. I'm sorry, Wanda. I'm sorry for being careless that night.” His voice lowers, “But I don't regret it.”

Wanda's eyes flash with disbelief. “You don't regret it?”

“No,” he murmurs. “What I regret is that it didn't result in... well, you know.”

The implication is clear, and Wanda feels bile rise in her throat. How could he say something so audacious?

She opens her mouth to retort but he continues, raising a hand as if to hold off her words, “I want to keep seeing you. I can’t stop. Because, believe it or not, I'm in love with you.”

Wanda feels as though the ground has been pulled from under her feet. Every instinct tells her to run, but she knows that this won’t have an ending if she does. Wanda swallows dryly and closes her eyes, trying to piece together a strategy, a way to get through him, a way to get out of this unscathed, a way to ensure he won’t tell anyone about this when she leaves.

“I-I believe you,” she starts. “I think I’ve always known, no—felt, that you l-love me.” Vision nods to her words, his lips curling into a hopeful smile.

“But I have to be honest with you, too,” she continues, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I took advantage of those feelings, Vision. I knew, deep down, that you felt this way and I still... I still let it happen. And for that, I'm deeply sorry.”

He stiffens at her words, a frown forming on his brow. “Wanda—”

She raises her hand, signaling for him to let her finish. “I don’t love you. It's Y/N. It's always been her. From the very start. What happened between us, it was a mistake, one that I haven't forgiven myself for. Especially because of what it means for Y/N.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking into his eyes earnestly, “You deserve someone who can return your feelings, who can love you wholeheartedly. You're a handsome, intelligent, passionate young man. There are many out there who would consider themselves lucky to be with you—”

But Vision vehemently shakes his head, unwilling to accept it, refusing to acknowledge their end. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“You can't,” Wanda insists, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “It's over.”

Vision's eyes flash dangerously, the calm veneer shattering in an instant. He takes a step forward, trapping Wanda with a threatening look.

“You think you can just fuck me and then discard me like nothing?!” he hisses.

Wanda backs up, startled. She feels her control starting to slip away. “Of course not. I… you were my friend. I cared—I care about you. But I shouldn't have let it get this far.”

He scoffs, not a word of hers reaching his ears. “So, it's all a game to you? You get to decide when to play and when to stop?”

“No, it's not a game,” she replies, desperate for him to understand. “But I can't keep lying to myself or to you. I can't keep hurting Y/N or you.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and there's a glint of something dark and foreboding in his eyes. “Maybe you should've considered the consequences of your actions, Wanda.”

She swallows hard, sensing the danger in his voice. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe Y/N should know the truth,” he surmises, his voice dripping with malice. “Maybe she should know exactly who she's been sharing her bed with.”

Wanda feels like she might faint anytime. Panic rises, threatening to choke her. “Vision, please,” she pleads, “you can't do that.”

His eyes remain steely. “Why not? She deserves to know, doesn't she?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, grappling for words, trying to appeal to his sense of reason. “Yes, she does. But not like this. Not from you. If anyone should tell her, it's me.”

“But you'll never tell her,” Vision says, his voice laced with accusation. “I see it in your eyes, Wanda. You don't have the balls to be honest with her. Because you're afraid. You're afraid she'll walk away.”

Both are poised in this high-stakes game, each waiting, anticipating, guessing what card the other will play next. For a heartbeat, Wanda feels disarmed, Vision's threat too sharp and too real. But as the seconds tick by, something shifts in her. She straightens up, pulling herself to her full height, and when she speaks, there’s no fear or hesitation in her voice.

“You’re not going to tell her,” she declares.

“And what makes you so sure?”

“Because you know I'll hate you,” she says. “And if there's even the slightest chance that I'll change my mind, then doing that wouldn't be it.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, but the look in his eyes betrays his indifference. “You think there's a chance you'll change your mind?”

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

The defiant look that had been painted across Vision's face begins to crack. He looks smaller somehow, like he's shrinking back into himself. His shoulders slump, and the facade of control and confidence he'd donned earlier dissolves. The boy from yesterday, the one who seemed so heartbroken, returns in full force.

“Wanda,” his voice trembles, almost as if he's on the verge of tears. “Please, I’m all alone. I told you my life, I told you about my parents, nobody in this world cares about me! And I know I said I’m fine and I can survive without them, but why should I when I have you, Wanda—”

She can't help but pity him, his brokenness tugging at her heartstrings. But she knows that relenting now would mean drowning in the same cycle all over again.

“Vis, you will find someone. Someone who isn't me, someone better for you. Trust that.”

“How can I want someone else when I had you,” he insists with unwavering stubbornness, his eyes growing more frenzied, and Wanda shivers at the unsettling sight before her.

“Maybe you had me,” she says tearfully as she decides to finally drive a stake into his heart. “But not in every way like Y/N has me.”

Before she can register what's happening, Vision's hands are suddenly around her waist, pulling her forcefully against him. The initial shock and his assertiveness make her freeze for a split second. As he starts rubbing himself against her, she feels the unmistakable hardness growing between them.

“Vision, stop!” she protests, trying to wriggle free.

“Can you feel that?” he whispers hoarsely, clearly misinterpreting her struggle, mistaking it for their first time together and all the other times she eventually gave in to his advances. “That's how much I want you. Need you.”

Tears of frustration and fear spill from her eyes. “This isn't right, Vision. Let go,” she pleads, placing her hands against his chest and pushing with all her might.

“Wanda, just—maybe if we—you’ll see. You’ll see that you love me, just let me—”

Her fist connects with his cheek, causing him to stumble a few steps away. For a while, they both freeze in horror, the gravity of the situation sinking in. In his moment of delirium, Vision comprehends what he was about to do to the woman he claims to love, and guilt claws at his guts, wrenching his insides.

On the other end, Wanda's chest heaves with shock and distress. She stands there momentarily paralyzed, the aftershocks of the ordeal still rippling through her. Tears blur her vision, but she refuses to let them fall, not now, not when she needs all her strength. Her gaze meets Vision's only briefly before she pulls herself together. She wraps her arms around herself, and then rushes to the front door.

He yells, “No, Wanda! I…please let’s just—”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

Wanda goes straight home after the whole fiasco with Vision. She locks herself in the bedroom, crying for hours, paying no attention to Sparky's worried barks from outside the door. She tells herself that it could be worse, trying to talk herself out of going to the police. If she goes to the authorities, she'll have to give a statement. This would inevitably lead to an investigation into their past, revealing things she doesn't want you to know.

Drained from crying, Wanda's eyelids grow heavy. As sleep overtakes her, vivid dreams flood her mind, each presenting an alternate reality. In one dream she’s back in Vision’s apartment, his arms wrapped around her like a chain, and every time she tries to pull away, the chains grow tighter, pulling her back into his prison. A cold dread settles in her heart, as she struggles and fights, desperate to wrench herself free from his grasp.

The next scenario places her in a world without Vision. It's a life untouched by his influence, where she walks unfamiliar streets and meets faces that do not recognize her. Then, in a sudden shift, she's back at her office on that fateful evening, but the events unfurl differently. The temptation of Vision never materializes. She leaves, unburdened by the weight of a choice she didn't make.

But the relief is short-lived. These dreams meld into a harrowing nightmare, saturated in hues of red and black, where you discover her secret. She tries to call out, to explain, to mend, but her voice is swallowed by the deafening silence of the dreamscape.

In her seemingly endless silent screams, Wanda wakes up. The remnants of her haunting dreams still clutching at her, making her jolt upright. The fabric of the sheets sticks to her body, drenched in a cold sweat. Each breath comes in ragged gasps, as if she's been submerged underwater and has just broken the surface.

The bedside clock reads half past six and panic sets anew. You could be home in an hour, given that you haven't been extending your hours at the office lately. The realization pushes her into a frenzied urgency. Throwing off the sheets, Wanda rushes to the ensuite bathroom. The cold stream from the shower brings a semblance of clarity, washing away the residues of her nightmares.

Wrapped in a towel, with droplets still cascading down her skin, she dashes to the kitchen. She pulls out ingredients, her hands working methodically, albeit with a haste that speaks of her need to keep busy, to keep the demons of her subconscious at bay. She manages to prepare a simple but appetizing meal, but the mere thought of taking a bite threatens to turn her stomach inside out.

The dining table is set, and she seats herself, her gaze distant once again. And she stays there, lost in her own head.

It’s how you find her when you get home at 9:15 in the evening.

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

She asks you how your day was, and you respond tersely with a simple, “Good.” She attempts to get you to elaborate, maybe share an anecdote like you usually do, but you dismiss her efforts, attributing your lack of interest in conversation to fatigue.

But Wanda can’t stand the silence. When it’s quiet, the voices in her head are even louder.

So she decides to tell you about her day instead. She swears to herself this is the last day she’ll ever lie to you with a straight face. She talks about the final projects her students have begun submitting. As she describes her favorites, your interest particularly sharpens when she mentions the portrait projects. You pepper her with questions, mostly about who made which, and Wanda offers names that probably wouldn't mean much to you.

After you finish eating, you thank her with a small smile. It's only then that Wanda feels she can breathe again. She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, her longing evident. However, just as she tries to deepen the kiss, you pull away, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Showered without me?” you tease, but it lacks the usual lilt in your voice. She simply nods in response. You playfully tap her nose, whispering, “Naughty girl.” Then, without another word, you're on your feet and heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

She proceeds to clear the table and wash the dishes, all while the sound of the shower fills her ears. She allows herself a small smile, chiding herself for being overly affected by her dream.

By the time she makes her way up to join you, she discovers you've already drifted off, turned away from the vacant space beside you that's meant for her.

She’s positively shaking as she takes the short walk from the parking lot to the classroom, the dread building up inside her like a swelling storm. The thought of facing her class, and especially Vision, sends shivers down her spine. The recent events—the horrifically inappropriate advances and Vision's glaring sense of entitlement—play over and over in her mind.

Her feet eventually take her to her destination, but she remains outside for a full minute. The thought of facing Vision again is almost enough to turn her around. But another, stronger, voice reminds her of her duty, her commitment to her other students, and her own integrity. Moreover, she doesn't want to be alone today, here the haunting events with Vision could replay in her mind without any distractions.

She pushes open the door. It appears to be a typical day, with her students clustered in small groups, engrossed in conversation and seemingly oblivious to her arrival. She swiftly surveys the room and, to her relief, doesn't spot the familiar blue eyes that usually fixate on her by this time.

When she starts her lecture on the final topic of the semester, it flows seamlessly. Still, the end of the course can't come soon enough; continuing here is untenable. She can’t keep teaching here, when these hallways keep reminding her of the mistake that almost cost her everything.

You've been leaving the side of your bed cold for almost two weeks now. Sometimes, your careful movements stir her awake, and she watches you, bleary-eyed, as you go through the motions of prepping for a run, a habit you've picked up quite recently. At first, Wanda would always ask where you’re headed and if she can accompany you. But you'd consistently dismiss her offer, always seeming in a rush to hit the pavement.

She thinks it’s good for you—the exercise. The only aspect of your new hobby that she dislikes is that you typically go before sunrise, where everywhere is still too dark and eerily quiet, and her imagination runs wild of all the worst things that could happen to you while you’re out on your run.

And Wanda wouldn’t admit it, but she can't help but internalize the consistent rejection of her offers to join you. She wonders if there's a deeper reason behind it. When you're out and she's left alone with her thoughts, Wanda can't help but let the guilt seep in. Has she become too transparent? Has something given her secret away? Did you find out about her affair? How would she even begin to explain?

But then you return after your run, with a sense of tranquility, as though the exercise had been a cathartic release of some pent-up tension. However, something still feels amiss. Perhaps it's because she hasn't slept with you since the night she discovered she wasn't pregnant with Vision's child, and all that has passed between you are brief, perfunctory kisses here and there. She wants to discuss it with you, but she doesn't want to appear too eager or guilty. Instead, she remains committed to being a good wife. And even though being a good wife was never about housework, Wanda ensures that every corner of the house sparkles and shines.

Meanwhile, you go about fulfilling your own household responsibilities seamlessly. From tending to minor repairs to ensuring that bills are paid on time, you continue with the routines that have always defined the dynamic of your relationship. There's no sign of resentment or dissatisfaction in your actions. It's almost as if everything is back to normal. This confounds Wanda even more. She starts to question her own memory, wondering if perhaps this distance, this new version of you, has always been present and she just never realized it. It's possible that you've become this way while she was preoccupied with her affair, and she didn't notice how you slowly adjusted to her unavailability.

Of course, she only has herself to blame. She's determined, however, to rectify it and make it up to you.

Which is when the idea strikes her. The dream vacation to Hawaii that both of you often fantasized about but never took due to financial constraints and a tight schedule. With the money from her teaching job, she now has the means to turn that dream into a reality. A surprise trip might be the perfect remedy to rekindle the connection that has worn out due to your busy lives and... her unfaithfulness.

She knows it doesn't atone for her sins, but it's a step in the right direction.

It should have been the perfect day for her surprises. She has two of them—the surprise trip and the news of her resignation from the university. She had just handed you the box with all the Hawaii trip details, and you were about to dive in, when there was a knock at the door.

Two men in dark suits have arrived at the house, looking for her. Detectives—Rogers and Barnes. Wanda uncovers the real reason behind Vision's absence from school, and it wasn't due to personal family matters or a decision to pursue education elsewhere.

He's been in an accident, and they suspect foul play.

Their questions start off simple, touching on the basics. But soon, they feel like piercing arrows as they delve into the phone calls between them, how close they were, and if she ever set foot in his apartment. Throughout the interrogation, Wanda manages to keep a straight face, though deep down she knows she probably can't fool detectives of their caliber. Yet, she silently prays that you don't see past her mask.

“That’s enough,” you interject firmly. “My wife has answered your questions. Unless there’s anything else directly related to your investigation, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Your intervention when their questions grow more intrusive suggests she's managed to keep you in the dark. The realization that you're still on her side floods her with immense relief.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time,” Rogers says.

But Wanda isn’t done. She has her own questions. She needs to know if Vision's involvement with her is the reason they're here, probing. She wonders if he might have informed the authorities about their inappropriate relationship, and if that somehow relates to his current situation.

“Wait!” Wanda exclaims, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She contemplates asking her burning questions, but with you observing from the side, she suppresses her urge to do so. Instead, she conveys her worry—she is, after all, his teacher.

“Is he… is he okay?”

Wanda's complexion turns ashen upon catching the look on Barnes' face, instantly realizing he's fully aware of her and Vision's relationship. She can barely hear Roger's response, her blood rushing in her ears.

“…that he’s stable. However, he remains in a coma. It’s uncertain when or if he’ll wake up, but let's hold onto hope.”

Oh.

Her secret's safe—for now. But she... she has to be certain. She needs to tie up any loose ends, if there are any.

It's reckless to visit Vision's apartment in daylight, especially right after a visit from the police.

Exiting her car, Wanda's sandals softly scrape against the ground. She pauses to scan her surroundings, her gaze flitting from one building to another. The neighboring houses and apartment complexes stand silent, their stillness almost eerie, as if they've been forsaken. She knows that not many reside in this part of the town, a fact that had made Vision's apartment an ideal hideaway for their secret meetings.

She cautiously approaches Vision's unit, her hand shaking slightly as it reaches for the door knob: locked. A memory surges—Vision handing her a spare key during one of their early encounters. Retrieving it from her bag, she hesitantly fits it into the lock, preparing herself for what she might find beyond the door.

It opens with a muted creak, and a blanket of darkness envelops her. Hesitating at the threshold, she fumbles for a light switch, her fingers brushing against the cool wall before finding it. She'd half-expected Vision's belongings to be packed up, perhaps by a landlord who wanted to move on from the situation. But everything appears untouched, as if frozen in time; dust hasn't settled, and the items scattered about give no indication that the place has been vacant for weeks. It occurs to her that the ongoing investigation might be the reason the apartment remains untouched.

Wanda moves quickly, knowing she shouldn’t linger. Heading straight to the bathroom, she swiftly gathers her toothbrush and a few other personal items she had left behind. As she emerges, her gaze is drawn to the corner where Vision's easel stands. It used to hold a portrait of her, a work he'd wanted to submit for his final project, capturing her in a light she had never seen herself. But now, it’s empty.

A cold rush of panic seizes her. She clutches the edge of a table, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Had Vision decided to move the painting for some reason? Or worse, had the detectives seen it and taken it as evidence? The painting wasn’t just art; it was tangible evidence of their affair.

But then, in the midst of her mounting fear, a memory jolts her—there was another painting, the one Vision had purchased from the gallery where she used to work. With a newfound urgency, she hurries to his bedroom. The scene is disarrayed, with sheets and pillows strewn about. Ignoring the mess, Wanda goes directly to the cabinet where she remembered he last stored it. She yanks open the doors, and her eyes dart around, searching, but the painting is nowhere to be found.

Desperation grips her. If the detectives come across either painting, they'd have more reasons to scrutinize her further than she's comfortable with. Such involvement would be near-impossible to hide from you. Wanda proceeds with caution, scanning the apartment for any lingering items that could connect her to Vision. Unexpectedly, she finds a piece of her lingerie nestled within his sock drawer. Swiftly, she snatches it up. Before departing, she meticulously wipes away any fingerprints from the surfaces she's touched, then dashes to her car.

Once inside, she pauses to draw several deep, steadying breaths. It's overwhelming to think that this is now her reality, teetering on the brink of exposure.

She eventually finds herself falling off the edge when she discovers Natasha’s email on your laptop, mere moments after the crushing realization that you hadn’t bothered to open her gift.

Her instinct is to craft a lie. She searches her mind rapidly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for the intimate handhold. Maybe she could say it was an old friend from the past, or perhaps a distressed student she was comforting. But one glance at the photo and she knows, deep down, that any excuse would fall flat. The way Vision looks at her, with such unmistakable affection and wonder, betrays any innocence she might claim. Trying to explain this to you or anyone else would be an exercise in futility.

Wanda had played out various scenarios in her mind about how you might discover the truth, but she never imagined it would be through seeking the expertise of your best friend. It was perhaps naive, but she had hoped you wouldn’t notice anything or, if you did, that you'd confront her about it.

But why would you come to her? She's been pushing you away for months, and the only time she truly showed you how much you mean to her was when she was so relieved that she wouldn't be carrying the consequences of her indiscretions in her womb.

In case you need them, the subject of the email says. Need them for what? Wanda wonders. From the way Natasha worded the message accompanying the photos, it doesn't appear you're just discovering the truth now.

No, it seems that you’ve known for a while. Which means—

The pieces fall into place, a chilling realization creeping over her. Wanda's breath catches as she pushes the laptop away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. The way you had carried yourself, especially around the police—it was far too serene, too measured. When they mentioned Vision's name, you didn't so much as flinch or even show a flicker of surprise.

Her heart beats painfully against her ribs. The calm demeanor, the calculated way you’d been moving about—it wasn't out of ignorance. You knew. And for how long? The thought terrifies her. How many days or weeks has she been living this lie while you watched, silently knowing everything?

Your silence, amplifying her betrayal, eats away at her conscience. The quiet before the storm, she thinks. And she's right in the middle of it.

“Wanda?”

She’s hiding in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, practicing a smile and a thousand more expressions even though she's barely holding it together.

“Wanda.”

She couldn't shake the thought of you knowing. Did you have any involvement in Vision's accident? You've never intentionally hurt even the smallest creature, let alone another human being, right?

“Wanda!”

She nearly leaps out of her skin as the bathroom door slams open, and you stare back at her, looking just as startled and taken aback.

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

You narrow your eyes at her, and she shivers under your intense scrutiny.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in here for almost an hour.”

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

You continue to watch her for a moment, before saying, “Alright.”

Just as you're about to step away, Wanda remembers the plans for later. “About the dinner tonight,” she starts hesitantly, “with your colleagues from the bank... should we cancel?”

She's desperately hoping you'd say yes. She can't bear not knowing what's going on in your mind. The way you act as if everything's normal is suffocating her. Does she even still know the real you? Every moment you're not cursing her out or confronting her betrayal feels like an eternity.

But you shake your head. “No, let's do it. We already promised them.”

Wanda's heart sinks a little, but she nods in understanding.

“I'll go grab some wine real quick,” you say before leaving the bathroom, leaving Wanda alone once again with her thoughts.

Later, as the last of the guests leave, she's certain you've picked up on her distress, noticing how you kept glancing at your watch and drifting out of conversations. She senses your gaze on her as she escorts Scott and his wife to the car, acutely aware you're observing her every move from the bedroom window.

Though they're older than both you and Wanda, they've only been hitched for two years. Wanda can't help but wonder if maybe things are smoother for them because they waited to get married. But then a familiar warmth washes over her. The memory of how deeply in love she was with you surfaces. Even if you had waited six years to propose, she’s sure that had you suggested it within the first few months of dating, she would've said yes in a heartbeat.

Truth be told, she doesn't regret it now, the timing of it, and everything in between.

All she's uncertain of is how tonight will unfold.

The house lies shrouded in an inky stillness, almost like it’s holding its breath. She carefully climbs the stairs to the bedroom you both share, one uncertain step at a time. The door is slightly open, and you're standing by the window, your silhouette thin and brittle.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from you. Your eyes are closed, and your body trembles. Though she should be consumed by fear, her only desire is for you to open your eyes, hoping to find the person she fell in love with over a decade ago still there.

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she continues. But you remain silent, unmoving. “Y/N?”

Still, nothing. Wanda is slowly but surely losing her sanity.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No!” You roar with a primal intensity, reminiscent of a wounded animal in the wild, and the sheer force of it makes Wanda recoil. But she doesn't move away from you. Not at this crucial moment, when she senses how close she is to losing you. “You tell me what you did!”

You stalk towards her menacingly, until you're mere breaths away, and Wanda wants to reach out and touch you, but she knows she'll be burned.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me… over and over and over,” you tell her brokenly.

“Y/N, please–”

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now,” you say, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you! I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

The confirmation she's been dreading, along with the murderous glint in your eyes, saps the color from Wanda’s face. “Oh my god,” she chokes out, hand clamping over her mouth in horror. “Y/N…”

You try to walk away, but your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, knees first, like a puppet with its strings cut. The tears flow freely now, unburdened by pride or anger. A raw, guttural sob escapes your lips, echoing the pain in your chest. Wanda, too, collapses, a mirror reflection of your despair, her body shaking as sobs rack her frame.

How could she have ever been afraid of you, especially knowing what you've been through? Beneath it all, she sees the woman she deeply loves, now appearing so fragile and torn apart, all because of her own mistakes. “I'm so sorry...” she whispers, her apology a mere drop in the ocean of hurt between you.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask suddenly, looking at the carpeted floor before you.

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

You offer a wry smile. “He must be really special then.”

She frantically shakes her head. He's not. No one is. It's always been—

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda responds hastily, almost too hastily for your taste. And by the look on your face, she's crushed by the realization that no matter what she says next, your trust in her words may be irrevocably broken. “I thought I did, but no,” she admits. She can't bear the thought of deceiving you further and aims to leave no question unanswered.

“Did you…” you start, staring intently at the ceiling, and Wanda knows exactly what you’re asking even before it comes out of your mouth. The fact that you have to ask leaves her utterly heartbroken.

“...ever love me?”

This was her doing. The very second she acted on impulse and succumbed to temptation was when she truly lost you.

“I love you,” Wanda murmurs, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours, stubborn for her words to reach you. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You love me?” your voice falters, making you wince. “You have a truly unique way of showing it.”

How does she prove it? How can she make you believe? Wanda scrambles for tactics, for miracles, for a do-over.

“After all this,” you continue, “you might as well have killed me. Being dead might be painless compared to this.”

“Baby, please don't say that,” Wanda's voice breaks, choked by tears she can't hold back. She feels the urge to reach out, her fingers itching to touch you.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.” Your voice is steady, each word dripping with cold resentment.

“You can stay,” you say after a while. Wanda senses a fragile hint of hope blossoming within her. But it's quickly crushed when you add, “Stay in this house, for as long as you need. But I'm leaving.”

And it’s here where the panic sets in. The realization that she's on the brink of losing you entirely, not just emotionally but physically as well, hits Wanda like a freight train. The walls of the room seem to close in on her, and the weight of her decisions and mistakes press heavily on her shoulders, making her feel as if she's sinking.

“No,” she whispers. “Please, don't go.”

You start to slide your wedding ring off, and that’s when Wanda loses it. She launches herself at you, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. In the split-second it takes for the golden loop to slip off your finger, a flood of memories rushes over Wanda—the scent of rain as it patters on the roof of the reception, the song playing in the background as you and Wanda sway to your first dance as a married couple, the warmth of your hand intertwined with hers. Those fragments play in a demented, rapid slideshow, and time stretches and contracts, maddeningly so.

For Wanda, it feels like someone's drilled a hole in the base of her skull, letting all the sorrow rush in like a merciless flood. Everything else is white noise. For that brief instant when her lips slot against yours, you don’t push her away. Wanda pours everything she has into this kiss, hoping you'll feel her truth in it. But then, before she even has the chance to deepen it, you’re pulling away and it’s—

It’s over.

Stubborn as always, Wanda tries to hide in your neck, and you feel her tears sliding down your throat. She clings to you with all her might, holding on for as long as she can. But when she feels you gently place your wedding ring into her palm, her face crumples with a pain so profound, she knows she may never recover from it. And then you begin to rise, lifting yourself from the floor. As she instinctively clings to your leg, you take another step, causing Wanda to stumble forward from the sudden loss of support.

“This can't be the end. It just can't,” Wanda murmurs to herself like a mantra, as if repeating it will change the course of reality. She's almost certain you hear her, but it doesn't change your stride; you just keep walking away.

The ring burns in her palm, a searing reminder that her promise of loving and cherishing you always means nothing to you now.

Wanda can't quite figure out how, but you've chosen to remain in the guest bedroom for the evening. She'd heard the engine of your car roar to life, but then it fell silent after just a few moments. Peering out, she’d seen you stepping out of the car, phone pressed to your ear.

Who had you been talking to? An intense curiosity had consumed Wanda, making her wonder who had been on the other end of that call. In the short window they'd been estranged—no, just temporarily separated, because Wanda refused to believe that you'd entirely lost your affection for her—could there have been someone else? Someone waiting in line for their turn?

Now, she stands hesitantly in front of the guest bedroom door, hands clenched in her sides, torn between giving you space and continuing to fight for her marriage. She's torn, but not clueless. It's not just about barging in or holding back; it's about the aftermath. She stands there, frozen, trying to figure out which move won't blow everything to smithereens. Because the time she has with you is running out and there might not be a tomorrow.

Or a you and her. Ever again.

Wanda finally sinks to the floor, her back flush against the cold, indifferent wood of the door. Sparky, pads over, his little claws making almost no sound against the floor. He nestles himself on her lap, making his bed there for the night. She wraps her fingers around his soft fur, his warmth seeping into her, but his presence is a double-edged sword. As much as she adores him, he's going to be the only thing of you she gets to keep, and it's going to be a painful reminder from here on out.

In an act of despair, she presses an ear flat against the door, searching for the tiniest murmur, the faintest shuffle. Anything to tell her what's happening on the other side of this barrier. A barrier that was never there before. She's on the outside, and the thought that you're moving on, building a life sans her, is terrifying.

It's a cruel irony, she realizes. Here she is, just a few inches from you, yet completely and utterly in the dark. And so, she sits, hoping against hope, that at some point during the night, she'd hear the door creak open, and you’d scoop her in your arms and take her back.

She waits, because that's what love does—it waits, even in the darkest of times.

The next morning, Wanda wakes up, surprised to find herself in a bed instead of on the hard, cold floor. She doesn't recall making the trip, but the idea that you cared enough to ensure she slept on something warm and comfortable almost makes her heart leap out of her chest.

However, her happiness is short-lived as she opens the closet and discovers that some of your things are missing. To a stranger, the differences wouldn't be obvious, but she knows which shirt and trousers you chose, and she understands the implication. It means you won't be returning tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow either. When she goes to the bathroom, she finds only one toothbrush, and that's enough to make tears well up in her swollen eyes once more.

“Thanks for picking up,” Wanda says, her fingers gripping the phone tight, holding onto it like she’s drowning and it’s her only lifeline.

“Well, you've called enough times. Figured I'd give you a break,” Natasha's voice, though distant, is biting, as frigid as the coldness that Wanda has been feeling in her bones these past days.

“I need to know where she is. Please.”

A sigh on the other end, followed by a chilling silence. “You think after everything, you still have the right to know her whereabouts?”

“She's still my wife,” Wanda counters, but it’s weak.

“She was your wife,” Natasha fires back, unrelenting. “The last I checked, people who love their partners don't sleep with college kids.”

The words hit Wanda harder than any physical blow could. She's taken aback, gasping for air as if she's been sucker-punched.

“I—”

“She loved you,” Natasha continues ruthlessly, “more than you ever deserved. And you threw it away, for what? Some fleeting thrill?”

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

Pushing down the slightest twinge of sympathy that threatens to surface, Natasha picks up on Wanda's faint, broken breaths on the other end. She can tell Wanda's on the verge, and it's familiar, too familiar. It's almost exactly the sound she caught when she was on the phone with you the other night.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Wanda barely manages to say.

“Well, it did,” Natasha snaps, her voice cold. “Intentions don’t change actions. And actions have consequences.”

Wanda’s voice comes off a little strong this time, thick with conviction. “Maybe I deserve this, Natasha. Maybe it’s my time to pay for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

“But you... you’ll never get it. You’ll never understand why I can’t just let go, why I can’t give up on her,” Wanda says.

“And why’s that?”

Wanda's voice trembles with the knowledge that what she's about to say is a cheap blow. “Because you've never been married. You've never committed yourself to someone in the way I have with her.”

That stings, and Natasha can feel her own anger rising.

“Don’t think for a second that just because I’m not married, I don’t understand commitment, pain, or betrayal,” she says, voice low and measured.

Wanda swallows hard. “I didn't mean to—”

“Of course you didn't. But here we are, yet again,” Natasha cuts her off. She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “I’m not telling you where she is. She needs time, Wanda. Time away from you. If she wants to talk, she’ll find you.”

That's the last thing Wanda wants. She worries that distance will solidify your resolve, turning her from an immediate regret to a distant afterthought.

“I need to see her, Natasha,” Wanda pleads, “Just tell me where she is.”

“Why? So you can make things even worse?”

After a tense pause, Wanda plays her last card, “Remember that night after we all went out? The night you and Bruce...” she trails off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Natasha stiffens, instantly knowing where this is headed. “Don’t you dare, Wanda.”

Wanda forges on, “I never told anyone, never used it against you. I kept your secret. You owe me, Natasha.”

The feeling of Bruce's hand against her cheek, the humiliation, the denial—all of it comes rushing back. She never thought Wanda would throw that night back in her face.

“You're really going there?” Natasha laughs hollowly.

“I’m desperate, Natasha. I love her. I can’t lose her,” Wanda’s voice breaks.

The line goes quiet, stretching seconds into what seems like hours. Finally, Natasha exhales heavily, the weight of the decision clear in her tone. “I'll give you an address. Show up, try to talk to her, but if she asks you to leave, you respect her wishes. Understand?”

Wanda swallows dryly. She knows Natasha can enforce her terms if she wants, which means she has no other choice but to comply. “Understood.”

Natasha's parting words would later linger in her mind for hours.

“This doesn't mean I've forgiven you or that she ever will. But you get your shot. Make it count.”

Wanda’s been standing outside the diner for what feels like a long time. She hopes her outfit—a parka over a crisp white v-neck and high-waisted jeans—makes a good impression. A glance in the reflection of the diner’s window confirms her red hair looks glossy and radiant, cascading in waves down her back.

Time and time again, Wanda had turned over every conceivable strategy to win you back. But in the end, they all hinged on the one thing she feared most: agreeing to a divorce. The very thought threatened to break her from the inside, but her desperation to make things right, to show you that she's changed, made this painful decision a necessary one. Wanda had taken so much from you, taken everything you had to offer and discarded it carelessly. Now, it was her turn to give something back, even if it meant letting you go, legally.

She tells herself, repeatedly, that their love story isn't defined by a marriage certificate. They won't end just because their marriage does. She had to believe this; it was the only way she could find the strength to move forward.

Steeling herself, Wanda takes one step forward. Another. Until finally, she’s there.

“Hey,” Wanda greets, doing her best to sound casual as she slides into the booth opposite you.

