#and watch the sun set and read and write and be present

[ivonhart]

a lil teaser for my nanami x fem gojo!reader part 1 to see if ya’ll are liking it so far

if ya’ll want me to continue writing this just know this mf is gonna be LONG - probably my longest post yet

please note that this is not proof read yet so ignore any possible mistakes🧍

if you have any ideas or suggestions please don’t hesitate to comment because this is my first time writing for jjk and it’s characters (if I remember correctly when Satoru was young that mf was a butthole to “weak” people so he’s gonna be a lil bit of a dick sometimes in the flashbacks btw)

enjoy 🔥🔥

-

The day Satoru Gojo was born became a day that would be celebrated for centuries to come in the Jujutsu world. The child born with both the Limitless and Six Eyes was revered almost as if he was a god within the Gojo clan due to the fact it has not happened in over four hundred years. So, when the mother of Satoru claimed to be with child a year later, the expectations were set to the heavens.

Throughout the months, as the mother’s belly grew in size, whispers of what the child would possess filled the halls of the estate. Perhaps, they too, would be blessed with the Limitless and Six Eyes. Two children with the abilities would be a revelation to the world for it had never happened before. But, the moment you opened your eyes it was clear you were…nothing.

You held no ounce of cursed energy and the joy of Satoru’s birth was quickly tainted by yours. And your childhood would hold no good memories to reflect on. Nor any good relationships with those in your clan. Now, you found yourself staring at the entrance to Jujutsu High. Although you lacked cursed energy, your father would never allow you to live a normal life.

“Despite the fact you hold no cursed energy, I will not allow you to be anything other than a sourcer. I don’t care if they make you fight them blind, you will not be anything else.” You weren’t sure why he made you take this path. Maybe he could take credit if you do manage to survive into adulthood. The first sourcer with no cursed energy coming from the Gojo clan would solidify just how strong they were. Or maybe he just sent you here to die. With a sharp inhale you pulled your shoulders back, latched your hands together against your tailbone and walked into the campus.

You were introduced to the two other first-year students after being led to the main building for the start of the tour. The first boy was named Yu Haibara. You took note of his overwhelmingly positive demeanor as he introduced himself. His wide eyes sparkled with a thousand stars and a smile that was almost as bright as the sun. He was so positive, in fact, that it made you uneasy. Never in all your life had you been on the receiving end of such sheer excitement and interest in you and what you did. “Enough, Haibara. You are making her uncomfortable.”

Those were the first words you heard come from the second boy’s mouth since being here. He was somewhat lanky in comparison with blond hair that dropped down his face. After his comment, Haibara was quick to apologize which earned him a simple hum from you. “And you are?”

You asked towards the blond. “Kento Nanami.” You nodded slightly before saying your first name. Haibara’s eyebrow raised. “That doesn’t sound like your surname.” Nanami watched as you stared at him with an almost emotionless expression. Since he first laid his eyes on you he took note at how rigid you presented yourself.

Like if one hair was out of place on your head something bad would happen. And your outfit…despite the heat that hung in the air you were showing no skin aside from your head and hair. Your shirt reaching to the bottom of your chin and your hands covered with gloves with solid tights covering your legs. Everything about you intrigued him.

He didn’t tear his eyes away from you when the second-year students entered the room, resulting in him catching the way your shoulders tensed up. “WELCOME LIL’ SIS!” Haibara’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the sight of Satoru Gojo. Little sister? Was all that ran through Nanami’s mind as he kept an unwavering eye on you. “Wait!” Haibara’s snap towards you. “YOU’RE A GOJO?!” You clenched your jaw…hard at the sight of the white-haired boy.

It was inevitable that you would cross paths with him, but you didn’t think so soon. Satoru sauntered over to you with a black-haired boy and brown-haired girl not far behind before throwing his freakishly long arm across your shoulders. “Suguru. Shoko. This is my little sister.” Ever since Satoru entered his teenage years he decided he only wanted to address you like that. You believed it was just something he would do to get underneath Father’s skin, because you knew Father never allowed him to call you his sister.

You didn’t bother to look at Satoru’s friends as you stepped out from his hold with a sneer. “Don’t call me that.” You bit back in a harsh whisper. Though, you knew the others heard because suddenly the room was filled with a suffocating tension. With a sharp huff and dismissive wave towards Haibara who got close you retreated towards Nanami. As you came closer, the boy noted how your demeanor completely shifted. Your once straight shoulders were slumped in on themselves and your head hung low. As if you were trying to disappear into yourself.

-

The tour went by in a blur and it wasn’t long until you found yourself silently walking alongside Shoko Ieiri towards the girl dorms. She wasn’t like Satoru, she was quiet, but not in the way Suguru Geto was. Not a shy quiet…just a nonchalant quiet. “Soooo…” Shoko’s drawn out ‘o’ echoed throughout the hallway. “Sato–” “Don’t.” Your tone was sharp as you snapped at the upperclassmen. A small smile tugged at her mouth before she responded.

“I don’t think that’s a very appropriate way to speak to your upperclassmen.” She almost regretted the joke she made as she looked back at you. Your eyes were hard as stone, filled with pure hatred at the sheer idea of Satoru Gojo. A sneer pulled at your lips as you clenched your fist together. Truth be told, Shoko was always curious about the younger Gojo.

Satoru would mention you from time to time, but only to drag you down in order to boast about his own powers. “I still can’t believe my father is sending my little sister here. She’s such a weakling! She doesn’t even have cursed energy.” Shoko remembered how he laughed with such glee at your expense. She could only imagine how it was like for you when he still lived at the estate. It was no wonder why you held such hostility towards him. Shoko didn’t need to see much to pick that observation up.

“Just show me to my room and leave me the hell alone.” With a small hum, the girl turned on her heel and resumed walking down the hall. You almost pushed Shoko over to get into your room and without as much as a ‘thank you’ you slammed the door shut. You could feel your chest grow tight with the need to cry. Seeing Satoru after so long brought back memories you wished you could forget.

-

“‘Toruuu, where are we going?” You asked through laughs of glee at the idea of spending time with your older brother. You never saw him much in between your training and you rarely had chances to talk with him. So, when he came into your room and began dragging you, claiming he had a “surprise” you couldn’t fight the joy that filled you. “You’ll see.” You didn’t know at the time that his smile wasn’t one of happiness and his laughs weren’t fueled by joy. He pulled you all the way to an abandoned house within the forest some ways away from your home. “I found this old house.” His sparkling blue eyes shot around the living room as you entered with a cheek-splitting smile. “I thought we could…make it into a little hang out area.” You felt your heart swell at the idea of spending more time with your brother and with quick nods you agreed. “That sounds so fun, big brother!” He turned to you with a large grin. “So, to get started I need you to get something from the cellar out back. The previous owner left some cool stuff that I’d like to use to decorate this place.” Without any fuss you turned tail and raced out towards the cellar. You had no reason to trust your big brother and you wished nothing more than to make him happy. Quickly, you opened the cellar doors but you couldn’t help but hesitate at the unease it sent through your body. The air that came from inside was hot and stuffy, and there was no light at all…but you wanted to make Toru happy. You wanted to make this place your hideaway. So, with a deep breath you descended the stairs in search of a light. BANG! A yelp escaped your mouth at the sound and sudden darkness. Someone closed the cellar doors. “Toru?” You slowly turned around and with your hands in front of you you began walking. “Toru? The door closed!” “Yeah, and it’s staying closed.” His tone took a complete 180. Before you spoke with enthusiasm, but now his words dripped in hatred. “W-What do you mean? Toru, I’m getting scared.” At this point you felt your heart rate speed up and your body heat to spike. You could already feel sweat run down the back of your neck. “You’re nothing but a weakling and I hate weaklings!” Your shin hit the first step up towards the door as you began to cry. Unfortunately for you, your heightened emotions manifested itself into something you had yet to learn existed. And the very first time you ever felt one touch you was when it sank its large claws into your stomach, causing you to let out a blood curdling scream within the darkness of the cellar.

-

hope this peaks someone interest

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagine

[ginnsbaker]

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

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

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

[levithestripper]

Misc. Peeta Mellark Headcanons

warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader.

length: 1k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

notes: just a lil something to help me get back into the swing of things after not writing for a while! hope you enjoy ’em, even though it’s a bit short.

Never hesitates to give you his jacket or sweater if he sees you’re cold. He pretends not to notice that the clothes he gives you never return to his closet.

When he kisses you, he always cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

You had no idea just how much one person could bake before you met him. It seems like you get a new baked good every other day. Cupcakes, themed cakes, loaves of sourdough bread, muffins, pasta, you name it, and it’s probably on his list to bake for you.

Peeta loves teaching you how to draw/paint!! He’ll sit outside with you on a nice day and walk you through how to draw a frog or something else simple. By sunset, both papers are filled edge to edge with stick frogs, flowers, hearts, and sad-looking deer. Peeta dates both sheets and leaves cute little notes next to some of your drawings for you to find later.

Most of his own paintings are of you. Some are posed, and some are candid. The candid ones are Peeta’s favorite. You get his favorite portrait framed as a birthday present, and he nearly cries when he opens it. Before you could ask if he liked it, he kissed you, then kissed all over your face, where you both erupted with giggles.

This boy is so stupidly adorable it has to be some form of disease. You’ll catch him sitting across from you with a lovesick smile, his blond hair illuminated by the setting sun he loves so much. You tease him about it, making him blush, which only makes him all the cuter.

At the start of your relationship, Peeta had little self-worth/confidence in himself. He didn’t have much to offer you in terms of money or pretty clothes, but he soon realized you didn’t care about any of that. You like him for him, not for what you could gain from him.

If he’s forced to pick just one thing, Peeta’s favorite part about your body is your hands. Why’re they his favorite? Because that’s one of the main ways you show your love for him. Holding his hands, cupping his face, cooking meals, smoothing them across his chest, that kinda stuff.

He would hug you all day, every day, if he could. This man is a hugger to beat all huggers.

Peeta wants to start a family with you, whatever that family ends up looking like. Just you, him, and a few pets? A-okay with him. A child or two? Count him in! As long as Peeta gets to spend the rest of his life with you, he’s happy, no matter what it looks like.

Definitely uses pet names like “honey,” “sweetheart,” and “my love.”

This man never not has a smile on his face. You’ll catch him staring at you from his seat in the living room with the stupidest, lovesick grin spread across his features as he watches you do whatever it is you’re doing.

When Peeta plans on proposing, he organizes an entire day of fun activities for both of you. He knows exactly how he wants to propose: in a gazebo, hidden by the blanket of night, illuminated only by the mood lighting he set up the day before. But it never ends up happening. The two of you were dancing in the living room to your record player, nose to nose, pressed so close to one another he couldn’t tell where he ended and where you began. As he swayed, Peeta whispered, “will you marry me?” It wasn’t what he had planned, but the outcome was exactly what he had hoped.

He’s not the biggest partaker of PDA, but he’s not averse to it. He’ll hold your hand, kiss your cheek, that kinda stuff, but he won’t make it obvious or rub it in other people’s faces.

Peeta’s very hard to anger, so he’s great to vent to. He’ll always be up for listening to your problems and helping you fix them if that’s what you want. If you just need someone to listen and not try to resolve whatever you’re upset about, he’s perfect for that too.

Peeta starts a garden full of your favorite flowers. Once they grow tall and bloom, he picks them to make a bouquet for you.

At night, he has to be touching you in some way or form to be able to fall asleep. Holding hands, you sleeping on his chest, spooning, you name it. He needs to know you’re still there so he can allow himself to relax enough.