You give a nonchalant nod, mouth full of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

The scent of your cologne is the first thing that hits her, and it’s... different. This one's sharper, crisper, with a hint of citrus, perhaps. It's as if you're purposely shedding parts of yourself that she's grown accustomed to, distancing yourself in the most elemental ways. There's a new watch on your wrist, sleeker than the one she gifted you on your last anniversary. Even the way you hold yourself seems altered, shoulders squared and posture more rigid. Every detail screams of a transformation, a conscious effort to morph into someone she wouldn't recognize.

But why? To hurt her? To move on? To forget? All of the above? It's been just a week, yet the differences are already evident. Wanda dreads to think how much more will change if she goes months without seeing you.

This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s putting it mildly. “Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules,” Wanda admits.

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying. As you take another bite of your sandwich, Wanda studies her intently, looking for any fleeting sign of emotion, but there’s nothing there but a chilling detachment.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” she continues. She's woken up next to you for more than a decade; she’s not easily deterred by the display of indifference. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

“Okay.”

Wanda notices the fleeting moment your eyes dart to her left ring finger before you quickly look away.

“I, uh, got something for you,” she says.

“No, thanks.”

Wanda’s heart sinks as you dismiss her before even knowing what it is. Determined, she pulls out the small ring box and places it on the table, feeling a pang in her chest. “But it belongs to you,” she murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your wedding ring,” she says, pointing out what you already know. Your expression darkens, frustrated that she misses the underlying meaning of your question—not about the ring itself, but rather its significance right now.

For a split second, Wanda harbored a fragile hope that seeing the ring might stir something within you.

But then you're shaking your head, beginning to say, “I don’t want—”

“I understand,” she says, her shoulders sagging as she leans back into the booth. “But I'm returning it to you, and I’m keeping mine. What you decide to do with it is up to you. However, holding onto it on your behalf isn't something I can do.”

The ring she slipped onto your finger five years ago held all her promises, all her devotion to you. So it hurt that you no longer accepted that, no longer recognized it as yours. And she didn't want to be the guardian of that pain anymore.

“Fine,” you say, reaching for the tiny box and Wanda releases a heavy sigh of relief.

“So, you've got your ring back, and I'll sign the divorce papers once they're drawn up,” she says, mustering all her courage for what she's going to say next. “And then, I'll come for you.”

She watches in surprise as you nearly spit out your coffee, a few droplets escaping past your lips. As you hurriedly reach for a napkin, Wanda can't help but offer a gentle smile, always finding your occasional clumsiness endearing even in the middle of breaking her heart.

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a melancholic self-awareness. “I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.”

“I don't hate you, Wanda,” you say. She can tell you're telling the truth, and she smiles a little at that.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

She takes a deep breath, knowing she needs to be clear, to lay everything on the table. “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.”

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you,” she continues, “I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“Wands,” you say, the nickname slipping effortlessly from your lips, and she has to fight the instinctual urge to reach for your hand across the table. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.” She senses the skepticism in your eyes, and she can't blame you, not after everything that happened in the recent weeks. You’re my dream, Wanda had confidently and lovingly written in her vows. The memory of that day, with the weight of those words, is as vivid in your mind as it is in hers.

She's always been the type to hold onto what she loves, never letting go without a fight. But seeing the dark circles under your eyes, the sunken weight of your cheeks, she knows the very sight of her is taking a toll on you. And so, she’s leaving, for your sake.

“I'll see you soon,” Wanda says, getting up to leave. She hesitates for a moment, considering whether to go for your cheek, if you'll allow her. However, the lack of response from you pushes her to take small, shaky steps toward the door and out of the restaurant.

It isn’t over. Wanda’s made up her mind: she won't give up on you. Maybe she's the villain in this story; and hell, there's probably someone out there, all primed and polished, perfectly poised to love you without the scars and rough edges. Except, she doesn’t care, even if she knows she’ll be diving headfirst into the storm.

She swears that someday she'll be on her knees, asking you to marry her again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff #vision

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waynes-multiverse · 9 days

Text

Video Games

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Summary: It's been a long time, and Ben direly misses his wife. Only a video chat truly reveals how much. Accompanying one shot to Rehab

Warnings: 18+/NSFW, language & insults, human!Ben, long distance relationship, smut (masturbation f & m, dirty talk), angst

Word Count: 2.0k

A/N: I know you guys begged me for a happy ending, and I promise it's coming (maybe in form of a three parter? 👀), but yeah, this is clearly not it. Somehow, my fingers always go rogue on the keyboard when it comes to these two, no matter my good intentions.

Transfixed green eyes are glued to the TV screen as Victoria Neuman gives yet another speech on another stage in another state on V-SPAN, yapping about some fucking policies Ben doesn’t give two shits about. He also could give less fucks about the president in general, his gaze focused on a young, beautiful woman standing by Neuman’s right side.

Yeah, he’s only enduring that shit show for her.

Y/N’s tight black pencil skirt makes his cock ache. It ends a few too many inches above the knees, too short for a Chief of Staff. Ben knows she’s only wearing it for him. It’s part of the sick game they’ve been playing.

That little piece of clothing could ride up any second and reveal her glistening pussy underneath to a whole audience, flashing conservatives and liberals alike. Ben has told her not to wear panties, and because she’s a good fucking girl, she has obliged his wishes. Y/N’s the best fucking wife, after all.

His eyes then flicker to the door down the hallway as he sits comfortably on the couch with a beer bottle in hand. It’s still shut tightly, the kid fast asleep. With the air clear, Ben’s hand slips into his sweatpants and palms his semi, jerking his fist up and down his hardening length.

He shuts his eyes for a heartbeat, imagining what her tight and soaked cunt feels like wrapped around him. Fuck, he misses her so goddamn much. He hates being alone, even though he’s not. He’s still got the kid, so it all trickles down to him fucking hating being without her.

There’s no cure for Y/N, and there’s no replacement for her, either.

Ben sets the beer down on the coffee table and frees his dick fully, shuffling the gray sweats down to his ankles. When Neuman finishes the last leg of her speech, he watches as Y/N eagerly begins to chew on her bottom lip, almost gnawing the goddamn thing bloody. She’s as fucking giddy as he is.

As soon as the president and her entourage leave the stage, Ben grabs his phone and opens her contact. His thumb brushes the little blue button with the camera symbol, his ears waiting to hear her sweet and sultry voice again as it dials.

Her bright smile is the first thing he sees. His heart beats so fast the friction causes a fire and melts the broken thing into a puddle. He can feel the heat in his cheeks as they involuntarily rise with a smile he can’t muzzle.

“Fuck, I’m so hard, baby girl,” he says and squeezes the throbbing cock in his fist.

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Hello, husband. I’m good, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Like I said, fucking hard,” he reiterates, his deep voice raspy, impatient, and hungry. He rolls his green eyes. “C’mon, you really wanna chitchat about small talk? I know you’re fucking dripping for my cock under that tight little skirt.”

Y/N’s eyes widen scoldingly, but the flush of red in her cheeks makes him chuckle. “Ben! I’m still in the elevator. At least let me get to my hotel room first.”

“Perfect.” Ben smirks broadly, a mischievous glint in his forest green orbs. “Just push the red ‘Stop’ button and lemme rail that cunt there.”

“Charming as always,” another voice chimes.

“I’m not alone, you idiot,” Y/N informs him, giggling, and swings the camera till Victoria’s bitchy grin of amusement comes into view.

Ben rolls his eyes in open and shameless annoyance, scoffing. “Ugh, of course, that bull dyke’s with you…”

Victoria only smirks at his insult with crossed arms. “Unlike you, that never gets old, coot. How are those adult diapers suiting you?”

“You fucking hippie cuntzilla,” Ben grits angrily, his brow scrunching so much he’s close to a rage headache. “You couldn’t fucking handle all of me.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to,” Victoria huffs mockingly. “You know what they say – once the body goes, the mind follows, you dried-up dinosaur.”

“You fucking–”

“Okay, alright! Stop it you two. Enough with the insults,” Y/N steps in and pans the camera away from Neuman’s winning smirk and back to her. She sighs. “That’s my floor. We’re almost there.”

Ben still boils with fury, especially when he hears the two women exchange a few bullet points about a staff meeting before bidding their goodbyes. But by the time Y/N unlocks the door to her room, he’s simmered down enough and stroked his cock back to its full glory.

Y/N sets up her phone on her dresser, the lens focused on her as she takes a step back. A naughty smile curves her lips as she licks them and plays with the buttons on her blouse.

“Ready?” she asks and waits for him to switch the camera around.

Ben chuckles and aims the lens on his dick, standing proud and tall. “Look for yourself, baby girl.”

Y/N bites her lip at the sight of his cock – so fucking thick, long, and swollen. “Fuck, I’d kill to have you inside of me right now,” she coos and pops open the buttons of her blouse, one by one. Soon, the white silk material slips off her shoulders and leaves her standing in an all too-innocent white bra, her tits perfectly framed by delicate lace. Her hands then wander behind her back and unhook it, freeing two full breasts. She massages and gropes them, rolling her pert nipples between her fingers as she moans.

“Shit, you know that fucking turns me on when you talk like that,” Ben grunts, pumping his cock harder as it swells in his hand. “Show me that tight pussy of yours. Need to see it before I fucking come. Bet it’s real wet, huh?”

“Fucking drenched,” Y/N croons and opens the back zipper of her skirt. “Can feel it fucking run down my thighs. Thought all day about you. I didn’t wear any panties like I promised you.”

“Such a fucking good girl,” Ben praises her with a smirk on his lips. “Where’s that fucking feminism of yours now, huh?” he teases, chuckling. “Fuck, I wanna feel that slick on my fingers and lick it clean off.”

“This one, asshole?” Y/N giggles as her hand delves into her skirt and runs through her soaked folds. She pulls out her glistening fingers and sucks them into her mouth, tasting her own sweet arousal.

“Fucking shit…” Ben hisses, his cock twitching needily in his hand. All he wants is to eat her out and sink into her. “Pull that fucking thing off right now and get on the bed. Ass first,” he orders.

Y/N does as he says, the skirt falling down her smooth legs and revealing her bare pussy to him. She spins around and climbs on the mattress on all fours, wiggling her ass high in the air. She smirks over her shoulder at the camera when she hears his wanton growl before she lays down on her back and spreads her legs wide, her pink and wet cunt in full view.

“Fuck, look at you, baby. So fucking perfect. I’d love to fuck you stupid till you’re a drooling mess, you little cockslut,” Ben says and can feel himself riding closer to the edge. “Touch yourself for me. Flick that little clit till you tremble and scream for me to fill you.”

Y/N’s hand dives between her thighs, two fingers rubbing circles on her sensitive flesh. She mewls and whimpers with every touch. “Fuck, can I put a finger inside me?”

“Shit, yeah,” Ben groans enthusiastically. “Try three. Stuff ‘em in there. Real deep. Come for me, baby. Wanna see that pretty face you make.”

“Fuck, Ben! I need you… I want you… So bad… Want your cock to fuck me… Please… I miss you…” Y/N moans and cries as she works herself into a frenzy. The familiar tug in her belly threatens to implode with each stroke.

Ben’s already a goner when those last words reach him, fisting his cock so hard he’s glad he doesn’t have superpowers anymore. He might’ve broken it for good otherwise. Precum leaks from his red and swollen tip, slicking his aching dick with each jerk of his hand. He’d give anything to feel her mouth and ample lips around his length, but the memory of it suffices to make him explode for now.

Swiftly, he grabs a few tissues from the box next to him and blows his load inside of them while Y/N’s blissful screams fill his ears as her climax tears through her. A few more slow and lazy strokes milk the rest of his dick before his shoulders deflate, and Ben relaxes back into the comfort of the soft couch cushions.

Pantingly, they lie in silence for a minute and let their speeding hearts find calm again. Y/N then props up from the bed and saunters to the dresser to grab her phone before she plops back down on the mattress. She frames the camera on her face and smiles at him, her cheeks flushed with an afterglow.

Ben smiles, too, although there’s a twinge in his stomach and a pinch in his heart. He’s grown to love the perks of technology and the twenty-first century. If he couldn’t see her on that little screen in his hand every night, he would’ve gone mad a while ago.

But everything else still sucks. The fact he can’t touch her, hold her, and love her the way he wants to fucking sucks.

“You okay there, stud?” Y/N checks, even though the truth is written clear as day on his freckle-dusted face. She feels it, too – that sickening, torturous, and undeniable pull towards him. All she wants is to rest her head on his broad chest and beating heart with his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her so tight she can barely fill her lungs with air.

Ben’s tongue swipes over his chapped lips for a moment. He’s not someone who shares his emotions easily, and it’s only gotten harder for him without her near. But it’s too fucking much, and there’s no end in sight.

“No,” he admits with a tormented swallow. “It’s not fucking okay. I fucking miss you. You’re my goddamn wife. You’re supposed to be here, Y/N.”

“I know.” Y/N exhales a sympathetic sigh and tries her best to be there for him, even though she’s exhausted after an 80-hour work week. “I miss you, too. And the kid. So much. It’s not always gonna be this way. You know I can’t come home. I don’t wanna hurt anyone, least of all you.”

“I don’t fucking care anymore. It’s been six months. We’ll figure it out. Just come home, my love,” he all but begs in the four walls of his quiet house. For Y/N, he’d even go down on his knees. He just wants her here. He doesn’t care what it costs him, virility included.

“Ben…” Y/N bites her lip, her eyes pleading. “I’m making a difference here. I’m actually doing something good.”

“Fuck that! Fuck all of that shit, Y/N!” Ben yells and strains himself to lower his voice, not wanting to wake the boy. “I fucking love you. I’m sick and tired of those games. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that I miss you, huh? I don’t wanna do this anymore. I don’t wanna call you and hope you have time to pick up. I don’t wanna text you and wait hours for a fucking answer. I don’t wanna fuck you through a dumbass screen. I miss you. I miss my wife. I miss actual goddamn sex, for fuck’s sake!”

Y/N holds back the brimming tears in her eyes, her longing heart agreeing with his words. “I know. I miss all of that, too. Maybe it’s time. Maybe we should finally talk about it.”

Ben’s brow furrows. He doesn’t like the tone in her voice and the look on her face that’s full of heartbreak. “Talk about what?”

“Divorce.”

I know, I know... "Wayne, why are you being so cruel, mean, and evil to us?" But I promise you those two will figure their shit out eventually. They've been through too much to let go now 💚

But man, do I love writing some Neuman/Ben banter. I wish they had actual screen time on the show. I feel like it would've been fucking hilarious 😂

This is not the end. Those two idiots will be back 😘

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity

Rehab Series: @nancymcl @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @sparkydonugh

#soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #human!soldier boy #soldier boy reader insert #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fanfic #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys season 3 #the boys reader insert #the boys x reader #the boys smut #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles smut

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badasbebi · 3 months

Text

the cupid project ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you and your long-term work crush devise a plan to win a company contest. in the end, you wind up going to extreme lengths to commit to the bit

✦ genre/au: fluff, fake dating, videographer reader, bada's extra sweet here, slight friends to lovers

✦ word count: 7k

✦ warnings: isn't proofread. another unrealistic meet cute that doesn't really make sense. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: another two-parter simply bc my fics are too long. 2nd part is finished and will, again, be posted soon (literally tomorrow). didnt put as much thought into this one as I have with my other stories, which will probably be a pattern from now. still think its fun. enjoy!

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"It's been three minutes. Why are we still waiting on people?" Youngj fusses, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it

"Relax, Jae. You called us here last-minute. People are busy," Minho says from where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone.

Youngj's eyes snap to him. "Too busy for an emergency meeting with their boss?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow.

Minho looks at him, then shrugs. "Well, that's what happens when you hire a bunch of ultra-talented, sought-after dancers. We don't need you," He finishes, swiftly turning back around, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

Youngj gapes for a second, then seemingly surrenders, slouching back in his chair with a scowl.

Meanwhile, you're balancing a camera lens in your hand on the sofa across from them, twisting and turning the machinery in your hand as you stifle your laughter. Still being somewhat new to the team, you weren't sure if you necessarily had the right to take part in Minho's teasing. You became an employee at JustJerk Dance Academy only six months ago, after JustJerk announced that they were looking for new hires. However, you weren't a part of their star-studded lineup of top choreographers and instructors. Instead, you were hired to be a videographer and photographer, working behind the scenes to ensure that every breathtaking move, every impassioned sequence, and every dancer was captured flawlessly.

Which, it was not like it was very hard. The people here were phenomenal enough as it was, making your time spent at work nothing less than a blessing for someone who's long watched dancers from the sidelines. Even better, the members of JustJerk Dance Academy aren't just a group of talented dancers, but also a lovely group of people. They're kind and caring, often inviting you out to eat after a long day of filming or helping you with the things you struggled with. Sometimes, you still got awestruck around them because it was such a far cry from what you were used to. But, it was beginning to feel like home. And, as the days went by, everyone started to feel more and more like family.

Well, almost everyone.

Suddenly, you hear the doors swing open and glance up to see who's arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," A voice rings throughout the room, revealing none other than the legend herself, Bada Lee.

Even after having passed by her a million times, the woman never failed to take your breath away. She was gorgeous and had an allure unlike anyone else, with a presence that seemed to shift the energy in every room she entered. In other words, she was also intimidatingly cool, which led to you frequently avoiding her because you were, simply, terrified. Though she's always been nothing but sweet and brilliant during your brief interactions, this kindness almost made things worse. It'd be much easier to disregard her if she was an asshole. Unluckily for you, she was one of the most charming people you've encountered in your life, making it nearly impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that's been causing an increasing amount of debauched thoughts and dreams.

Bada walks toward the rest of the group with an apologetic smile on her face. Her long, black and blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and her baggy clothes were noticeably wrinkled, suggesting that she came straight from practice. Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, she looked as enticing as ever.

You avert your gaze and continue playing with the camera equipment in your hands, attempting to appear nonchalant.

"What happened? You're never late," Youngj asks, sitting upright.

"I was helping one of my students out with a routine and got a little distracted. Sorry," Bada explains with a pout, sitting down on a separate couch next to yours. You keep your eyes on the camera in your hands.

"Don't worry about it, I just need everyone's attention for a few moments," Youngj says, scanning the room. "Is this everyone?"

"No, Redllic should be coming in soon. She was right behind me," Bada says, looking over at the door.

Your eyebrow inadvertently quirks up at the sound of Redllic's name escaping her lips.

"Good enough, then. Let's get started," Youngj leans forward in his seat, clapping his hands together. "I want to first apologize to all of you for calling you here so abruptly. Unfortunately, this was the only time I had to get you all here together.”

Everyone eagerly waits for him to speak, the air thick with curiosity as Youngj takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting from one person to another.

"So, to clarify, I didn't call you guys here for anything particularly important."

Minho laughs bitterly. "I fucking knew it."

Youngj gives him a pointed look before continuing. "There's a special event that the company is holding and I wanted to inform all of you about it in-person, because even though it isn’t anything to worry about, it is admittedly a bit...unusual for us."

"What is it?" Redllic asks, appearing out of thin air. Everyone, except for Bada, jumps slightly, surprised by her sudden arrival.

"Redllic!" Youngj says, placing a hand on his heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," Redllic shrugs, plopping down next to Bada, throwing her feet onto the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Right, um," Youngj clears his throat. "As I was saying, there's an event that we're hosting for Valentine's Day. We're calling it the 'Cupid Project.' Basically, you're all going to get into pairs, and you'll be doing a variety of activities together," Youngj explains, his eyes scanning the group, watching the reactions on everyone's faces.

Ew, is the immediate word that pops into your head. This reminded you of the group projects your teachers forced you to do in school. You can already see how this project will play out, and it's probably not going to be pretty. Based on the skeptical expressions you can make out, you are at least relieved to see that you aren't the only one feeling hesitant.

"What kind of activities?" Bada asks softly, tilting her head.

"Just activities to get to know each other. Doing things you wouldn't normally do," Youngj replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Jho and I have some planned activities, but the point is for you and your partner to find things to do voluntarily. If we plan everything out for you guys, then it'll be completely forced."

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjects, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "So, you're telling me I have to go on a date with someone here?"

"No," Youngj shakes his head. "We're not forcing you to fall in love or anything. This is purely platonic, just a fun way to bond with each other. And there'll be a prize," Youngj says, wagging his finger.

"A prize?" Minho echos, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. You and your partner will compete against the others and the pair who does the most activities and seems to have actually become good friends with each other will win a reward."

"How are you measuring that?" Hoyeon, another videographer, asks.

"We'll conduct anonymous votes and collect them at the Valentine's Day party we're hosting," Youngj explains. "But, it's not supposed to be all that serious, everyone. We're just trying to do something fun and, you know, team-build since we've gotten a lot of new hires recently. And, we'll get a good video out of it. We're planning on making a highlight reel of the Cupid Project for our Youtube Channel, which will be nice promotional material, too."

So that's what this was really about: content. Truthfully, you wouldn't have an issue with this if it were not very likely that you'd be the one filming or editing this highlight reel. You internally groan, realizing you'll have to deal with an increased workload because of this clusterfuck.

"I think it's a great idea," Redllic says, a mischievous smirk on her face. You watch her glance at Bada, who is staring at nothing with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Well, what's the prize?" Minho asks.

"600,000 KRW"

Others around the room whisper in excitement. You almost drop your camera. Out of shock, yes, but also because that was exactly the amount of money you needed to buy a brand new camera that you've been eyeing for ages. You've been wanting to record more complex videos, wanting to work on actual music video sets, but your current setup is limiting you. If you were able to get your hands on that camera now, you'd be about a year or two ahead of the original timeline you had in mind. You bite the inside of your lip, hoping Youngj doesn't see the desperation in your eyes.

"Holy shit," Hoyeon mutters.

The two of you make eye contact, and you already know that the two of you are working together. You were close, having joined the company at the same time and being around the same age. This would be an easy win.

"Alright, so it's settled, then," Youngj says, a confident grin forming on his face.

"Are we choosing our own partners?" Redllic asks, moving a blonde strand of hair away from her face.

"No. That would lead to a bunch of people asking to be paired with people they're already friends with, which would make the whole thing pointless. We're drawing names out of a hat," Youngj says, gesturing towards the baseball cap resting on the coffee table.

Everyone collectively groans. You try not to cry.

"Stop, come on, don't make this difficult," Youngj frowns. "The sooner you choose, the more time you have to prepare. Now, who wants to go first? I already have your names written,"

"Wait, let me go first," Hoyeon volunteers, jumping up and grabbing the hat. She reaches her hand inside and picks a small slip of paper out, then reads it aloud. You bite your lip, praying.

"Howl," Hoyeon declares, holding the piece of paper out for everyone to see.

Your name is not Howl, but you nearly howl right then and there. Realistically, the probability that you would get who you wanted was unlikely considering the number of people in the room. Nonetheless, it hurt.

The man with the wolf-centric name quietly stands and moves away from the corner he was situated in. He had been quiet the entire meeting, and most did not really notice he was there until Hoyeon mentioned his name.

"Guess it's you and me," Hoyeon laughs, smiling at the tall figure beside her.

Howl gives her a slight smile, shakes her hand, and they sit back down.

"Alright, Bada. Why don't you come over here?" Youngj says, gesturing to the coffee table.

"The one that everyone wants, I'm sure," Redllic comments with a bemused smirk, causing a clamor of chuckles.

Bada scoffs, and heads over to the table. She reaches into the hat, rustling through the papers. You hold your breath, reminding yourself of the unlikelihood that you'd be the name she pulled. However, as the woman's fingers curl around a single sheet of paper, your heart skips a beat. You feel as if you were the one reaching into the hat.

Bada pulls the paper out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the sheet. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps.

"Y/N," Bada calls out, holding the paper up.

You freeze, the room spinning around you. There's no way.

Bada cocks her head to the side. "It's you, right?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," You sputter, quickly gathering the camera equipment around you.

You hear whispers and feel a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk over to the girl. You ignore the feeling of your skin burning.

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you. I've seen you around a lot," Bada says, eyes warm.

"Yeah, nice to officially meet you, too," You say, extending your hand.

Her hand is warm and soft, enveloping yours like a blanket. Your hand feels cold and sweaty.

"Interesting," Redllic quips, eyes darting between you two, a glint in her gaze. Bada tears her eyes away from you, giving the blonde woman a questioning look as she retracts her hand.

You take the opportunity to step away, returning to your seat and letting the other dancers pull names. The rest of the pairings are revealed without much commotion, except for Minho's, who loudly complains when he has to partner up with Jaeyong, a good choreographer, but awkward man.

After all the names are drawn, everyone is dismissed. You're quick to leave the room, eager to return to the comfort of your familiar space behind the camera.

"Y/n! Slow down! We need to talk!" Hoyeon calls, catching up to you.

You turn around, side-stepping out of the way of people walking past you in the hallway. You wait for her to stop in front of you before you speak."With all due respect, I don't really want to talk right now. I just want to record. Then go home, and eat some ramen."

"With Bada?" Hoyeon sings, a cheeky grin forming on her face.

"Shut up," You mumble, rolling your eyes and continuing down the hall.

"Wait, why are you so bummed?" Hoyeon starts, following behind you, "Bada's cool?"

You sigh. "Exactly. She's cool. I'm...not."

"What? Yes, you are. Why would you think otherwise?" Hoyeon scoffs, her eyes narrowed.

"I just," You pause in the hallway again, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a little scared of her, is all."

"Scared?" Hoyeon questions, her forehead wrinkling. "She's nice though. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, but she's so pretty, and talented, and again, I'm not. Not in the way extraordinary way that she is, I mean.” You explain, shoulders slumping.

A look of realization dawns upon Hoyeon's face, and she laughs menacingly. "Oh, I see what this is. You think she's hot, and you're a scaredy cat who's afraid of rejection. Case closed. I understand."

"That's not how I would phrase things but, essentially, yes," You concede, turning the corner.

"You're being silly. She's not a god. She's literally just a human being...a very sexy human being but a human being nonetheless. Just talk to her like one," Hoyeon suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, are you not going to try to get that money? I know you want it. I saw that crazed look in your eye once Youngj made it to that fifth zero."

You laugh, "I mean, yes, I really want that money. I don't know if it's possible though. Even if I wanted to reach out to her, she’s so busy I doubt she's planning on actually committing to this. Especially because she's already loaded."

"You don't know until you try you wimp," Hoyeon says, nudging you in the arm.

"Ow," You groan, rubbing the spot in a manner that probably proves her point. "Aren't you going to try for the money too? Where's Howl, huh?"

"We're friends already, it'll be chill. I don't know if we'll necessarily win the money, but, like, we'll have a good time," Hoyeon states, grinning.

"Ugh, gross," You say, sticking out your tongue.

She ignores your immaturity. "What do you wanna do with the money anyway?" Hoyeon asks, leaning against the wall next to an entrance to one of the dance studios.

"Remember that equipment I told you about? So I can start working on sets?"

"Oh, right," Hoyeon says, crossing her arms. "You said that you've been wanting to do that for a while, y/n. Are you really not going to talk to Bada? I’ve recorded with her a few times now and I mean it when I say that she's nice as hell. I feel like she'd probably be down, or, at the very least, will understand if you explain things to her. "

"I'll try. Maybe. At some point. It's not going to be today, though," you mutter, reaching for the studio door before you are stopped by Hoyeon jabbing her french-tipped fingernail into your chest.

"You better. Or else," Hoyeon threatens, a dark expression coming over her.

"Move your finger, please," You say, swatting her hand away.

Hoyeon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Good luck filming. I'm gonna go find Howl. Love ya,"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," You wave goodbye to her as she walks down the hall, pulling out her phone.

Once she's out of sight, you release a deep sigh and push open the door, only to be met with the sight of a familiar face.

"Oh," You breathe.

Bada turns, a surprised expression on her face. "Y/n, hi. Were you coming in?"

"Um, yeah," You reply, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind you. "Are you rehearsing something?"

"Yeah," Bada answers, glancing at the mirror.

"Sorry. I can go-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. If you need to film in here, that's fine. I'll just go next door," Bada says, waving her hand.

You pause, taking a breath. Now’s your chance. "Actually, forget the recording, could I talk to you real quick? About the...cupid thing?"

"Yeah, of course. I was actually hoping we'd get a chance to talk," Bada grins, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

You hesitantly walk over and sit down next to her. You take a moment to compose yourself, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of your pants.

"So," Bada prompts.

"Uh," You stammer, wracking your brain for what you were supposed to say. "Um, well, I just wanted to say that, uh, you are really, um, talented. And-oh, this sounds really weird." You finish, running a palm down your face in embarrassment.

"No, no, it's not," Bada chuckles, a gentle smile on her face. "Thank you, though. But, um, that's not what you wanted to say, right?"

"Right. Sorry," You apologize, a rush of blood filling your cheeks.

"Don't worry. Take your time. We have a lot of it," Bada reminds you, studying the expression on your face. Her voice and words are calming, but her staring is freaking freaking you out further.

You take another deep breath, hoping to quell your nerves. "Okay. I'm sorry. Uh, I'll try again. What I really wanted to say is, I know that it’s a stupid contest, and that you probably don't care about winning, but I actually really want to participate in that project and win that prize money. And, I was hoping you'd, maybe, help me win?" Before she can respond, you launch into another tangent. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy, which is okay, but I just want to upgrade my equipment so I can get more opportunities outside of-"

"Hey," Bada says, gently laying her hand on top of yours. "Of course I'll help you. You don't have to apologize. I think it'll be fun."

You nearly spiral, but Bada's touch is surprisingly soothing, and you calm down despite your anxiety.

"Oh, wow. Thank you, so much," You breathe.

"It's not a big deal, seriously. I'm looking forward to it," Bada insists, squeezing your hand.

You stare at her, and her kind, sparkling eyes. What have you gotten yourself into?

You both sit there for a second, a pregnant pause in the air, before you quickly pull your hand away, remembering how sweaty they were.

Bada smiles, unphased. Then, she begins tapping her fingers rhythmically against the ground, a contemplative look on her face as she stares at the space where your hands were previously intertwined.

"So," Bada suddenly looks up. "If you're just in it to win it, and you really want a fair shot, I think we need to do something a little extreme."

You blink, scared. "What do you mean…extreme?"

She bites her lip and you have to resist the urge to stare. "Youngj said this was supposed to be platonic, so that's how most people are going to approach it. How do we seem better or stronger than other platonic relationships? What’s more intense than that?"

You must be misunderstanding where she's going with this. "Um, a romantic one?" You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

To your shock, she nods. "Exactly. Y/n, I'm saying that we should make our Cupid partnership a romantic one," Bada states, her expression serious.

Your head is spinning. She is taking this much more seriously than you were anticipating. You were expecting to just go out for coffee a few times, and maybe post a picture of your twinning lattes on instagram to sell your friendship. You have no idea how to process this more intense proposition.

"Are you suggesting that we pretend to date each other?" You confirm.

A beat of silence. She leans back slightly, her eyes flickering. "I mean, yeah. Sure," She pauses. "Unless you're not comfortable with that."

"I am," You respond, the lie escaping your mouth with ease.

Bada's eyes widen and she sits up, a smile growing on her face. "You're sure? If you're not cool with that, we don't have to. I know the idea is a little bit out there. I just, uh, want to help," She babbles, her fingers tapping against the floor again.

You laugh. Was Bada Lee nervous? "I'm not uncomfortable with it. I trust you. As long as it helps us win,"

"It will, I promise. I'll make it worth your while," Bada vows, her expression determined.

"I can't wait," You laugh again, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"Cool," She breathes, her body relaxing. "Well, I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

You grin, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Awesome," She smiles, standing up. She reaches her down and grabs your hand, pulling you up. "I'm not gonna be able to actually meet-up with you tomorrow because I have something scheduled, but I already have your phone number. I'll text you."

You nod, distracted and unable to speak as her soft fingers brush against your palm.

"Bye-bye," She waves cutely, her long legs swiftly carrying her across the room. You wave back, her departing smile etched into your brain as you watch the door click shut behind her. Then, you're alone.

You stare at the floor, processing the interaction. You had just agreed to pretend to date one of the hottest and most intimidating women you had ever met. You had no clue why you did it. Maybe the promise of money and fulfilled dreams had blinded you. Still, the whole thing seemed a little too ridiculous. Too dangerous.