Peeta gets up before you, so he loves to wake you up with kisses. Rapid fire against your cheeks, forehead, nose, the palm of your hand, up your arm, basically anywhere he can reach.

When it comes to Valentine’s Day (objectively his favorite day, minus your anniversary), he surprises you with breakfast in bed and fresh homemade muffins. There are fresh-cut roses in a new vase on the dining room table, and the entire house is deep-cleaned from top to bottom. Lunch is a picnic under an old weeping willow tree, followed by cloud gazing. He cooked you your favorite meal, making enough for leftovers. Later, he gifts you a portrait he painted of you in secret. It showed you, facing away from the viewer, sitting on the porch swing, watching the sun set below the rolling hills of District 12. When it’s time for dinner, Peeta cooks a classic romantic meal: spaghetti with meatballs by candlelight. The day was the definition of perfect; everything he surprised you with made you fall in love with him all over again.

Throughout Valentine’s Day, Peeta kisses you almost every chance he can get. You look too damn beautiful not to kiss. You don’t look any different than yesterday, and you won’t look any different in the days to come, but none of that matters to him. Your beauty never fails to floor him, and today was no exception.

#peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x y/n #peeta mellark headcanons #the hunger games #thg #the hunger games headcanons #the hunger games hcs #the hunger games peeta #thg hcs #thg headcanons #thg peeta #thg x reader #the hunger games headcanon #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader #team peeta #thg fandom #the hunger games fanfiction #thg fanfiction #the hunger games fandom #x reader #x you #x y/n #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral s/o #gender neutral fanfic

[dirtyvulture]

Natasha Romanoff x Sergeant!Beefy!Reader

Set in my Sergeant Beef universe

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: sgt beef getting deployed and not coming back 

:( poor nat 

AN: The people asked for angst, so I delivered! 😈

No pronouns used.

Natasha holds her handkerchief in a death grip, the white fabric drenched through with her tears. Steve sits next to her, his presence a familiar comfort and anchoring her to the present when all she wants to do is stand up and scream, run away and never look back.

This wasn’t supposed to be how she saw you after your 12-month deployment. She was supposed to greet you at the airport, running into your strong arms and trying to pour one whole year’s worth of love into a kiss. She wanted you to carry her back to the car, take her home and make love to her until the sun came up.

But that never happened. In fact, it was only three months into your deployment when General Fury authorized the high-risk operation that cost you your life. Your six team members came home to their families, but you came home in a box.

Natasha doesn’t listen to the speeches. She hardly reacts to the gun salute. She sobs silently into her handkerchief once more when “Taps” is played on a bugle. Steve puts his hand on her shoulder as they watch the flag on your casket neatly folded over 13 times, into a blue triangle with the white stars showing outward.

Sam Wilson approaches Natasha, kneeling and holding out the folded flag to her. 

“Sergeant Romanoff,” he says, and Natasha forces herself to look at him. He was quite possibly the last person to see you alive, as you had sacrificed yourself to enemy gunfire to give him and the other five soldiers time to escape. Natasha knows she can’t blame Sam for surviving when you didn’t; she sees the heartbreak in his eyes and knows he will carry this guilt for the rest of his life.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.”

Natasha hesitates, as if not accepting the flag will mean you’re not really gone. She doesn’t want this flag. She wants you. She wants you standing next to her, making a dumb joke that has her laughing and cringing at the same time. She wants to spend the rest of her life with you by her side, exploring the world, trying new things, starting a family. But now that was a fantasy that would only exist in her head.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers next to her.

With shaking hands, she extends her arms and Sam gently places the flag in them. He stands and gives her a salute. Natasha clutches the flag to her chest, hastily wiping away her tears so they don’t drip onto the fabric.

Steve stands and walks with her to your casket. He maintains a respectful distance away as she shares her final moment with you.

Natasha leans forward and says the three words you never got to hear while you were alive.

“I love you.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: This is not canon to the main universe. But I still screamed and cried while writing this. :)

To read the canon version, click here! 

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #sergeant beef au #natasha romanoff x reader

[shadesoflsk]

WILL YOU BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS?

pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x gn!reader

summary: It's going to be Leon's first Christmas without you. He promised you he would get over your death. But how is he planning to do it if the ghost of you keeps haunting him?

warnings: Character’s death, (reader) angst, hurt/no comfort, self-destructing behaviour, alcohol, mentions of religion, Leon speaks with reader.

author's note: I took the liberty to switch the order of my Christmas' special fics, I decided to post this one first since I liked it a lot. I would even say it’s my favorite one so far. Grief is such an interesting topic to write about, so I hope I did a great job! The dialogue part was lowkey (highkey) inspired by one scene from the Crown, season 6. The one where Carlos talked with Diana’s spirit. 

It’s 11:45 pm or so Leon believes. Time seems to slow down when night engulfs his apartment, and he is let alone with his own demons. He would be in pitch darkness if it wasn’t from the fact that his neighbor had decided to turn on the Christmas tree lights that reached through Leon’s windows. Faint carols could be heard, and it was a dreadful reminder of what date it was. 

He is trying, he really is. He drowns in his job that is slowly but surely killing him. Mission after mission, he keeps attempting to mess up — with no avail — since life is cruel enough to keep him alive, to continue watching his sins materialize in sorrow and depressive states. 

During the latter, he would often forget or purposely avoid taking care of himself. When was the last time he ate a full meal? He doesn’t nor wants to remember. His apartment was starting to reek of alcohol and rotten food that Claire has so gratefully left. She would often try striking up some conversation, which was welcomed with an awkward but expected silence. He was never the talkative one. On numerous occasions, he was reprimanded by you for this same topic. So, in the past, he decided to stick with a one-liner — that sometimes brought him unnecessary attention — the dinner one. Your laugh would fill his ears as he told you about the multiple times where people thought he was flirting with them. If you were here, could he make you laugh like that again? Or would you be disgusted by the man he has become these last weeks?

Besides his own memory serving as the place where your face and mannerisms would replay all over again, where are you now? He once heard that a soul is destined to be reborn into a new life. Life is cyclical, the sun rises and sets, the day and night come, but they never meet. He wouldn’t be surprised if you’re a lilly now. The pureness in your heart resembled one of those delicate flowers that your eyes seemed to follow each time you passed through a flower shop. Or maybe you’re someone’s baby being born. Bringing happiness to a family that prayed all night long for a miracle to happen. 

His mind wandered through the blurry moments when he was young. Prayers and cries surrounding a well illuminated place where many statues were presented. He used to fear one specifically, but the gentle touch of his mom would pull him closer to it. In his memory, he looked up to see the person who gave him life, yet he was met with a diffuse image of her. He has long forgotten the looks of his mother. 

In those moments, he often wondered what heaven felt like. He grasps on the last string of memories he had with his parents. How his mother would pull him to her lap and read to him. “Our God loves us so much that he has granted us a place to go when the time is right,” she would say, the term of death was so foreign to his little self but once again he remembers those prayers and promises. Is heaven the clear sky and peaceful home the Bible describes? Or is it a nonexistent place that Christians invented to cope with the fact that a loved one is no longer with them? He hopes it’s the first one since he wants to indulge in that little wish of him — that at least in the afterlife — you found peace. 

How is heaven? He wanted to ask you. Conversations with you used to flow so easily, so right. So, when the time comes he expects to hear every little rambling about your early trip to this called “everlasting paradise”. Is it raining right now? You loved rainy days, since it meant that both of you could cuddle while watching a movie. Or is it snowing since it’s Christmas?  He could almost hear you, your voice echoing in the deepest places of his mind telling him to stop trying to open the gifts. You were supposed to be next to him right now, waiting for Christmas to come.

He is in denial, two weeks ago he had you safely tucked in his arms, already planning what to do on Christmas. He still had your gift somewhere, hidden from your prying eyes even though you kept scolding him for that. Both of you were soulmates, two sides of the same coin. 

Now, he only had the ghost of you haunting him. Mocking him for not being able to protect you. He was hyper aware of every little detail his apartment provided. From the way he hasn’t moved your used mug on the dishwasher, because he feels that it was the last thing your lips touched. A bittersweet memory of your existence in this cruel world, to your book that you didn’t finish. You kept telling him that you were dying to know the ending but you couldn’t finish it before it was too late. If he reads it and prays to God, would he be generous enough to tell you the ending? 

He wouldn’t.

Every night he prayed to God, begged him to switch places with you even though it was an unrealistic thing to ask. But that’s what he wants right now. “It should’ve been me.” But that wish never becomes a reality. He wakes up, night after night, being him and being alone. God doesn’t hear him, he believes that this made up character just blatantly hates him. The forgiving, the loving and almighty God as his followers describe him, just doesn’t match up with his own criteria. A loving God wouldn’t have taken away his only reason to live.

The content in his Jack Daniel’s now does little to numb the pain he was feeling. With a sigh, he drank a bit more, straight from the bottle as the burning sensation traveled from his tongue to his throat. If he drinks enough until he passes out, he could imagine you. Moving across the kitchen with agile steps as you cook his favorite food.

Those moments were the ones he thinks he should've embraced more. Your quirks and habits. How you usually left traces of yourself in his apartment. How you always missed a spot when cleaning the counter and how you always kissed his forehead when placing the plate down on the table. 

Now, it's a bitter reminder of his own loneliness. His eyebrows twitched as the Christmas carols seemed to get louder. The clock reads 11:50 pm, ten minutes to Christmas. Even with the thick snow, the chants of kids being too stubborn to fall asleep were loud enough to fill Leon's ears. He hates living in this neighborhood filled with happy families.

You had a wide and warm smile when you showed Leon this same apartment he's currently rotting in. “It will be perfect once we have a family,” he remembers word by word what you said and he also remembers how you stumbled on your words once you saw the quizzical look he gave you. “I mean we could just have a dog or a cat if you want that. After all, family is where you are.”

Always the damn perfect partner. Always the stupid understanding other half. Why the hell did you even appear in his life if you were gonna die? Everyone else mourned your death but now they are moving on, yet Leon is staying in a never ending loop. Was it your plan? Are you fucking happy in heaven?

For once, he feels all the anger he’s been bottling up. His fists clenched as his breaths grew heavier. He throws the bottle against the wall. The contents spilling all over the floor as the bottle shattered in multiple pieces. He stared at the mess he’s done. His shaking hands grabbed handfuls of his own hair as he tried his best to compose himself. His mind repeating that you would be disappointed over and over again. 

Icy blue eyes started to get clouded by tears he refused to let go. The palm of his hand almost bled by his own nails digging into the thin skin. The regrets and what ifs were the perfect combination for Leon’s wish of dying albeit the fact of his own self deprecating being who believed he deserved to live this hell of a life alone. 

As he managed to keep his tears at bay for now, his eyes lingered on your designated seat at the table. You would always sit at his right, next to him, sometimes holding his hand, forcing him to eat his food with his left one. Now, his hand is cold without your touch. Which reminds him of your body and the last time he held you. Your heart no longer beat and your body was a freezing cruel realization of your death. 

“I was never good with emotions…” Leon’s voice came out as a groan. He had finally spoken after God knows how long. His own throat was constricted by the lump that was forming. He was denying himself the right to be raw, to be human. “You were the one who was better at everything… not me.” Leon swallows his own saliva, an attempt to stop the imminent lump. 

“I guess I was.” A melodic voice which was no more than a whisper filled Leon’s intoxicated ears. He looks at the empty seat next to him and sees nothing. It may be his own mind playing dirty tricks on him. Everything was blurred and dizzy from all the booze he had drunk. But nonetheless, he wouldn’t miss this opportunity, even if you were a creation of his own messed up mind. 