But there was no backing out now. You already went through the trouble of telling Bada about your desperation, and you told her that you trusted her. You'd have to commit.

"Well," you whisper, hugging yourself in a soothing motion. "Here goes nothing."

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You fidget within the plush confines of your seat, hesitantly glancing around your dimly lit surroundings as you twist a gleaming piece of silverware between your fingers. Your other hand remains in your lap, afraid to touch the red linen covering your table. Your gaze settles on a couple a few tables away from you, clinking their wine glasses together with pompous grins. It crosses your mind that the wine they're drinking is probably worth more than the money you're doing all of this for, and you make the executive decision to reach for the bottle of wine the woman sitting across from you generously bought.

When you drop your fork to outstretch your hand toward the bottle, the woman in question seems to notice, hurriedly grabbing ahold of it before you can reach it, and pours the liquid into your glass, herself.

"Thank you," you murmur, retracting your hand and finally allowing it to fall on the table.

"No problem," Bada replies, her voice warm and velvety, like the wine. She pushes your drink toward you, and you hurriedly snatch it up to take a large gulp, allowing it to trickle down your throat. The heat of the alcohol soothes your anxiety, and you exhale deeply.

Your relief lasts for approximately one millisecond. Because, in the next, you're putting your drink down and are being reminded of the predicament you've gotten yourself into. Bada's preoccupation with her menu gives you the chance to observe the way the soft glow emanating from a nearby lamp illuminates her features. The light traces the curves of her face, accentuating every perfect line. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, compelling you to consider reaching over the table to smooth the lines over with your thumb. When you try to look away, your gaze locks on the pouting of her lips as she focuses on whatever she's reading.

"I'm thinking of getting the Frutti Di Mare," she voices, snapping you out of your trance. She sets the menu down and looks up, a gentle smile on her face.

"I don't know what that is," you respond dumbly.

She laughs, the sound light and airy, causing the skin near her eyes to wrinkle adorably. "I thought Italian was your favorite?"

"It is," you confirm, feeling flustered. "I just-the Italian places I go to are super watered down. The fanciest thing you'll see there is fettuccini alfredo,"

"That makes sense," Bada nods, her smile turning playful. "Then, I'll let you know what it is. It's basically seafood. I think it's usually served with pasta."

"Ah," you reply, nodding slowly. "Tasty."

Bada laughs again, and you feel like a scratched CD—unable to get any words out, twitching in place, devilish sounds threatening to enemate from you at any moment. "I'll make sure to order an extra portion for you to try. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

"No, that works. I'm fine with that," you respond, quickly.

"I figured." Bada smiles knowingly.

Your hand clutches your chest. "Hey, is that a little shade? Did I miss it? Please, elaborate," you joke, leaning forward.

Bada giggles. "Maybe. You've been drinking a lot of that wine. And I think you ate most of the breadsticks."

You glance at your breadcrumb filled plate, then at the half-empty basket of breadsticks. "Oh. Wow. I did."

"You did," Bada affirms, her expression amused. She scoots her chair closer and takes a sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to lick her lips once she's done. You have the overwhelming urge to mimic the motion, but resist, choosing to instead stuff another breadstick in your mouth.

You swallow the last bits of the breadstick, wiping the crumbs off of your mouth, only for a new, smaller, crumb to appear. Bada notices, and when she raises her arm, your breath hitches. You feel her soft hand graze the side of your face, the pad of her thumb rubbing the crumb off your lip.

"There we go," Bada smiles, satisfied. You can't help but lean into her touch, the warmth of her skin a pleasant contrast against the cold room.

You're startled out of the moment when the waiter appears, setting a basket of warm bread down. You jump, moving away from Bada.

"Have we decided what we'd like to eat?" he asks, his accent thick.

Bada nods, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. "Yes, we're ready. I'll have the Frutti di Mare."

"Great choice," the waiter says. "And, for you, miss?"

"Um, Spaghetti," you answer, your voice strained.

The waiter scribbles down the order. "Anything else to drink?"

"I’m good, thank you," Bada answers, her tone sweet, smiling gratefully at the man.

"I'll be right back with your food," the waiter bows his head, his ponytail bouncing, and swiftly leaves the table, leaving the two of you alone.

Avoiding eye contact with Bada, you grab ahold of your glass and drink. The air crackles with something subtle, and you find yourself stealing glances at Bada’s pretty face in between sips, your cheeks warming.

But you needed to get down to business. It’s already been two days since you discussed fake-dating, and this is the first time you’ve done anything together. The clock was ticking.

You placed your drink down on the table and swallowed loudly, causing Bada to stop fiddling with the napkin in front of her in favor of looking at you.

"So," you start.

"So," she copies.

"What's the plan?" you ask, drumming your fingers against the table.

Bada's eyebrows furrow again. "The plan?"

"For the whole Cupid thing," you clarify.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Right. Well, I was thinking, that this was sort of the plan."

"This being..."

"Dinner. At a fancy restaurant," she responds, gesturing to her surroundings. "People will see us hanging out together here, and it'll get the rumor mill running. I wouldn't be surprised if the media picked it up, honestly. I think it's a pretty solid first step. We're just planting the seeds,"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. How do we get from here to actually dating?"

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question. "Hm. I don't know. An Instagram post, maybe? A soft launch?"

You consider this. "Okay, sure. But, what would the picture be of? This is all so, vague."

Bada shrugs, nonchalant. "We'll figure it out as we go. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next few days so there'll be plenty of opportunities for pictures. For now, I think we should just enjoy dinner. We're supposed to look like a couple in love right now and I don't know if trying to scientifically plan a soft launch is really giving romance."

"Right," you sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bada says, reaching across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze.

You're interrupted by the waiter returning, bringing the food. He carefully sets the dishes down, and a delectable smell fills the air.

"Bon appetit," the waiter bows his head and disappears again.

"Thanks," you call after him, taking a moment to observe the meal.

"It looks great," Bada comments, reaching for her fork.

"It does," you agree, grabbing your own utensils. You take a tentative bite, moaning loudly as the flavors immediately explode in your mouth. "Holy fuck."

Bada stares at you, wide-eyed and frozen, a piece of pasta still stuck on her fork.

You blush, covering your mouth. "Oh my gosh, sorry."

She gulps, snapping out of her stupor. "No, no, it's fine. That was just, a, uh. It seems like you really like it!"

"It's really good," you confirm, your words muffled by the food.

"I can tell," Bada chuckles, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry. I'm gonna try not to embarrass myself any more," you say, chewing more delicately.

She laughs softly. "There's no need to apologize. You're funny, y/n," Bada says, the sincerity of her words and the fondness in her tone making heat rise to your cheeks.

You eat the rest of your food quietly, listening to the bustling noise around you, the sound of Bada's utensils clinking against her plate unusually relaxing.

As you're finishing your last bits of pasta, a group of loud voices and giggles pass by your table. One of the girls, a brunette, notices the two of you and stops.

"Oh, my god," you hear the girl not-so-discreetly whisper, clutching her friends' arms. "Is that who I think it is?"

You glance at Bada, and she's looking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

"Bada Lee and...I don't know who that is? Who is that?" The brunette's friend replies.

You look down, pretending not to hear the conversation.

"I don't know either. You think that's her girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?! No way. They're probably just hanging out or something."

At this, Bada drops her fork and reaches across the table for your hand, grabbing it gently.

"You okay, baby?" Bada asks, her tone sugary sweet.

You're taken aback by the pet name. But, you decide to play along. You smile at her, placing your other hand over hers. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a little tired."

"Do you wanna leave, honey?"

"I think I'll be fine," you grin.

"If you're sure," Bada smiles, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I'm positive, honey bunch," you affirm, biting onto your bottom lip to contain your laughter.

"Aw, they're cute!" the brunette sighs. "I've gotta tell Sooyoung about this."

"Yeah, we should leave them alone, though. Let's go."

You and Bada watch the pair walk away. As soon as the women are out of sight, the two of you burst into laughter, dropping the facade.

"Did you see their faces?" Bada giggles.

"'Who is that?'" you imitate, your voice high pitched and nasal.

"Baby," Bada says, smirking.

You laugh, but the endearment sends butterflies to your stomach. "Sweetie."

"Honey bunch," Bada grins.

"Honey bunny," you fire back.

"My love," she replies, tilting her head with a smirk, her voice playful.

"Lovebug," you answer, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this foreplay?" she jokes, laughing.

"I mean, if you want it to be, I'm not stopping you," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. Bada's eyes shoot up, and you feel slightly mortified and shocked by your own brazenness.

"Do you mean that?" Bada asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

You open your mouth, then shut it. This is odd. You were regretting your lack of filter at first, but Bada seemed a bit too intrigued by the idea of consensual foreplay with you. She could just be joking, or really committing to the fake-dating bit. The look in her eyes was telling you otherwise, though.

However, you're cut off by the waiter reappearing. "May I interest you in dessert, or shall I bring the check?" he asks.

"Just the check, please," she says, not breaking eye contact with you.

The waiter bows, leaving the table once more.

You opt to stare down at the table. "I'll pay half," you offer, avoiding her earlier question.

"It's on me," Bada says. "I brought you here."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Once the waiter comes back, Bada gives him her card. When he returns to your table with the receipt, Bada locks eyes with you, your heart thumping loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Bada says, and you nod.

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You stand at the entrance of the restaurant, a gentle breeze caressing your face. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your coat, and the chilly air nips at the tip of your nose.

"Are you ready?" Bada asks from behind you. You turn around to look at her, and the way her eyes reflect the light of the streetlamps above you causes your chest to tighten.

"Ready," you confirm, a hint of a smile on your face.

"Alright," Bada says, shoving her phone, which you don't remember seeing her pull out, into her coat pocket. She leads you to her car, opening the passenger seat door for you.

"Thanks," you smile, and she responds with a nod.

After the door is closed, she goes around to the driver's seat, starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. You're both silent as she navigates through the streets. You peer out the window, watching the city lights flicker and blur as you replay tonight's events, attempting to ignore the now obvious tension.

"So," Bada breaks the silence, causing you to whip your head toward her. "You still haven't fully explained to me what plans you have in mind for that camera you're wanting so badly."

"Well," you begin, relieved that she took the conversation in this direction. "I love what I do at JustJerk. Seriously, watching you guys dance is amazing, and the people are the best. But, I don't want my career to end there. I want to do more on top of that, diversify my portfolio and all. What I really want to do is get onto a music video set. Maybe start directing, too. One day."

Bada hums and smiles. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," you grin, scratching the back of your neck.

"With all due respect, though, do you really need the new equipment for that? You do such a good job with our choreography videos. I don't know anything about videography, but I'd be surprised if that alone couldn't get your foot in the door."

"Well," you draw out, considering your words. "That's probably true. But, I don't think I'm that lucky. The equipment will help, the camera will be useful...the lenses will be nice to have…”

Bada frowns. "Have you given it a shot yet, though? As much as I'm going to try my hardest to help you win this money, realistically, there's a good chance that we still won't win. I'd hate to see you postpone your dreams just because of this camera, or because of this project."

You pause, staring at the car's interior, listening to the sound of the engine running, lost in thought. You weren't sure if it was because you admired Bada so much, or if it was something about her tone, but you were actually starting to rethink things. Perhaps you were holding yourself back a bit.

"Maybe," you simply respond, unable to say much else.

"I mean, the equipment will probably help," Bada concedes. "But, not having it won't stop you, I'm sure. Our videographers really don't get enough credit. But, you're all great and you're especially amazing at what you do, y/n. The only reason why I haven't gotten around to working with you is because the other dancers keep getting to you first," she admits, bitterly.

"Wow," you breathe. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're awesome," she says, the confidence in her words filling your heart.

"So are you," you say, turning away from her, trying not to blush.

"I know. You’ve said it already," Bada smirks, and you simply roll your eyes.

A more comfortable silence envelops the two of you, and the tension from before dissipates. You lean back in the passenger seat, a smile on your face, feeling content.

Soon, Bada pulls up outside of your apartment, and you're disappointed.

"This is you," Bada announces.

"Yep," you nod.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," she says, smiling.

"Me too," you reply with a matching smile. "Thank you for dinner."

"It was no problem," she states, waving her hand.

You step outside, but, before closing the car door, you hesitate. "Um," you say, unsure.

"What is it?" Bada asks, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Can I give you a hug?" you blurt out.

Bada looks startled, but her expression softens. "Sure," she nods, turning the engine off and stepping outside.

You meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her torso and pressing your cheek against her chest. She hugs back, and you swear that you can hear her heartbeat.

"Goodnight," Bada whispers into your hair.

"Goodnight," you echo, pulling away, already missing her warmth.

She opens the car door again, ducking inside. "Text me when you get upstairs," she instructs.

"I will," you promise.

"Great. Goodnight, y/n," she smiles.

"Goodnight, Bada," you reply, watching her drive away. Once her car disappears, you sigh.

As you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, a single question repeats in your mind: What the fuck am I doing?

You finish cleaning up and getting ready for bed approximately two hours later. As you lay in bed, scrolling through social media, a post from a JustJerk fanpage catches your eye. It's a picture of Bada and you together at dinner, with the caption, "Caught on a date?!"

You laugh at the predictability of the situation, and just as you're about to turn off your phone, you think to check Bada's Instagram, curious. She posted a new story.

You tap it, and it's a picture of you, taken from behind, standing outside the restaurant. There are no words attached to the picture. Just one, pink heart.

You smile, saving the picture, and fall asleep with the image burned into your mind.

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Three days later, you are stationed near your camera, watching Bada teach. The day after your fake dinner date, she sent you a text describing the next stage of the plan, which was attending each other's events and collaborating in public whenever it seemed right. This initially felt like an excellent idea. You'd been dying to watch and record one of Bada's classes since you started working at JustJerk, and it brought you guys one step closer to convincing everyone you were seriously dating. What could go wrong?

The actual execution of this idea turned out to be much more distressing than you previously imagined. It started this morning when you were filming Minho's class. You kneeled in the front of the room, prepping your camera as Minho made rounds around the studio to talk to his students individually. Engrossed with your equipment, you didn't hear the sounds of the door opening and closing, or the following eruption of loud murmuring. It was not until you saw a pair of sneakers stop in front of you and caught a whiff of a now-familiar sweet aroma, that you bothered to glance up. When you did, you found yourself making eye contact with Bada, holding a bouquet.

"These are for you," Bada said, a proud smile on her face.

Your jaw dropped and you scrambled to get up, almost knocking the camera over. They were roses, vibrant and beautiful against the dull gray of the dance studio. No one had done this for you before.

"They're gorgeous," you whispered, accepting the flowers.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, her smile deepening as she observed your reaction. You cradled the bouquet in your hands, inhaling the smell of the roses with a pleased hum and missing the endeared expression on Bada's face. You certainly didn’t see the way she started to lean forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Shocked, you loosened your grip on the bouquet, feeling nothing but the rush of warmth spread through every inch of you as a result of her tiny peck.

She shifted back, as relaxed as ever. "I gotta go, but I'll see you later?"

"Definitely," you nod, clutching the bouquet once again, head spinning.

"Great." She nodded, then made her way out of the studio.

After she left, you turned to face the room, only to be met with everyone’s staring. Right. That is what this is about. Getting attention. Nothing else.

You glanced at Minho, who had a teasing smirk on his face.

"What?" you asked him, scowling.

"Nothing," he laughed, then restarted his class.

Now you are recording Bada's class. Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But, having to observe her so confidently lead her students through a routine, hearing her call out corrections with a simultaneously gentle yet demanding tone, noticing how hard her abs are when she lifts her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow for the last hour? It's been painful. You're so busy trying not to swoon you've nearly forgotten to press record a couple of times.

She suddenly looks at you, flashing a small smile at you accompanied by crinkling eyes. You give her a thumbs-up and quickly shift your gaze toward the camera as if you were busy setting the frame, even though the shot is already perfect.

Bada returns her focus to the class, and the lesson continues. Every once in a while, Bada walks over to you, checking in and asking how everything is going. Each time, she offers a smile, a wink, or some form of encouragement, and every time, it takes everything in your power not to blush. She's clearly playing it up for the audience, but the effect she has on you is no act.

Her students are buying it, though. The moment she gets near you, the girls (and a few guys) start whispering amongst themselves. It's working.

"Alright," Bada claps, signaling the end of the session. "That's it for today. Good job, everybody."

"Thank you, teacher!" they all exclaim, bowing and gathering their things.

You're packing up your camera when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Startled, you drop your tripod.

"Gotcha," Bada giggles.

"Shit, that scared me," you say, placing a hand on your heart.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs. "How'd the recording go?"

"Pretty good," you say, bending down to pick up the tripod. Bada immediately crouches, beating you to it. "Thank you."

"No problem" she says, straightening up, extending the tripod towards you.

"Thanks," you say again, taking the device from her. "Anyway, you did good. It's not going to need much editing."

"Really?" Bada smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot, actually."

"It’s no problem," you grin, suppressing the fluttering in your stomach. "And, uh, thanks again for the flowers, by the way. They were beautiful."

“You are very welcome. Just fulfilling my fake-girlfriend duties," Bada beams, and you have to look away.

"Well, anyway, I should probably head home," you say, avoiding eye contact. "Gotta get started on the footage."

She tilts her head. "Uh, I don’t think so. That’s gonna have to wait for tomorrow,”

"Huh? Why?" you ask, confused.

"Because, y/n, we're going bowling with Youngj and them? Don't tell me you forgot," she chides, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," you say, remembering. "I thought that was supposed to be later."

"It's 7:30," she says, a slight frown on her face.

"Fuck," you curse, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, I'll get out of here."

"We have to go there together," Bada reminds you.

"Shit. Okay, yeah, let's go," you sigh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern etched onto her features.

"Yes. No. Ugh. Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today. Didn't get much sleep," you say, rubbing your eyes. It wasn’t a complete lie. Ever since your date at the restaurant, you’ve been getting bombarded with messages from friends asking about the two of you, giving you little time to rest alongside your work for Justjerk. There was more going on today, though.

"That sucks," Bada sympathizes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," you answer, bluntly.

"Okay," she says, softly. "But, if and when you do, I’m all ears."

"Thanks, Bada. I appreciate it," you reply, and a part of you is telling yourself not to get attached. But the bigger part of you, the part that wants nothing more than to fall into her arms, tells that smaller part to fuck off.

"Of course. Anyway, we should really get going," she says, and you follow her out the door, leaving your thoughts and feelings behind.

read part two

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee fluff #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #lee bada #street woman fighter 2 #swf2 #bada lee imagine

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vauxxy · 3 months

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the moon ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

ECLIPSE- PROLOGUE, PART ONE, PART TWO

luke castellan x reader

ABOUT - luke invites you, the strange dionysus girl, to spar with him. luke makes a revelation, and you invite him to hang out.

A/N - hey y’all! it’s been a while!! so here i am, with an introductory chapter to a three parter luke x reader series called ‘eclipse’.

there’s not a lot happening in this chapter, but it’s important to the next chapter me thinks :P

also i think i’m sooo funny 😭 the title will make even more sense soon ok

WARNINGS - swearing n alcohol mention and that’s it

to say luke castellan didn’t like you would be a big understatement. but it would also be untrue.

the reality of his feelings towards you were much more complicated than simply ‘liking’ or ‘hating’ you.

his feelings towards you were completely incomprehensible. and he hated it.

you were just… so strange. the eldest daughter of dionysus, a talented actress, a rebellious girl with a sharp tongue and an even sharper blade. you were everything all at once; and it perplexed him to no end.

maybe that’s why your rivalry persisted throughout all these years. you made no sense, and luke needed everything to make sense. he needed everything to be predictable and understandable.

and you were neither of those things.

but there was also a comfort in the way that you consistently confused him- a sense of irregularity that provided him with the same comfort he would receive from those who were less strange than you were. maybe a bit more comfort, it fact.

it was truly comforting; the fact that you were always there to annoy and pester him when he was training, or at the campfire, or when you asked him to spar.

it was comforting knowing there was always someone there to challenge him- someone there to make him feel the same feeling over and over again… until the feeling changed.

“y/n, i need to talk to you.”

his voice echoed throughout the training grounds, alarming you enough to whip your head around fast to find the source of such commotion.

you were standing in the middle of the grounds, the remains of the practice dummies you were throwing your axe at scattered around the premises.

luke watched your hair move with the soft summer wind as you turned around to face him, no doubt in his mind that you knew exactly what he wanted.

“yeah? ‘bout what?”

your face was a little red and your arms were a little tired from your undoubtably taxing training session. if luke saw you like this a few months ago, he’d chuckle at how disheveled you looked.

but it was not a few months ago.

to distract himself from your appearance, his eyes trailed down to your hands as you tightly gripped your axe. it always freaked him out seeing you with that gnarly axe- throwing that thing around like it weighed nothing.

“hello? about what?” you asked again breathily, swinging your axe back and forth aimlessly as you tried to get his attention.

it seemed as though he had been distracted by something. something strange and pretty and unusual. and whatever it was, he needed to snap out of it before he went crazy.

“i need a sparring partner,” he stated blankly, leaning his back against the nearest pillar and letting out an exasperated breath.

“you’re the only one in camp who can give me somewhat of a challenge. anyways,” he took a good look at you, tapping his fingers against his forearm.

“i’m bored. wanna fight?”

you shrugged your shoulders, recklessly tossing your axe to the side and unsheathing your sword.

“yeah, okay,” you said dryly.

your hair fell over your face as you looked up at him, groaning in irritation at the minor inconvenience.

“hold my sword for a minute?” you asked blankly as you offered your sword out to luke for him to take.

luke looked down at you, amused by how easily you were able to ask him for a favour- even if it was just a minor one. it seemed like you were growing a lot more reliant on him these days. or maybe more comfortable with him? who knows.

“yeah, okay,” he said reluctantly, taking the sword from your hands.

he watched you in silence as you took a step back, running your hand through your hair.

“you really aren't much of a talker, are you?” he asked, smiling smugly as his eyes followed the flow of your hair.

you pulled a hair tie off of your wrist, quickly tying my your hair into a lazy ponytail.

“oh, i’m a big talker. just not with you,” you said bluntly, your voice playful and smug as you flashed him a mischievous smile.

luke liked it when you smiled. he liked to imagine that all the stars in the sky got together on the night you were born, and decided to use their stardust to construct ever feature on your face. your dainty freckles, the shining bright whites of your eyes- the pure magic of your little smile.

‘the fuck is wrong with you? stop being weird.’

you quickly took back the sword, your fingers grazing against his during the little exchange.

“i can tell,” luke commented breathily, raising an eyebrow. his eyes narrowed slightly, before he raised his sword as well.

“you ready? or are you just gonna keep standing there looking pretty?”

“i’m always ready, castellan,” you hummed, taking a few steps towards the middle of the training grounds, and getting into position.

“whatever,” he rolled his shoulders and followed suite. “on three?”

you nodded, and let your body tense up as he started counting down.

“one, two, three-“

Luke lunged forward, stabbing his sword towards your chest. He made good use of the length of his blade, keeping as much distance between you and him as possible.

despite this, you managed to quickly dodge him, your sword clanging against his as you bit down on your lip. you quickly attempted a shot at his waist, your eyes locked on his sword as you shuffled around.

Luke smirked as the two blades clashed together, you going for his legs and him going for your chest. he attempted another stab at your chest, and when you evaded, he kicked out to try and trip you- something he figured would throw you off, or at the very least, off-balance.

you seemed to not fall for such cheap tricks. as he backed away to create some distance between you and him, he smiled. this was exactly what he wanted.

a challenge.

he heard you groan, offering a sly smirk before watching you attempt a sneaky stab at his arm.

your hair bounced with every movement, your technique airy and light- almost unpredictable enough to make him second guess his own strategy.

you speed caught luke off-guard, taken aback by the sudden stab. he definitely wasn’t expecting that.

your fast and swift movements, paired with the excellent control of your blade made him sweat a bit. he had no choice but to back away, before lunging forward with his sword once more.

you quickly dodged his attack, the sound of blades clanging echoing throughout the area as your breaths got heavier and heavier.

you moved forwards, attempting another attack at his chest.

he quickly blocked your sword, moving in with a stab at your neck- but you were too quick. you resisted the attack, hitting his sword with yours. you shuffled around again, attacking his other arm as you took a second to study him and his movements.

you attacked him yet again, moving his blade to block. the same sounds of metal clashing against each other continuing.

your attack at his arm was successful. he’d taken a little step back at the sudden pain.

luke raised his sword for a stab at your side, attempting to catch you right in the gut—this would put you on the defensive for sure… right?

you quickly blocked his attack on my side, left with a little cut on your forearm.

luke was shocked at how easily you were able to defend yourself against him. you had been training and sparring and competing against him for years- obviously you were a talented fighter.

but luke had grown accustomed to winning. now? he felt intimidated.

like knew his arms were his weak spot, but he hadn’t expected you to realize this yourself. your counterattacks came quicker now that you’d discovered the most effective way to get him out of commission.

the two of you were now evenly-matched in the sense that neither of you could land an attack at the other, and this was starting to get exciting.

you started trying to take cheap shots at his arms and legs, pissing luke off further. it was like you cracked the code.

you were winning.

He grunted, breathing heavily. he was struggling to move against each of your quick attacks, trying to match the sheer speed and agility of your balde.

and to his surprise; he was starting to get tired.

as soon as he tried attacking you, you blocked it- hard. this caused the sword to fly out of his hand.

disarming him was much easier after he was tired and distracted.

then, you lunged at him.

you held your blade against luke’s neck as you pushed him to the ground, straddling his hips as you looked down at him.

“do i win?” you asked smugly, restraining his movements.

you had giving luke a run for his money. the best swordsman at camp was now at the mercy of your sword.

while you two were similar in skill across all aspects of fighting, you had rarely ever beaten him in a sword fight.

“yeah, sure, sure you win,” he growled, attempting to shove you off of his lap.

“now get off me.”

he looked up at you, noticing the proud smile plastered across your face. it wasn’t cocky, or smug- it was proud.

and as much as he’d hate to admit it, he was genuinely impressed with you.

you finally lifted your body off his, standing up as you twirled your sword around.

“huh. i didn’t know i was this good with a sword…” you mumbled, looking down at the blade.

luke stared up at you, rolling his eyes as he got up.

“still obnoxious as ever, though,” he mumbled dryly.

luke glanced at your sword for a moment before turning his gaze away. he walked over to his sword, picking it up off the ground and sheathing it as he turned back around to face you.

“you’re not bad. obviously,” he said bluntly, his cheeks red and his face sweaty from the challenging sparring match as he walked back over to you.

“your attacks are unpredictable. quick, agile. you have a good technique.”

you furrowed your brows, a little confused by his kind comments and praises.

“technique? i just kept my eyes on your sword and tried to get you tired enough to disarm you,” you explained, sheathing your sword.

“i’d hardly call that technique. you’re much better than i am,” you added.

that was unexpected. a compliment? or… was that sarcastic? what the fuck is going on?

you were probably just tired; that’s why you were downplaying your achievements. that’s why you were offering him praise despite his shortcomings.

“i’m probably stronger than you, but you’re much faster. agility is just as important as strength,” luke replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

you shrugged your shoulders, smiling smugly as you took out your ponytail.

“well, i gotta make up for my lack of raw muscles somehow,” you retorted breathily, your tone playful and your voice light as you smiled at him.

you were a child of dionysus- you weren’t supposed to be a fighter, you were supposed to be an actress. but it made sense for you to go against the grain like that. you were an unpredictable, hotheaded, arrogant, theatrical girl… who could also somehow take him in a fight.

luke tried not to gawk at how your hair fell over your shoulder as you shook your head.

as much as he hated noticing it, your hair was really pretty.

it was probably one of his favourite things about you.

luke stared into your eyes as you spoke, his gaze unwavering as he admired your sheer confidence- even when downplaying yourself.

and there it was. the same feeling that had been fucking him over everyday for the past 2 months. a feeling that he was starting to get uncomfortably familiar with recently; fondness. admiration. adoration.

you were the moon. constant, yet always changing. bright, yet most comfortable surrounded by the confines of the dark.

you were his moon.

and you were beautiful.

‘ew, stop.’

luke didn’t appreciate the new soft spot he was harbouring for a certain dionysus girl. he hated how his heart was constantly making space for her. and he hated that his brain was just as complicit.

“i mean, you don’t need to ‘make up’ for anything. muscle isn’t really that important in a sword fight,” he said, crossing his arms as he finally pulled his eyes away from yours.

you nodded lightheartedly, idly running your hand through your hair as you turned your head away from his.

gods, he could watch you play with your hair all day if he could. of course, he’d prefer to play with it himself, but watching you do it was almost as good.

“hm. i guess you’re right,” you sighed, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your shorts lazily.

“anyways, sword fighting is way too much effort. i prefer throwing axes at people.”

luke smirked, rolling his eyes playfully and he looked over at you.

“i still can’t believe you’d choose an axe over a sword.” he couldn’t help but laugh a bit, “you’re so… eccentric.”

“what do you expect? mr. d is my dad,” you said playfully, earning a reluctant chuckle from luke.

“i guess i shouldn’t be surprised,” he replied. “but seriously, who chooses an axe as their primary weapon? why not a bow or something?”

you rolled you eyes, shaking your head at the boy in disagreement.

“the arrows are too flimsy. i prefer wielding something with a bit more weight,” you explained. luke shook his head in disbelief, chuckling dryly.

“you’re so weird… who else uses an axe for their weapon of choice?” he asked out of genuine curiosity, a hint of sarcasm laced in his tone.

“and don’t say something like ‘oh, tons of people’ or something.”

“oh, tons of people,” you repeated, mocking him playfully as you took your hands out of your pockets. you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting out a smug chuckle.

“shut up,” luke scoffed, his usual smirk plastered on his face.

gods, it felt like his feelings were becoming more evident by the minute. he was going insane.

‘you like her, don’t you?’

the thought popped into his head again.

‘shut it out, or else it’ll get awkward.’

he wasn’t about to ruin the fun you were having.

and besides, he didn’t like you. he couldn’t like you.

you were literally the daughter of the camp director. and you were insufferable. or… well- that’s a lie. you used to be insufferable.

it seemed as though age had provided you two with a new sense of maturity; letting your rivalry calm down and allowing you two to finally get along.

and as much as luke hated to admit it, he kinda liked getting to know you. he liked spending time with you. but he always did- that’s why you two spend so much time fighting, right?

luke was suddenly snapped out of his head by the sound of footsteps hitting the floor of the training grounds. he looked up to see your back as you walked away, his eyebrows furrowing at your silent departure.

“where are you going?” he called out.

you turned around quickly, quirking your head to the side.

“the campfire, obviously?” your said, your hands stuffed in your pockets again.

“aren’t you coming?” you asked, staring him down playfully with a friendly smile.

luke’s eyebrows rose, his body freezing as he thought it over.

‘she’s mocking you.’

‘no she isn’t- you’re the leader of the hermes cabin. you have to come to the campfires, dickhead.’

‘can’t be bothered, nah.’

“i have better things to do, thanks.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood in the middle of the training grounds.

you raised your eyebrows, a little smirk emerging on your face.

“you sure? because as soon as the younger campers head back to their cabins, us older demigods are going down to the lake,” you said, crossing your arms to mirror his defensive stance.

“… and i’ve got a bottle of wine and half a bottle of vodka hidden under my bed,” you whispered as you took a step forwards, shooting him a mischievous wink.

vodka? that was enough to pull him in, even if they were supposed to have a little rivalry going. but then again, they were barley rivals anymore.

it’s not like he was big on drinking, but he was big on discarding his responsibilities- even if it was just for a few hours.

he paused for a moment, staring at you as he contemplated whether or not he should come to the campfire.

luke didn’t even care if you guys didn’t like each other that much, he still wanted to spend more time with you. besides, he didn’t see the problem in exploiting the way you guys were being a lot more civil to each other recently in order to get a little tipsy.

“yeah fine,” he mumbled, “i’ll come.”