“I’ll take every little moment with me.” The voice was painfully comforting, a soothing lullaby to Leon’s broken beyond repair heart, a gentle breeze that surrounded his body. “The hugs, the kisses, our little trips to the beach and even the fights when none of us could go to bed without saying sorry.” 

A laugh as soft as a draft lingered in the air. The reality behind those words made Leon feel like he was going crazy. He blames the alcohol and the lack of social interactions for this moment. But your bubbly personality was unmistakable. That sweet and tooth- roothing laugh was — at least to Leon — proof that maybe, just maybe, God allowed him to grasp on you one last time.

Or maybe God allowed you to pay him a visit. Neither of you were religious people, but you were closer to heaven that he’ll ever be. So, maybe that pure and wholesome smile blinded God, and you escaped, true to your rebellious nature. Your death turned him into a sappy man. He has always loved you, but the tragic destiny you met made him see you in an even better light. 

“You know I loved you so much…” The voice turned sour and sad, so out of character for you. Well… if it’s you. Even in your last days, you tried to be that thoughtful partner, pushing away every worry out of his mind even though you were slowly withering away. The words slightly trembled, albeit the raw honesty that was being said. Silence set as if the owner of the voice was attempting not to cry. 

“So deeply…” The hushed voice seemed to get even quieter as the course of its words dug deeper in Leon’s heart making it bleed harder than ever. His hand itches to reach where he thinks you are, as if you could materialize from thin air and give him one last hug. One last farewell.

“Please, stop blaming yourself for this. This wasn’t your fault.” Yes, it was. Leon wanted to tell you that. You planted seeds of hope in his heart even when he felt the world was too corrupted to be home for someone as splendid as you. The sense of your living left him chasing footsteps and shadows in order to meet you again.

And as a moth to a flame, he followed you. The chemicals in his brain working overtime to hear the gentle ring of your voice as long as you keep talking. It doesn’t matter if this behavior could put him at a psych after. Talking with ghosts? That can’t happen, yet his love for you seems to break the rules between life and the realms of the afterlife.

“You weren’t supposed to go so soon…” Leon’s voice fills the dim room, engaging in conversation, the tears that he was previously fighting off were at the verge of falling from his eyes. But as a stubborn man, he wouldn’t show weakness and vulnerability, even in a moment like this. “I know nothing good lasts long in my life but —” a choke left his lips as the lump is now growing impossible to hold back. “What kind of twisted sin am I paying off? I can’t live a life without you, I simply can’t.”

“I wasn’t done with you, I wasn’t done with our life. I wanted to adopt that dog we saw at the shelter. Do you remember? I wanted to take you to Italy because you once told me you wanted to try a real pizza.” A shaky breath cuts off Leon’s speech before he continues, his slurred words stumbling one another as if he knew he was running out of time. “I wanted to grow old with you, I wanted to be the first person to notice the gray hair appearing in you. The first wrinkles in your face, which I’m sure would have looked amazing in you darling, you were always perfect. I wanted to help you stand up when your legs couldn’t carry the weight of your body. I wanted —”

“Leon.”

“I wanted to at least spend one last Christmas with you.”

He finishes off with one last wish. One last desire he had hid in his mind for a while now. He knew everything had ended, but right now, he wanted to hear you one last time. He wanted to hear an "I love you" from you.

And there it was… the last thing he wanted to hear. Nothing. 

As soon as the deadly silence filled the room again, uncontrollable tears streamed down his face. Leon bent forward, his forehead hitting against the hard material of the table, letting out all of his repressed emotions. In the midst of his despair and hatred, he cried not only for you and the fact that he failed to protect you. Each drop carried the weight of every life that was lost under his watch, each one of those bright eyed agents who were looking forward to working with him, and only found death in their paths.

What has he done wrong to deserve this terrible but inevitable outcome? He’s beyond tired, beyond hopeless. In his rage, he could only blame the world. 

God, why have you forsaken me? 

He stays there for a while, drowning in his own tears. As reality once again sets in. Deep down, he knew this would be the last time. The universe granted him (or cursed him) by allowing him to hear you one last time. Hear the tender tone of your voice calling his name like you used to do. And maybe he should take that with him just like you did. 

Everyone dies, so will he. There will be a time when God takes pity on him and allows him to meet you once again. Once the time comes and he's sent to the place where you are, he will tell you about the book’s ending. He will tell you about every mission he will get in the still unknown future. He will tell how much he missed you and how much he loved your presence, even if it was just the blink of an eye. He doesn’t know what else he will tell you, but he’s going to make sure to have a list before parting from this world — in a long, far future.

He had enjoyed meeting and being with you. And if somehow God gives him another chance, he would choose you over and over again.

The sweet carols have grown faint and not even the innocent chants of those children filled Leon’s empty and dark living room. It’s already christmas.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #vendetta leon #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble

[flower-cage]

Scratch That

by @flower-cage

Ao3 | Masterlist | NEW! Part 2: Denial

Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary: His sweet little sister has an itch only he can scratch.

Words: 4,246

Warnings: 18+ only; Targcest/incest, Perv!Aemond, Manipulative!Aemond, smut, fluff, purity culture, Aemond likes that she is naive and takes advantage of it.

A/N: lol remember when I said I didn’t want to write incest. Instead of writing TWATD, I’ve been working on this. It is unbeta’d and it is cursed and I will write more parts to it probably.

Minors do not interact.

You had always been a crier, his sweet little sister. As a babe, you drove your mother and her handmaidens to tears themselves with your wailing. As a child, just about anything set off your sorrow: a scrape of your knee, Aegon’s pinchings and teasings, thunderstorms... And as you grew to become a young, fair maiden, this childish trait persisted.

It had never bothered him, your crying, though it did others, and for that reason, it was he that you sought after for comfort. And he would always receive you with open arms, for no one had cried hardest the night his eye was taken from him.

You had walked in as your mother and older sister disputed in the large hall, having had your rest interrupted, so clearly fatigued and holding on to your favorite plush doll. He knew it was coming before it happened. You always looked for him first in a crowded room, eyes scanning right past your family as they altercated. When your eyes found him, he saw it coming in the bulging of them and in the trembling of your bottom lip. You had run to him fast, your small frame undetected as it moved through the crowd in desperation. 

None took note of the youngest Targaryen as you clung to him and descended into dejection, with your nose tucked to his neck and his arm wound tightly around you. None but for him, for nobody loved you as he did, and no one would ever deserve you as he did.

As children you had been close, seeking each other’s company to chase one another around the gardens in the Red Keep, play fighting and picking flowers alike. But after the night he claimed Vhagar, you became positively inseparable - be it because you sought to comfort him for his mutilation, be it because you were the only company he wished to have. Your child’s play became bound to the walls of your private chambers more often, away from the pitying and terrified stares of both the nobility and the commoners who lived and worked at the castle. Though you had watched his demeanor become harsher and colder, to you he had remained soft and warm. In your growing youth, you evolved into each other’s confidant, each other’s most beloved companion, as your interests grew away from those of children.

Your chasing turned into challenges of knowledge and dragon-riding and your play fights into flying away from court to read for hours in each other’s embrace. He loved more than anything to fly away with you when the sun and the breeze invited you to do so, whenever your older brother drove him mad, or even when the ladies of the court teased you for your naïveté.

In truth, regardless of the years that passed, you remained clueless to the malice of the world, and as your older brother, he saw it as his prime duty to watch over you. Not only had you preserved your childish innocence, but your benevolence as well. That, carried in the enticing body of the young woman you had become, attracted the hungry sights of men and the envious sights of women, turning you prey to the very ill will to which you remained blind.

It was only at the celebration of his fifteenth nameday that he perceived his sentiments for you surpassed that of a protective brother. It had always been your favorite celebration and every year you doted on him like the King he coveted to be: broke your fast with him, gave him presents, brushed his hair for him, and clapped the loudest and smiled the brightest at every toast at his feast. He watched you carefully and dutifully as you played with Jahaerys and Jahaera, minding especially inebriated men who dared look your way longer than a second when it happened.

You bent forward to pick up a wailing child, and your maturing breasts threatened to spill over the tight seam of your dress. He felt his cheeks burn in shame, and he rose and stormed toward you in hopes anger would subdue this inquietudes.

He had scolded you then, quietly, and was astounded to realize you simply didn’t understand. He watched as the tell-tale signs of your crying formed on your face.

“It’s alright, my darling,” he shushed you, rubbing your hands soothingly, “It’s merely that-” he gulped, both thanking and cursing the Gods that your Septa had been useless in her teachings of womanhood. 

“There are parts of you that must be kept sacred,” he whispered, “secret to only yourself and the one you love the most.”

He watched your brows unfurrow as confusion was overtaken by curiosity, and watched your tears turn into a smile when he asked you for a dance.

“Come,” he had said, “I’ll request your favorite song.”

And it was later that day when he came to your bedchambers, as he often did so you would read together before sleep, that you shared words of your love for the first time. 

His cheeks flushed in shame and want similar to how they had at the earlier feast when you opened the door.

“Sister!” he hissed, “You shouldn’t have opened the door in this way if you knew I was coming!” 

He averted his eyes frantically and closed the door quickly so that none else would see you in your indecency. He kept his back to you, hands on the wooden pane, willing his nervousness to wane and praying that you would cover yourself in more layers.

“No,” you urged him softly, pulling him around by his elbow, “dearest brother, I love you the most,” you uttered lovingly, looking up at him as if he carried all your joy and dreams in his only eye; his sweet little sister who couldn’t see the malevolence in the world, especially not within him, who simply didn’t understand.

He watched your hair, free from the restraints of courtly propriety, felt the soft cotton chemise that is typically bound to the intimacy of your chambers. This was you inviting him in

“My little darling,” he exhaled brokenly, kissed your forehead, “I love you more than anyone, more than anything.”

When he pulled away he saw your eyes glisten for the second time that day.

“Come,” he said, his heart beating wildly in his chest in joy and desire and most of all in love, “Let us read something of your choosing.”

But you pulled him back once again as he made to move toward the plush chairs by your fireplace.

“Will you let me see you as well, then? If it is I who you love the most?”

He could never deny you anything.

You were crying the first time he ever kissed you too, ages after he had first sparked in you an interest in love.

In the years that had followed in your maidenhood, he had restrained himself from advancing with his inappropriate thoughts no matter how terribly his desire matured, waiting for you to reach your own awakenings. But he allowed the touches and intimacy you sought after in your innocence.

You had barged into his room in the early evening one day, wailing, unbothered by the glint of his blue gem as you were by the lack of a shirt on his body.

“Brother!” you cried against his naked chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly as your shoulders bounced from your sobs.

“What is it, little sister?” He was unfazed at your outburst, it being as common as the rise of the sun at every morrow.

“Brother,” you sobbed one more time, “No one loves me and no one ever will!” 

You placed your chin upon his pectoral to regard him from under your eyelashes, tears streaking along your complexion.

“What are you on about?” he chuckled, “Don’t I tell you I love you every day?”

“But yours is brotherly love, Aemond!” you protested, annoyed at his mocking, “It is not true love.”

He hummed, delighting in your aggravation. Even so, he soothed you by running his palm firmly along your spine.

“And what is true love, little darling?”

You swallowed down more tears and composed yourself marginally.

“Lady Cora says it is when someone gives you a true love’s kiss.” 

He couldn’t hold back the grin that slowly split his face in half. 

“Such as when a knight kisses a damsel, or a Prince kisses a Princess-” you scoffed and slapped his hard chest, frustrated at his continued jesting, “Aemond!”

It had him laughing harder, your frustration. And it was with the greatest care he was capable of that he cupped your face in his large hands and brushed your noses together lovingly, before placing the gentlest kiss on your wet lips. He only let go when he felt you melt against him.

“There,” he murmured, smiling softly still, “I am a Prince and you a Princess, and I’ve kissed you.”

He watched as your countenance changed from surprise to sheepish delight and you buried your face in his neck once more.

“Don’t believe everything Lady Cora taunts you with, little darling,” he pulled you from your hiding place, taking your hand in his and kissing your palm, “I assure you none love her as I love you,” he kissed your wrist, your forearm, the dip of your elbow, your lips again, “and none will ever love you as much as I do.”

It became customary for you to show your affections by kissing him in your moments of privacy. They were always soft, lovely brushes of your lips against his. You adored being kissed, every time he could see in you the childish adoration you had always reserved for him. To you, it was a demonstration of true love greater but no less innocent than holding hands or resting your head on his shoulder when you sat together, even if, in him, it elicited a burning lust that hardened him in his pants.

The addition to your interactions had sparked a want that threatened to consume him, more than any of the more intimate touches he would sometimes risk in your aloneness. More so than when he would hold you at night as you doze off on his bare chest, your bodies separated merely by the thinnest of your gowns. He would often bare you off the heavy blankets, only so that your nipples would pebble against him in the cold or your leg would shift over his stiff member as you sought his warmth. It had always been enough, those accidental touches. Until you began to seek and yearn for the touch of his lips.

Then, he could never restrain himself as he once had.

When you flew off to your secluded, secretive haven at the top of a hill near the Kingswood, he would hold you in his arms as you read aloud, with his back against a tree trunk, much like you had done since you were children. Unlike then, you shared gentle kisses and he would run his hand up your naked thigh, under your summer dress, stroke under the curve of your bottom to have you shiver and falter in your speech.

When you broke your fast with him, he would wipe off the remaining sugar from your dainty fingers with a stroke of his tongue to watch your lips pop open and your pupils dilate in arousal you didn’t even comprehend. He would pepper sweet kisses along your cleavage and delight in the desperate rise and fall of your bosom against his face. He would squeeze your waist and pull you to his chest as he held you tightly, as you squirmed from the loving words he murmured teasingly against your sensitive neck. He couldn’t bring himself to touch you any further, however. He could only coach you, tease you, spark in you something new with each touch in hopes that one day you would ask him for more.

That one day came when he visited you in the early morrow with a gift in his hands and a bulge in his trousers. The former he was swift to discard so he could busy his hands instead with touching you. He woke you with kisses to your face and nudges to your side. You had been quick to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into your bed fully when you came to.

“Aemond!” you yelped joyfully. “You’re back!”

He had traveled along with Ser Criston to watch a tourney at the invitation of the Prince of Dorne. His trainer had insisted he learned the techniques of the Dornish, convinced it would make him a far more distinguished fighter. And because Ser Criston wouldn’t fly with him on Vhagar, they had sailed to Sunspear, taking him from you for nearly two moons.

You had cried and cried to mother to let you accompany him. And you had cried and cried on the day of his departure. You had ridden with him in his private carriage all the way to the pier, grasping his hand tightly and sniffing against his shoulder the entire journey. He kissed you lovingly as he always did, just the sweet, soft slide of your lips against one another, in attempts at comfort. Though he wanted nothing more than to finally allow himself to deepen it, to commit your taste to memory before he had to endure so many nights without your touch, from it he refrained. Instead, he breathed in deeply, freeing himself of his nefarious thoughts and reminding himself to be patient, or else he risked frightening you. He kissed you firmly, fiercely, a final time before stepping out of the carriage and pulling you after him.

He continued to hold you in the circling of his arms while the last of his bearings were carried into the undersized vessel, swaying you side to side soothingly.

“Tis time, my love,” he spoke softly against your temple, eliciting a few sobs to tumble out of you. 

“Think of me as I will you each day,” he said, cupping your wet cheeks in his hands, and kissing your forehead. He couldn't keep at bay the smile that surged at your fierce display of melancholy. Though his heart ached at your distress, he delighted in your vehement devotion. “And remember that I love you more than anyone and more than anything.”

“Brother,” you hiccuped around your tears, “Please, kiss me one more time.”

Then, the very breath was knocked out of him and your desperation for his touch drove his heart to wild beatings. His grip on you tightened and he grasped at the very ends of his sanity to not give in to your temptations. This would be the one time he would have to deny you.

“Do as I say,” he said gruffly, voice heavy with the effort of restraint. 

“Think of me, of my touch, of my kiss, and of my love every night before you drift off to sleep, and I promise you, when I come back, I shall kiss you with more passion than I have ever done, and give you immense pleasure only my love is capable of delivering.”

And you hadn’t failed him.

“How I’ve missed you, little love,” he whispered against your lips, watching you with all the adoration that he bore within of him. And then he kissed you and you clung to him firmly. You dipped your fingers in his hair, arched your body to press against him, chased his lips with yours when he threatened to pull away, and he realized you yearned to feel closer to him just as much he did. 

To the best of his abilities, he removed his clothing while keeping his lips upon yours as you continued to demand of him. The carnal desperation you showed perhaps for the first time threatened his hardened cock to spill in his undergarments at the slightest touch.

“Mine as well,” you asked between erratic breaths, pulling on the sleeves of your night slip, “Please, brother, I want to feel your skin on mine.”

His whole body shuddered at your request, and he all but stifled a moan as he pulled soft silk down soft skin. You discarded his eyepatch as you often did when it was just the two of you, but he didn’t even register it. He stared at your perky breasts instead, just beneath his chin, pointing up in arousal you mistook for simply missing his company. His mouth flooded with the hunger he had for the taste of them, and his lips tingled as the very last of his self–control fought against his crazed desire. He couldn’t be sure of whether he would have resisted it if not for your calling.

“Brother,” you urged and he moved to face you, “I was– I did as you told me,” you breathed hurriedly, “I thought of you every night as I lay in bed.”

“Did you, little love?” He smiled fondly and proceeded to plant long, firm kisses at the expanse of your neck, eliciting shivers and goosebumps to litter your skin. He was eager to learn which fruits he would be able to pick from the seed he planted so many nights ago.

You hummed in agreement. His calculated though sensual ministrations of your body, firm grip and strokes of your waist, thighs, and hip had you breathing harshly as you attempted to reason further. His digits, cold from the long travel, pressed upon your burning hot skin, heightening the sensations he wished for you to revel in.

“I did and it-“ you bit your lip hesitantly, “it caused me a strange affliction.”

He halted his touches to prop himself over you once more.

“How so?” He sucked in his cheeks to prevent a smile; every nerve ending on his skin sensitive to the words he desperately wanted you to utter. His cock twitched in his smallclothes as it hovered between your legs.

“It felt as though I had a fever!” Your eyes bulged in your worry, naive and so dependent on your older brother to teach you. “Though it did not bring me any pain. A strong itch spread on my skin and-”

“Go on,” he whispered, heart hammering, blood boiling.

“It settled between my legs,” you murmured lowly. Even if you didn’t understand the depravity of your words, you were ashamed to speak of the body parts you knew to be intimate; the parts to which you understood only he was allowed to be privy.

“I thought it was my missing you,” you whined and the sound sent his liquid pleasure to drip and wet his clothes, “but with you here, it’s become more powerful. It is pulsing, brother,” you whined once again.

Aemond let out a shaky breath in response. He positively felt his only pupil dilate as his arousal intensified.

“Do you know what that is?” He asked gruffly. “Have you told anyone?”

You shook your head rapidly.

“It is our love, sweet thing,” he murmured against your lips, “Our love makes us feel this way. Do you remember what I told you the day I left?”

I shall kiss you with more passion than I have ever done, and give you immense pleasure only my love is capable of delivering.

You nodded.

“It is how I’ll scratch that for you.”

And with that, with a calloused thumb, he pulled your bottom lip away from the trappings of your teeth. And when he placed his lips upon yours he let his tongue slowly crawl in between them to caress your own.

He held you by your jaw at an angle which allowed him to explore your mouth freely. Each touch of your tongues had him yearning for more, and you drawing sharp breaths as you felt pleasure for the very first time. He reveled in the sensation of your breasts grazing his naked chest as you struggled for air. Your hands held on tight to his long hair as if grasping onto a sense of lucidity that threatened to leave you rapidly. 

He only broke from you when he had savored you completely, learned your taste and taught you his. When he did, you followed his movement to reunite instead your glistening lips. He smiled and tried to hold you back, talk you through the sensations so new to your flesh, but when you whimpered his name with darkened eyes, no godly power of the Seven could have prevented him from devouring you the way he did.

He ran a hand down your body again, reacquainting himself with your warm skin and your supple curves. When he squeezed your breast and rolled your sensitive nub under his thumb, you thrashed underneath him, rolling your body to touch his and whining into his mouth. You whined freely in the room and with abandon when he replaced his finger with his mouth, tonguing and nipping at your hardened bud.

“Gods,” he stopped when your noises threatened your privacy, “I have wanted to taste you for so long.”

“Brother!” You gasped, attempting to control your breathing. “It is so much!”

You squirmed still underneath him, closing your thighs and rubbing them together in an unconscious search for release. He shushed you by planting a sweet kiss on your wet lips.

“My dearest love,” he cooed, littered kisses on your face adoringly, “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It- it does,” you muttered trepidly, “But it’s become so much stronger, the itch.”

You stroked his chest as if to assure him you enjoyed his passion and tucked his hair behind his ear where it had come loose. 

With little patience to word his explanations, he captured your lips in a sensual entangle of your tongues as one of his hands descended on your naked body. Swiftly he discarded both your small clothes and with a hand hooked around your knee, he pulled apart your legs to press his rock-solid member against your wet privates.

“Oh,” you moaned as his engorged head bumped against that little button of pleasure of which you had no knowledge.

You clung onto his shoulders desperately, trying to make sense of the sensations that dominated your body; stemming from his insistent touches of your most intimate parts and disseminating upwards to your hardened nipples and downwards to your toes. You moaned continuously as he ground his cock along your wet folds and against your pleasure pearl, provoking wave after wave of that same intense itch.

“This is what you needed,” he growled close to your face, watching as your confusion slowly gave way to carnal bliss. “Was it not, little sister?”

“Aemond,” you moaned, your bulging innocent eyes fixed on his lustful one, “what is this I’m feeling?”

“It’s pleasure, little darling,” he explained, “a pleasure only I can give you, only my love can give you.”

“You love me so much, brother?” You asked between whimpers and gasps that drove all the blood that fed his thoughts to his leaking cock. 

Tears rolled from your eyes, ones he recognized to be from his love confession. Even when he had you bare beneath him, committing unspeakable sins and giving in to cravings of the flesh, you sought the reassurance of his love.

“More,” he grunted and as if to prove the extent of his adoration, he quickened his pace, rutting against you with renewed vigor, groping your plush behind and moving you along his cock forcefully.

The wet sounds of your flesh coming together in passion and your surprised, wanton moans, heightened the sensations that gathered on his cock, making it pulse as if it desired to get bigger and allow for more arousal, as if it were to explode in its lust. So long had he waited for that moment, so patient he had been, now he delivered all of his raw, burning desire with abandon.

“That’s it, my little darling,” he murmured as you threw your head back in excruciating pleasure, “Relish in all of my love, in all of my affections.”