#ECLIPSE SERIES VAUXXY #luke x reader #luke castellan drabbles #luke castellan #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan pjo #pjo x reader #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo disney+#charlie bushnell #percy jackson

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Ghost x City Girl Reader

No pair of people hated each other more than you and Ghost. To him, you were just another loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and immature little princess needing to be humbled. To you, he was just a boring, broody asshole hellbent on not liking you. Things between you two couldn't be any worse. And then, tonight happens…

NSFW 18+ Eventual Smut, Porn with Plot, Romance, Drama, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, Mentions of Alcohol, Slight Slow Burn, Hatemance, Jealousy, Bickering, Teasing, Flirting, Reader is a mean girl, Ghost is an asshole, but the chemistry's there, Slowly gets steamier as it goes, slight hints of Reader x Gaz, 'cause why not

Word Count: 4.2k

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Masterlist

A/N: Finally finished this (was super nervous to post this for some reason)! This was inspired after binge-watching a shit ton of Bad Girl's Club on Tubi. I just know Ghost and a City Girl wouldn't get along at first, but I love dynamics that look like they wouldn't work. Part two is where the smut is, but I like build-up and stuff, so I turned a one-shot smut piece into a two-parter. I hope you enjoy ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू)

"Ayy~" You rest your hands on your knees in a joyous fashion, readying yourself to start shaking your ass. "Let's get it bitch!"

Music blared on the club speakers, the crowd growing hyped as the sounds of Pink Panties from Baby Keem serenaded the drunken patrons all looking to have a good night.

That third daiquiri had caught up to you, your mind buzzing and your heart racing. The swell of the crowd dancing around you puts you in a euphoric trance. All you can comprehend is the warmth in the air, the taste of alcohol behind your teeth, and the way the beat makes your skin vibrate as you dance.

Your face expresses every bit of the drunken euphoria you were feeling, letting it bring your hands seductively down your body, pulling in any who dare come, if they're brave enough.

You and the rest of 141 came just at the perfect time; the club was just starting to get busy but it hadn't yet grown too packed. Chatter and laughter picked up and the music got better the more you drank. The vibe was just right…

…Almost.

Across from the dance floor, at the corner of the bar where he'd been standing all night, Ghost watches you dance, unamused, with dark eyes leering at you from afar.

He observes the way your hips sway to the music like it were his own, private video. All night he's been watching you, his gaze lingering just a little longer each time; though, it hadn't been any less unwelcoming.

If he watched any longer he might just excuse himself, so that he may relieve the tension that's built between you. Deep down he knew you knew that too. It's thus created a notable, stormy cloud over his head all night, one you undoubtedly took joy in seeing.

Your eyes play with him across the sea of dancing heads between you, taunting him, teasing him, and letting him know just how much better than him you thought you were. The same eyes he's grown accustomed to for a long time now.

Codename: Spice. He couldn't think of a more fitting name for such a hot-headed woman, seeing as "Bitch" wasn't acceptable. You joined the team maybe a year or so ago. Much too long for Ghost to have counted.

When Laswell initially brought you in, the entire Task Force was in an UPROAR. You'd been a well-decorated soldier, to say the least, however, what merits and awards you held almost paled in comparison to the rap sheet of complaints and discrepancies you possessed.

Fighting. Disobedience. Disorderly Conduct. Fraternization. Etcetera. Etcetera.

And as if that weren't enough, you were a complete and utter bitch as well. Especially to Ghost, who you've singled out in particular. If defending your country was your day job, then being the thorn in Ghost's side had become your newest evening hobby.

Any chance you had, you were picking on the man. Your comments teetered back and forth between being harsh and petty, and once you knew he didn't like you, you just doubled down on the behavior. And it didn't matter what approach the man took to this; he could ignore you, or he could get loud, but nothing deterred you.

It wasn't often that someone got under Ghost's skin; he always did model himself on control and discipline. With all the horrible people he's managed to meet in his lifetime (and not even being in his mid 30's yet either), naturally, it would take a lot to truly irritate the man. And by no means were you the worse person he's ever interacted with before either.

But you've always been more akin to that of a tick; any time you got a chance to get under his skin, you dug in, and you dug deep.

Ghost would applaud you for how intensive you were with your pettiness. Nearly as cold, ruthless, and calculated with that as you were with your enemies on the field. God forbid someone actually steps up to you, less they suffer a broken nose or a black eye. You were Queen B and you wanted everyone to know it.

Ghost, however, was less than interested in feeding into your silly little ego.

Even now, your eyes haven't left Ghost's since you started dancing again, time moving at a snail's pace in your gazes. Knowing that the sight of you pisses him off.

Right then, as you danced, some poor woman made an attempt at courting him as he sat alone, brooding to himself. You never were one to diss a girl's taste, you guess. Not out loud, at least.

This woman, wearing her ill-fitted skirt and tacky make-up, had been getting sloppy drunk with her friends in a corner for the last hour, eyeing Ghost from across the bar just as long. At some point, she thought it'd be a wise time to swoop in and make her move.

Ghost notices this because he's now felt a stranger's hand touch his arm. Had he not looked first to see who it was, he would have been seconds away from instinctually sending his elbow back to flex their hand from him, which would have definitely connected with the woman's face.

The woman practically jolts once she sees she's startled him, however, she attempts to cover it with a laugh. "Hi," she greets.

"Can I help you?" Ghost asks, though he couldn't sound any less interested.

"I was just over there with my friends and-"

"You should get back to them."

A state of shock whiplashes on her face before she huffs and stomps back over to her friends. Ghost didn't even watch as she left; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

You smirk at Ghost, seeing this from where you dance. The man makes it so easy to push his buttons, just look at him. He doesn't even look like he wants to be here tonight, more dressed like he was about to rob a bank than go out drinking with his mates.

Frankly, you're shocked he even showed up. Clubs seemed like the last place you'd catch him, and you were right. However, Gaz and Soap giving the lieutenant a hard time as of late finally pushed him into coming out with everyone. And of course, it had to be on the night you got to choose the spot too. You'd been sick of dive bars and small get-togethers, however, so you chose a club in a heartbeat, naysayers be damned.

"Hey Kyle~" You wave for Gaz, catching his eye in the crowd. He and Soap had both been drinking just as much as you since arriving, getting dragged off by every single woman within a five-foot radius of them.

You lost Soap fifteen minutes ago, and here Gaz was now, having been able to finally rid himself of his unwanted groupies. Good thing too; you need someone to dance on, and you wanted to give your lieutenant a show.

Gaz has already grooved his way over to you the second your eyes invited him over. Lord knows he's wanted a piece since you arrived, though you saved the real promiscuity for men outside your workplace; less messy that way. You'll gladly have them chase you though.

Once in reach, you bring your arms to his shoulders and wrap them loosely around his neck, smelling the Gin and Tonic on his breath and the citrus scent of his cologne, though it's since been mixed with an array of other colognes and perfumes. His hands find your sides, settling into your hips, with drunken smiles growing between you the more comfortable you grew.

What were once innocent brushes of the legs and hip twirling, soon devolves into something a little less PG. Before long you've both found your rhythm, swaying your hips along to the music and moving together as one unit.

You whip your body around, grinding your ass against Gaz, pressing yourself back roughly against him. You make sure he can hear you laugh at him after you've heard the little gasp he let out too. However, you can play with more than one person at a time, and the Sergeant hadn't been the only one you were playing with at the moment.

The whole time, you've kept your eyes locked on the lieutenant's from across the floor, a devilish smile forming. Had Soap not bumped into Ghost suddenly, who's to say how long Ghost would have spent watching you, his bourbon held sternly in his gloved hand.

"Ghost!" Soap bellows out, cheeks a rosy pink from his drink, and lips painted in a large grin. The man had certainly been attempting to give you a run for your money in terms of enjoying himself tonight. The smeared lipstick stains near the base of his neck only said as much. Both men and women tonight had been swooning over his accent and muscles since he stepped foot in the building. Ghost had already written the man off for the night altogether.

"Still standin' 'ere all by yer lonesome, L.T.?"

"Been the best seat in the house," Ghost says dryly.

Soap follows Ghost's gaze, until he's found you on the dance floor with your eyes closed and your head cocked back, Gaz's head buried in the crook of your neck. Immediately, he knows what's going on, having seen this before.

"Tsk. Tsk. What a she-devil," Soap shakes his head. "Poor lad."

"Should know better by now," Ghost comments. "Girls like that love bein' teases."

Oh, Soap knows already; he learned that the hard way the last time you all went out drinking and you sent him home with the deepest set of blue balls he's ever felt in his life. "Aye," he sighs.

"I've no idea what you lot see in 'er," Ghost says.

"Eh, she's not so bad once you get to know her," Soap shrugs. "You two are a lot more alike than you think."

"I doubt that," Ghost turned back around at the bar, settling in his seat and placing his drink back on the counter. Soap had been ready to join him, however, some tiny woman that's been attached to his hip all night returned (who also conveniently wore the same shade of lipstick as what was smeared on his neck), pulling his attention away. Before long, the lieutenant was alone once more.

You two are a lot more alike than you think.

Now that's a joke. Ghost can't imagine you've gone through even half of what he's been through. Still, it wasn't like you two have ever actually sat down and talked to one another before. It seems nigh impossible to.

Though it wasn't for a lack of trying on your end.

The presence of another human at Ghost's side brings his eyes drearily over, until they've begrudgingly fallen onto you. It seems you grew bored of dancing, and now decided to take your teasing to the source itself.

"Enjoy the show?" you ask him teasingly, knowing you'll most likely not receive a reply, which you don't. Ghost doesn't even fully face you, keeping his eyes pointed ahead of himself at the bar. He hadn't been looking to talk, and it's not like his reply would change anything you had to say. You did invite yourself over.

"You know, Manchester," You lean against the bar, looking up at the man, just close enough to hear him over the club music and smell the cologne and cigarette smoke on him. "Instead of starin' like a creep, why don't you actually take that stick out your ass and come dance."

Now you're just taking the piss. Ghost finally gives you a look, though he wishes he hadn't. Up close, he's seeing this skimpy little, lowcut tight dress you've got on, with your fishnet stockings and heels. The black choker around your neck was simple, and just begging for someone to tug it off you, and the lipgloss you wore looked like it tasted sweet on your tongue.

Years of training and experience are everything it takes to keep his eyes from dropping any lower than your collarbone. Just in his peripherals, Ghost can see how bouncy and voluptuous they sat in your dress.

You got this cocky look on your face now. "I'll dance with you."

Ghost scoffs. "Not a chance."

"Aw, I get it," you say sarcastically. "I wouldn't want to embarrass myself out there either."

"This place can only handle so much of that with you already out there."

This conversation felt as old as time between you two. If it wasn't you being catty and mean, then it was Ghost being aloof and guarded. While you knew he had been implying your little performance on the dance floor earlier, you were as quick with your tongue as your lieutenant.

And you can't lie, you'd been itching for some good banter all night. You'll take it from anyone, even from the likes of Ghost.

"Please," you laugh. "As if your big ass could actually move out there. I bet you can't even do the two-step."

"I'm sure you'd wanna know," Ghost says.

You reach over, and by your own boundless curiosity, take his drink, inviting yourself to a sip. The bourbon burns your throat as you swallow, your nose scrunching. You smile as you see Ghost's gaze razor focus on your lips pressing to the cool glass of his drink, taking a small sip and letting your tongue chase its remnants over your bottom lip. It's just the way he does so, so unabashedly, that you can't help but giggle at.

"I already know everything I need to, honey."

Ghost turns his body to fully face you now, his massive height over you only now becoming apparent by the shadow it casts. It's intimidated most of the women at the club tonight, whenever Ghost wouldn't just do it himself. No such thing went on with you, however.

He's been sitting here by himself all night, and as much as he could list a plethora of others he'd prefer to be standing here with at the moment, he had you. If you'd use him for your own uncaring amusement, then he'll do the same, since you want to bring that side out of him so badly.

"And what's that?" he asks.

"That you're boring as fuck and have a stick up your ass," you say bluntly. Of course, Ghost didn't expect any less from you. You do this sober, just with less pep to your speech, unlike now. "Though I'm sure you're already aware of that."

"How original," Ghost says dryly. "It take you long to think that one up?"

"I only tell it like I see it."

"Wha' then," Ghost's gaze turns stone cold, doing all it can not to give you a way in. "Gaz wasn't enough? Now you've come to make yourself easy pickin's for the next sorry lad lookin' for an easy lay?"

"Ooo, feisty." You lean in now, resting your hand on the bar counter so you could prop yourself up, giving yourself what little height you can against your unmoving opponent.

"I wouldn't fuck you if you paid me," you say.

"I wouldn't fuck you for charity."

"I wouldn't fuck you if my life depended on it," you shoot back. "As if you could even handle me, Manchester."

"What's there to handle?" he taunts. "You're nothin' but talk. You bark like a bitch and puff your chest, but it's all show. Just a way to make yourself feel big. No surprise you make yourself the local slag; any lad with some sense surely wouldn't bother."

Oh, that comment strikes a nerve; you feel your eyebrow twitch and your blood begin to simmer the second he closes his stupid, British mouth.

"Who're you callin' a bitch and a slag?" You step up now like there's a problem now. "How about you come back with some new material when you can actually talk to me without that little safety blanket on your face, Manchester. It's easy to talk shit when you've got something to hide behind. And you call me unoriginal."

You take his drink and pour it out on the counter now, watching it spill over the surface and drip onto the floor. When you meet his gaze again, if looks could kill, you'd both be dead. You just wasted a good cup of fucking bourbon.

"Do somethin' about it," you taunt him.

He steps forward, and for a small second, you think the man might actually do something. However, it had merely been an intimidation tactic, a warning. He stops just a few inches shy of you, keeping his strong arms crossed over his chest.

Ghost would love to, oh, believe him. It's taking all of him not to say something really foul to you and truly ruin the whole night for everyone. And you don't stop at the drink either.

You step even closer now, keeping your head cocked back and your eyes on him. You're close enough now to feel the body heat bouncing off from him, vibrating the more irritated he grew.

"Do something," you say again. "You just gonna let some slag pour your drink out like that?"

You raise your hand up as though you're about to smack him, and that's what finally gets him to move. Ghost catches your tiny wrist in his hand, his grip tight as he holds you there.

"What the fuck-" You grimace at first, your fight-or-flight instincts telling you to try and tug your hand out of his grip and use your other to sock him straight. However, something differently entirely occurs in you suddenly.

You take a moment to really feel his hand on your wrist, how the slightest adjustment of his thumb made a chill trickle up your arm, and that he was the closest he's ever stood next to you outside of work. The man might irritate you, and he was an asshole, but Goddamn did he have an inviting pair of hands and some magnetic eyes on him. Eyes that seemed just as curious to outline all the makings of your figure.

You kind of liked it.

He must like it too, judging from how he hasn't made any attempts at letting go. But there had been a million different things running through his mind right now, all of which made him question himself.

He thought about all the ways he could overpower you right now; you gab on like you're big, and there were so many times he's just wanted to remind you of your size. Small enough to be bound and at his mercy if he so pleased. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but the thought sounded intriguing.

Your arm settles in his strong grip, your eyelids lowering as you look his masked face up and down, trying to observe his dark eyes in the dim lights. They look to you, trying to guess your next move, though even you couldn't be sure.

You take your other hand and you place it on his chest, just to see if you can. All this time you've known him, you've never actually done so before. You feel your fingers rest against him, and even beneath the fabric of his hoodie, you feel his heart racing.

The club music finally dies down, preparing to switch to its next song. With maybe just a few inches of space between you, it feels as though it's only the two of you in this entire room at this moment.

But just then, you're interrupted. Soap wasn't too far away and must have started picking up on the vibe's shifting, because he couldn't cut between the two of you fast enough.

"Alright," he steps between you two, a drunken smile still on his face. "That'll do you two."

His presence does little to take your eyes off each other, merely looking through the Sergeant, still trying to see if either one of you would say something else. As expected, it's you who does first.

"We were just about to dance," you look over at Ghost with a playful smile. "Isn't that right, Manchester?"

Ghost looks down at you. He almost wants to say no. However, he found himself curious suddenly to see where you might take things. He hadn't felt quite done with you yet, himself.

"That's right."

Soap looks flabbergasted by this. "Yer gonna dance, L.T.?"

"We'll try not to make too much of a scene," you tease.

You take hold of Ghost's hand, feeling his grip tense in your grasp, as you pulled him out onto the dance floor. Woman by Doja Cat just started and you were ready to rock this man's world.

Even with everything going on around, heads turn as you both pass by, noticing the tall, masked figure making his way onto the dance floor with this overly enthusiastic party girl who looks nothing like his type.

You find a spot just on the edge of the crowd, where the lights were low and your team could not see you. Once there, you watch Ghost stand awkwardly, waiting for you to start moving first. It's not like you needed him to do much anyway.

You ease into your dance, beginning with light footwork and hip twirling, letting the music guide its rhythm through your legs. Ghost did an odd shuffle to start, not doing much beyond moving his feet. Once he grew more comfortable, however, you learned that he could in fact do the two-step... If you sucked all the atmosphere out of it at least.

The music picks up, and you bring your hands up to his muscular shoulders, gently resting them there similarly to how you did with Gaz earlier. Only unlike the Sergeant, Ghost seemed reluctant to fully give in to your charms. He wouldn't even bring himself to touch you, just letting you use him like a pole.

You bring your head in close, shouting over the music so that he can hear you, "You're an asshole, you know."

Ghost rolls his eyes. "You're a bitch."

Growing impatient, you boldly take his hands and place them on your hips for him, feeling your skin tingle as his fingers settle against your hipbones. The hesitancy subsides once you start guiding him along with you slowly, easing him into the high tempo of the music.

"And proud of it."

You turn around and press yourself to the lieutenant, feeling your ass brush against his jeans and the grunt that leaves his chest. All he's left with now is the smell of the shampoo you'd used in your hair and the shape of your bottom against his groin. You tell him, "I'm not here to impress you."

He leans in, until you've felt his masked lips brush against the shell of your ear. His voice all but rumbles through you, "And I'm not here to entertain you."

"Aren't you?" You bend over, bringing your hands to your ankles and seductively sliding them back up your legs, and making sure each time you made your ass shake that he could feel it even through his jeans. You'd give anything to see his face right now. "Say what you want," you tease. "I don't give a fuck."

This time he doesn't shy away from letting his hands slide alongside you, stopping just at your waist so that you can still move yourself freely against him. "Yeah, you do," he all but says in a seductive growl. "Why else are we here now?"

You tilt your head back and look up to find Ghost's eyes leering down at you, half-lidded. You watch him slowly start to lose himself, his mind chasing after that brief feeling of arousal you shot through him each time you pressed yourself to him.

"I don't know," you take hold of Ghost's hands again, only this time when you rest them back at your hips, you keep your hands there, holding them. "But it takes two to dance, Manchester."

"Let's dance then."

Once the words subsided, and the club music drowned out any and everything else on the dance floor, the only thing that could be felt was the ecstasy of Ghost's body pressed so close to yours. His large hands explore your small form smoothly, letting you slide your own hands up his arms, feeling his warmth of him. He molds into your movements easily, eyes never leaving yours, with battered breaths shared between you.

Your hands stretch above your head as your bottom hugs your black little dress tightly. The fabric stretches each time you drop your ass to give it another spin, lights bouncing off you both in a mesh of glittery purples and dark blues.

Every time they do you've felt you've seen a new side of Ghost. A side of him that felt hungry for something no good for him. Though he would be in good company; there wasn't a good man left in him to spare if you kept on him like you have been all night, both in body and tongue.

Had the song not come to an end, who's to say what parts of him you would have ground on next, or what parts of your body his hands would find themselves rhythmically groping.

You turn to the lieutenant, out of breath as he is. Of course, you had been moving your body much more than he. You suppose he can save that energy for later.

"You've got any smokes on you?" you ask him, though you both know where questions like that'll get you.

"Left 'em in my car."

"Why don't you give me one?"

Part Two

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #mw2022 #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #ghost #Spotify

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strawbeerossi · 11 months

Text

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Navigation || Request a fic || Taglist

One Shots

A Secret Girlfriend (Spencer’s Version) || Fluff

Just Know, I Love You || Fluff

This Is Me Trying || Fluff, Angst, Smut

If You Leave Me || Fluff, Angst

Stars Align || Fluff

Vilomah: Bereaved Parents || Angst

Jealousy || Smut

Scars || Fluff

A Shoulder To Cry On || Fluff, Angst

Nights Like These || Fluff, Angst, Smut

Friends Like You || Fluff

Only Friends || Fluff

Taking Calls || Smut

Two Parters

Chasing Rainbows + Here Comes The Sun || Fluff, Angst

The Party Trick + Practice Makes Perfect || Smut

Series

Fiction Masterlist || Fluff, Angst, Thriller

‘Less’ Trilogy One + Two + Three || Angst, Thriller

Strawbeerossi Kinktober 2023 || Pure Smut

One Shots

See It In Your Eyes || Fluff

One Shots

Warmth || Fluff

Series

Daydreaming One + Two + Three || Fluff

One Shots

One Margarita || Fluff

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fandom #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fandom #derek morgan #luke alvez #luke alvez fic #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fic #strawbeerossi masterlist #strawbeerossi speak now (tv) series #strawbeerossi fiction series

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luvyeni · 1 year

Note

Hey! New to your blog but it looks wonderful and your work is addictive. Can I request a Taehyun smut where he’s a hard dom and calls you a stupid slut, dumb whore, etc. I just love the idea of Taehyun being turned on by fucking his less intelligent partner (since he’s a savant lmao) and degrading them while he absolutely ruins the reader. Like if he were to mock them and ask “you probably don’t even know what xyz is huh?” Thank you so much!

STUDY; KANG TAEHYUN

pairings. meandom!taehyun x fem!reader

wc. 0.8k

warnings. rough sex , heavy degradation, face fucking, facial, heavy name calling, hair pulling, unprotected sex, breeding kink, crying kink,

taehyun with parter who is less intelligent than he is *chefs kiss*

studying with taehyun turns a different way when you don't let him do what he needs to do.

—

"baby , you told me we were gonna study , this isn't studying." he sighed annoyed as he moved your hand from his sweats for the nth time that night. "baby let me study for this exam." you whined. "but im needy."

"you should be studying too if you want to graduate university,you know it's not easy for you to do these exams." you pouted. "i don't understand this." he sighed again. "baby i just went over it with you, twice, let me show you once more." he reached for the paper , but you grabbed it. "i don't want to." you threw the paper to the ground. "baby." he warned , but you picked up another paper , throwing it to the floor again.

he slammed the pencil down , turning to you— the look in his made you shiver. "you can't help it, can you?" he scoffed. "fucking dumb whore." he slid his chair back , standing up so he was hovering above you.

"t..tae- shut up." he roughly grabbed your jaw. "i know there's nothing up there in that fucking head of yours and you only think with your cunt, but i need to study and i can't do that when you're trying to jerk me off." he gripped your jaw , you whined , loving the pain and pleasure ,you couldn't help but squeeze your thighs together.

"slut, you're getting off on this." gripped your hair , holding it , using his other hand to pull his cock out through his sweats. "come on , i know you know what to do with this , it's the only thing your good at." he slapped his hard cock against your lips.

"open your fucking mouth." he groaned pushing his cock in. "s...shit , sit there and take my cock like whore i know you are." he began to roughly fuck your face , occasionally holding it against his pubic bone , you gagged around him , tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"look at you -shit- letting me use your throat like this , n..not a fucking thought in that brain of yours , only my cock, isn't that right?" he moved your head in a yes motion , you hummed around his cock.

"g..gonna -fuck- gonna cum all over your face." he held your head down once , twice , three times, before he pulled out , cum shooting from his cock landing on your face , as you cough , tears finally falling down your face.

"look at you , you look so braindead, faced covered in my cum." he let your hair go , sitting back in his seat. "come sit on my cock, face the desk." you shakily got out of your seat , slowly sitting down , his cock stretching you out. "f..fuck tae!" you moaned , trying to move , but he slapped your thighs. "did i say move? pick up the paper." you were confused.

"h..huh?" he let out a tsk , picking up the paper in front of you. "i forgot you lose the little thoughts you have left when my cock is inside you." he degrading words made you clench around him. "read the paper."

"come on baby, i wanna see you read it, if you can read it and tell me what it means, then i'll fuck you." you whined trying to move , he yanked your hair. "don't fucking dare , read it." he sat back, watching you.

"come on baby , used that brain of yours." you could care less about this stupid paper , you were covered in sweat and taehyun's cum , and you just wanted to cum too. "i...i can't." you sniffled , tears falling down your face.

"of course you can't" he bucked up into you. "only thing on your mind is my cock right?" he smirked when you nodded. "y..yess." he pulled you up , so that you were hovering over his cock, slamming you back down. "fuck, tae!" you screamed as he fucked you roughly in the seat , his cock slamming against your sweat spot repeatedly.

"good slut- s...shit - maybe you should drop out, stay here , ready for me to use whenever i want." you clenched at his words. "would you like that? to drop out and be used as my cocksleeve." he stopped thrusting , standing you both up , pushing your body against the desk , fucking into you again, the new angle had you seeing stars.

"can't read the paper , but can take cock like a champ." you felt the coil in your stomach tightening. "i can feel you about to cum, go a head and cum , so i cum in you like a good cumdump." he growled in your ear.

"t..tae , shit , im cumming!" your legs shook as you came, your legs giving up, he was basically holding you up as he plowed into you a few more times, painting your walls white. "shit! that's a good cumsleeve."

he sat down in the seat, pulling your spent body back on his cock, you whined in overstimulation. "t..tae, s..sensitive." he shrugged , he pulled out another text book.

"you're gonna sit here like a good cocksleeve and cockwarm me while i study."

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #txt x reader #txt hard hours #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt headcanons #txt imagines #txt scenarios #taehyun hard hours #taehyun hard thoughts #taehyun smut #taehyun fic #taehyun x reader #taehyun imagines #taehyun scenarios

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britcision · 2 months

Text

AND HERE WE ARE! Totally getting this out in February well done team! And this is gonna be our last chapter before a wee teeny tiny time skip and Jason’s finished core! What a beautiful day 🥰

We’re getting another two-parter too, because Danny and Jason refused to let me get to the end of this lil introductory arc without at least one more pile of abject fluff! But finally, we’re ready to begin the plot!

Once again, the link to the AO3 version is in the first chapter and the 15th chapter; you can see it in the text for the link if you wanna subscribe to be told when it updates 😁

First Chapter:

Previous Chapter:

——————

So That Just Happened part 1

Back in her own room on the other side of the country from Gotham, Sam Manson reclined back into giant, coffin shaped body pillow her beloved girlfriend had given her when they moved and contemplated her phone.

The brand new Wayne-chat was blowing up satisfactorily, although apparently Tim was a massive stalker too. That was probably a good thing; it meant she hadn’t actually nuked Tuck’s chances with his nerd-crush. Now they could bond over their mutual stalker tendencies.

But, did that make her revenge less effective?

It wasn’t like she was actually out to ruin his life, but she’d kinda like to leave a mark. Something that would make him think twice about letting her think he and Danny had fucking died in Gotham in her absence.

Or. Well. Gone radio silent in Gotham, which was probably actually worse because if they were dead she’d know exactly where they were.

The Wayne chat were all pretty sure Tim and Tucker were together too, and Sam’s new best friend Babs had even pulled up the feed from their living room tv somehow. Sam wasn’t exactly the tech wizard Tucker was, but… after seeing that, she disconnected her and Val’s TV from the wifi.

And settled in to remote watch Tuck get his ass kicked at Spiderheck, apparently. At least for a little while; until something else on her phone caught her attention.

It was… almost funny. While she knew she was a whole three timezones away, she’d never really felt left out before. Like maybe she should have stayed on the east coast…

Not that she regretted it, of course. She had a good job, a good school, a wonderful girlfriend who’d been so excited to get into a good school and really go to town on the business department.

(Apparently there were posters of Val’s face in the ethics classrooms. Sam refused to ask if they were golden example or dire warning.)

She was just… a long way away. Even a long portal away, and… being back with the guys, even in Gotham, made the quiet of their comfy little apartment seem lonely.

Huffing, she turned and traced her fingers through the leaves of her mimosa plant on the windowsill beside the bed. They curled gently shut at her touch, and made her smile. Just like always.

She was happy to be home. She wasn’t technically liminal enough yet that it was her haunt, but… well, for all the jokes Val made, Sam had to admit she’d put down roots. She loved her job at the greenhouses, and her internship at the botanical gardens.

She loved scaring the hell out of the dudebros in Val’s business classes who thought ethics were a waste of time. She loved sharing messages with Jazz about the boys, laughing that even three hours ahead, Tuck and Danny still couldn’t get up before them.

She was kinda considering texting Harley about Timblr too. Not like, for any particular reason; if Tim’s family weren’t gonna embarrass Tucker enough, Harley probably wouldn’t either. She’d probably think it was adorable.

Or, y’know, worrying evidence of obsession. Psych types worried about stuff like that, usually.

Sam was kinda also considering sending Harley Jazz’s number. Jazz might still be skating just on the neurosurgery side of the line, but she’d always been big into psychology. Big enough to try and triple major, and only drop to major-major-minor after the third pre-exam meltdown.

And she could use having someone else do the shrink bit on her a little more often. Although really, for that Sam should make her a professional appointment; friends didn’t ask friends to psychoanalyze their overprotective pseudo-sisters. And Jazz could use more friends.

Jazz could use a transfer to a specialty that would let her sleep once in a while, a more stable supply of fresh ecto, and about six weeks in a meditation retreat to get the accidental telepathy under control, but more friends would be good too. And less stubborn insistence on her second try for double majors.

Maybe the switch to psychiatry full time would be good for her? Or psychology. Sam was a little fuzzy on the difference, which one Jazz was currently still minoring in, and which one Harley did.

(Jazz’s current second major was neurosurgery, which Jazz insisted was totally less taxing alongside a neurology major because it was the same body part. She was the only person in her class attempting the double major though, so.)

Humming tunelessly to herself, Sam flicked back into the group chat. Babs was still sharing the feed… brows drawing in, Sam frowned at the little spider figures still fighting to the death. Now, she wasn’t as big of a gamer as she used to be, but she was pretty sure Spiderheck didn’t actually offer red berets.

Snorting a laugh, she flicked back out of the chat and opened a new one, adding both Jazz and Harley. All it needed was the perfect name… something that would grab both of their attention.

Obvious. Child’s play.

Snuggling back into her coffin pillow, Sam grinned down at her phone screen.

Danny Has A Boyfriend chat was live.

Having eight legs wasn’t exactly the same as suddenly having four new ones, or two new legs and two new arms. While the first two were definitely functioning as “hands”, being the ones to pick up and use all of the weapons, Tim had quickly learned that he could grip with any of the eight “feet” that were available.

Yeah, spinning a laser staff all the way down one side of his body and up the other was fucking cool.

He’d adjusted pretty quickly during their “practice” round, while they all got used to the web slinging and worked out how to open the boxes and use the weapons.

(Tucker had swung himself into the lava by accident, so they’d started a second round.)

Tim felt pretty much ready to go, although if he was honest with himself… his only actual complaint was that he didn’t have a camera.

Conner had asked Tuck at the start of their second round if his powers had been nerfed to make it “fair”. Tucker, sweet innocent Tucker, had managed to convey a sidelong look even looking at even without a face on their little blob bodies and said he didn’t think Conner needed a nerf.

He just needed to understand how the powers worked, and they could be incorporated into the system. Which, well, was like catnip for Conner.

At least Tucker seemed a lot less flustered about talking to him while they were both spiders, because Conner had started talking his ear off about TTK and hadn’t stopped since.

Tim was kinda considering swinging over and taking them both out, just to get the game moving. But Conner was cute when he got really into something, and being a headless little spider body did not seem to have changed that.

He spent the time practicing with the webs instead, spinning and tossing himself around the map. It was pretty similar to using a grapple, although he wasn’t exactly sure whether or not the web was coming from his own body.

If it was, it was coming from inside a foot, which wasn’t how actual spiders worked… but Tim was pretty sure that was on Spiderheck, not Tucker.

Being able to run around upside down was the biggest change for him, and pretty cool. Tim scuttled around under a couple of the higher platforms for a while, planning his strategy.

Honestly, he was pretty sure TTK was going to wind up fucking Conner over rather than making anything easier for him. You’d think that flying would be an advantage in Spiderheck, at least as far as avoiding lava or an out of bounds, but Tim knew pretty explicitly how far it took Conner to stop.

It wasn’t exactly on a dime, and in this game? The pace didn’t exactly allow for imprecision.

And they were wasting time talking about it rather than getting used to having an extra six hand-feet.