“You were such an obedient girl for your older brother,” he moaned, “You deserve this. Take it.”

He took your hands as his pleasure neared its peak, lacing your fingers together and bringing them to rest against the bed, above your head. He thrust slower, more powerfully, hoping to bring the climax of your enjoyment along with his.

“Aemond!” You cried among your gasps of arousal. “Something is happening!” 

He watched as your eyes bulged in desperation, wet with streaking tears, equal parts aroused and frightened. 

“Please,” you whined, “It is so much!”

“Give in to it, my little love,” he gasped harshly as his own arousal threatened to break through that maximum threshold of pleasure. “Trust me.”

He watched with his mouth parted in awe as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips fell open in a silent scream of utter satisfaction. He felt himself explode between your bodies before he registered his tremendously overwhelming orgasm, so enraptured he was by yours. He rode the waves of your peak until they became mere jolts of your body against his, his own electrifying his flesh in their wake.

And then he kissed you and kissed you until your jaws became numb with the effort.

A/N: I know I've robbed you of the aftercare but I'll write a part two!

#I just really wanted to publish it already #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x sister!reader #hotd smut

[take-everything-you-can]

What makes a man

A/N : This is the second piece into the angiverse or my dad Eddie series of blurbs. A series of Fathers Days throughout Eddies life. One Where his father wasn't so kind, another when he surprised Wayne, and one more where you surprise him. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

P.s Photo in header are all from google straight up not gonna lie to yall have no idea who edited the Eddie and Wayne photo but its phenomenal.

P.p.s update : the photo of Eddie and Wayne was created by user @fefemunson on Pinterest and insta 💕💕🖤

Dividers by @cafekitsune

18+ MINORS DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem reader

WC: 4K

TW: Angst ( Al - need I say more...) Fluff ( Wayne's gift, doting husband, baby girl Munson) Smut ( Breeding kink, F receiving, fingering, unprotected PIV, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, accidental edging, squirting) If y'all see anything I missed please let me know. Not really edited all that much.

Sweat rolled down the side of Eddie's face as he sat crouched behind a car in the packed lot of a junkyard, a few towns over from Hawkins. The sun had set but the heat waves, in the middle of June 1975,  had become almost stifling as he kept an eye on his surroundings. Al had promised that if Eddie just kept watch this one last time, while he took care of some business, then he could get him the guitar strings he had his eye on.

It had only been two seconds, two seconds Eddie let himself get distracted as he watched the fireflies light up the darkening sky in swirling patterns. Two seconds and Eddie had missed how a tall figure made its way over to the door in which he watched his father disappear behind. Two seconds and he was too late to let out his crow call to let Al know there was someone coming. 

“Run.” A gunshot and a flash of his father was all Eddie heard and saw before his limbs were weaving in and out of old abandoned things that people no longer needed. Things that people no longer wanted. Losing traction as the rain from the night before made the clay and mud beneath his feet slide. He had caught up to Al, Eddie had never been an athlete but when it came to running for his life, he had more practice then one should at his age.

“Stupid, How could you be so fucking Stupid?” Al was catching his breath as he slowed, pretty sure that the men he was stealing from had given up at least for now. “I mean I ask you to do one thing and you can't even do that right.” Eddie walks beside his father and he’s heard the spiel time and time again. “If you think I’m getting you those guitar strings after this, You can forget it.”  Eddie knew he was never getting those strings, and if he was being honest with himself he knew this was the only time he was going to get with his father. That's all he ever wanted , to feel like he was needed and if that meant he would have to sit through some words that hurt, then that's exactly what he would do. 

He thought to two days ago. Hawkins Elementary had fathers day arts and crafts sweep through the halls and through classrooms as the day approached within the upcoming weekend. He decided that he was going to draw what he knew best. Eddie had drawn a dragon, large and fierce , one only a brave man could face. Sword in hand and threatening he had drawn his father slaying the dragon that plagued the princess’s  nightmares around the realm. He was so excited to present it to his father but as he sat and heard the words his father was saying the longer the picture sat in his backpack until it littered the bottom of it at the end of the year. 

Eddie would never give the picture to Al, in fact he would grow to forget about it. 

It took only a few months as the fall leaves began to change colors and fall to the ground, Al would find himself behind bars. Life without parole for numerous crimes that would leave Eddie with nothing but his mother and His uncle. It would be a very very long time before He would even hear the sound of his voice again. 

June 1985 had become as hot as Eddie thought it possibly could within the trailer. Wayne was currently out shopping for two new units, one for the living room and one for Eddie. As the men of the house could no longer stand having their hair drip sweat in their eyes and slick down the back of their knees. So they counted couch change and broke open piggy banks for the luxury of air flow. 

Eddie had found himself trying to pry the window that had been painted shut open in his room. A small one across from where his bed sat, and it took all of his strength and an hour of his time, but he had finally been able to crack it. Sweet relief had started to settle around him as a breeze picked up and his curtains swayed in as he took a look around his room. Clothes scattered and books in a pile, a few cups on his desk and sheets of paper askew, Eddie decided to start cleaning his room.

 A half clean floor surprised Wayne as he looks in on Eddie as he arrives home with the new units. Almost not wanting to say anything at all to stop Eddie in his task, but he curses himself as the words leave his mouth. 

“Come help me unload this truck boy.”  Eddie slips on a pair or worn out sneaker and trudges through the inferno only to be met with a realization. It was colder outside then it was in the trailer and he stood on the shared porch in disbelief. 

“How is it cooler out here than inside?” 

“Not for long If i can help it, Now come one and give me a hand before I melt out here.” 

Eddie helps Wayne take both units into the house and he holds them up as Wayne takes his time to install them, making sure that he eases the process as much as he can for his uncle.

 Eddie Holds his breath as Wayne plugs in the unit in his bedroom and the second the small little green light pops on and revs the A/C Unit to life, That breath leaves his lungs in a huffed out laugh as he jumps up and down in joy. A laugh from Wayne as he pats Eddie's shoulder as he leaves the room. “Glad you like it. I’m hitting the hay so keep it down here okay?” Eddie nods his head towards his uncle as he lifts his shirt up over his head and just basks in the cool air hitting his skin for what feels like the first time ever. 

Eddie opens his closet to hang a few stray long sleeve shirts he had  found scattered across the floor. Giving each the smell test before grabbing hangers. Who needs a long sleeve tee in this heat anyway, he thinks to himself. He stops and bends to find an old shoebox that had fallen from the top shelf and somehow landed upside down. Small trinkets from his past had toppled out and onto the floor, a few movie stubs, from trips to the cinema across town. His first DND Handbook , a small pick-me-up Wayne had brought home from a thrift store for him one day after finding out he had the flu.

 Then a small folded up piece of paper caught his eye. A Knight in shining armor depicted as slaying a dragon, one with a tail that could take out entire cities and claws like daggers. A sword through its skull as he shields himself from the bloodshed,but the face of the knight confused him. He remembered drawing the picture for his father , his rounded features and brudish stance, but the more he looked in on the knight he realized the picture he had drawn was not rounded but more sharp. The knight was more gentle as if it hurt to even have to slay the dragon but for his princess he would do anything. He had drawn Wayne, not his father. 

The picture would continue to lay in the box , and Eddie would put the box back in its rightful place on a shelf in his closet , but Eddie would always know that Wayne would slay his dragon. In fact he realized Wayne had been slaying them for years all in the sake of his protection. This brought a smile to his face as he left his room and made himself some dinner, making Wayne a plate to leave in the fridge so he would have something to eat before having to go to work. Tomorrow he wouldn't wait for the phone call from his father that would never come, instead he would spend it with his dad, a man who took him in and loved him for all that he was. 

An Early Morning of June 1988, Eddie paced by the phone for what seemed like hours. He started off his day by sitting , but the nervous bile that would rise in his throat had him up and down. His mind was set on hearing disappointment but you reassured him he would hear nothing of the sort. Finding himself sitting, knee bouncing as if it had a live wire in it, you start to separate things off the stove into their own spots on the kitchen aisle. A breakfast fit for a king, sausage and eggs , bacon and pancakes. All that was missing was Coffee. 

The night before you and Eddie had gone to Waynes for dinner leaving a small gift that he wasn’t supposed to open until this morning. You were sure he would open it as soon as you left but the line had stayed silent and Eddie knew for a fact he would call if he did. Given the gift he was receiving you had hoped the phone would ring sooner rather than later simply for the fact that you wanted Eddie to have peace of mind. Each second that passed you saw in Eddie’s features that he was going to the dark and weathered places. 

You and Eddie had given Wayne a mug. A small pink mug that when Wayne opened it reminded him of a diner he had not far from his house when he lived in Tennessee as a child. As Wayne poured his coffee into the mug he noticed that when he went to take a sip his hand caressed within it perfectly, a new favorite he would have to keep by the sink. As his last few sips drained the cup he saw an inscription on the bottom of the inside.

‘Pa Pa needs Coffee first’ 

A shrill ring from the telephone made you and Eddie nearly jump out of your skin. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear but before the word “hello” could leave his mouth Wayne had already started.

“Are you serious? Don’t be playing no games with me boy, cause if i have a heart attack then i'm taking your scrawny ass with me! You better be telling the truth or so help me -” 

Eddie's sniffles match Waynes as he just nods his head as if the man on the other end of the line can see him.

“I’m telling the truth, we’re having a baby girl, Uncle Wayne.”  Eddie turns as he hears a small sob leave you . You had been watching the man in front of you tell the most important person in his life the news of having your first child. It broke you in the best way.

 Eddie motioned for you to come over to him as he couldn't pull the cord far enough to reach you. He wrapped both of his arms around your neck as he held the phone to his ear letting Wayne rattle on his congratulations while you let the tears fall and land on his shirt. Eddie hoped this would be one of those moments you never forget. One that even when you were sitting next to him old and gray , he hoped this would be a memory he could always reach out for.

 Eddie hung up the phone and still having you wrapped up in his arms led you backwards. He stopped next to the fridge and opened it opting for orange juice instead of coffee. He had told you about a week or so ago that anything you couldn't do, he wouldn't do, and It was becoming a challenge. Coffee and a cigarette had been his daily routine for as long as he could remember, but having you struggle was something he was not going to let you do alone. So this morning he poured you a glass of juice along with his own and you both sat and ate the breakfast of champions, a slight Happy Father's Day on the tip of your tongue. 

Summer on the cusp of beginning in June of 1991 had bees buzzing and roses blooming . A cranky tot had been an alarm clock for you and Eddie for the past three weeks. Not only had your daughter reached the terrible twos but the heat was something she didn't like in the slightest. A stressful few months of Eddie working non stop and you finishing rotation on night shift had left you no time alone together. That would all end tonight. 

Wayne had agreed to take Angie for the weekend while you and Eddie had finally convinced your jobs to give you the time off. A rushed drive to Waynes gave you that pit feeling in your stomach and the tears that stained Angies face at your absence gave you tears to shed of your own. Mom guilt was always something you would struggle with. How could you not? Eddie squeezed your knee as he drove, peaking at you every so often to sooth the pit, he felt it too, but you deserve this. Eddie Deserved this. 

An early check-in to the hotel you had booked gave you enough time to get dressed and listen to Eddie complain about the restaurant you were taking him to having a dress code. You packed him a black blazer and a maroon button up ,but the man refused to wear slacks. Absolutely threw a fit about it, so he compromised and wore black jeans that you had to inspect for rips. While you wore a black dress that fit snugly against your soft tummy, coming up short against your thighs. If you bent over the entire place would be getting a show but you were saving that for your husband. God your husband, you loved the sound it rang through your brain, an earworm the word had become since you married. Husband, the father of your child, the man you gave your everything to and he gave you back all of himself in return. 