Still upside down, Tim twisted until he could see the other two spiders. Which was when he learned that… they did kinda have their faces on them. Just, instead of being in a face position, on the front of his body that he was seeing out of, it was just sorta… plastered across the body.

Like a photo skin mapped onto a flat blob.

He considered letting the other two know; if anyone walked into the room, they’d probably be able to see their little faces on the screen. If they were just standing around talking.

Also, the pictures’ mouths weren’t moving, which hadn’t been weird when Tim was listening to them talk and didn’t think they had mouths. Kinda was to look down on Conner’s smiling face and hear his voice at a mile a minute.

Tucker probably already knew, and might have done the faces on purpose? And if he hadn’t, it was gonna be pretty funny to see what happened when he noticed.

He’d gotten progressively better at actually talking to Conner the longer he wasn’t actually looking at him, and the focus being on the game had helped too. Face in the game? Probably gonna throw him again.

And it was probably time to get things actually moving, so he could enjoy that.

Humming softly to himself, Tim scuttled across to the loot crates, found himself a double ended lightsabre, and dropped down on Tucker and Conner’s heads.

“Sooooooo…” Danny clapped his hands, doing his best to make his broad grin at least look a little innocent as he floated sideways into Jason’s field of view, “not that that wasn’t adorable and dramatic and everything, super touching, buuuut…?”

He almost laughed as Jason jumped, having apparently forgotten Danny was there for a hot second, then pulled his hand back from Lady Gotham’s to glare at him. The Lady herself didn’t bother hiding her chuckle, settling back to recline once more on a cloud of smog.

“Was there something you needed, Phantom?” She asked with a dry amusement.

Danny shrugged innocently, sticking his hands in his spectral pockets. Much more dangerous than regular pockets, but he’d not been doing more than blob wrangling lately.

“Not so much what I need, just, y’know, trying to keep things on track. I dunno if you’ve got other plans for the night Jay, but we were with Frostbite for a while and if you did…” he trailed off, and Jason grimaced.

“Not what you’d call set plans, but…” Jason trailed off as well, and Danny could feel the guilt even before it tried creeping in.

Nope, not having that. He’d almost talked himself into that bullshit already tonight, none for Jason. He nodded airily, floating up to drape an arm over the larger man’s shoulder.

“All I’ve gotta do is get to bed before midnight, so I’m not rushing now that Tucker’s found himself a new ride.” Waggled eyebrows punctuated that comment with enough emphasis that Jason snickered, darker feelings pushed aside without finding purchase.

“What, you don’t wanna go watch that train wreck in person?” Jason teased with a lopsided half smile.

Danny pulled a face, both at the thought of Tucker’s goddamn disastrous attempts at flirting and… well, the possibility of running into Bruce again. Maybe Constantine.

Danny was maaaaaybe kinda avoiding the wizard since he’d started collecting the other contracts on his soul; it wasn’t like he wanted them for nefarious purposes, it was just fucking weird. He didn’t like owning people. Not even overgrown Sour Patch Kids in trench coats.

(At least Constantine was still alive though. Those unlucky souls who died still bound to Pariah damn near went through a full reboot. No memories, no personality, none of what Danny would have thought of as like, the core components of a soul.

So far nothing anyone had done had been able to help them, and Danny had a nasty feeling the final answer would be Ending them. The Observants didn’t want to, they were perfectly happy with a thrall army so long as they controlled it, but Danny was firm.

No slaves, no thralls. If the only way he could free them was through a final and permanent death… he would.

But Clockwork was still looking, and so long as the ancient of time thought there might be a way… Danny held out hope too.)

For now, he shook his head quickly, holding up both hands.

“No way man. Bruce already hates my guts, I’m gonna keep a healthy distance.”

For both their sakes, really. Jason’s mood every time Bruce had spoken to him today kinda proved he hadn’t listened to Danny’s advice and stepped up. Not that Danny had exactly expected him to; again, hated his guts.

Jason pulled a face but didn’t bother to argue; he’d probably rather not actually deal with the old man for a third time either. Instead he just shrugged, turning his attention back to Lady Gotham.

“Do you know what time it is in Gotham now, my lady?” He asked, and the really weird thing was that it didn’t actually sound weird.

Danny always felt awkward and formal whenever he tried to address a ghost by their title, and Lady Gotham was the very worst because she never bothered to hide when she was laughing at him. Which was, y’know, every time he said it.

(He wasn’t gonna just call her “Gotham” though. That would be worse, so he just sucked it up.)

On Jason’s lips, words like “my lady” just sounded right. Danny flashed back for a moment to snow in a graveyard, and Jason knelt before him quoting Shakespeare. There was something in Jason that was just made for flowery language and dramatic proclamations.

Lady Gotham clearly agreed, bestowing a fond smile upon Jason before inclining her head back for a moment, those red on black eyes glowing suddenly brighter. Looking into the living world, or right up Clockwork’s ass?

“It’s coming to ten o’clock,” she said softly, something almost like regret in her tone. The smile that she turned back to them was softer, sadder.

Danny’d feel bad about being the one to point it out, except, yeah. He’d had to. Ghosts in general didn’t exactly think about time. It was a problem for the living, so - him. And Jason.

Who didn’t seem nearly so sorry with the answer. He nodded, fingers beginning to drum against his thigh.

“Time for a few more questions, then.” That wasn’t a question, and if Danny was completely insensate or possibly locked in a sensory deprivation tank he might have warned Jason about talking to a powerful spirit like that.

It’d need to be a damn good tank for him to miss all the signs though; Jason was so in the good books. Lady Gotham just smiled and nodded, gesturing once more with her traffic cone.

“Of course. And, of course, we will have plenty of other opportunities to speak. I may spend much of my time here, but now that we have been introduced… I can also speak to you there, if you would like?”

It was a delicate question, and Danny hesitated, suddenly wondering if he should… well, elaborate again.

“Uh… yeah, sure? I’d like that?” Jason asked, clearly confused by the reticence, and that made up Danny’s mind.

“She’s not going to sound the same,” he explained quickly, giving Lady Gotham a quick smile. She smiled back, gesturing for him to continue, because none of the damn older ghosts explained shit for themselves.

Danny totally didn’t roll his eyes.

“Like, the way we talk to her in the Infinite Realms is kinda the abstract? She looks kinda human,” he added, gesturing vaguely at the Lady.

Jason’s brows furrowed for a moment, but he felt more curious than concerned.

“So… she’s an anthropomorphic personification, but not in the living world?” He asked, and Danny’s eyes nearly crossed.

He turned to Lady Gotham, hoping that this might be some weird city slang, and she laughed at him. Again.

“Yes,” she agreed with Jason instead, which absolutely did not help. “It’s easier for me to speak with you here, using eyes and ears like your own. But building and maintaining this shape in the living world is… complicated.”

“Because her real body there is the city,” Danny added, privately resolving to ask Sam what the fuck Jason was talking about later.

Honestly, Jason would probably get along real good with Mr Lancer. They both liked weird words.

At least he actually looked a little confused too now; Danny had freaked the first time Lady Gotham talked to him out in the city itself. He gave Jason a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“You’ve gotta see it to believe it, man. Just… it’s gonna be weird.” Not the most helpful, sure, but Danny was doing his best!

Jason nodded slowly, willing to table it for now, and refocused on Lady Gotham, something darker now welling in the purpose building inside him.

“So you said the Joker wasn’t from the Curse,” he said bluntly. Danny flinched, more from the lack of any aura inflection than the remnants he could feel.

Yeah, a lotta Gothamites hated the Joker specifically, but if Danny had even the faintest doubt of who’d killed Jason… the black, leaden lump of Death in Jason’s aura wiped it out.

Lady Gotham stilled too, her own smile fading as she regarded Jason. Those red and black eyes were suddenly so much older, so much sadder.

“Yes,” she agreed softly, lowering her traffic cone to rest at her hip. “Are you sure?”

‘Are you sure you want to know?’

Or ‘Are you sure you want to know now?’

Danny wouldn’t put money on which she’d intended, but it didn’t take a genius to know the answer to both. Stubborn, emotionally repressed, and self destructive as hell, bat-training only left one answer.

Jason nodded firmly now, his jaw clenching.

“Yes.”

Lady Gotham studied him for a moment longer but didn’t argue, inclining her head gently.

“Then I will be brief. While the Curse has always been part of the city, feeding on fear and despair, in recent years we have both felt… something else. I told you of the malevolence on the land?” She asked, and Jason made a soft, impatient noise.

“And that it’s where the Curse comes from, yeah. And that the Joker is different,” he prodded.

Danny made a face. He was usually very much on the side of blunt answers, and knew full well that the Lady wouldn’t actually like, break Jason for being mouthy. He was very, very used to seeing favouritism from the outside, and Jason was clearly a firm favourite.

Maybe because he was currently Gotham’s only actual part ghost child? (To be fair, Danny didn’t think that’d change much in the fullness of time; Jason was his favourite of all the bats alive or dead.)

Whatever it was, his interruption only brought a flicker of a smile to the Lady’s lips, which vanished just as quickly.

“Yes. The Curse is indeed the original manifestation of that malevolence, given form and now, purpose. But even that malevolence came from somewhere; Gotham lies on a crack between worlds, older than time. Every world in the multiverse exist along certain markers; certain weak spots. Gotham is one of them.”

“Of course it is,” Jason grumbled beside him and Danny shifted closer, brushing their shoulders together.

Personally, he figured that if Gotham was a weak point in the universe and all the bad shit just leaked through, they were probably doing pretty well for themselves. Then, he’d seen the depths of the Ghost Zone; he knew what else could be trying to leak through.

Which, obviously, meant the good luck had to end.

“When the Joker died,” Lady Gotham continued, only to be cut off by a startled “What?!” from Jason and a totally-super-dignified squawk from Danny.

“You are not gonna tell me that asshole’s a ghost!” Danny moaned, dragging his hands down his face. Honestly, if he’d missed a whole actual ghost in the city for an entire year too, he was never going to live it down.

Like any of the other ghosts had any fucking clue what it was like being half alive… or living fully inside a city spirit’s haunt. Let them visit Lady Gotham’s and see what they sensed.

“Who the hell killed the Joker?!” Jason demanded, something weirdly like panic spiking through anger. “It wasn’t fucking Bruce-”

Lady Gotham silenced them both with a pointed look, shadows growing suddenly long and dark under her stare. Then she returned her gaze to Jason, her expression sombre.

“The Joker is not a ghost, nor a halfa. Bruce Wayne resuscitated him, which may be all that kept him from becoming a manifestation himself; he was killed not only in Gotham, but by a nexus point, in rage and revenge and hatred.”

There was something dark in Lady Gotham’s eyes now, something black and burning and for half a second Danny could swear he felt that rage himself, deep in his chest.

“Something else leaked through in the short time that he was dead,” she went on, her gaze firmly locked on Jason’s and Danny couldn’t imagine just how much the older-younger halfa was feeling under its full force. “Something small, and hungry, and craving death because it was denied his - the death I believe would give it shape.”

It wasn’t enough for Jason, that much was obvious; bitterness-frustration-grief hung in the air in a cloud almost thicker than the Lady’s smogs, and this time Danny gave in to temptation.

Let his own soothing-sorrow-loss twine through, even if he didn’t exactly understand the cause of the feeling. Jason startled a little, knocked from grumbling something that hadn’t been for anyone but him, but his hand reached back for Danny’s. Squeezed tight, even as the bitterness deepened.

His eyes narrowed, he remained focused on Lady Gotham though.

“Of course. Of course he fucking brought the clown back, even after someone did the world a fucking favour,” he hissed through his teeth, then raised his voice more clearly. “So, what? No one can ever kill the Joker, or Gotham gets another curse? Who’d fucking notice at this point?”

A genuine sorrow and pain passed across Lady Gotham’s face but she schooled it, kept her own aura calm and composed… or at least in closer than they could feel. There was probably a reason she’d put space between them again.

“Not quite, but close,” she agreed softly, those red bat eyes somehow more gentle even against the black pupil. “This other entity is already here, growing each day. Every violent death in Gotham is being consumed by it, which I will admit has strengthened the truce between the Curse and myself. Neither of us wish to feed it any more than necessary.”

Danny’s brows furrowed at that and he tried to think back to everything that Frostbite had ever told him about spirits. Not the dead-people kind, but the Neverborn; entities, concepts, ideas given form. Like time, and cities.

“So… when did the Joker die?” He asked cautiously, and felt surprise jolt through Jason. Lady Gotham gave him a quick glance, and cocked her head at Jason himself.

“Not so long after Jason did. A matter of months, less than a year, though he was dead less than a few minutes.” There was something in her tone, a weight on the words that made Danny think he was on the right track… but that she didn’t want to say it.

Which. Well. That was all kinds of bad fucking news if an entity as old as Lady Gotham was wary of speaking it into being. Luckily, Danny was just a fucked up little half ghost who had absolutely no supernatural tie ins to things like belief.

And he believed in just laying all the cards on the table before he decided if he had to flip it.

“That’s really young for any kind of belief spirit,” he said bluntly, watching Lady Gotham’s eyes. Saw… just a hint of something, creasing the corners, and seriously considered reaching his aura to hers for the first time today.

It’d save so much time to just get the message through feeling, but… if she preferred words, the words had to be important, and Jason probably needed words.

Fuck, they’d all need words, because this was going to be a goddamn bat-briefing if Lady Gotham was filling them in, and Mr Emotional Repression Is My Soulmate was not going to be up to aura reads.

Chewing his lower lip, he thought through the next stage a couple times before speaking slowly, watching for any hint he was still on the right path.

“If… it’s grown fast enough that you both noticed… it’s not new?” He tried, wondering briefly if he’d retroactively doomed them all by thinking about “what else could break through” from the depths of the Zone.

Lady Gotham shook her head though, gesturing impatiently through her smoke to clear it… maybe the first sign he’d ever seen that she didn’t control it entirely.

“No. That much, we are both certain of. This entity… it is new and unformed, with no Name of its own. At the moment, all of the fear it wreaks is only feeding belief in the Curse, which is why it only has death. But there is already a will there, long before it should even have awareness. And it wants to grow.”

“Oh great, so Joker’s got a Pitty 2.0 but his is on the outside,” Jason quipped, irritation sparking through him… and Danny was kinda glad to see it, honestly. Just a little flash of the guy he’d been getting to know in all the dark.

Even Lady Gotham managed a brief smile, and didn’t actually bother refuting it; closing her eyes for a moment, she waved her hand and the clouds of smog between them solidified briefly into a model of the city. Buildings only, but with horribly empty shadows between them.

“The Joker’s death gave it an entrance, and his revival denied it his shape, his Name, and the fear he commands. But it is no longer fixated on killing the Joker - and it was, for several years. It pushed him before it had the power for anything else, driving him further, feeding poison to those around him, trying to have him killed so that it could become The Joker, the pure essence of every bloody mark the clown left on Gotham. And it very nearly succeeded,” she added softly, her gaze turning back to Jason with an almost tangible sorrow.

Something in Danny’s gut iced over, and suddenly he was really, really glad he didn’t know what she was thinking.

Bruce looked better as he rose from the table, Diana decided, watching her old friend closely. For all that he’d come with an actual reason for his doom and gloom (for a change), his attitude during the briefing was positively relaxed compared to their own discussion that followed.

He would still be worrying and fretting, she knew him too well to believe anything else, and… she knew why. While Diana had no children of her own (though she had met and heard of other versions of herself who had), she did dearly love her own proteges, and those of her friends.

She remembered Jason as the young, sweet boy who’d stumbled over every word he said to her and stared at her like she’d hung the stars. She remembered Bruce’s grief, Batman’s rage, and the shadow that hung over the Dark Knight with every step until Tim Drake took him to heel.

She knew that there was too much there, the guilt and pain and loss and grief for Bruce to see Jason objectively, and she didn’t begrudge him that. Nor did she condone it.

It only hurt both men, and while she would not give her opinion when it wasn’t wanted… well, she was aware Bruce spoke to Clark of his worries around Jason much more often than he would to her. This time though, she’d had no choice.

She knew the man well enough to know what was truly scaring him in this situation; that Jason would be taken from him again. He was at least as upset by this “Danny” boy as the thought of war with an entire realm.

It would have been cute, if he wasn’t a grown adult man who prided himself on critical thinking. Or actively forcing his son away with his own actions at every turn.

Still, there was one piece of counsel she could give. The thing he hated the most of all was a mystery. And while she also didn’t usually condone his stalking-as-a-sign-of-affection…

“Batman.”

He stopped in the doorway but didn’t look back, still as a statue. At least he was listening.

A fond smile pulling across her lips, Diana shook her head. Let the formal tones of Wonder Woman return to the voice of a friend.

“You see many dangers in the unknown. Perhaps you might reassure yourself by getting to know young Danny Fenton as a person, rather than a potential threat.”

He stayed frozen in the doorway for a moment longer, then nodded his head sharply and swept away.

Diana stifled a chuckle. Honestly, for all Constantine had come to her as if the world were about to end… all of their problems with this Infinite Realm were perfectly clear to her.

The American government had overstepped drastically with their Anti Ecto Acts and would be brought to heel.

The new ruler of the Infinite Realms had turned their head in this direction, and guided them to what must be fixed.

And young Jason Todd, while far from the only hero who had died and returned, had been chosen by this ruler to be favoured with protection, in exchange for service.

Of course, it may all blow out of control and become as dire as her dear friend already seemed to believe it was, but for all Bruce was constantly creating contingencies and backup plans, he very rarely had to use most of them.

She turned her attention to John Constantine instead, the magician seeming much less inclined to make himself scarce than usual. At least he had also calmed considerably, and was even smiling in his own crooked fashion after Bruce.

“You know he’s gonna go stalk that poor kid even more now?” He asked sardonically, pulling another cigarette from his pack but not reaching for the lighter.

Diana hesitated for a moment.

She’d meant for Bruce to talk to Danny, preferably directly. But Bruce did not like talking to new people; not without thorough research and a chance to prepare.

Then she shrugged.

“If it will keep him from disrupting our already tense situation with the Infinite Realms, better that he distract himself with more fatherly concerns,” she said simply.

Constantine snickered again, then frowned.

“Wait, fatherly concerns? For some kid his boy’s known like, a week?”

This time, Diana didn’t bother to restrain her smile, glancing down at the phone in her pocket.

“Merely a week, perhaps, but according to Wonder Girl they have already been caught at least once without their trousers.”

Which hadn’t been part of the official presentation, of course. Nor apparently whatever Bruce had already shared with Constantine, as the mage promptly nearly swallowed his unlit cigarette and began choking.

Diana gave him a carefully gauged slap to the back, sending the now soaked and crumpled smoke across the meeting table, but politely did not laugh.

Jason was pretty sure he was going to puke. Or scream. Maybe both.

It wasn’t bad enough that Bruce had refused to kill the Joker, to stop him from killing anyone else, no, he’d fucking brought him back to life. Given the fucking Joker the chance that none of his victims ever got.

None of them except Jason.

And now apparently even wanting the bastard dead was all part of some master fucking plan to make the fucking asshole even worse.

He’d wanted Bruce to be the one to avenge him from the second Tallia pulled him out of the Lazarus Pit, but when he’d come to Gotham… when his plans to carve out his turf, provoke the Joker with an old alias, set the trap had suddenly become stuffing heads in a bag…

He’d thought about it. A lot. About just hunting the fucker down, putting a bullet between his eyes, and leaving him in the Batcave deader than dead.

Had nearly done it, but no. He’d wanted… he’d wanted Bruce to choose him. To put him first, to say he loved Jason more than some moral stance, to value Tim’s life more, and Steph, and Cass, over the fucking scum who would have happily killed every last one of them with a smile on his face just to see if Bruce finally broke.

And Bruce hadn’t.

Bruce had nearly killed him.

And in and around that whole mess, he’d never gotten around to actually thinking about how his fucking daddy issues had saved the Joker’s life for… years, by now.

Jason wasn’t killing anymore. Not like, actively. Intentionally. Not because he thought Bruce was right; something, someone, had to be willing to stand up for the people of Gotham and actually stop fuckers like the Joker from killing them.

But… well, Crime Alley was his territory, and a scared enemy, a cowed enemy who’d seen their life in Jason’s hands and knew just how easily he could end it was more useful than dealing with the power vacuum, or the next million upstarts who’d think they knew better, would be better, and could take on the Red Hood themselves.

Ironically, keeping fuckers like Black Mask and Great White Shark alive and in power (at severely reduced scale) saved him time. Kept him from dealing with all those upstarts himself.

That was how Waylon had put it, back when Jason was considering adding to his bag of heads. It was… like farming. Keep them low, but keep them stable. Break anything new they went for, or anything that got on his turf.

Let them harvest some of the power hungry fucks who thought they could take a piece of the Alley.

And then Dick had noticed. And reached out. And didn’t stop until Jason gave in and reached back.

When Danny came to Gotham. Somehow, it all swung back around to Danny.

And the fact that if he actually believed what he told Bruce, he could have gone to kill the clown himself at any time since returning to the city.

And he never had. The time wasn’t right. Something came up. Something went wrong, or broke, or distracted him before he thought too hard about it.

Killing the Joker hadn’t even been in his original plans for his triumphant return. He’d just wanted to take back the Alley, prove his point to Bruce. Keep his home safe.

When had killing the Joker become such a big part of the plan? Who the fuck had gotten into his fucking head, redefined him as the last moment of his fucking life, demanded his new life be all about how the last one ended?

Eyes narrowing, he looked searchingly into Lady Gotham’s face just in time to catch her slow nod, like she’d heard every thought. Like he’d been speaking aloud.

“I could not stop it from reaching to you,” she said softly, her voice heavy with sadness, “but I could… distract. Get in the way, make its path harder. That you did not give in…”

Something soft, something proud flickered in her eyes again, and it made him want to squirm.

“You may not have consciously known that you fought yet another enemy, yet you triumphed regardless. My dear Jason…” she sighed, heavy with sorrow, and reached out a hand again as though to cup his face.

Jason found himself moving to meet her before he even thought about it. Stopped himself just before it actually got him anywhere.

He wasn’t done being angry yet. He wasn’t even sure he’d actually started. If he could ever, would ever, be angry enough for this.

There was something building in him like a tide, riding high on resentment and his spiralling thoughts. It wasn’t green tinted like the pit rage, his vision was still clear… if anything, it felt sharper, like everything had been dialled up to eleven. Like the terrible, roaring anger was seeking a target.

“I am sorry that you have been robbed of your justice in this way,” Lady Gotham said quietly and once again Jason’s focus narrowed down with her intensity, like she was the only real thing in the world, “that even your own emotions of this, your death, have been used against you. It is…”

She hesitated, actually looking to Danny for help herself for the first time. Judging from the sudden low horror Jason could feel from the other man, he might actually be under reacting.

Or the tide was still rising.

He felt like razing the whole city to the fucking ground, with his own hands, brick by brick. Or puking. Or screaming until his lungs ripped out of his chest, if only he could move.

It felt like something had reached into his brain and cranked up the contrast, made the already neon brights of the Ghost Zone brighter, the shadows darker, the very air prickling at his skin like needles with the urge to do something.

Because if he moved, did anything, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Not when every muscle ached to tear the whole universe apart.

He was almost a passenger in his own skin as something else, a different, slow boiling rage barely under control clamped him in a vice.

“So y’know we talked about not asking about how ghosts died?” Danny said slowly, his voice suddenly low and hoarse.

Jason managed a stiff nod, every muscle twanging tight with tension. It had been pretty important, pre-Ghost-Zone.

And he could put the pieces together, right from the tight hot center of that ball of rage that he was pretty sure was his own core.

“This is worse,” he said gruffly, not bothering to look over. Didn’t have to, when he could feel the face Danny was pulling through the worry-worry-fear-anger-horror still surrounding him.

He… fuck. He was a little afraid of what he might do, if there was even an ounce of pity on Danny’s face, and honestly that panicked him more than anything else. All the rage wanted was a target, and he didn’t think he’d be able to choose what it was.

Danny nodded anyway, making a conscious effort to try and reign his aura in. Like he couldn’t hear the subtext, feel it in Jason’s, or like he could and didn’t care.

It left him feeling cold, icy and alone, but still relieved under the echoing slam of rage in his veins. A little more alone in his own head. A little less watched. Judged. Not good enough.

“Like, worse than worse, dude. Ghosts will throw down and rip each other apart just for fun and no one’s actually hurt, but… you don’t fuck with somebody’s death. You just don’t. It’s the worst thing you could do to a ghost, worse than Ending them. Not even Pariah Dark…”

“Exactly,” Lady Gotham hissed, baring her teeth in something not even remotely a smile, full cheeks and lips suddenly gaunt and hollow as the teeth became fangs. It lasted barely a moment, a flicker before it faded, but it snapped Jason straight out of his fury with a sudden shock of terror.

She’d been intimidating before. Effortlessly, gracefully powerful and commanding, the kind of person people would beg to step on them without a hint of aggression. Those teeth though… just the moment of that rage, of something so powerful suddenly nothing but raw, feral danger…

It wasn’t even directed at him but it still felt like a bucket of cold water down his spine. An instant urge to duck his head, show his throat, convince this much larger predator that he wasn’t a threat.

She was immediately contrite, turning her head away as her face cast into shadow, only the red pupils still visible.

“My apologies. It is… less personal for me than it is for you, yet it seems still too close to my heart.”

Forcing himself to swallow, Jason took a couple of deep, heavy breaths. The anger was still there, kind of. He could feel it in an almost distant way, past the hammering of his heart, but it wasn’t all he was anymore.

It was just… a feeling now. One he was in control of.

The shadows were just shadows again. The green of the Zone no longer blinding.

He blew the last breath out slowly, and let the remnants of the anger go with it.

“No, uh… it’s fine. I think that helped, actually,” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and suddenly embarrassed at just how tense he’d become.

Justified, apparently, from both the other ghosts’ reactions, but that didn’t mean Jason wanted to feel so out of control. How close to just… being carried away by the anger.

No matter what anyone else said, no matter what the damn Pit or Joker-monster or whatever the fuck else tried to do, Jason Todd was not going to be defined by rage.

For one thing, he’d never live it down.

Danny sagged beside him, relief as tangible as that last breath flowing out of him, despite the core of concern underneath. That was fine; Jason was still concerned too.

And maybe thinking about his stash of ecto-candies again, but he honestly didn’t feel half as drained this time. He wasn’t even scared of Lady Gotham anymore - that moment had ended as soon as it started. As soon as she’d tucked those terrifying needle-like teeth away. Now she just looked…

Proud. Proud, and fond, and so, so sad. Like Alfred had been the first time he presented Jason with his very own Robin suit for the field.

It choked something inside Jason just a little, made his throat tight and breath hitch.

“You are so much more than anyone gives you credit for, Jason Todd,” she said softly, her sclera softening briefly to a bright, sunshine yellow. Like the cape he’d drowned in as a boy flying from her rooftops, “and they all think far better of you than you believe.”

That caught him up for a moment, confusion pulling into the absolute fucking mess of emotions he was pretty sure he was projecting to all and sundry.

Then Danny sighed heavily and draped himself sideways over Jason’s shoulders like a particularly lanky and bony scarf.

“Yeah, yeah, and your ghost mom is fucking terrifying. Did not need that reminder, Ladyship,” he tossed at Lady Gotham with a cheeky wink, effectively steam rolling the tension yet again.

Jason could have kissed him, but from the angle Danny had flopped on, his options were armpit or hip, and neither appealed.

Sassy comebacks, he could handle. Reassurances that people didn’t think he was a complete sack of shit, apparently not.

The whole batfam were just perfect poster kids for mental health, alright?

The Lady herself laughed softly and inclined her head, not arguing the point.

“Of course. Still, I am sorry Jason.”

He cut her off this time, raising both hands and stopping just short of reaching for the back of his neck again, which was about where Danny’s waist was sat.

“Don’t be. I… think I needed to be knocked out of my head there. I really do feel better now,” he added, and Danny huffed a noncommittal noise and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, well. You’re allowed to be pissed about it,” Danny informed him like he wasn’t sure if Jason actually knew that.

Which, obviously, Jason absolutely wasn’t. He had a pit ghost baby to teach good habits to, and Danny still had no idea what Jason was like when he actually lost control of the anger. But he could appreciate the sentiment.

And deflect like a Robin.

“Oh, is that a royal decree?” He asked archly, and while this noise was no more coherent than the last it was decidedly more whiny and drawn out into wordless protest.

Which still ended in a very quiet “yes.”

Luckily, quiet enough that Jason could pretend he didn’t hear it.

“Anyway, I’m good. Still gonna kick this thing’s ass for messing with my head, and maybe put it in a blender, but for now I’m good. Chill vibes only for Pitty,” he added with a roll of his eyes when Danny made a confused little chirping sound.

Lady Gotham chuckled softly to herself and nodded, resettling herself to recline on her smog clouds once more.

“Indeed. You currently have more pressing concerns; as little as I enjoy the present situation, it can wait. The Curse and I can monitor this new being’s behaviour through the rogues it has affected; they are noticeably becoming more violent, while the Curse is swaying the rest towards being less. For contrast,” she added before Jason could ask.

Which… might actually explain why Riddler had tossed a broken game box at Croc and the Wayne gala rather than trying to fix it. He’d stripped most of the interesting stuff according to Tim’s report, sure, but Nygma never let a thread go.

So he wasn’t gonna be on this new bad guy’s kill list.

Nor would Waylon, and Harley had been more destructive than homicidal for years. Already making a mental list on the events he’d caught wind of in the last few weeks, Jason didn’t even realise the conversation had moved on without him until Danny stuck a wet finger in his ear.

“What the actual fuck!” Jason demanded, trying to shrug the ghost off his shoulders. And while there was deadass no weight to Danny in this form, it was frankly unfair that he just rolled with the movement like he also didn’t have bones, snickering.

“You had Resting Bat Face,” he explained with a grin, twisting upwards to look down at him in a way that actually really shouldn’t have been doable with a human spine - and Jason had grown up around Dick Grayson, who ran the limit of everything a human spine was capable of.

“He does best with a problem to solve,” Lady Gotham noted with a sly amusement. “This one, however, has no time limit as yet. If I thought you would listen, I would have insisted on telling you at a later date.”

And that was just pointed enough that Jason rolled his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush in spite of himself. He just… liked to have all of the information. It’s not like he was Bruce.

“Yeah, well, I like to know what I’m dealing with,” he grumbled, folding his arms and scowling at Danny. Who grinned back and ruffled his hair.

“Well, either way. Not like you need to pull the spandex back on imminently, right? There’s plenty of bats around,” he offered hopefully, and Jason felt a quick pang.

Danny… really didn’t want him to have to be a vigilante. He could taste it in the hope, in the worry, in everything his king was putting off. For some reason, he seemed to think Jason had come back to life and left the masks behind.

Like he hadn’t even thought about why Jason was still in fighting shape to be his fucking knight in the first place.

He knew he’d be annoyed if it was anyone else trying to insist he stay out of the game. He’d shot at Dick more than once for suggesting he go home when he was injured; the rest knew better than to say a word.

He hadn’t even considered giving up the vigilante life when he came back from the dead… except that brief period when he’d sort of been a rogue. He’d never even been a normal crime lord, most of them were way less hands on.

If he looked at the future now, he couldn’t imagine ever giving it up. The rogues would apparently literally always be a problem; the city would always need protectors.

That thought had never made him sad before, and yet…

Was it really the first time anyone had suggested he’d done enough? He’d died, and sure Jason was back now, but Danny seemed to really, actually believe he could stop wearing the mask.

That he’d given enough, given everything, and could and should just have a peaceful life now.

It made him almost ashamed to admit that he’d never even considered the possibility.

For all Jason railed against teen heroes, he’d only stopped being one for a temporary villain arc. Which was apparently at least partially supernaturally motivated, which was fun.

It’d shut Bruce up if Jason ever dragged that out in an argument, but Bruce already thought Jason was too volatile and susceptible to being controlled. Never mind that he hadn’t actually killed the Joker and started the apocalypse or whatever, all Bruce would hear was “someone else made Jason a villain so it could happen again”.

He’d probably try and take Jason off the case of this mystic whatever that was feeding on death. Fuck that noise. Until Bruce got a face to face with Lady G, Jason probably wouldn’t even tell him the details.

(Honestly, if there was even half a chance of avoiding that subject altogether, he’d take it. Bruce got ornery about magic in his city in a way none of the Robins had ever enjoyed dealing with, and that had been back when he and Jason had a good relationship.

Now… well, Constantine had been sticking around, so hopefully he could handle that mess and Jason could just get the actual work done.)

He gave Danny his best reassuring smile anyway, rolling his eyes and reaching to try and ruffle his hair. Found that he actually couldn’t quite reach with the way Danny was twisted around him, which was kinda weird.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard Frostbite. Side effects of the forming core could be pretty much fucking anything, and til Pitty pops out I’m not even gonna do research on anything that’ll set us off.”

Which wasn’t the same as saying he wouldn’t start the case. He could arrange what he already knew, start a plan of action, and organise his next steps without doing any additional research, after all.

Something about Lady Gotham’s delicately arching eyebrow let him know that she, at least, was onto his bullshit. Lucky for Jason, Danny just accepted the words, grinning and twisting around to wrap his whole head in a hug.

And then flowed back off his shoulders like a fucking liquid before Jason could worry about having to breathe.

“That’s great! Oh, and we should set up your haunt too! That’ll help!” Danny enthused brightly, clapping his hands and doing his best impression of a totally solid human that was apparently not his default.

Maybe it was a ghost thing.

Just so long as he never did it in human form, Jason could ignore that he definitely shoulda felt a ribcage being squeezed like that…

And no, Jason absolutely wasn’t wondering about what else Danny could use that noodley flexibility for. Totally not letting Dick know either… for competitive gymnast reasons, definitely.

No one wanted to deal with that.

And then his brain fizzled to a halt as Danny’s actual words penetrated and a sliver of concern slipped in.

Because… yeah. They’d talked about haunts. It was practically the first topic on the list; what to do in someone else’s haunt, what to never ever do even near someone else’s haunt, what a haunt meant to a ghost.

It was soul-underwear again, one of the most sacred parts of a person’s soul; their truest, actual home. Fortress and power source.

Halfas had to have them too, since Danny and Frostbite had both insisted that keeping and maintaining his haunt were going to be vital to his health while his cores stabilized. As in, Frostbite told him not to leave it for long and suggested redecorating as a soothing activity.

(Danny’s was officially Amity Park, which had not escaped Jason’s notice when he was apparently being put on haunt-arrest. It might have been an older halfa thing; very few ghosts actually stayed in their haunts all the time, although Jason could see the temptation.

It also might have been something else, and Jason had this thing about secrets and surprises down the line. He’d ask later, if he couldn’t work it out himself.)

Danny called Crime Alley Jason’s haunt, and that had felt right from the first time he’d said it. Crime Alley was his, his territory, his space, his home more than anywhere else. He knew it inside and out, could feel its moods and taste the changes in the air when something went wrong.

Baby ghosts usually couldn’t claim a haunt of any size as their own, but Jason knew that the Alley belonged to him.

That was before he’d met Lady Gotham. And if she was the spirit of the whole city… maybe he’d been wrong? Maybe it was just through her that he knew it so well?

He found himself looking to her uncertainly, searching her face in case there was any trace of displeasure. Any sign she didn’t want another ghost’s haunt in… well, what was kinda her physical body.

He couldn’t see or feel anything, but when she’d already been so careful about keeping her feelings her own… no better time to ask, really.

“Yeah… about that…” this time he did scratch the back of his neck, Danny safely down beside him. Which was about when he realized that he had no clue how to word the question.

Haunts were personal, he knew that much.

Then again, Lady Gotham said she was his ghost-mom. That had to include stupid questions. Blunt it was.

“Is it weird if I have a haunt in the city? I mean, it’s obviously your city, duh, but how do I… it feels like I’m squatting in your closet,” he said finally, giving up on not being just the most awkward creature in a thousand mile radius.

Danny’s mouth opened and closed a few times, excitement fading to a confused fascination as his words sunk in.

“Y’know, that’s a really good point… except it’s more like he’s squatting in your kidneys,” he pointed out to Lady Gotham, turning to face her too.

Lady Gotham chuckled softly and took a slow drag from her traffic cone, which had almost stopped smoking.

“Ah, I forget the limitations of a halfa’s knowledge… all ghosts begin with a haunt within their parent’s, Jason. From the moment you returned to my arms I opened up the Alley for you, and it has been yours ever since.” She paused to blow out a long plume of smog, which shaped itself into a tiny row of very familiar buildings.

Jason didn’t have to see more than a couple to know what they were; he could feel it right down to his core.

“When you are older, stronger, you may desire another, although being in the mortal world is already a degree of distance, but Crime Alley will always be your first,” Lady Gotham continued as Crime Alley bloomed from the smog before them, tiny and yet more than just an image, more than just a replica; the real thing in the scope of her power.

There were no lights in tiny windows, nothing moving through the smog, and yet it was still clearly alive. No, filled with things that were alive, people and noise and even the rats.

And it was his. His beating heart.

Lady Gotham’s smile was a tender beacon in the fog, her hands coming up to caress the smoking Crime Alley and gently waft it in his direction.

“Every crumbling brick, every pothole, every shadow. It is a heavy responsibility, and one I shall share with you until you decide you no longer need my help, but it will always be yours, Jason. It would not have accepted anyone else.”

The cluster of smoggy buildings fell apart as they reached Jason and for a moment he nearly panicked trying to keep them together, but… he was suddenly washed in a wave of old, familiar scent.

Not the burned rubber and pollution of all the rest of the smogs, the constant smell of the city. This was… floral. Soft, and sweet, and chemical in the way that cheap perfumes always were because they couldn’t have afforded the good ones.

Watered down, because they could get even that so rarely that she would begin refilling the bottle with water when it was barely half empty. Catherine Todd’s favourite perfume.

It hadn’t covered the stink of cigarettes and worse coming from the very walls of their apartment; he’d only smelled it when she was holding him close. Shielding him from Willis’s rage, tucking him into bed, cuddled up on the couch to wait out the rain or sickness.

The smell of home.

It brought tears to his eyes, the pressure of the day threatening to spill over and overwhelm him again.

Intellectually, it felt like another moment that should have been terrifying. More than any show of teeth, this was her strength. Who and what she was, she could break him with a wave of her hand, a wisp of smoke, and yet…

He felt warm. Comforted. Wrapped in her smile and at peace in a way he hadn’t in… fuck it had been years.

There was something else too, a layer under the flowers that only the deepest detective-trained parts of him tried to pluck apart; it was part of the home smell, inextricable, but it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t the perfume. Just the very faintest hint of baking far away, and Catherine Todd had never been able to afford…

Oh.

Of course not. Because Catherine Todd, his mother in every possible sense of the word but one, had never met Alfred.

So, the good news: Tucker was currently in the lead for Spiderheck. Bad news: they’d finished the first set (Tim won, but he’d been two ahead from the start which was cheating), and… the game had ticked directly over into another set.

They hadn’t been planning on changing any settings, so it was fine, and Conner and Tim hadn’t noticed anything wrong.

But… Tucker was beginning to worry, just a little. He’d done video games before, with Danny and Sam; no worries, they’d taken a turn directly in pretty much every game they’d played together.

Just, y’know, he knew Danny and Sam really well. And Tim and Conner were really cool, and he understood a lot more about how the Supers worked than he ever had before? But, maybe that was why he’d kinda screwed up.

Because he wanted things to be fair, and didn’t want them to think he’d given himself extra advantages. So they were all spiders, all the same.

And he wasn’t completely sure where the meta controls were?

Danny and Sam always insisted he have a version of the controller somewhere, so they could flick to the menu (and sometimes run riot there too). Last time they did Spiderheck, he’d put the buttons on his stomach, so Danny and Sam could try and hit them for an extra level of difficulty.

But he wanted to be fair. Didn’t want extra powers. And, apparently, technopathy had sorta maybe converted that wish into him not being able to feel it while he was spidered up.

All his combat moves were fine! The break, grab, web commands were smooth and easy, just like every other time he did them. Different attacks, no worries. And, obviously, he hadn’t stood still and tried to look for the code, because they were playing Spiderheck and that was a really easy way to get wiped.

Dodging another swinging attack from Tim, he scuttled at top speed across the platform and jumped behind a box. No weapons here, and he scanned quickly for the next spawn point.

Which, normally, shoulda shown up on two levels; the normal game vision, and the white lined underlay of the code, which he could always see through from top to bottom of the level.

(This was usually an active impediment rather than an advantage in Spiderheck; it was way too hard to know what he could stand on.)

He couldn’t see one, just the platform above and the wall behind.

Maybe he should take an early death, just to give himself a little time to work this out. Just so he could stop worrying. He was 21, he’d had these powers for years, he totally knew how they worked by now.

He just, maybe, might have gotten overconfident.

Danny would never let him live it down if they all had to be rescued from Spiderheck.

And, way more importantly, Tim Drake-Wayne and his super hot boyfriend would only remember him as the loser who couldn’t even control his powers.

Nope. Absolutely not.

A loud buzzing heralded the arrival of one of the spinning laser traps, and Tucker made up his mind. Just one early death. No worries. He had a two win lead, and honestly he’d rather lose the set than admit he’d fucked up.

Scuttling “away” from Tim’s probable next attack, Tucker scurried into the path of the spinning laser trap.

And saw, at the very last second, Conner swinging in from the other side, directly into a laser.

Shit.

Sam was comfortably snuggled down into her pillows and thoroughly enjoying the chaos her new chat was creating when she finally heard the door. A little too buried to easily get up, or look particularly graceful doing it, so instead she stuck a hand straight up into the air.

“In here, love!”

And, like the angel of mercy that she was, Val only made her wait ten minutes to get out of all of her winter gear and put the kettle on before coming to save her from her fate.

“Not the fastest rescue I’ve received,” Sam teased, even as Val hauled her easily to her feet. Val grinned back and pulled her in for a quick peck.

“I wasn’t aware I was being timed. I can do better.”

“I bet you can,” Sam laughed, draping her arms around her girlfriend’s shoulders. Val gave her another, deeper kiss, then drew back enough to press their foreheads together.

“So, how was Gotham? I saw Danny made the front page,” she teased back, and Sam hesitated.

In amongst all of their various plans for disaster, it hadn’t really come up that whatever they did at the party, it was sure to make the gossip rags. Front page though? That was probably an achievement.

And, given what she herself had done, really annoying.

“What, they gave the front page to him? I blatantly accused at least two CEOs and Lex Luthor of weaponizing misogyny, with citations, and Danny got the front page?” She huffed, drawing back and folding her arms, fully intent on turning away to sulk, but not remotely objecting when Val’s arms snuck around her waist and pulled her back in.

Val’s chin tucked in over her shoulder and the taller woman snickered.

“I know, right? Sadly cold hard facts just fade away in the face of a scandal.” Val sighed dramatically, then dropped a kiss on the side of Sam’s neck. “You’re on page seven. It’s mostly about your parents, but using Lex’s name got a couple other points in. Oh, and Vicki Vale did a three page piece on how Brucie Wayne specifically upholds the patriarchy. I think she quoted you.”

Sam considered that for a moment, her arms automatically coming around to cover Val’s for a brief squeeze. It wasn’t like she’d actually been planning to change anything at the gala. Mostly she’d just wanted to be heard.

It could be an interesting starting point, though. Especially since she got to pick her outfit for the next gala; her mother hadn’t even specified that it had to be a dress on the document, which was definitely a peace offering.

Cass Wayne had looked really good in that suit.

Her cheeks suddenly hot for absolutely no reason, Sam twisted in Val’s arms to kiss her again.

“I’m sorry my mom’s… the worst,” she finished lamely, wrapping her arms around Val again.

The whole fall-from-grace thing may have been seven years ago, and Val had more than moved on, but. Well. Sam didn’t exactly believe all the scars had healed.

Especially when Val stilled for a moment in her arms.

Then she chuckled, wrapping her arms a littler tighter around Sam and lifting her off her feet.

“Hey, at least she’s not actually a bigot. It’s always nicer to be hated personally than in general, y’know?” She teased, echoing something Sam was pretty sure Danny had said to her back in her Phantom-hunting days.

Sam huffed and wrapped her legs around Val’s waist too, raining kisses down on her face.

“Yeah, well, she can still shove it up her ass. You’re my date for the next gala, if you actually want to come.”

Which.

Well.

Was about when she realized that the next gala was probably going to be extra interesting, after all their shenanigans. Maybe they should have been more discrete? More careful?

Her worry must have shown on her face, because Val gave her a very gentle bounce to shake her out of it.

“Hey. Samantha Manson. I would be delighted to go to the next gala with you, and tell all the little journalists that yeah, I’m that Val,” she said firmly once Sam had refocused on her. Then she grinned. “I’ll even be on my best behaviour and not one up Danny until the second one.”

That made Sam laugh again, hugging on tight even as Val turned and easily carried her through to their little kitchenette and sat her up on one of the counters.

“Hey, did you get that autograph from Harley for me by the way? I wanna send it to my dad for his birthday,” she added, sneaking another kiss and then pulling a pair of mugs next to the steaming kettle.

Sam considered hopping off the counter. Didn’t bother, reaching behind herself instead to pull her favourite tea for the month and drop a bag into her mug.

“Yeah, a couple actually. And she said if we wanna meet Ivy she’ll let us know when they’re back on the west coast, but it won’t be any time soon.” That hadn’t been particularly surprising, but it still made Sam a little sad.

Just another reminder that they were on the outside looking in all the way over here.

Valerie stilled, coming back and resting both hands on Sam’s thighs.

“Do you miss being on the east coast?” She asked quietly, those gorgeous green eyes so large and gentle.

Sam hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and let her head thunk back against the cupboard behind her.

“Honestly, I think I just miss being closer to everyone. It’s not far for Danny with the Zone, but if you or I wanna visit anyone we have to hop on an airplane or spend weeks driving, neither of which are good for the environment. We just… get forgotten out here, stuck out of the loop.”

Val raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face but eyes still soft with understanding.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk. I thought I’d pick up a new phone and rejoin the group chat that day, but suddenly I gotta wait nearly a week for “new secrets”,” she teased and Sam sighed, shaking her head. Not quite able to lift all the way out of her funk.

“Yeah, I know… it probably woulda been fine, Danny shouldn’t have dropped anything at all in the main chat if he didn’t want everyone to see it, I just…”

“Wanted to be more sensitive than he is,” Val finished the sentence, leaning in for another kiss. Not needing to reach up even with Sam sat on the counter. “That’s why I’m still dating you.”

It did pull a smile from Sam anyway and she draped her arms over her girlfriend’s shoulders again.

“For some reason. So, what did you think?”

Val shrugged, her hands sliding up to settle around Sam’s waist.

“About a new halfa? Probably sucks for him. Especially when he’s gotta come out as dead to his family. The Waynes aren’t exactly known for being stable,” she pointed out when Sam snickered.

Which was a fair point.

“They’re actually worse when there’s more of them,” she mused, glancing back towards the bed where she’d left her phone, “and the oldest’s a cop now.”

This time it was Val’s turn to snicker.

“Yeah, I heard. Tuck already sent me the blow by blow of you eviscerating the poor guy.”

Sam preened. Deservedly.

“Hey, you know me, I’m not gonna play nice just cuz I’ve been dragged to some social function.”

The snicker turned to a chuckle as Val leaned in, rubbing their noses together.

“And you know me, baby girl, ACAB all the way, and I still think that should extend to the Justice League. Heard half of Batman Inc also showed up, did you let them have it too?”

“You know I did,” Sam purred, locking her ankles behind Val’s back and nipping playfully at her lower lip. Val laughed, her hands creeping slowly up the small of Sam’s back.

“That’s my little leopard. Tea’s done.” And then, totally unfairly, she reached back with one hand and pulled Sam’s ankles apart, slipping free with a laugh as Sam pouted. “Hey, you’d be more upset if I let it over steep.”

“I can make more tea,” Sam grumbled, finally slipping off the counter, but a rebellious smile made it onto her face anyway. Val toasted her with the french press.

“True that, darling, but I’m not wasting the good coffee beans. Daddy asked me four times if I was sure about taking the train but honestly, he’s a state away now, it’s not worth a flight.”

Setting her teabag aside, Sam squirted in some vanilla agave syrup and took a deep breath. Gotham was fine, but no hotels could match her home tea stash. Not even the Waynes could.

“Beautiful, strong, environmentally conscious, and a Daddy’s girl. How did I land you again?” She asked innocently as Val dropped creamer into her own mug.

“By being all of those but the last one,” Val countered easily, taking a mug and holding an arm out for Sam to tuck under. “Now c’mon, if I’m going to the next gala you need to tell me allllll about a certain cutie Cassandra Wayne,” she cooed, making for their couch.

Sam’s face flushed red and she made to duck away instantly, but those damn vigilante muscles made it so hard.

“Okay, veto, you’re not allowed to do that anymore! My mom is trying to hook me up with her!” Sam did not whine. She. Protested. With dignity. Totally no idea why Val snickered, holding her coffee up and away in her other arm.

“Yeah, that’s the point. How funny would it be if Danny and I both stole a Wayne from you?” She asked with a vicious grin.

Which… did make Sam pause. Because that would be really funny. And Cass would almost certainly be down for it; she wasn’t as loud or attention seeking as any of the boys, but Sam could recognize the wicked gleam in anyones’ eyes when they enjoyed the chaos.

Then she sighed.

“No, we have to be good for the next gala. Otherwise no one’s going to listen to what I actually have to say.”

Val hummed an agreement, guiding her to sit on the plush, well loved cushions. It was an old couch, and a hand-me-down from Sam’s work, but it was just too good to pass up. They could both lie comfortably side by side on the seat, if they snuggled just a little, and the back was wide and plush enough for two throws.

“Okay. The gala after that, then. It’ll make our slow burn long distance romance all the more compelling,” she added when Sam snorted, finally releasing Sam to sink comfortably into oblivion.

Sam swatted at her and put her tea down on the table.

“You’re dreadful. I love you. We’ll ask Cass, lemme just get my phone and I’ll hook you into the group chat with her, Steph, and Babs. They’re Wayne family friends,” she added at Val’s questioning noise, “I haven’t met Babs yet, but Steph is great. You’re gonna love her.”

“Only if we’re going for some three’s company action,” Val snickered as Sam jogged to the bedroom, flipping her girlfriend off as she went.

Jason was quiet as they left the Zone. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially after the day he’d had and the emotional whiplash.

Danny was doing his very best not to let it bother him. He remembered the early days of being a halfa, how much he’d second-guessed himself, how much every new change and discovery had rocked his world. And he’d been a teenager, all hormones and fire and energy.

He hadn’t even been dead a month before shit got weird.

Jason was twenty-two, and had already been dead for almost seven years. Danny’d like to think he’d found ways to cope, but seven years in himself he was pretty sure he still hadn’t.

Whatever Jason had dealt with in those six and a half years was being ripped up in front of him day by day.

If there was anything he wanted, anything he needed, Danny would be there for him in a heartbeat. Before he could even have to ask, if possible. Aaaand the only thing he couldn’t do that for was if Jason needed space.

Lady Gotham had been able to open them a portal directly into Jason’s apartment; Danny preferred to aim high enough to miss walls and buildings on the way back, but it was her city. She knew exactly where everything and anything was - the portal had been in the back of Jason’s front door.

Danny totally wasn’t jealous. He could come back out almost at the same place he’d gone in, if he was quick. And he could go intangible anyway.

It was still really cool to watch the city spirit do it, the way the realms opened easily and willingly at her touch. She’d given Jason a token, a coin that had to be at least six hundred years old that showed the city’s skyline. Apparently he could use it to get in touch with her, or get back to the Zone on his own if Danny couldn’t take him.

Danny was fine with that. For sure.

The Infinite Realms were dangerous, but the token should bring him straight to Lady Gotham, in an emergency. And then Danny could follow and find her, and find Jason. It was a super reasonable backup plan.

He still found himself hovering in the doorway, unsure if Jason wanted him to stay or go while the other man shrugged out of his coat, boots, and shoulder holster that Danny had totally missed this entire time. And then walked directly into the bathroom.

Danny hovered a little closer, entirely unknowing what exactly he’d do if Jason was crying. Or screaming. Or beating a hole in the wall away from prying eyes. Or, actually using the bathroom for its intended purpose, apparently.

Because Danny forgot Jason was still in mandatory human form at all times.

He couldn’t hear anything from inside the bathroom with the door shut anyway, not even movement or the sink running. But then again, Jason’s family knew Superman personally. That probably lead to some inside jokes and really specific precautions.

Danny hovered back to the door. Stared around at the incredibly clean, well organized display of video games and weaponry on the walls, the double shelf of books.

This, he was beginning to suspect, was a third, larger, more expensive apartment. The furniture and room layouts were about the same, but he was like 80% sure the apartment they’d played MarioKart in hadn’t had as much stuff.

This one had some dishes waiting by the sink though. Given how well organized everything else was, they stuck out.

…

Five minutes. Jason was still in the bathroom.

Danny hated waiting. If he was going to stick around, he could justify it by helping out. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

———————

Part two imminent! All my love to the tag list, you’ll be following the link on this one so you don’t get both separately

Part 2:

Tag list: @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop p @mayoota-blog @xysidhe e @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper r @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking g @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor r @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 8 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf f @frivolous-pastel

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton dead and loving it #dfdali #dead on main ship #chapter probably 18 part 1 #so that just happened #in which there is LORE #and SPIDERHECK #and LESBIANS #feast my children feast

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zoeykallus · 11 months

Note

Hi! I read your Bad Batch baby HC and really enjoyed them! How would the guys react to a parter telling them that they’re infertile? I hope you’re having a good day/night!

Aloha!

Now, that's a heavy hitter and an interesting one indeed.

The Bad Batch x Afab!Reader HCs - True Affection

Hurt/Comfort/Infertility/Fluff

_____________________

Hunter

By now it is absolutely clear, your relationship is something serious, you have reached the next level. You get nervous, because now, at the latest, you should tell him the truth. When you take him aside and cautiously address him about it, he looks at you confused at first. Hunter can't immediately process what you're saying.

You watch him quietly think for a moment, just a moment ago he was all jovial, now he suddenly seems so serious, it makes you nervous.

"I'm sorry about that" he finally says quietly, "How are you coping?"

You sigh and say, "I've more or less made my peace with it by now. I've known for a while now. It was hard at first, but now I realize that fretting over things you can't change is wasted energy. So I've accepted it and decided to make the best of it, to just enjoy my life."

Hunter nods slowly, then smiles tenderly.

"I'm glad you have this confidence in me to tell me".

He takes your hands in his and kisses your forehead.

You say softly, "Well, our relationship has been going on for a while and I thought it would only be fair to tell you about it before you start to…. plan a family."

Hunter laughs softly and says, "Sweetie, we have enough work keeping my brothers and Omega in check. Besides, should we really feel the urge to raise kids someday, there are more than enough out there who need a home"

You take a deep breath, leaning against him in relief. This is a conversation you imagined would be harder. Hunter holds you gently and strokes your back soothingly, sensing the restlessness in you that is just very slowly subsiding.

He says softly, "My love for you remains unchanged."

Tech

"Tech, can we talk for a moment?"

Normally he would have nodded, continuing to work, looking at you briefly and saying, "Sure," but he hears something in your tone that makes him look up. Tech slowly puts the holopad aside and looks at you very intently. Somehow, this undivided attention on his part makes you even more nervous than you already are.

You turn around, close the cockpit door behind you, and sit down with him.

"You look heavy-hearted. Did something happen?" he asks quietly.

You don't know how to begin, so you just blurt it out.

"I can't give you children, I'm infertile".

Tech raises his eyebrows in surprise, he certainly wasn't expecting this topic. At first moment, he doesn't even know what to say. A thousand possible answers run through his head, but in the end only a rather simple, "I see" comes out of his mouth.

It's so hard for you to pull yourself together, your voice trembles slightly as you say, "I thought you should know, to be fair. Before things get to the next level between us… you know, couples usually start planning families and stuff at some point."

Tech blinks, pushes his goggles up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, then turns all the way around in his chair to face you. Now you're even more nervous, usually in conversations (no matter with whom) Tech is usually busy with up to three other things, but here and now he's fully focused on you. There is a certain excitement, you feel flattered, there is a tingling under your skin, usually only in intimate hours he is really fully attentive. But in this context, your heart beats up to your neck with fear.

"You're scared," he states.

"Is it that obvious?"

Tech nods.

"I know you well enough to see it. It's pretty obvious. But from my point of view, true affection, true love, is not tied to the possibility of procreation. However, I understand that it is quite natural to feel this desire, it is in the nature of almost all living things to reproduce."

You nod slowly, not quite knowing whether to be relieved or still nervous.

"My affection for you, is not tied to the possibility of starting a family," he finally says matter-of-factly, "I hope this helps you overcome your fears regarding our relationship. I'm not going to turn my back on you over this."

You take a deep breath, the tension falling from you, a single tear rolling down your cheek, which he gently brushes away with one of his long fingers.

"Are you sure about that?" you inquire softly.

"Of course I am, I don't say things like that lightly. You have my deep, unconditional affection."

Echo

When you bring up the subject of children, he looks at you in surprise. He didn't really expect that, up to now his life hadn't necessarily followed a normal course, he hadn't thought about family planning yet, even though you've been together for a while. Echo is very happy and content with what you have as a couple. The trust, the affection, the intimacies, the quiet hours and the loving little silliness. It's already more than he would have ever dared to hope for before.

Echo says thoughtfully, "Honestly, I didn't think about it until now. It was never really a part of my future plans so far," he says thoughtfully.

With a heavy heart, you tell him, "As long as you're with me, I'm afraid that won't change. I am infertile."

Echo raises his brows in surprise, his expression softening. He knows you well enough to see how hard it is for you to broach the subject.

"It weighs heavily on your heart, doesn't it?"

You nod with a sigh.

Echo takes you in his arms, squeezes you gently, and asks, "How long have you been struggling with this thought?"

"Quite a while," you admit quietly.

"Oh darling," he says softly, "There's no need for that. You're my better half, I'm incomplete without you, nothing will change that. I'm so sorry that this has burdened you."

You take a deep breath, wrap your arms around him and feel deep gratitude for his understanding, his affection.

Echo says tenderly, "If you ever really want to be a mother, we can always think about adoption, there are enough children who need a home. All that matters to me is knowing you are by my side."

"Are you sure that won't change?" you ask softly.

Echo kisses your forehead and brushes a stray tear from your cheek.

"Absolutely sure! Honey, you're all I really need. Don't worry, you can be sure of my love."

Wrecker

He is so good with children, the children love him no matter where he goes. It's a beautiful image, but also one that triggers deep pain in you, fear. In a village you saved from some pirates, at the little party they hold to honor the batch, practically all the kids are attached to him, they all want to play with him and show him things.

You watch this for quite a while, but your thoughts turn somber and a lump forms in your throat. You'll never have kids of your own, and you don't know how to tell Wrecker. Hunter looks at you, sensing something is wrong. As your eyes meet, he asks gently, "Are you okay?"

You force yourself to smile, take a deep breath, and lie, "I'm just tired, maybe I should go to sleep."

You get up from the table, and retreat into the Marauder. A few minutes later, when you are more or less comfortable in the bunk, reading a book to take your mind off things, Wrecker comes in. He looks at you tenderly, concerned.

"Did you get rid of the kids?" you ask with a small smile.

"Hunter said something was wrong with you. He said you've retreated and that I should check on you."

You sigh, "Of course he did."

Wrecker sits down on the edge of the bunk and reaches for your hand.

"What's wrong sweetie?"

You swallow, collect yourself, and finally say, "When I saw you with the village kids earlier, I realized we needed to talk about something"

Wrecker frowns questioningly.

"Oh yeah?"

You say directly, as if quickly ripping off a Band-Aid, "I'm infertile".

Wrecker sits silently, looking at you uncomprehendingly. The information takes a moment to sink in. After a while, he says, "You can't have children of your own."

You nod, put the book aside and run your free hand over your face.

"Yes, unfortunately. That means we can't have children together"

"'Scooch over," he prompts you, lying down next to you.

Still holding your hand, he is now lying next to you.

"Okay, that's unfortunate, and I suspect that's not easy for you, but it's not the end of the world" he says thoughtfully.

"Oh no?" you ask critically.

"No," Wrecker says with conviction, "we do love each other, don't we?"

"I love you very much, yes"

He turns his head to look at you and smiles.

"See, we don't need much more than that. I love you with all my heart. And you can adopt children too if you really want some."

You laugh softly.

"Is it really that simple? Doesn't that bother you at all?"

Wrecker says softly, "The only thing that bothers me is that it makes you unhappy. I want to see you smile, love."

You kiss his chin and say, "Don't worry, Wrecker, you make me very, very happy."

Crosshair

He responds pretty matter-of-factly when you tell him you're infertile.

"Okay."

"Okay? That's it?"

He asks, "What do you want to hear?"

You throw your arms in the air.

"I don't know, but maybe something more than just an 'okay'"

Crosshair sighs, sits down and says, "Kids were never part of my life plan, and honestly I don't want any. So for me, nothing has changed"

You frown, not sure if you're happy with that answer. On the one hand, it's good to know, but it seems so insensitive. However, you're actually used to his rather edgy manner by now.

"Okay, good to know," you say with a sigh, not in the mood to argue with him or pull the words out of his nose.

But as you turn away to leave the room, you feel his hand on your shoulder. You stop but don't turn around.

"Listen, Kitten," Crosshair says more gently, "I can't imagine how much of a burden this must have been on you, and I can understand that my reaction didn't come across as very sensitive."

You remain silent and wait. He spins you around so that you have to look at him.

"But like I said, nothing changes for me. You're still mine, Kitten and you always will be, whether your uterus works or not doesn't change that. Stop pouting, sweetie."

You roll your eyes and a small laugh crosses your lips, relief finally coming.

"The way you express yourself sometimes…" you say with a sigh.

He shrugs his shoulders.

"As direct as possible, you know me".

You smirk, and he gently kisses the corner of your mouth.

" That's how I like your face much better, Kitten, with that little smirk of yours".

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

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character-fan19 · 2 months

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So I calculated the exact screen time for the love square ships in season 5...

I'm back again with the latest season of Miraculous and it's definitely different but not as much as you would expect. But firstly for the newcomers...

Some Ground Rules

Both characters of the ship must be present in the scene to count. So none of that kissy kissy meow meow talk.

At least one of the characters must be interacting with or reacting to the presence of the other character or both characters must be doing something together for it to count.

If one of the characters believe that they are talking to the alter ego of the other character, it will be counted as screen time for that ship so Adrien and Marinette talking to each other through the wall in the sewer will be counted as Ladynoir. The scene with Adrien holding Ladybug will count as Ladrien though, since Ladybug isn't conscious.

In case of group interactions, the screen time will only count if the interaction is specifically between the two characters.

If you want to check out my previous post, you can find it here. Now onto the distribution.

Screen Time Distribution

Despite all the Adrienette we had this season, Ladynoir was still able to come out on top, even a season which is supposedly Adrienette-centred, although it still took a huge hit took a huge hit in terms of percentage of screen time, having had 56.4% of the love square screen time this season rather than it's usual range of around 70% and Adrienette had a huge increase in screen time this season as well both in terms of percentage and actual screen time, having 37.4% of the total love square screen time rather than it's usual range of 18-25% which is a total of 45 min 57 sec when it usually remains under half an hour ever season.

Maricat this season got a pretty fair 5.8% of the screen time while Ladrien got the short end of the stick as predicted with not even 1% of the screen time which is even worse than last season.

In terms of its effect on the overall screen time, Adrienette has increased from last season by a good 3.6%, Ladynoir decreases by a slightly less 3.2% which is percentage than it has ever decreased before, Maricat increases by a small 0.3%, and Ladrien decreases by 0.7%.

This leaves Adrienette with a total screen time of 2 hr 34 min 8 sec, Ladynoir with a total screen time of 7 hr 28 min 54 sec, Maricat with a total screen time of 30 min 59 sec and Ladrien with a total screen time of 23 min 11 sec which around the same length as an episode of Miraculous itself. This isn't their final total screen time though, at least not for Ladynoir, 'cause we still got the Paris Special. But in the mean time, let's move on to the screen time trend.

Screen Time Trend

Ladynoir started off strong this season with 7 min 50 sec in it's first episode. It never reaches this high again but it remains pretty high until the Adrienette part of the season starts after which it remains under the Adrienette screen time for the most part and only got more screen time than Adrienette in 6 episodes most of which are only by less than a minute.