The dim light of the room made you squint at the incredibly small print of the menu in your hands and as you look across the table you see Eddie doing the same. 

“You see a burger here anywhere?” you roll your eyes. 

“Eddie, we did not drive an hour into the city for you to order a burger from a five star restaurant.”

“Why not?” you could see the slight slip of the corner of his mouth. You smile and turn your focus back on figuring out what to eat before the waiter comes back. The pasta sounds nice, the steak on a table across the way looks divine. You settle on a Caesar salad , Eddie orders steak and fettuccine. A beer in front of Eddie pairs with your glass of white as his hand comes across waiting for you to take hold. You indulge him as you pick up your glass with your other hand. Soft circles across your knuckles have you leaning into the table.

“Have i told you how incredible you look tonight?” Heat rushes through you at his tone, seep sultry, dark. A twist in where he laces your fingers with his own and a gleam in his eye. You know exactly what he wants to hear.

“Oh yeah? Me? What about you over there?” You return the look as the waiter sits your food in front of you interrupting whatever he was going to say.

 A tight smile is all he gives as he picks up his beer and takes a sip. He picks up his knife and you watch as he tries to cut into his steak, lifting your glass and taking a long sip you take the edge of your heels and slide it up his leg. He nearly drops his fork on the ground at the unexpected touch. Eddie stares wide eyed as he brings his food to his mouth slowly taking the bite.

You look away as if your heel isn't still making its way to his knee and sliding in between his thighs, placing your shoe right against his groin. You can see the way his body stiffens and instantly his hand is slammed against the table. It gets the attention of your waiter as if the sound was a call of his name. When he asks if you are enjoying your food and if you need anything Eddie rushes to get the words out.

“Yes! Good! Everything is delicious! Can we get the check please?” he obliges as he walks to grab the tab for the two of you. Giggling as you take in the wild look Eddie is giving you.

"You done already babe?"

"You are going to be the absolute death of me, woman.”  you pay for dinner as a treat for Fathers day, shit this whole weekend was for Fathers day. Eddie gave you hell for paying but the bruising grip on your hip as you walked through the restaurant had you knowing he was going to pay you back tenfold. 

Barely making it through the door to your hotel room Eddie had already shed the blazer you had made him wear. Lips catching between teeth and struggling to undo buttons has you both breathless and frustrated. Eddie pulls the shirt up and over his head yelling fuck it as it soars across the room. The rattle of his belt buckle sends a shiver down your spine as you sit and struggle to undo the clasp of your heels. Eddie kicks the denim that pooled around his ankles to the side as he jumps up onto the bed. His knees against the sheets, he takes one of your heels in his hands and leans it against his chest as he undoes the clasp for you. He throws the heel behind him and does the same to the other leaning over you as his hair falls around your face.

“Mhmm, I've been thinking ‘bout this all day.” your lips crash into his, a hungry, feral feeling overcomes you as you wrap your legs around his waist. His lips begin their journey down your neck and across your chest, sucking small spots and leaving small bruises, as if leading breadcrumbs to find his way back home. He reaches the hem of your dress as he nips at your thighs pushing the fabrics up so it bunches at your waist. 

“Isn't it Fathers Day, shouldn't I be the one going down on you?“ He catches your eyes as you look down and shakes his head. 

“Nope. Like you said, it's Fathers Day and that means I get whatever I want baby,  and I didn't get to have dessert.” He takes the lace between his teeth and lets it snap back in place listening as you let out a small whine from beneath him. 

“Mmm so sweet” He slips the thong along your thighs and down your legs as you let them spread for his immediate return. Except it’s not immediate, he takes his time. “So good to me, aren’t you sweetheart?” He takes his time kissing his way down your thighs to your dripping core. He drapes your legs over his shoulders as he slips his tongue through your folds and around your clit. Sucking hard as he lets the slick of your arousal coat his taste buds. Kissing your cunt as if he can’t live without its breath in his lungs. He slips his tongue into you as he lets his nose stimulate your clit. You wonder if he can breathe but the thought is lost as he slips a finger into you instead coming back to focus on that bundle of nerves. Your hands wrap themselves around his curls and grip hard, earning a moan from him that vibrates against your core as he adds another finger and a gasping moan sounding from deep within you as you chase that lightning through your core. Shaking thunderous moans of His name leave you as you give in to your husband. He slows the curl of his fingers and lets you ride out your high letting himself pant against your thigh as your grip in his hair loosens. 

Laughs from Eddie send you into a fit of your own giggles and the loving look he gives you as he hovers over you letting you taste yourself off his lips. Slow and needy you reach down and grasp Eddie's length through his boxers and a groan is made from the back of his throat.

“Eddie.” The soft moan of his name is all it takes for him to give you anything you ever wanted. Some Days it’s your laugh, other days it’s the way you take care of his daughter, but right now in this moment it’s the way you're sighing at his touch. 

You sit up pushing his shoulders back until his head hits the pillows,straddling his waist and sliding up and down his cock a few times, coating him in your slick. Lining him up with your entrance and sitting slowly until his entire length is buried inside you. A deep moan from within the both of you. You lift yourself off of him leaning back resting your hands on his thighs as the angle lets him hit that sweet spot inside of you with every drop back into his lap. The way his cock slides against your walls has you throwing your head back ,eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Uh uh , Look at me , Let me see you baby.”  your chest heaves with each thrust he sends upwards into you, unable to form words. A sudden flip has you separated from Eddie right as you were on the cusp.

“I said look at me Baby, Come on. What ? dick so good you’ve gone dumb?”  He slams into you and the sounds of his skin slapping yours, as he fucks you into the mattress, echoes off the walls.” God you’re so tight. Squeezin the fuck outta me.” You whine as he lifts you so your chest is flush with his own. “Look so good underneath me ,gonna fuck you full baby.” 

“Yes , god yes Fuck Eddie, fill me up.” you moan through each thrust, right against his ear. You reach your climax gushing around Eddie a small spray reaching his abdomen and wetting the sheets beneath you. Nail marks scratching down his back send him into his own orgasm as he coats the walls within you thick, falling forward with you under him. A weight you would always welcome. Both of you lay in utter bliss for what feels like forever before he slips out of you. You hiss at the empty feeling but welcome the warm rag Eddie drags across your center. A glass of water is given to you as you lay tangled in the sheets bringing them to your chest as you gulp down every drop. A small smile on Eddie's face has you feeling like you did the first time you saw him. Unbelievably awestruck. 

“What's on your mind Honey?” He thinks for a second but gives you an answer far from what you expect. 

“I think we just made our second child.” loud and blissfully you laugh. 

“One not enough? “ His dimples practically touch each other as he purses his lips, letting his tongue glide over the bottom.

“One is plenty, but I just can't help but want a little more of you in the world.” you sit up on your knees as you bring Eddies face down to your own, sliding a hand across his cheek as your lips meet.

"I wouldn’t mind a little more of you out there either.” 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #dad eddie munson #wayne munson #dilf!eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson blurb #mae blurbs

[blueaetherr]

future histories

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): angst, gotg vol 3 inspired [peter q. & gamora]

summary: the one where past lovers consider life beyond their tragic circumstances

author's note: this is part 2 to this imagine which i recommend reading before this one. i'm currently re-reading the book that inspired part 1 (the sun is also a star by nicola yoon), which further inspired me to write this. i also haven't written in time so forgive me for any mistakes that may be here.

tag(s): @aechii

now playing: the miseducation of lauryn hill by ms. lauryn hill

Under the mature night sky, surrounded by the stars and the comfort of the dark, a celebration was underway—an engagement party. Somewhere rural and hidden by trees standing tall and all, there was a house hosting the party of the couple-to-be in the coming weeks. The fiancé, the fiancée, bridesmaids, groomsmen and beyond in attendance. 

It was all wonderful, from the presence of everyone, the party atmosphere, Party Girls floating within and beyond the mansion. The night was set in motion and wouldn't stop for anyone until the early morning.

Still, two individuals decided to stray away. And there—wherever they wandered away to—they chose to remain in their own world, oblivious to everything else around them.

"You can't be serious, Jude!" Y/N shook her head and glanced at her friend with a pointed look. Watch your words kinda look. "Say that shit again. I dare you."

It was quiet for a moment before Jude decided to tune in again, shrugging with a smile growing on his face. "A straw has two holes."

Her face contorted, disgust evident even to the blind. "It has one."

Jude hung his head back as he let out a laugh, his laughter trailing into the night sky. Folding his arms, he asked, "You know two things can be true at the same time?" The straw debate was something that the two had been having for a few years. And yet despite his strong arguments and the backing of friends, Jude just couldn't get Y/N to be in the slightest way considerate of his side of the debate.

"And that's completely fine," she said, clasping her hands together. She was comfortable in her place and in her stance. "Just not when I make an argument for something. And I stand by what I believe."

"Okay, whatever you say," Jude raised his arms up in laughter, "Whatever you say, Y/N."

Debating with Y/N was something he always found himself enjoying. Not because he enjoyed the act of debating or because he would aim to propose an outstanding argument. It was more simply because he enjoyed watching Y/N debate, even if it was against him. Always was she animated in discussion, pushing 'til the end to prove a point that may not be entirely true. If she could somehow prove that left was actually right, then Jude would follow behind her and declare left as right.

After walking around the private grounds for some time, Y/N and Jude decided to rest and settled on a low wall. There, they were able to admire the manor house scenery. A location large and luxurious in presentation with its gardens, lakes and grass trimmed to perfection. Still, it remained cosy and informal with the absence of public bodies around; one could be unrestricted and alone with the infinite square feet that were free to wonder.

Jude and Y/N experienced both respectively, the loneliness over the freedom. Outdoors they were together alone, only accompanied by the displays of nature around them. Away from the celebration of the engaged couple, away from secret activities of the night, away and distant from the wonders that this ever manor had to offer. And when that realisation dawned upon the two everything from their talk to their moods fell.

Y/N sighed, her posture faltering a bit. "What are we doing out here?" After all, it was Jude who invited her to stray away from the party. One minute she was in the middle of a game with her friends and the next Jude was taking her away with no explanation, just pace.

Jude took her hand in his and glanced at her with a playful look. "Is it so bad that I want to get to know my bridesmaid?" Weirdly, everyone thought it would be the perfect idea to pair Jude and Y/N as a groomsman and bridesmaid together.

"Yes," Y/N scoffed out a laugh, removing her hand from his grasp. "I know a lot about you and I don't think I want to start learning more."

"That's fair, I guess," he huffed out a small laugh. But because he believed that what she said was wholefully true; he knew that other people shared her opinion so I guess that's where he had to agree. Jude then sobered up from his laughter, "I just wanted to talk to you."

Rubbing her hands together, she blew out a small breath as she looked around the vacant outdoor area. "And we have to do that outside?" The night weather wasn't too bad, though it didn't beat wanting to be indoors.

He sucked in a small breath as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's just... I'm not tryna be inside right now. I mean..."

She meant to ask what Jude was talking about, but then she heard it. I Can't Help Falling in Love was playing, within and beyond the mansion. And Y/N could imagine the scenes inside. Everyone pushing the engaged couple to have yet another dance, ungrateful yet entertaining steps and twirls, aspiring partners taking the leap of faith with a dance that would probably lead to something more later down the line, lively dances and delight across the board.

Whatever purpose there was to dance—to sway delicately across the dancefloor, to lose oneself in the song, to hold wild thoughts regarding romance—nonetheless, it brought everything to life even if it wasn't there before. Romance, partnership, and lasting promises, all shared between two individuals. Every two individuals except for Y/N and Jude.

It was hard for them. Even though they felt nothing for each other, even though they could no longer feel anything for one another (and weren't actively seeking anything from each other), it still remained hard and unfair to be surrounded by all things love and ideal romance that reminded them that their relationship didn't work, that they themselves weren't deserving of a functional, lasting relationship.

Jude and Y/N were happy for the engagement of their friends, and they would continue to wish them the best until their final days. But being bombarded by all these things—being a groomsman and bridesmaid, everyone seemingly being in current or aspiring relationships—with their history together, one that they couldn't bring themselves to remember or hold onto in any way, witnessing their friends in the relationship that they failed to hold onto for reasons beyond them... it was overwhelming simply being at the engagement party.

"And I just want to talk to you without other people being around... without them judging us." It was weird for Jude. Being a football player meant eyes were constantly on him. He was used to it. Now people were giving him attention over his previous relationship and couldn't seem to shake off the feeling of unease off his person.

Y/N knew Jude's thoughts were real and justified. She heard the whispers speaking on her and Jude. From the wedding rehearsals to the engagement party. Both positive and negative remarks; wondering how they couldn't understand why the two broke up, speaking on why the reason the exes broke up didn't make much sense. That Y/N and Jude looked together, and that they should make up and get together for the sake of it.

In other words, the reason for Jude and Y/N breaking up wasn't valid enough in everyone's eyes.

She let her eyes trail on her legs as they swang over the ground. "It's— it's like people care more about our relationship than we do." She said it like it was a wonder, but Y/N knew well that that was just the reality of things.

"Don't even get me started with that," Jude shook his head before scoffing. "I get asked about our relationship—about you—a lot by friends and family. I mean I don't mind, it's whatever, you know? I expect now. But sometimes it's just too much. And every conversation is the same. How is Y/N? You guys still friends? I think you two still have a chance together. You should definitely ask her out."

"And I'm always polite with it and say, Y/N is fine. Yes, we're still friends I guess. Well, I don't know about that. We haven't talked about that. I hear what you're saying, but I'm not too sure about that. Polite with it. Then they'll ask me the same questions again or ask my parents. It's almost like... like..."

"Like they don't trust our judgements?" Even though she was never present for any of those conversations, Y/N and Jude shared similar experiences post-relationship. The questions, the questions repeated over and over again, the patience that came with having to deal with those repeated questions. There was something so frustrating about having to convince people that your past relationship would remain in the past with no hope of reviving it ever again. 

Not only because they didn't want to; the moon and the stars just wouldn't allow it.

"Exactly that. It's annoying 'cause everyone wants me to do something I just can't do anymore... something I can't remember doing. Like," Jude inhaled deeply as he rubbed his hands over his face. He never really was good with his words. "There's something there but it's beyond me. I could love you but I just can't. Not because I don't want to, but it's... every time I want to step forward I'm pushed back. Like it's not my fault and it's not our fault either."

There were grounds as to why Jude disliked dwelling on their relationship. Some were evident, others not so much; one being that the simple thought of the relationship gave him false hope.

In truth, he was a hopeless romantic. He loved the idea of love in all of its forms. By offering and receiving, perhaps to and from his family, friends or anyone who could reciprocate it. Like the average person, it made him feel happy in many possible ways. And when he was consumed in all that love—when he was consumed in happiness—he was more approachable and open to everyone's questions about his past relationship with Y/N. That's where the hope fell over him every single time. 

Maybe there's still something between me and Y/N. Maybe we did overreact like everyone is saying. We didn't try hard enough to fix our relationship. So when he was no longer so consumed in his hopeful thoughts, Jude would tell himself let's try again.

But then he would simply look at Y/N and reality would quickly pull him out of his thoughts. No. 

Jude could try to find the humour in Y/N's words, he could try to admire Y/N for her beauty and flaws, he could try to remain consumed in everyone's delusions about his past relationship, he could try to indulge in their past romance through the words of his mom. Jude could try anything, yet none of it would change the fact that everything he ever felt for Y/N was compromised. Anything he would ever feel for her would be compromised.

He could no longer feel anything for her. She could no longer feel anything for him. The possibility of feeling anything held no strength to exist, and that realisation always left Jude devastated. They were a lost cause. We're never getting back together, and he just had to get over it.

But that was difficult when everyone would remind him of their relationship. So he was stuck in this cycle of false hope, where he couldn't find it in himself to move on. Truthfully, Jude was unsure if he would ever be getting out of it any time soon.

"It's not our fault. It never was," she said, moving her hand in small rotation on his back to let Jude fall into her touch. All Y/N could do was sit by Jude and comfort him. In fact, all they could do was comfort one another. Because everything Jude felt, everything he couldn't feel, she was right there with him. This would be a soft moment of solace if the circumstances weren't so terrible.

Yet here they were, outside all miserable and devastated by their never-changing circumstances in a scenery so whole and picturesque. While everyone was partying—celebrating and enjoying the declaration of love of the engaged couple, dancing in rightful and infinite pairs—Jude and Y/N could only share some physical attachment knowing that was all one could offer the other. They were strangers to romantic love, so caught up in this insane cycle of misfortune.

"It drains me having to think about it every day," Jude exhaled as he sat up. Having those conversations only came with one benefit; he could exhale everything he had pented up before. "That's why I just want to move on from everything, you know? It's been months since we broke up. Like why is everyone else so hopeful about us than us?"

"If only I could tell you. You'd think they would start asking whether we're both seeing other people by now." Y/N tilted her head in thought. Caught up in her relationship and everyone's reminders of its existence, she had the tendency to forget that she existed beyond Jude. Turning to him, she wondered, "Are you seeing someone right now?"

Jude scoffed out a small laugh as he shook his head slightly. He knew Y/N met well, he did. But he did feel like the answer was evident. I'm a mess, of course not. "Do you really think I would be seeing someone if I'm all in my feelings right now?"

"Just wondering, honey."

Seeing the unspoken apology in her eyes, Jude let his person falter a bit. "Not really, no." Since Y/N the most he could entertain when it came to girls was the talking stage and he would never go beyond that.

Losing the ability to love Y/N kinda left Jude a bit scarred. According to the delicate words of his mom, he and Y/N were once the perfect relationship, a relationship where she fell but he fell harder. But everyone knew how that ended. The fear of a new relationship ending exactly like his and Y/N's, the fear of possibly not being able to love, both ultimately shied Jude away from actively putting in the effort of pursuing girls he might find interest in. "I try, I do. But it's just a lot all at once."

"I think that might be the best way of moving on," Y/N suggested, "Maybe we won't be caught up thinking about each other if we're thinking about other people. It's hard, but it takes time. When you get there, you get there."

He nodded slightly. He wasn't in total agreement with Y/N but he trusted her judgement. "Yeah, maybe. Wait," Jude paused in his place before his eyes grew wide. "Why are you saying it like that?" Suddenly, it dawned on Jude. Y/N was speaking from experience. "Are you seeing someone?"

"Jude."

"Wait, why didn't you tell me before?"

"Just listen to me, Jude—"

"I literally dragged you out here. I don't want him to think I'm making a move—"

"Jude!" Her voice, firm rather than harsh, managed to reach his ears which stopped Jude from his ranting. Unknown to both of them, that was the same voice she had used to resolve problems during their relationship. When she was sure she had Jude's attention, she continued, "I'm not seeing anyone right now. I've just recently become open to it. That's all."

Jude's glance tracked around before returning to the person beside him. "So you're looking to get into a relationship?"

"Am I actively pursuing one? No. But I won't intervene if it comes my way." Y/N was once like Jude when it came to speaking to a potential partner. She was distant and denied guys when they tried to reach out over her fears of her relationship with Jude repeating itself. But over time her thoughts have eased and even though she wasn't exactly there yet, there was some noticeable progress to highlight. She was no longer entirely tied down to Jude.

She adjusted her sitting position. The wall they were sitting on wasn't the most comfortable. "I don't know about you, but I don't want us to be the one thing that people know us for. Like sure we ended on confusing terms according to everyone else, but what can we do? I mean it was out of our hands even before we met. I don't want to be caught up over it forever. We have to find ourselves moving away from all of that somehow." 

Y/N learned a lot from her relationship with Jude. They were never truly a real match and they were invalid on many levels. Others could remember their relationship in ways she couldn't, to the point she could only dream of something so perfect and that left her dejected every time.

But moving forward she wanted things to change where she could. The perception others held of her and Jude would remain the same until time deemed otherwise. What she could change, what she could control were her thoughts and actions. Now she could think about Jude and tell herself that everything happens for a reason, that they were an unfortunate case but things happen, that it was okay for her to move forward by herself or with someone else.

She couldn't be so attached to Jude knowing there never was a future for them together in the first place.

"I get it," Jude frowned as he nodded along to her words. Logical and practical. He couldn't find himself arguing against them. He took in a small breath and offered Y/N a small smile. "Well, I'm... I'm happy for you."

"Oh yeah?" Y/N grinned though it was small and unsure. After all, she knew Jude was the more emotional one between the two. She wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't been so open to her advice.

The thing is though, Jude was happy for Y/N, truly. Or, at least for the most part. Where he wasn't was simply just his current fears. His fears of being stuck in one place forever. His fears of being left behind. His fears of not being able to relate with Y/N on their unique experience of falling out together. Fears that if he lost Y/N then he would have no one to lean on, that he would have no one.

But hearing her story—something full of hope, clarity and purpose for something new—that's where he was happy. Maybe being a hopeless romantic wasn't such a dumb idea to have; he just had to shift his direction of thought and look forward to their future histories, separate or together.

Once again Jude offered Y/N a smile, one wide, kind and truthful. "Of course," he said as he brought her into a side hug, the two swaying softly in tune with the timid breeze. "That's all I can be for you."

Pulling away, Y/N asked, "You sure? I hope I didn't say anything in a way that would upset you. I just don't want us to bond over such depressing shit all the time." She had a feeling that those conversations would come to an end sooner or later.

"Yeah, you're right," Jude sighed with a nod, almost reassuring himself that everything would be okay moving forward. His eyes drifted toward the mansion where everything still remained lively. The discomfort was still there observing the scene, though he felt it diminish—and it would continue to falter with time. I'll be okay. "I get it and I meant when I said that I'm happy for you. I want that for myself too. It's actually not all that bad."

"Why do you say that?"

"You didn't hear this from me but apparently... I once promised you that I'd be the first person to walk you up and down the aisle."

And that was the last time Jude looked back at their relationship through his mom.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurbs #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x black!reader #black!reader #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingam fluff #jude bellingham angst #football imagines #football fanfiction #football blurbs #football oneshots

[frost-link]

Silly Sidon Headcanons with their S/O

(I appreciate all of the love I've been getting on my posts, it means a lot that people are really reading what I have to write! I'll continue to respond to asks in order starting tomorrow! Thanks to everyone who sent in a request! I look forward to responding to all of them! In the meantime, please have this! Nothing serious, just silly ideas that crossed my mind!)

Even as the now noble King of the Zora, you'll find that outside of his duties, he's nothing more than a bubbly child at heart when it's just the two of you.

Sidon will give you the cheesiest pickup lines and think that he just said the smoothest thing ever. "You got some-fin special about you!" Sidon would say with a cheeky grin.