Adrienette had a handful of episodes in the first third of the season giving it a good amount of screen time but nothing compared to Ladynoir but it starts getting screen time in every episode from the Kwamis' Choice two-parter onwards aside from "Representation" and "Conformation" which were the first ever episodes in love square screen time history to not include screen time for any love square ship. After "Perfection" though it only seems to get no more than 3 min of screen time every episode with "Protection" being an exception that is aside from the final three episodes it is a part of, those being "Revolution" and "Re-Creation" and "Action".

Maricat and Ladrien, not being the major ships this season, only got spikes of screen time in 2-3 episodes, Maricat predictably having the larger spikes with its largest spike being it's designated episode of the season "Elation" and Ladrien having two small spikes of a few seconds in "Passion" and "Deflagration".

Conclusion

Well, that about wraps this up. Well, almost, since like I said before, we still got the Paris Special, after which we will get the final screen time distribution for all the love square ships, at least until we get more seasons and that changes up the distribution. Feel free to make your own observations based on this data. Until next time!

#miraculous ladybug #ml season 5 #ml love square #adrienette #ladynoir #maricat #ladrien #ml analysis #love square screen time distribution

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jasonsknight3 · 6 months

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Finally got this out! Turns out it will be a two parter! I mean unless y’all want more or I think of something else. Enjoy part one!

Zombie apocalypse

Jason Todd x reader

Part one

Over a year, it’s been over a year since it began. It took about 24 hours of screaming, panic, choking, and pain for it to spread like wildfire, it took a couple days for the screams to turn into quiet gurgling sounds. All it took was one week for the majority of humanity to turn. Not sure how it started, but this wasn’t like the movies. Not in the slightest. These “zombies” weren’t rotting, they weren’t falling apart, they weren’t slow, they didn’t eat flesh, some only bite for the purpose of spreading the disease. Some give the kiss of death erasing what humanity you had. The mindless creatures were pale green with irritated red under their eyes, some had thick vines creeping painfully out of the mouth, nose, eyes, or all three. A truly horrific sight.

“Unsure meetings”

Running through the trashed streets of Gotham you panic. Your warm breath being seen in the winter gray air. Hoots and hollers getting closer behind you. Your legs feel number and number by the minute. How long have you been running? How far could the adrenaline take you? You felt yourself slowing down. Up ahead were boxes, barrels, and stakes made of different materials. A normal thing to see in the streets these days. However, usually these places were abandoned. You wished you could get rid of these guys on the stakes but they were human. Somewhat smarter than the mindless creatures. “Come on pretty lady! We just wanna talk!” One of them cooed loudly while others laughed and encouraged. Zipping between barrels and other things you make your way. A scream cut through the air making you look back. You see one of the guys bleeding, nails embedded in his face and whole left side. It was a sucking sight, torn flesh, the nails contorting his face. The other men were trying to console him, stupidly pulling the nails out of his face. Looking back was your worst possible mistake. Your ankle caught some thick rope making you fall. It was so quick the sound of crunching didn’t even seem real. Your eyes watered, heart pounding, your arm felt…numb. Swallowing the fear you turn your head to a horrific sight that makes you shriek in horror. The pain was extreme as it all suddenly came rushing to you. Bloods leaked from your bear trapped arm. Unfortunately the group of men hadn’t forgotten about you. They all started approaching.

In a hurry you tried prying off the bear trap to no avail. After all, bear traps required two hands instead of one. “Well well well, looks like our little lady got stuck.” One of them taunted. “Well, looks like we don’t have to catch er’ now.” Another said laughing. Quickly you pulled out your knife pointing it at them. You hated that you shook. They could see the fear. “Oh sweetie. No need for that, let just say we’re a couple of guys that need a- a little affection.” In response you cursed at them. “Back off!” You yelled. “No need for that little lady.” One of them kicks the bear trap causing you to drop the knife and shriek in pain. In a single moment they had you pinned to the ground, your face on the cold dirty asphalt. You scream at them, and cry desperately for help. The men talked among themselves. “It’s not like she needs both. We could just cut it off.” Another interjected “we could just take off the bear trap dummy.” Another one huffed “but if we cut her hand off she’ll be less of a fighter.” They all agreed your eyes watered as you pleaded. “Pl-please don’t!” They only laughed. The one on top of you pulled out a knife. “This might hurt little lady.” You squeeze your eyes shut, the blade touches your skin but nothing more. A weird silence followed. Something warm dripped on your face. Opening your eyes you see the man above you. Red leaking from his throat. A blade covered in blood stabbed through his jugular. The man gurgled but was quickly thrown to the side taking the wait off of you. “Walter!” One of the men screamed. “You gonna pay for that!” Trying to get away from the commotion you crawl away as far as you could and sit up. Just before you was a bloody scene. A larger man was in a bloody battle with these guys. Blood was everywhere. Using skill and accuracy he sliced and stabbed to kill. They got a few hits on him but it did little to nothing. Within a few moments of agonized screams the winter air fell quiet. Zombies you could handle, this- this was true horror. Living in Gotham before all this was pretty dangerous but this was one of the most violent things you had seen personally.

You attention strayed away from the dead bodies to the approaching figure. “No- please! Don’t hurt me! I- I’ll leave! I swear!” You plead. The man crouched down. “Stop.” He demanded abruptly. Being quiet you take note of a few things. This huge man was wearing plated armor that had some sort of red symbol on the Breast plates, wearing a brown leather jacket over it, he had some waist holsters obviously for guns and a knife sheath. Leaning down you could see he wore a red handkerchief over the bottom of his face. his eyes. One green the other blue Strangely soft and a scar between his thick eyebrows. He took a hold of the bear trap. “Hold your breath.” He ordered and you comply. The sound of straining metal claws was a relief and painful. The exhale was sharp and the inhale quick. The man put a hand over you mouth muffling the screams of agony. The trap clamping on hurt just as much as coming off. Tears streamed down wetting you flushed cheeks. “You’re alright. You’ll be fine. Come on.” Taking a hold of your upper back the stranger lifted you up and started taking you to a building. He looked around aware the sound of the infected getting worked up. “Need to get off the street.” He said aloud more to himself than you. “I’ll take care you.” He assured you.

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freneticfloetry · 4 months

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So I'm two days late with Starbucks, but I'm here. (Does this count toward Seven Sentence Sunday?)

The Reyes family has opened their hearts to him in so many ways. Tonight, TK’s determined to open their home in return, no matter how clueless — or Carlos-less — he might find himself in the process.

Three days of discovering new traditions.

“Okay,” TK says, frowning up at the underside of his favorite jawline, “I’m confused. I thought there were twelve days of Christmas.”

In general, this is a love letter to the mass insanity that is the Mexican holiday season. Specifically, it's a @tarlos-santa gift especially for @sugdenlovesdingle!

esta noche es de alegría (read on AO3)

It’s technically a three-parter, but could be read as a slice-of-life standalone. Will update again on Saturday, and finish up the Saturday after that.

As always, huge thank you to @ambiguouspenny for all the support in my time of flailing (especially since they were plotting in the process).

Merry Christmas Eve to all those who celebrate!

#tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tarlos secret santa #my fic #esta noche es de alegría #feliz nochebuena #damn i love writing holiday stories

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raainberry · 6 months

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Moonflower - II

« In literature, the moonflower has been used as a symbol of love, mystery, and enchantment. »

Sana x gn!reader

Not fluff, not angst, but a secret third thing

synopsis - your job is still flowers. she's still not sure how she got into this mess. but maybe you could get her out of it.

- part.I - part.III -

wordcount - 1.8K

TW - like one (1) soft cuss word

A/N - i had to divide and rearrange what i’d written in the drafts for pt.2 bc it was so long so now its a three parter. you can expect it shortly🤭

Truth was, Sana had been looking for a way to break off this engagement.

A quick, effective and good reason.

She wasn’t necessarily proud of it, but cheating was at the top of her list. It had all gone too far anyway, leaving as the bad guy didn’t seem so bad to her anymore.

If anything it was the best way to go.

If she wanted to leave it all behind for good, this was the way to do it. No one would want a cheater back, right?

In the past couple of weeks, she’d thought of a few ways to do it. Kissing a stranger at a bar, sleeping with a cute encounter at the club, blaming either on the alcohol or even the other person… all classics that appealed to her, but not enough to make her act on the thoughts.

No, those were too easy. Too nice.

She needed more.

She’d lost too much in this wedding embush. She felt trapped in a relationship that should have ended weeks before that damn proposal. If only she hadn’t been such a coward…

She was done with that act, though. Something in her snapped as soon as she realised just how deep into this mess she was.

It was the day she had been monopolized to taste-test tens of different cake flavours. She couldn’t tell you if it was due to the amount of sugar she ingested, or because of having to witness her fiancé and mother-in-law act more couply than she ever did with him… but she had never felt so nauseous in her life.

That night, her bathroom mirror bore witness to her tears as she cried for a good hour.

She hadn’t even meant to. Seeing her own reflection so worn out and unfamiliar was enough to push her over the edge. The tears kept dragging themselves out through her labored breathing as she desperately tried to stay quiet.

The last thing she needed was for anyone, much less her so called fiancé, to see her so miserable. Even she didn’t want to see it, which didn’t help her case at all as part of the many reasons she was crying.

It was a weird, twisted vicious cycle. All of it. Something she could only escape through sleep.

The next day she woke up feeling revengeful. Like the self-pity had drained down the sink along with her tears. She was set on walking away from it all, she just had to figure out how.

Her escape needed a perfect plan. A grandiose one that would cause utter chaos and misery, matching that mix her life had turned into because of it all.

That morning, her bathroom mirror bore witness to her most vile promise to date.

She wanted to ruin it all.

She was going to ruin it all.

And she needed to enjoy the fall.

Simply sleeping with someone wasn’t the way to do it.

But she did need someone else’s help.

She saw potential in you. In other words, she noticed the way you looked at her. You were cute, seemed reliable—easily charmed, sure— but just as charming, which she looked at as a redeeming trait.

Should you accept it, she figured you’d make a great partner in crime.

“What are you doing this weekend?” She had asked before leaving your flower shop empty handed.

She wasn’t surprised when you actually did accept, and met her at a coffee shop she’d suggested in order to think up a plan.

You never thought you’d ever have to brainstorm ways to effectively ruin a wedding. It’s not a common expectation in one’s life, but that’s what made it exciting.

Weirdly exciting.

You knew this was wrong to some extent, but it was for the greater good. That’s what you kept repeating to yourself every now and then. It was reassuring.

“So the best thing we have is basically running away.”

You stared at the sheet of paper in front of you, all scribbled with options, some circled, some wiped out, some straight up barred… There barely was a blank space left, and the most visible part were two underlined words written in a corner.

“Run away.”

Sana felt her chest tightening as she read the words over and over.

Run away, her mind echoed.

They sounded too familiar. It was loud, overwhelming with each resonance, she was suffocating at the mere sight of the idea.

She didn’t like it. It sounded weak and cowardly, like everything she didn’t want to be anymore.

Surely, there was another way. There had to be.

“Sana?” You called out, noticing her trance.

Placing your fingers in between the subject and her eyes, you snapped them.

Her eyes felt dry, letting her know she hadn’t blinked in a while. That caused her eyelids to flutter as she turned to look at you.

“Are you alright?” You raised an eyebrow.

This was new. Granted you’d only met her a few days prior, but still. She’d showcased such a range of emotions already…

“Yeah. Just…” She looked back at the paper on top of the table. “Do you really have no other idea?”

You glanced back at the words too, hoping to see something that would enlighten you about her behavior. However you only saw the most obvious staring back at you.

This was the only way. The only sane one at least.

You looked back at her, and the silent pleas of her gaze caught you off guard. The sight made you want to lie again. Maybe her eyes would return to the vibrant brown they sported when she asked to meet you here.

“I don’t… have anything else in mind.” The truth came out your lips, hesitant but victorious.

False hope was probably the last thing she needed at the moment. It was the right thing to say. So why did her reaction feel so wrong to see?

You watched, uneasy as she let out a defeated sigh. You swore you’d seen her pout before she stood up and left the booth you’d been sitting in for the last couple of hours.

Startled, you jumped to your feet and left an amount of cash on the table that hopefully surpassed the actual bill before hurrying after her.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You called out as you pushed the exit door open.

She was way ahead of you already. Enough to make you think she was running away from you

Ironic.

You were convinced she was, and you only put that thought on hold because she actually turned back to you.

The world around you seemed to have stopped. Or maybe you just were in a slow part of town. The point was, you could only see her.

Yet again, you found yourself unable to do anything else other than respond to the way she pulled you in. Your feet took a few hesitant steps towards her, and you only followed. When they came to a halt, you could see her better.

The first thing you noticed were her strained features. Her furrowed eyebrows were a little blurry, but they looked awfully familiar. You’d seen that same expression up close just days ago, at the flower shop.

The sight had you racking your brain again, trying to remember the way you’d managed to see her smile. Had it been as hard as you found it now? You nearly gave yourself a headache, but the sound of her voice spared you.

“Thank you for trying, Y/N. But I think I’m just gonna go home.”

You felt your heart drop in your chest. You couldn’t help but scoff at what you’d heard, staring at her in as if she’d said the most sense-deprived words ever—which in a way she kind of had.

That was it? She was giving up already?

“Why?”

You didn’t mean to question her decision. All you did was as simple as the question itself. You only wondered, and externalised it.

She didn’t answer for a long while. Long enough to let you think she hadn’t heard you. And while you wondered whether or not the question had actually left your mind; she thought.

She thought about her answer, but nothing came up.

That in itself was an answer, no?

She took a deep breath, refueling her confidence enough to walk up to you. You could feel it surrounding her again, the bold and rebellious. It was shy, though. As if this time she did try to put on a façade.

Her steps slowed down as she reached you, leaving a couple feet in between the two of you. Now that she was even closer, you could tell she’s been holding herself back. You just didn’t know whether it was from crying or from actually running away.

“If I say I don’t know…” She started, and you looked at her expectantly. “I should go through with this, right?”

You blinked, your eyes not leaving hers as you lost yourself in them the longer you stared. You knew she wanted you to agree. She expected you to. And if you didn’t, she made sure you’d reconsider.

All with a single look.

That’s exactly how she got you here in the first place.

“Do you really need my input?” You asked, taking her aback. “You’re the one that put the idea on the table. It seems to me you’ve made your mind up.”

“Maybe I did.” She said, stepping close enough to grab the collar of your jacket. She feigned to fix it for you, barely throwing it a glance before meeting your eyes again.

They hadn’t left her, and a smile almost gave away her thoughts. Thankfully, you were too focused on trying to see those through the supposed windows of the soul.

What a load of crap. You couldn’t see a thing.

“Why would you write it down if you weren’t willing to actually consider it?” You asked, opting for the more straightforward way. No professional boundary could stop you now.

“I can consider it.” She said, tightening her grip on your collar. “I just don’t have the guts to do it alone.”

That didn’t sound too good. Or did it?

In all honesty, you felt a little excited at the idea of helping her. Almost as much as you felt nervous.

She was unpredictable, borderline manipulative. Your heart raced just hearing her speak, and knowing her words were directed at you… it was thrilling.

The good or bad kind of thrill; you couldn’t care less now that she stood this close to you. As dangerous as she could possibly be, you found yourself willing to risk it all to find out.

And if she wanted you to help her run away from her own wedding, then you would. A few questions asked, but you would.

So you let her climb into the passenger seat of your car, sighing as you held the door for her.

This might be your worst decision yet, but alas.

It was for the greater good.

#twice x reader #sana x reader #sana imagines #twice imagines #twice sana #minatozaki sana

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gilanslove · 2 months

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Echoes Of Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Word count: 3.4K

Summary: Bucky has spent decades yearning to know what happened to his sister. When he discovers she's still alive, will he let her back into his life? Or is he too damaged for even family to accept?

T/W: Mentions of war, Bucky's past as the Winter soldier.

A/N: This will be a two parter! I'll have the second part out asap

I took a deep breath, gripping my steering well tighter, the object of my trepidation just outside the windshield- a nondescript brown building, low to the ground, a small sign reading “ Newark Community Home” nestled in the corner of the yard, dotted with picnic tables and umbrellas. I thought back to the events of the last six weeks that had brought me to this parking lot.

SIX WEEKS AGO:

“Y/N? Where are you?” Bucky’s voice called to me from our front door. I allowed a small smile, still disbelieving that it was our home. Bucky had truly been doing so well, he still had nightmares and occasionally drifted deep into himself, where I could not reach him, but compared to where he was a year ago, he had made leaps and bounds. It had actually been Bucky’s idea to get a flat together and make a home together. He had been so anxious to broach the subject, so uncertain that I would say yes as if he deserved anything less than love.

“In the bedroom!” I called back, listening as Bucky pulled off his boots and padded his way to our room. He peeked his head around the doorframe, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, even as his eyes remained guarded.

“ Hey doll” He murmured, crossing to give me a kiss, “How was your day?”

I shrugged, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Alright, I mostly hung around here, got some laundry and dishes done, plus sent off those emails for work. I did go out and get some groceries though. How was your day?’

“ Okay.” Bucky avoided my eyes, looking up at the wall over my head, shifting his weight subtly. He thought he hid his feelings well- and to be fair, he did, to most people. But I had spent three years watching him up close and personal, and much longer before that admiring him from a distance, and I’ve learned his little tells. He’s not as stoic as he thinks he is.

“What is it? What happened? “ I ask, standing from the bed, meeting his gaze.

Bucky sighed, sinking down in the spot I just vacated, picking up the socks I had discarded, and turning it over in his hands. His eyes finally focused on me, still guarded, but he at least was there.

“Sam gave me something today.” He finally said, his eyes searching mine.

“What did Sam give you?” I reached out, pulling the sock from his hands, and sliding my hand into Bucky’s. I sat down beside him, encasing his hand in mine. I shoved the socks into my hoodie pocket, making a mental note to put them away later. Bucky sighed, leaning his head against mine, and sweeping his thumb over my hand.

“ I mentioned that I don’t know what happened to most of the people I knew, back in the war and the 40’s. “ This didn't surprise me. Sam Wilson was easygoing, kind, and loyal. He wouldn't even tell me what Bucky said in confidentiality. He was a good friend, and I appreciated him more than probably anyone knew, he was exactly what Bucky needed after losing Steve.

“Sam gave me a stack of files. Some of them I know what happened to them, Steve, Peggy and my ma and pa are in them. But there's a lot that I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to live the rest of my unnaturally long life not knowing, but I don’t know if I’m ready to read the files yet.” I turned my head slightly, allowing my lips to just brush his cheek, scrunching my nose as his stubble roughed against my mouth.

“I know they're probably all dead, but I don't know what their lives looked like.” He continued, sighing with a breath of air that held 70 years of torment, of being uncomfortable with his hands, uncomfortable with his body.

“If you want to, Buck, I could read them to you?” I offered. Bucky considered my offer, brow furrowed, fingers tracing along mine. The silence dragged on, seconds turning to minutes. Finally, slowly, he nodded. He stood and walked out of our room, returning a few moments later with a stack of manilla folders, all tied shut with twine.

“ Who do you want to start with?” I asked, shoving the laundry piles to the side to make room. I spread the files out so we could read the names typed on the front. I could sense Bucky hovering hesitantly behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder at him, seeing the tension he held in his shoulders, the way his vibranium hand pulled at his flesh one, the tight look he wore. I smiled at him, hoping to reassure him. He smiled back, shaky but there. He glanced at the row of envelopes, tapping on one envelope that bore the name Philip Davie.

“ Him. He was a Private I worked with for a bit before he shipped out. He was a good man. ” Bucky murmured, blue eyes lost to the many years that separated the Bucky in front of me and the Bucky who knew Private Davie. I nodded, picking the envelope up off the bed, and undoing the twine that tied it shut. I skimmed the report. Clearing my throat I started.

“ Private Philip Anthony Davie:

Enlisted December 11, 1941

Discharged: October 20, 1945

Type: Honourable.

Private Davie served his country with honor, standing fast in the face of great turmoil. He served in the 107 and saw two overseas tours. He did sustain a leg injury, having been struck by shrapnel in the left calf on or near March 22, 1943. He was moved first to a field hospital and then to the Royal Alexandra. After a month recovering he was sent home on sick leave, where he continued to heal. He was soon back in the trenches. After the war, he married the nurse who had tended to him in the Royal Alexandra. They had four children, Andrew, Ruth, Edmund and Josephine. Philip died at the age of 62, surrounded by his family at his home.

I finished the brief report, glancing up at Bucky where he stood, seemingly frozen to the ground.

“ Buck?” I questioned, starting to stand up. He shook his head, sinking to sit beside me.

“ Keep, reading- please" He whispered. I nodded, reaching for another folder. Bucky’s hand caught my wrist gently. I turned to look at him. He reached for a different folder.

“ Read this one, please” He whispered. I took the folder from him, glancing at the name. Understanding dawned upon me. I nodded, clearing my throat once again. Rebbeca Fairhurst nee Barnes

Born: April 1921

Rebecca Fairhurst was 20 years old when war broke out. She applied to nursing school immediately but was denied. She found a job working in a local shop, supporting her parents while her brother was deployed. Becca was 24 years old when her brother was KIA, and after the war, she married Arthur Fairhurst. They settled in New Jersey. They had five children, Alice, Vivian, Edith, Charles and James. Arthur died at the age of 58 from cancer, followed by Charles at 25 from a car accident. Becca says her greatest wish is to know what truly happened to her brother in 1945. Becca currently resides at the Newark Community Home.

Bucky sucked in a ragged breath; hands splayed against the bed as if it was supporting him.

“She’s alive? He questioned softly. I nodded, just as shocked as he was. I glanced at the bottom of the report, seeing the address and phone number handwritten there. God bless you Sam I thought.

“Buck you can go see her,” I told him excitedly. He shook his head, the joy on his face fading.

“ I can’t. She thinks I’m dead. And honestly, it’s better than she thinks that” Confusion knit my brow into a deep furrow.

“ What do you mean?” I questioned, reaching to place my hand on Bucky’s arm. He shrugged, refusing to meet my eyes, fingers digging into the quilt.

“ Buck” My voice was firm. He slowly dragged his eyes to meet mine. Deep in the cerulean was hope but even more evident was despair.

“ Y/N, she doesn’t want to see me. I’m not the person she used to know. There’s so much blood on my hands and so much pain that follows me around. I can’t bring her onto this. It will be better for her if she thinks I died all those years ago like I was supposed to. I will not bring her into this.” His voice was pained, but firm. I knew I wouldn’t change his mind. I also knew he needed to see his sister and give him some closure he lacked. I glanced at him, seeing the mask slip into place. He smiled easily at me as if he hadn't just received life-changing news.

“ Any plans for supper?” He asked. I nodded.

“ Yeah but I have to run out for something. Can you finish the laundry while I go?” I asked casually, but my mind was racing. Bucky nodded.

“ Course I can doll” He assured me, kissing my cheek as I stood, grabbing my keys and wallet.

“I shouldn’t be long” I promised, stepping out the door. I hurried to the elevator, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I waited for the slow elevator. As soon as the door shut behind me, I had my phone in my hand, rapidly typing out my passcode, and unlocking the device. My finger found the contact I needed, waiting until the elevator delivered me to the main floor. Stepping into the chilly fall air, I walked a few feet before I dared call Sam. I didn’t trust Bucky’s hearing to not hear me if I called inside the building.

He picked up immediately.

“Hey, Kid!” He greeted. I groaned.

“ Hey, Sam.”

“ Everything okay?” He asked. I sighed.

“ We went through a few of those folders.

“ Did he take it hard?” Sam asked, concerned.

“ No, he took it better than I expected but Sam, one of the ones we read was his sister. She’s still alive” I heard Sam’s sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone.

“ He must be excited” Sam ventured. I groaned again.

“ No. He doesn't want to reach out. He says it’s better if Becca thinks he’s dead. But she has to be in her 50s or 60s now, and if I can give them any time together, I want to”

“ Well,” Sam sounded pensive. “ Did he tell you not to reach out?”

“No,” I said, “ but I know he doesn't want to. “ Sam sighed.

“ Tell you what. I’ll reach out to the home, and see if she’ll agree to meet you. Then if Buck gets mad at someone it’ll be me, and maybe we can give him some closure”

“Have I ever told you how thankful I am for you?” I asked, stepping into the market. Sam’s low chuckle reached my ears.

“ Not recently” He joked.

“ Thank you, Sam,” I said earnestly.

“ Anytime kid” I groaned.

“ Don’t call me kid. I am older than you.” I scolded, laughing.

“Yeah, but I’m taller. “

“ Goodbye, Sam” I laughed again.

“ Bye kid” The line went dead before I could offer a smart retort. Now I had to find something to justify an impromptu grocery trip.

I finally settled on a loaf of bread and a metric ton of garlic for garlic bread- it would pair well with the soup I had made. Heading back to the flat I shared with Bucky, I paused just outside our door, hearing the low tune of Bucky’s music through the thin walls. I opened the door, shutting and locking it behind me.

“ Buck?” I called, stepping into the kitchen, and smiling as I caught sight of him, reading another file. I crossed to the table, bending to kiss his head. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me to sit on his lap. I glanced down and the fire spread across the table, seeing the name Rebecca Barnes across the top.

“ I was wrong,” Bucky murmured. His eyes were focused on the file, but his thumb swept over my hip, soothing without intention. I hummed softly, carding my fingers through his short hair. Bucky sighed, closing his eyes and turning from the table.

“Hydra took everything from me. ”He continued, eyes focused above my head, lost to the years he endured. “Everything including my family. I wasn’t there when Ma or Da died, and Becca thought I was dead too. Hydra can’t take this chance from me too. They may have taken my past from me, but I won’t let them take any future I have.” He finished voice firm. I smiled at him.

“ When do you want to go see her?” I asked. Bucky hesitated for just a second before asking in a small voice, “ Can you go see her first? I don’t know what exactly she knows about my past- even if I’m alive. From the file, it says she’s been in the home for a few years, and it hasn’t been that long since my past is common knowledge. I don’t want to show up if she doesn’t know I’m alive or if she doesn't want to see me. “

“Of course, love” I hurried to reassure him. He smiled at me then, hesitant but hopeful. I hopped off Bucky’s lap, and grabbed my phone, typing the number written at the bottom of Becca’s file quickly. The line rang once, twice before a brisk voice answered.

“ Newark Community Home, Tina speaking. “

“ Hi Tina, My name is Y/N and I am looking for some information and to come visit a resident”

PRESENT DAY

I unbuckled my seatbelt with shaking hands. I took a ragged breath, stepping out of my car. I glanced around the lot, heading toward the main entrance. Bucky and I had come up the night before, getting a room in a nearby hotel. He had elected to stay behind while I met Becca. When I left, he was video chatting with Sam. Behind the desk was a young woman, probably mid 20s. Her nametag read “Tina” She looked up as I walked toward her, smiling warmly.

“ Hey there, what can I help you with?” She asked. I smiled back.

“ Hi, we spoke on the phone, I’m Y/N” Her smile grew.

“ Of course. Mrs. Fairhurst is ready for you. We set her up in our common room. Most of our residents are in their rooms after lunch so you should have some privacy. Once you’ve signed in I’ll show you the way” Tina gestured to the sign-in book on the desk, standing and leading the way to the open room. Carpeted in deep red carpet, the was a long table against the far wall, with assorted puzzles and books on it, as well as a smaller two-person table off to the side where an elderly woman sat. She smiled as I approached her, white curls cut close to her head. Vivid blue eyes- Bucky's eyes- crinkled as I took a seat across from her.

“Hello, Mrs. Fairhurst. My name is Y/N and I appreciate you agreeing to meet me. I wanted to talk to you about your family, specifically your brother, Seargent Barnes. “ Becca shook my hand with surprising strength. She smiled at me again.

“ I appreciate you coming all this way” Her eyes were clear and focused on mine. I smiled, glancing around and searching for my words.

“ Mrs. Fairhurst” I began. Becca interrupted me.

“ Please call me Becca.” she urged. I nodded, starting again.

“ Becca, what can you tell me of your brother?” Her eyes gazed behind me, eyes lost to the years that separated her from her brother.

“ He was the best brother.” She said finally, voice wistful.

“ He was kind and funny and spent far too long worrying about me. He got into fights protecting me and when his number came up, he promised me he’d come home. “ Don't you worry, Bec. “ He said. “ I’ll always come back to you. “ When Arthur brought the news that he wasn’t coming home- my entire world fell apart. I couldn’t go to work, I couldn’t stand to be around my family. I wanted to lock myself in my room and scream. The funeral remains the hardest day of my life, and I’ve buried a child and my husband. I think it was knowing that Bucky wasn’t in the coffin, that he was lost somewhere in France, and not even his body would come home. And Steve was gone too. So much death those days and I was right in the middle of it. It hasn’t gotten easier, but I’ve grown around my grief.” She said with a sigh, hands laced tightly together. I nodded, biting my lip as I considered my next words.

“ pardon the change in subject but I promise there’s a point to this. What do you know about the Avengers?” Becca frowned slightly.

“ Not much. I heard about the fight in New York, with the aliens. And that Steve was still alive and spent all those years under ice. He called me once after he came back. He apologized for Bucky. I had just buried my Ma- Pa died years ago, only a few years after Bucky did. Other than that, nothing. News is pretty hard to come by here- the TV never works and I don’t have family nearby anymore. “ I nodded again. I reached a hand to Becca’s holding it gently as I explained to her.

“ There’s no easy way to tell you this- but Seargent Barnes didn’t die in that fall.” Becca gasped, eyes riveted on me as I continued. “ He was badly injured and he fell into Hydra’s hands, where they.... tortured him. Brainwashed him and turned into a weapon. But he fought his way out, time and time again, and came out the other side. He’s not the same man you remember- he lost an arm but he’s alive and as well as one can hope. “ I reached into my bag, pulling out the folder Bucky and I had compiled on his life. His past as the winter soldier, Hydra's ( and Shield’s) fall, the torture and abuse he endured, his time with Sam, everything we could find. There were articles, links to videos, interviews, and official memos from Shield. His whole life was comprised of a simple manila folder. I slid it across the table to Becca. She glanced up at me, questions in her eyes.

“ Where is he?” She questioned softly.

“He lives in New York now. But he’s currently here, in Newark. He is at the hotel. I tried to convince him to come with me, but he wasn’t sure if you’d want to see him.” Becca looked at me sharply.

“ Why wouldn’t I want to see him?” She questioned. I smiled softly.

“ He said he has too much blood on his hands. It’s been too long and it would be better if you continued to think he had died ‘when he was supposed to.” Becca snorted, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

“ He was always stubborn. He’s my brother. I want to see him. We’ve spent too long apart. Will you bring him to me? “ I nodded.

“ I’ll give you the evening to read over the file. My phone number is in there, call me when you're done and we can plan a time for tomorrow if you agree?” Becca nodded, standing as I did, reaching her arms to me. She hugged me fiercely, her voice sounding in my ear as she whispered,

“ Bring him to me. He obviously means so much to you, and I need to see him and I think he needs to see me too. Bring him to me.” I nodded, stepping back. I smiled at the lady in front of me.

“ I’ll talk to you later?” I asked. She nodded, a determined set to her chin. I nodded softly and then turned and walked into the hallway. Hope surged in my chest, and I couldn't wait to get back to Bucky.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction

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i-fondued · 2 years

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Kinktober 2022 | Ghost - Sinners in Secret

Cardinal Copia is a possessive man, he isn’t inclined to share anything much less his particular Sister of Sin. Even if nobody in the abbey has noticed them together, she knows who she belongs to. But even some of the best pets need to be re-educated from time to time.

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader/Sister of Sin x Papa “Terzo” Emeritus III Rating: Explicit Warnings: (oOohO boy ** rubs hands together **) rough oral sex, rough sex, voyeurism, google translate Italian, dom/sub vibes, bad/no aftercare, spanking, dirty talk, you know…the standards at this point

A/N: This feels like the result of a very fucky sleep schedule and the culmination of all of the dirty thoughts about the Papas drifting around. This is my magnum opus and I don’t know if I will ever be able to top this honestly (ahaha see what I did there?) Surprising to nobody I honestly think I will end up making this into a multi-parter because if I don’t get to live vicariously through my writing and watch them have a threesome I will riot against my own brain

AO3 - HERE Chapter Hub - HERE

“Sorella…”

I arched my back, rolling my hips against Copia’s as I felt his lips press against the sensitive spot by my ear. I shuttered, cupping his face and pulling him to my lips.

Copia’s hand was threaded in my hair when the sound of someone knocking on the door startled us apart. I slipped from his lap and threw myself quickly into the chair on the other side of his desk, my face flushed bright red as I fixed my habit on my head. Copia cleared his throat and adjusted his cassock before sitting in his office chair.

“Come in.” He called, a hard edge to his voice. He hated being interrupted, especially when it interrupted our time together. I heard the door open and busied myself with looking very interested in the Latin translation I had done earlier today.

“Ah, Cardinale!”

“Papa. Seestor.” Copia said crisply, his glare dark. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Afternoon, Cardinal.” Sister Imperator’s voice was sharp, I couldn’t help it as my eyes drifted to try and sneak a look at her. Unfortunately for me she was too observant and her eyes locked with mine, instantly squinting at me suspiciously. “Sister…whatever could you be doing here? Aren’t you on library duties today?”

“Sorella, don’t tell me you have a…how you say? Ah! A feeling for our dear Cardinale.” Terzo teased as he slid next to me, his arm coming across the back of my chair.

My face instantly flushed bright scarlet, an uncomfortable giggle bursting from my lips. I looked to Copia for help but he had a quizzical look on his face, his hands steepled in front of his face while he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. He was leaving me here to hang in front of Imperator, bastard.

“O-oh of course not!” I laughed, panic bubbling in my chest before I started to babble. “Cardinal Copia was helping me with my translation work, he is very dutiful and attentive whenever I need help with my Latin skills. He is a very good friend!”

The three others in the room all had various looks of disbelief. Sister Imperator had one eyebrow lifted, her head tilted just barely, and the look on her face read that she didn’t believe a word at all. Terzo’s face was quirked with a funny sort of smirk, his eyebrows knitted together as if he was trying to decipher something. Papa looked at me with warmth in his eyes before looking over at the other male in the room. Copia’s face was the most troublesome.

The only way to describe it was blank, nothing on his face gave his reaction away. His eyes however..oh they spoke of my undoing. His mismatched eyes were filled with unbridled fury. They were locked on mine and I knew I would be paying for that comment. The tension in the room could have been cut with a wooden blade.

“Yes well, Sister, Papa and I have a meeting with the Cardinal. I’m sure you have some work to do elsewhere…” Imperator trailed off, gesturing to the Latin notes in my lap and on the desk.

“Yes of course, thank you Cardinal. I’ll see myself out.” I mumbled, cheeks flushed red as both men watched me gather my things quickly and scamper from the room.

As I turned to shut the door behind me, Copia’s eyes locked with mine and a chill ran down my spine. Oh I was so fucked later.

…

I spent the rest of my working hours in the library, partly hiding from Copia but also working on my various translation projects. It wasn’t till one of the other sisters who worked in the library came to drag me to dinner did I even know what time it was.

Our big formal dinners at the abbey were always noisy, especially when Papa was home with the ghouls. Tables were laid out family style and siblings mingled together with the Ghouls. I actually forgot I had been avoiding Copia and managed to forget myself, smiling while laughing at the ghoul’s antics at the table. Mashed potatoes had been flung lightly at another sibling and I let my eyes drift towards the head table where Copia sat with the older Papas and Sister Imperator.

The Cardinal wasn’t looking at me, clearly in a deep conversation with Primo and Nihil. Just as I was about to look away his eyes drifted to me. At first his face seemed to soften but then his posture changed and I could see the dark look return to his face. Before I could even think what that could mean, Terzo slid into the seat next to me. I turned to him with a polite smile and slid my gaze away from Copia. Ah, he was still sour over being interrupted.

“Sorella, how is your supper?” Terzo spoke, his voice low and syrupy. I leaned closer to him so I’d be able to hear him over the din of the dining room. He clicked his wine glass against mine and we drained our glasses together. “I hope dear Aether is not bothering you.”

“No, of course not Papa.” I smiled at him as he reached over to refill my wine glass with the bottle on our table. “It’s nice to have you all home for a change, even if it's only a quick stop. It’s been so quiet here without the ghouls.”

“It is very nice to hear you say that, Tesoro.” He teased, my cheeks flushing as I sipped my wine glass. “I too have been sick for home.”

“Do you mean homesick?” I chucked, wine flushing my cheeks even more. I hadn’t eaten much that day and I was drinking more wine than I had for a long time, feeling I needed liquid courage to get me through this. I could feel eyes on Terzo and I, deep down I knew it wasn’t another sibling who was locked on us.

“Ah yes, homesick! My English is sometimes not so good, even more after a few bottles of wine.” Terzo laughed, a loud belly laugh that caused more than a few siblings to look at us. I smiled at him but felt the heat gathering on my face. “What you say, Sorella? Care to join me for a nightcap some time?”

“P-papa?” I sputtered as I looked around me to see if anyone was paying attention to us. The other siblings were fully distracted by the rambunctious ghouls, none of them looking in our direction. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Mi dispiace, Sister. I just assumed you had been looking for esclusiva confessional time.” He leaned in, arm resting behind my chair as he whispered into my ear. “I have seen the way you look at the high table, Sister. Unless that gaze isn’t meant for me.”

His hand brushed against my cheek, causing me to jump, before my eyes locked with his. He had a slight flush to his cheeks, one I knew was mirrored on my own, and a wicked smile on his face. I blushed more, and squirmed under his intense look in his eyes.

“Judging by the Cardinale storming from the room just now, I would say those looks were not for me.”

I felt the alcohol drain instantly from my bloodstream, the blood draining from my face.

“W-what?” I whispered, Terzo’s face spread into a wicked grin, one that reminded me of the Cheshire Cat, as he rested his chin in his hand. “I-excuse me Papa…”

Without another word I scrambled out of the dining room, unsure of what I would do if I even ran into Copia. I knew he would be furious and my heart pounded in my chest. I paused in the hallway, thoughts swirling around, and tried to come up with the best plan of speaking with Copia. I knew I couldn’t do it now, not only would he be beyond furious right now but I was tipsy and I didn’t trust my mouth to not say something stupid.

Also dinner would be finishing up soon and curfew not long after that. I knew I didn’t want to be caught out of my room by then. Instead of running right to Copia’s office where I assumed he would be, I did the only smart thing I could think of. I went right back to my room where I told myself I would go right to bed, collect my thoughts, and have a full explanation and apology ready by morning. With an optimistic pep in my step I went back to my room, fully intent on following through with my plan. I slipped inside, shutting the door behind me, and turning to see a red envelope on my desk with a familiar scrawl on it.

“Oh fuck me…” I groaned, pulling the habit from my head and tossing it on my bed.

I stared at the letter for what felt like hours before I plucked up the courage to actually open it. My heart was in my throat as I saw one simple line, there was no signature but I didn’t need one. I knew exactly who wrote to me. I paused to look at the clock on my desk, it was only nine in the evening, I knew I had a few hours to get some sleep before I would follow his commands. I slipped into my nightgown and buried myself under the covers, closing my eyes and willing my heart to calm down as I squirmed just thinking about what Copia had written.

Library. Midnight. Do not wear anything under your nightgown.

Oh. Oh. I was so dead.

…

I startled awake at the sound of my alarm, glad I had thought to set it before I fell asleep. I had a few minutes to sneak down to the library so I rushed to take my underwear and bra off. I couldn’t help the flush that came to my cheeks as I felt a small thrill run down my spine. I tucked my feet in a pair of simple slippers, knowing the floors would be too cold for bare feet, and wrapped my silk bathrobe around myself.

I slipped out my door as silently as I could, noting the sound of soft snoring from the rooms closest to me. Quickly I snuck down the hall, past the other senior Sister’s rooms and past Imperator’s door. Down the carpeted staircase, the weave dampened the sound of my steps, and into the main entrance hall. I padded down the long hallway to the wing of the abbey that had the library and large recreation halls for indoor clergy events.

The library doors were closed but never locked, the other Sisters who worked the library with me knew that sometimes the siblings of sin needed a quiet place to come in the night when they couldn’t sleep. I prayed to Satan himself that tonight nobody would be inside or come looking for solitude. I opened the door slowly, wincing at the creaking of the old hinges, and slipped inside.

“Cardinal..?” I whispered, looking around for any source of light or sign that he was already here. I walked between the bookshelves, heading up the large staircase towards where I knew he liked to sit in the daytime. “Copia?”

I slipped between the shelves and looked over the bannister, looking for signs of anyone. I felt leather gloves wrap around my wrists, pinning me against the railing. I gasped and tried to turn around but he let go of one wrist to slip a hand in my hair, tugging roughly to prevent me from turning around. Instantly I had to bite my bottom lip to hold back the wanton moan that threatened to spill from them.

“Sorella.” Copia murmured in my ear as he pulled my hair tight enough that my head was resting on his shoulder. “I would have thought you would have learned after last time…”

“Co-” I started before he pressed his entire body against me, pinning my body to the railing with his hips as he covered my mouth with his leather clad hand and cut off my words. The hand in my hair let go before coming to wrap around my throat

“You will refer to me by my title, Sorella.” He hissed,the muscles in his body taut. A thrill ran down my spine, squirming against him as the railing bit into my hips. “You must be taught a lesson, no?”

Copia’s hand around my throat tightened its grip, pressing firmly against my windpipe. My breath was harsh through my nose as I exhaled and tried to suck in a breath around his glove. All I could smell was the scent of warm leather and the slightly spicy scent of the incense and aftershave Copia used. It was heady and intoxicating to me, especially with the man himself pressed up against me firmly.

“Sarebbe un piacere per me, cara mia…” He practically purred, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. I whimpered, his hand covering my mouth came down to my hip and he squeezed it harshly.

Copia was pressed flush against me, my body practically crushed against the bannister, and I could feel his cock through his heavy cassock as his left hand began to explore my body. I felt the heat of his hand through the leather gloves as his hand skimmed from my hips, up my waist, with his fingers splayed out. Goosebumps broke out on my skin and I shuddered, my fingers gripping the wood of the bannister so tight my knuckles were white. Roughly he tugged on the belt of my bathrobe, loosening the knot till he was able to open my robe.

“Take it off, Sorella.”

“Yes Cardinal.” I whispered, voice wavering slightly as I let go of the bannister to slip the silk down my shoulders and let it pool at my feet.

I still hadn’t been allowed to turn around and I attempted to turn my head to try and catch his eye. There was a loud crack as his leather gloved hand made contact with my ass. I hissed between my teeth, facing forward again and gripping the railing, while squirming slightly to try and get some relief for the steadily increasing throbbing between my legs.

“Did I say you could turn to me, cara?” Copia sneered, his hand on my throat clenching slightly. I panted, heart rate buzzing in my ears as my eyes slipped closed.

“No, Sir.”

“Do not remove your hands from the railing till I tell you, yes?”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

I felt both of his hands leave my body for a moment and I whimpered at the loss of contact, body aching for his warmth back. That was till I felt him lift the hem of my nightgown, tucking it around one of the flimsy straps. While the front hem kept me covered, my entire backside was exposed to Copia. His leather clad hands ran from my thighs and up to cup my ass before coming around under the thin cotton to skim over my stomach, the muscles clenching as they passed, before he curled around me again. He ground his hips into mine, his cock brushing against my ass, and I moaned as quietly as I could. His hands paused in their movements, pointer fingers just barely brushing the underside of my breasts as my nipples pebbled and hardened against the fabric of my nightgown.

“This is meant to be a punishment, Sorella.” He tutted, disappointment clear in his voice. “What kind of lesson are you learning if you are enjoying it, hm?”

My cheeks flushing deep red as his hand brushed against my ass again, a quick snap of his wrist and I felt the skin begin to sting from the bite of the leather. I hissed, my bottom lip clenched between my teeth, as he spanked me again. I rolled my hips back to give him a better angle and clenched my hands so tightly to the bannister I would be surprised if I didn’t leave marks from my nails in the wood. His hand came to soothingly rub the welt that I knew was developing, I rocked back against it as I seeked out the comfort of his familiar hands. In a flash, his hand was tugging on my hair again, arching my neck back towards him as I panted.

“Sei una ragazza cattiva, Sorella…” Copia purred, his voice thick with arousal as he teased me. He kicked my feet apart, widening my stance till he was pleased with it. “I will have to punish you extra for your trasgressione tonight…”

“Please, Cardinal.” I begged, heart pounding in my chest as I started to slightly panic. I didn’t mean for that to slip out. I felt him chuckle, his chest pressed against me as he ground against me again.

“No, no Dolcezza…we are beyond the point where you can beg with me.”

I felt Copia move away from me again before his hand spanked me hard, three times in a row. I hissed a breath between my teeth, trying my hardest to not cry out in case anyone was in the halls. The last thing I needed was for someone to catch me here like this with the Cardinal.

My legs were shaking, barely able to hold my weight up. Copia’s grip on my hip as he spanked me was the only thing holding me up right now. I leaned on the banister, hands still gripping the wood tightly, and hung my head as I fought to keep as silent as possible. After a few more smacks to my poor red ass, he paused and rubbed the skin soothingly. I felt his hand slip from my hip to dip between my legs, brushing against my dripping slit. I gasped harshly and bit down on my bottom lip to stop from crying out as his gloved finger teased me.

“So wet for me,” Copia murmured in my ear, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of my ear. “I am flattered, bella…”

“Cardinal…” I whimpered as his other hand, the one not running back and forth with featherlike pressure over my cunt, snaked up my body teasingly. His gloved fingers paused to brush against my hardened nipples, teasing the sensitive peaks, before sliding up my chest and wrapping around my throat.

“You will need to earn your orgasam, Sorella.”

“S-sir?”

“Get on your knees.”

With a speed I knew normally I’d feel embarrassed over, I turned around to finally look at the Cardinal. His biretta had been placed on the bookshelf to his left, his hair already falling in his face. The look in his eyes was wild and predatory. His mismatched eyes, white iris especially, looked like they were glowing in the lowlight of the library. His face was flushed and he seemed to have a slight dewy quality to his skin in the evening light, it dawned on me that he was sweating from the exertion of holding himself back. Furious Copia was like an animal, just waiting to be unleashed.

I looked up at him obediently, hands twitching in my lap, as my ass ached from being pressed against my calves and heels. I was waiting till I was told what I could do; I knew better than to just jump him like the little gremlin in my mind screamed to do. Copia smirked, eyebrow cocked, as he ran his hand across my cheek and petted the top of my head.

“Good girl.”

A shiver ran down my spine at his low tone and the look in his eye, the heat pooling in between my legs as I squirmed on the floor below him. I watched as he leaned slightly back against the bookshelves, gesturing to his obvious tent behind his cassock.

“Prove to me you have earned it.”

I didn’t need to be told twice, my hands drifted from my lap to run up his thick strong thighs. Slowly I unbuttoned his cassock from where the buttons started around his mid calf and up to his waist. I brushed against his hard cock as I passed his crotch before pushing the heavy wool coat open so I could begin undoing his trousers. My heart was beating wildly as I unbuttoned his pants and freed his cock, hard and hot in my hand.

Slowly I ran my hand up and down his length, teasing the tip with the pad of my thumb. Copia groaned quietly, rolling his hips forward to add some friction. Feeling encouraged I tightened my grip and began to run my fist up and down before slowly teasing him with the tip of my tongue. I ran it across the head of his cock, tasting the precum that had beaded there, before pressing my tongue flat against the underside and taking him into my mouth.

Copia groaned as his hand buried in my hair, fingers twisting at the scalp to tug sharply. I flinched slightly at a particular sharp tug when I began bobbing my head up and down while hollowing out my cheeks. But the ache of my scalp has nothing on the burning lust in my core, hips rolling and squirming as my knees begun to ache. I looked up at Copia and felt my cunt clench at the look on his face, a whimper bubbling up my throat.

His head was leaning back but he locked his eyes with mine, his breaths coming in sharp pants as I continued to suck and tease his cock. Copia’s eyes were hooded and dark with lust, his pupils blown wide as they bore into my own. His cheeks were flushed and his clergy paint around his eyes looked slightly smudged. I watched him bite the tip of the middle finger of each glove and tug them off with his teeth, tossing them on the shelf where his biretta sat. His warm hands came back to rest against the sides of my head as he tangled his fingers in my hair.

“Bellissima…” He groaned before, with little warning, he held my head steady and began to fuck my face.

I relaxed my jaw, taking him as deep in my throat as I could but occasionally gagging as he hit the back of my throat. I moaned deeply, feeling his nail scrape against my scalp as his thrust stuttered slightly. My hands ran up and down his thick thighs and reached up to cup his ass, nails digging into the fabric as I tried to keep my balance. I could feel the spittle dripping from my mouth, my eyes beginning to water with every time I gagged. I must have looked like a mess to Copia but I didn’t care.

I whimpered around his cock and fought the urge to slip my hands between my legs to touch my core. I needed relief from the painful ache. My heart was thrumming in my chest, my breath was coming in little pants when I wasn’t choking from Copia’s brutal pace. I felt his cock twitch against my tounge and I knew he was close. I felt his grip on me tighten as I looked up at him with lust clouded eyes, tears streaking down my cheeks, his face looked positively feral as he grunted down at me.

“Swallow it all, Sorella.” He snarled before thrusting as deep as he could manage, my nose pressed against his trousers as he finally finished in my mouth. “Like a good girl…”

I could feel his cock twitching as he emptied himself down my throat, I could barely keep up and I felt some drip from my aching mouth. I looked up at him with watery, adoring eyes with a cheeky smile as I released him from my mouth. I used my fingers to wipe up the combinations of fluids from my face, licking them clean while keeping our eyes locked together. His hand cupped my cheek gently, his thumb toying with my bottom lip.

Before Copia could say anything I heard the sound of the library door hinges creaking open. Panic ran right through me as I scrambled to grab my robe and tuck myself into Copia, who was busy tucking himself back into his trousers and righting his cassock.

“Sorella..?” The familiar Italian lift of Terzo’s voice made my heart rate spike into cardiac arrest. I was going to die, let Lucifer open up the pit of hell and swallow me up. “Are you in here?”

I started to step towards the banister at the end of the alcove, intending to reveal myself to Papa just so he wouldn’t search for me, but Copia grabbed my wrist. I looked back at him with a curious look on my face but he didn’t say anything, he pulled me over to him and turned us so my front was pressed against the bookshelf and he was pressed against my back firmly. I had turned my head to look over the edge of the bannister, in the low light I could see Papa peaking around the shelves downstairs, I prayed to every saint below that he wouldn’t come upstairs.

I jumped out of my skin when I felt Copia’s bare hand cup my cunt from behind, pulling me back flush against him. I looked back over my shoulder with wild eyes, but the Cardinal didn’t say anything. Instead he pressed a finger to his lips, indicating to me to be quiet. My heart was sputtering out of control at this point; I was either going to pass away from being caught by Papa out of bed with a senior clergy member or from the feeling of Copia’s fingers teasing me.

His fingers teased my slit, slipping just barely between them and lifting away before they would brush against my clit. I was quietly panting, my breath barely deep enough to keep the oxygen circulating, and I felt Copia lean forward to whisper in my ear.

“Quiet, Sorella. You would not want our Papa to catch you like this would you?” He purred, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. He punctuated his comment by finally letting his finger just barely brush against my clit.

I barely kept the very obvious wanton moan in my mouth, instead a very light whimper slipped out. Copia covered my mouth with his hand sharply and I felt my soul leave my body as my cunt clenched and I felt some of my fluid drip out of me and onto Copia’s hand. Neither of us moved at first, our heavy breaths being the only thing I could hear as my ears rang in the silence. The seconds ticked by and just when I thought we’d been in the clear…

“Sorella?” Papa’s voice came from downstairs but much closer than before. He was nearing the stairs, there were only a few places left to check downstairs before he’d have to come up. My heart was in my throat, I thought I was going to throw up.

Copia seemed spurred by this and his fingers began to slip back and forth from my clit to my clenching entrance, just barely slipping in before sliding away to swirl around my clit. If his hand hadn’t been covering my mouth we would have been found by now. I was biting the inside of my cheek so sharply I was positive I was drawing blood. I was panting, eyes clenched closed tightly as I rolled my hips back against his teasing fingers searching out any friction or relief. I was leaning heavily against the bookshelf, squirming as my nipples brushed against the wood grain.

“Hm…is it possible my little tesoro wants to be discovered by Papa?” Copia’s voice was deadly and sharp as he whispered in my ear. “Dai suoni della tua fica direi di si.”

My eyes rolled back in my head as his fingers circled my clit torturously slowly, faintly I could hear the wet sound of my dripping cunt as he moved his fingers lazily. I loved when Copia spoke Italian, he had been doing it less and less frequently as he adjusted to the siblings of sin here who didn’t know how to speak it, and the shit knew it turned me on. My heart was pounding in my chest, I was gasping breaths through my nose as I panted with Copia’s hand still firmly covering my mouth. He curled around my body and I could feel the slowly growing bulge under his cassock returning again. I couldn’t help the moan that slipped from my lips, barely muffled by Copia.

My life as a Sister of Sin flashed before my eyes as I heard the first footboard of the stair creak. Terzo was heading up the stairs, I looked out over the edge to watch him. He couldn’t see me yet but if he came all the way up and turned around he would get a full view of Copia pinning me to the bookcase. Copia’s fingers dipped inside me, curling slightly as he thrusted them lazily. I felt the rope of my orgasm pulled tight, I was so close and self-preservation was the last thing on my mind as I watched Terzo slowly come up the stairs.

He didn’t turn around, instead he headed to the mezzanine on the other side of the large library. Copia was entirely focused on me, whispering dirty things in both English and Italian in my ear as he nipped and sucked at my neck. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking, heart thumping away painfully, as Copia’s thumb brushed against my clit as he thrusted his fingers.

“Such a supple peccatrice you are, Sorella…” He murmured while tracing the outline of my ear with his tongue, I whimpered, my hand gripping his wrist so tight I was surprised he didn’t cry out in pain.

I looked out over the bannister to the other side of the second level of the library and my heart almost stopped completely. Terzo stood, leaning against the banister casually as his eerie missmatched gaze locked on mine. I felt my face turn bright red, my whole body shuddering as he watched me. Copia hadn’t noticed, most of his body was turned away from that side to watch the main walkway for Papa. I arched my back sharply, moaning into Copia’s hand as his fingers picked up their pace. My legs shook violently as my pleasure began to come to a head. I could hear my blood pulsing in my ears, but my eyes never left Terzo on the other side of the library.

“What would Papa say if he saw his sweet Sorella now, hm?”

I could see the smirk on Papa’s face from where I writhed as one of his hands that was holding onto the bannister drifted to grip his cock through his trousers. His white gloves made it blatantly obvious he was caressing his cock over his black trousers and I couldn’t help the flush of pleasure at the idea of Terzo getting off on watching me. I watched as his eyes closed for a moment and his head rolled to the side, obviously pleasure written on his face. My spine cracked as I arched against Copia, rolling my hips against his fingers and moaning. As if the heavens decided to dump more on me at that moment, Copia’s thumb frantically rubbed against my clit as he punctuated his command with his fingers thrusting violently into my cunt.

“Come for me, amore.”

I honestly thought I was going to black out as my orgasm slammed into me, shudders running up and down my body as I rolled my hips to ride his fingers. Papa’s face lit up as he realized I had come in front of him, a wicked smile on his face as he winked at me. My eyes rolled back, head landing against Copia’s shoulder and I lost sight of Terzo. I dug my fingers into his wrist, nails leaving little half moon marks in the skin as I felt Copia press a gentle kiss to my temple.

“Good girl, Sorella…” He purred and I bit my cheek so hard I felt the blood drip to prevent my desperate moans.

I felt weak, my legs unable to hold me up anymore so Copia helped hold me in place as the aftershocks rolled through me. When I looked over to where I had spotted Papa before, he was gone. I felt the blush on my face deepen before the creaking sound of the library door hinges startled me. I knew then Papa had left and there was a tiny part of me that was disappointed he didn’t stay.

I felt Copia relax just slightly before pulling back from me slightly. He reached forward and positioned my hands on the bookcase, bending me at the waist, and placing my palms flat on the wood of the shelf. I jumped when I felt the head of his cock brush against my tight opening, running up and down to cover himself in my wetness.

“I have you all to myself now, tesoro.” Copia grunted in my ear, sliding inside me slowly.

I bit down on my bottom lip, a whimper slipping from my lips. I felt him angle his hips as he filled me with his length, stretching my walls as I arched back and angled my hips for him. One of Copia’s hands gripped my hip tightly, controlling the speed of his slow entrance into me despite all of my squirming. The other was curled around my throat, possessively holding onto me. After another torturously long minute I felt his hips press flush against mine and I felt so deliciously filled deeply by him.

My eyes rolled back as I shuddered against him as he barely moved his hips, torturing me with his shallow rocking. I stuffed my balled fist between my teeth in an attempt to muffle my moans unsuccessfully. Copia’s hand left my hip and before I could react I felt him slap my ass right on top of where my previous welt sat. His hand that had been around my throat came up to cover my mouth instead, muffling the keening sound that had bubbled up out of me.

“Quiet, cara mia. You wouldn’t want Papa to come back looking for you would you?” The Cardinal hissed in my ear, his hips starting to move more aggressively and snapping just the way he knew I loved. Heat flushed in my belly and my cheeks felt rosy, my cunt clenched at the thought of it and I felt Copia pause before chuckling darkly. “Sorella…quanto perverso.”

I panted as his hand moved from my mouth to grip my shoulder, pulling me back roughly to match his more aggressive thrusts. He spanked me again and I cried out again, far past giving a shit on who found us like this. He felt so good, his cock rock hard inside me and my legs quivered as the heat of my lust began building in my belly again.

“C-cardinal, please…” I begged, for what exactly I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t help but whimper when he spanked me again. The crack of his palm on my skin echoing in the quiet library.

“Do not ever forget who controls you, who controls your body, Sorella.” He groaned in my ear, voice dangerously low. “Do you think that your Papa could bring you this much pleasure?”

A breathy moan spilling from my mouth was his only answer, I didn’t trust my mind to put sentences together as I focused on the pleasure he spoke of. His fingers dug into the taut muscle where my neck and shoulder met as he pounded into me, pulling me back to meet each of his thrusts. I shuttered against him, my nails digging into my palms as my heartbeat pounded in my head.

“Answer me, bella.” His voice was tight, punctuating his statement with a particularly sharp snap of his hips. I cried out, feeling tears welling in my eyes at the intensity.

“N-no, Sir.” I whispered hoarsely, arching my back as my orgasam began to build. His hand on my hip slipped between my legs to lazily brush against my clit and I moaned again. “It’s only ever been you, Cardinal.”

“Si, Sorella, and there will not be another. I do not share.” He hissed and I felt the tears begin to spill down my cheeks, from frustration or maybe embarrassment when remembering Papa had already seen me; I wasn’t entirely sure. “Not even for Papa.”

“I’m so close, Cardinal.” I said, whimpering as he spanked me again. “Please sir…”

“Please what, dolcezza?” Copia’s voice was silky despite the wild pace he sat with his thrusts.

My chest bounced with the force he fucked me, my hips and ass aching from his grips and spanks. I was so close and I didn’t know I could hold off what felt like an inferno. When his hips stuttered slightly I knew he wasn’t far off either, cunt clenching his cock tightly at the thought.

“Please let me come…” I begged, nails digging into my own skin as I felt the flutter deep inside me as my orgasam threatened to spill over. “Cardinal please.”

His thrusts became more sporadic, his finger sliding against my sopping wet cunt and brushing my clit more urgently. My breath was wild, panting like I had spent a mile running, as I moaned a little louder than I meant too. Copia’s hand moved from my shoulder, covering my mouth and pulling me back flush against him. My back arched almost painfully as he began to thrust wildly into me. My hands gripped his wrist by my mouth, nails digging into his skin, his other hand came up to wrap around my throat, squeezing a warning as I fought to stifle every noise coming from my mouth. His cock hit a sensitive spot deep inside me and I felt my eyes roll back in my head as my orgasam held back by a fraying thread.

“Please.” I repeated over and over like a mantra behind his bare hand, tears spilling from my eyes and running down my cheeks and over his fingers. I felt delirious, my heart felt like it was going to explode, and just when I thought I would pass out between the lack of oxygen and the muscles in my body fighting back my orgasam Copia spoke two words that pushed me over the edge.

“Now, amate.” His words were hissed and sharp in my ear but they were punctuated by him biting my most sensitive spot on my neck, sucking hard and running his tongue across the broken skin.

None of this really fully registered to me as my body felt like it had been pulled taut by some unseen string suddenly as I came undone in his arms stronger than I ever had before. My toes curled, eyes clenched tightly, fingers digging my nails into his skin. I shuddered deeply, hips rolling back against Copia’s violent thrusts as he fucked me through my orgasm. I felt him shudder, cock twitching as he thrusted a few more times before he too toppled over into the abyss with me. I felt him fill me with his seed, moaning broken Italian in my ear as I slouched forwards against the bookshelves bonelessly. He crushed against me as he thrusted weakly through our aftershocks, his chest heaving against my back as I dimly registered the feeling of him slipping out of me.

“Bellissima, tesoro.” Copia murmured, pressing gentle kisses to my exposed shoulders. “You have been such a good girl tonight…”

My face flushed at his praise, squirming slightly under him as his hands wandered to my waist. I knew he wanted to keep going but I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Copia…” I murmured, turning my head to look back at him. “I need to get back to my rooms before we actually get caught.”

“Si, si. I understand.” He mumbled before sighing heavily. He drifted away from me, taking a moment to right his cassock which had a large wet stain from where both of our fluids had smeared on him. He flushed slightly before moving his belts around to try and cover it as best as possible. “Come, let me walk you back at least.”

I turned, reaching to the floor to pull my bathrobe back on, and smiled at him sleepily. I cupped his cheek before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, pulling away before either of us could get carried away.

“I think it would be more suspicious if I was found to be out of bed with you, don’t you?” I teased, eyebrow furrowed at him. He shrugged sheepishly and gave me a wry smile.

“Cannot blame a man for trying to get back to your room, eh Sorella?”

I was happy his mood seemed to return more to normal, I took his hand as we slipped from the library and made our way quietly to the main entrance where he cupped my cheeks with both hands and kissed me quickly before I could stop him.

“Goodnight, Tesoro.” Copia whispered against my lips and I felt butterflies pool in my belly at the warmth in his eyes.

I was tempted to toss my own advice out the window and drag him back to my room myself but he slipped his hand from mine and scurried down the hallway where senior male clergymen had their own rooms. I practically floated back to my room, despite all the bruises and marks all over my body. I had started to open my door when a voice startled me, my soul almost leaving my body at that moment.

“Ah, buona serata, Sorella.” My head whipped to the dark at the end of the hall as Terzo stepped out from the shadows.

He had his hands in his pockets as he casually leaned against my door frame. His hair was slightly messy and he had a slight flush to his cheeks. My mind wandered to what could have caused that at this time of night and I knew my cheeks were flushed.

“P-papa…” I greeted him, head tilting in respect as I clung to my robe slightly. “I was just getting some air, I’m going right back to bed now.”

“Hm,” He eyed me, knowing full well I was not getting air, and smirked at me. His hand drifted up and caressed my neck. “I did not know that air bit back, bella.”

I shuttered and looked down at what caught his eye, a massive bite mark that looked more like a welt. I could feel the slight indent of teeth around the outside of the mark. My eyes looked at his mismatched eyes as they drifted across my face, a knowing smile on his lips.

“I hope you sleep well, Sorella.” He purred, leaning in close to whisper in my ear. “I am sure you will since you seem to be quite saited. Maybe next time I can be of some assistenza…”

A shudder ran through me and heat pooled in my belly, my eyes wide as I mumbled a flustered good night to Terzo and slipped into my room. I could hear him chuckle as I leaned against the wood door, his expensive italian leather shoes clicking on the marble floor as he walked away. My heart was pounding a million miles a minute as I tossed my robe over the chair at my desk and threw myself in bed, willing myself to fall asleep instantly and to ignore the pounding of my clit.

#Ghost #the band ghost #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #terzo x reader #cardinal copia #papa emeritus lll #my writing #sinners in secret chapters

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