Since Sidon is usually busy, he wants his time with you to be special. Sidon will over arrange the perfect date for you both. He will even go as far as ordering one of his guards to make sure the area he wants to take you is in pristine condition. He's got everything made out to be perfect. The exact timing of the date, where the sun is setting over one of the lakes with a picnic already set up before you both even get there. This Zora wants to make sure you know how loved you are by him.

Whenever you both go out to the Reservoir, he'll notice that you're distracted and immediately dunk you into the water to surprise you. He claims that "You have to look out for any and all surprises when you're out by the water!" was his reasoning for doing so. In reality, he just thinks it's hilarious to see you being so surprised, just so you can give him a dirty look and do it back to him when he's least expecting it.

Sidon will always try to find a way to impress you. If you're out by water, he'll do some tricks in the water. "(Y/n)!! Did you see me??" He would call out with light in his eyes after doing a graceful dive into the water.

When Sidon is busy thinking of what trick to do next, you surprise splash him with water which spooks him! Oh you poor innocent soul... You've engaged in a splash war with a Zora who can manipulate water itself! The king too of all Zoras! You're doomed!!

If you guys are just at the Domain, he'll sometimes want you to watch him spar with Link or Bazz just so he can show off to you.

Along with the cheesy pickup lines, you have to have the full package! Dad jokes!! Sidon is the master at dad jokes, they are so awful that you can't help but laugh at each one of them. "What did the ocean say to another? Nothing! It just waved!" Sidon would cackle at his own joke.

Whenever Sidon sees a shiny trinket, he'll collect it and give it to you. You have a collection at this point!

In return, you will go out hunting for the finest fish you can find outside the Domain and present it to him. To Sidon, this is an ultimate act of love to him, free food!!

Sidon is giant compared to you, however he likes to act like the little spoon when you both cuddle sometimes. He'll normally be the big spoon but he absolutely finds it adorable at you attempting to be the big spoon.

Sidon will give you water pun pet-names. "Water you doing my little crabby darling? Do you not like my endearing puns? Muzu said this was an important act in courtship where you emphasize your love to someone else by calling them something unique!"

#legend of zelda #sidon x reader #tears of the kingdom #breath of the wild #sidon #prince sidon #king sidon #botw x reader #totk x reader

[lanadelnegan]

My Past, My Future - Part 4

Negan x Reader x Daryl

Read part three here

Read part 5 (final chapter) here

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, mentions of hurting self

Note: this one's short I'm sorry. also, every time I think I'm working on the final chapter, it just keeps going. this story is writing itself at this point lol.

Let me know if you're #TeamDaryl or #TeamNegan !!!

6 months later...

You never found Negan. You looked for three days straight before you finally headed back to Alexandria defeated and exhausted, and spent the next three weeks alone in your house moping, crying, and wishing he'd come back. You can only hope he's okay and that wherever he is, he's happy.

If it weren't for Daryl checking in on you daily and making you eat, you probably would have starved yourself.

"Babe, ya okay?"

"Huh? Yeah.. You ready?" You smile back at Daryl, throwing your backpack over your shoulder and pushing the negative thoughts out of your head. You can only focus on the present now, forgetting your past and ignoring what the future holds. And you have to remind yourself of that every time your mind drifts to Negan, wondering where he could possibly be.

Did he find someone? Does he still think about me? Is he.. even alive?

Sometimes your thoughts keep you up at night until the guilt eats you alive, but when you look at the man sleeping next to you, you realize how good you actually have it. And you're thankful for him.

You climb on the back of Daryl's bike, hooking your arms around his waist as he drives off, beginning your weekly run together. This time you're planning to go further West, towards territory you've barely explored, hoping to find food and if you're really lucky, more weapons.

Your hands roam underneath his shirt, rubbing his stomach as you lean your head on his back. He drives until it starts to get dark before guiding the bike through an opening in the woods and parking next to a nice open spot.

"Kinda looks like where we had our first kiss." You say, hopping off the bike and noticing a stream up ahead.

Once you both have things set up for the night, Daryl insists you sleep first while he keeps lookout, being the gentleman that he is.

You kiss him goodnight and shut your eyes while snuggling the sleeping bag. Your thoughts drift to Negan again, wondering what he's doing at the moment until Daryl's voice gets your attention.

"Can I ask you somethin?"

You lazily open your eyes. "Always."

"You still think about em?"

Your eyes look down, unable to look at him as you contemplate your answer. If you say yes, you'll hurt him. But if you say no, you're lying to your best friend.

Daryl nods at your silence, knowing your answer already. "Still love em?" He asks.

"I - I dunno.." You answer truthfully. You've had so much time to process things, that you're genuinely unsure if you still love him in that way or not. Of course you'll always care about him, but you also love Daryl now.

Is it possible to love them both?

Morning:

Daryl snores lightly as you watch the sun come up and decide to explore a little. Neither of you spotted a walker the entire night, so you decide it's safe enough to scope around.

You follow the sound of the water nearby and come to the edge, eyes widening when you see a medium-sized waterfall in the distance. The water even looks.. clean. No walkers in sight.

"Baby! Wake up!" You call back to Daryl, ripping off your clothes. You don't wait for him as you run into the cold water. You swim to the waterfall, letting it fall over you as your nipples peak at the coldness. You spot Daryl from across the water, watching him strip down before joining you.

It's not often that the man smiles, so you treasure moments like this, admiring the happiness on his face before he dunks himself under the water completely. You swim to him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kneels in the shallow water, gripping your thighs around his waist.

"Life is so fun with you." You whisper before he crashes his lips into yours.

You grind yourself into him as your tongues dance together, feeling his bare semi-erect cock press into you. You allow your hands to run through his long wet hair, leading his head towards your chest. He takes the hint and immediately sucks a nipple into his mouth as you feel him harden completely under the water.

He groans into your mouth before leading you to a large boulder on the edge of the water and lifting you up onto it. His hands spread your legs apart as his head dives between your legs, immediately lapping at your pussy.

You lean up on your elbows to watch him and his blue eyes meet yours as he licks a line from your hole to your clit. You bite your bottom lip hard, trying not to moan out and draw any attention from the dead, until his lips wrap around your erect clit, sucking hard repeatedly.

"Fuck, Daryylll." You moan, letting your head fall back. Your eyes close shut from the bright sun as Daryl stands suddenly, lining himself up to your entrance.

He's not as long as Negan, but wider, and never fails to stretch your walls to the max. You cry out as he pushes all the way into you with one thrust. He pulls you closer to the edge, making the rough rock scratch your back, but you enjoy the pain. You both moan and pant for each other as his hips slam into you.

He's also not as verbal as Negan and.... fuck. You're thinking about him again. You lock eyes with Daryl as he fucks you, wanting to forget about Negan and only concentrate on the man in front of you.. your best friend. Your boyfriend. The only man that should be on your mind.

When his finger finds your clit, it doesn't take long before you're coming apart around him. Daryl feels your walls tighten and pulls out quickly, watching as your juices spray out. He realized he could make you squirt a long time ago, and now it's his new favorite thing.

He pushes back into you, fucking you through your orgasm as his own builds up. His hands rest on the rock as his head drops, watching how your soaked pussy splashes with each thrust of his dick.

He groans hoarsely, pulling out of you as his cum spills all over your stomach and you both breathe heavily as he lazily falls over you.

"Damn girl, never get tired of you." He says before kissing your lips and pulling you back into the water with him.

You both clean up and enjoy the water a little longer before getting out and letting the hot sun dry you off. Once you're dressed, you both hop back on the bike, driving a little further until you decide to pull off to the side of the road.

"Looks like another path." He nods to the wood line before parking the bike out of sight as you both begin walking through the brush.

You continue for what feels like a mile before coming to an old house. The two of you look at each other, silently agreeing to scope it out. It's quiet as you approach the front steps, carefully making your way to the front door. You nod to Daryl as he pushes the door open, surprised to find it unlocked. That's usually a sign that no one's home.

You follow in behind him, holding your knife up as you scan the place. The two of you enter through a tight hallway, passing the kitchen until you come to a small living room. Your eyes widen when you both notice the lit fireplace, telling you that someone's either here or has been recently.

"Shit.. Daryl, we gotta go." You whisper.

"Go wait outside, gonna grab a couple things. Didn't come all the way here for nothin'." He says and you try to argue but he cuts you off. "Go. Be right behind ya."

You kiss him before tiptoeing through the house and finding the front door, quietly pushing it open and closing it shut behind you. You turn, instantly colliding with a tall hard figure.

"Hey sweetheart." The familiar voice makes your mouth drop open as you look up at him, seeing him grin down at you. "God I fuckin' missed ya."

tagging my babies: (lemme know if u wanna be added) @loganlostitall @chaospossum @negansbabydoll66 @redqueenphoenix @n3g5nx @crustyweirdo @youngpersonaathletebear @sadgirlzluvdilfs @ilovebill-and-gustav @neganscumbucket @manipulatorpoem @im-a-goddamn-cat @raininhell @mahogany-cherry-wine @daryldixmedown@munsonslovergirl @sanctuaryforthelost @thelauraborealis @carlgrimesbbg @c3linesworld @blueheisenbergtragedy @dekuumademecumm

#jeffrey dean morgan #negan #jdmorgan #jdm x reader #negan fanfiction #twd negan #jdm fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdmfanfiction #negan smith #negan x daryl #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x oc #negan x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fluff #negan smut #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith x reader

[caxde]

You said I can send requests and I'm gonna take you up on that offer, my friend.

I'm still in my SoftDad!Eddie brain rot. I'm rolling with the "Dada's Princess" here and imagining little Lua making a flower crown for Princess. Or them making them together to both be "Dada's Princess". Because I knowwwww just the sight of it would make Eddie just melt into a puddle.

Also, love your writing and your beautiful mind for creating such a cute story so far!

💜

Omg thank you soo much <33 i love getting request so this is ideal i ran with the flower crowns idea hope you like it <33 feel free to request anything you like!

bright eyes universe drabble ~1.6k girl!dad eddie

Spring was in full bloom. 

You had a day off, and you decided to sleep in, letting the sun rays that sneak in through your window slowly wake you up. It was recomforting, the mundane feeling of it all. 

So you enjoyed a hot long shower, singing every song that played on the tape that Eddie had gifted you as a thank you to watching over Lua. It had a little of them both, Bowie and The Smiths had been Lua’s idea -that much was clear- Metallica and Iron Maiden had to be his, but the Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac -you thought- Eddie had chosen because he had heard you singing them when you didn’t even notice you were doing so. A level of attention you were just realising now, in that moment as the hot water hitted your sore back. 

A slow morning called for a hot tea, like the ones you used to make for yourself before you had any real responsibilities. 

Your hair still somehow wet, brushed away from your face, and that gow that a much needed shower left on your face, you felt clean, soft from once. You grabbed the first clean top that was on your folded laundry pile, a baby blue colour that complimented your skin, some washed up dark jeans to cover your legs. 

You walked to your porch, wanting to let your hair dry while you just drank your cup. 

Little did you know, a little surprised waited in your door. 

A letter was hanging on your door, with a small yet thick piece of duct tape. 

Lilac drawings of misshaped stars and hearts decorated the page. 

It read: 

“Duchess Lua of the mighty Hawkins Trailer Park would like to invite Princess to her court outing this afternoon. We shall have a refreshing picnic by the lake, please, confirm your assistance with Eddie the Once Banished. 

Sincerely your dearest friend, Duchess Lua Munson.” 

It made you giggle, and blush at the same time. You could tell Eddie had put some thought into it, and the drawings Lua had made to the best of her ability made you want to keep this letter forever. 

Which you did, you folded neatly, letting it rest on your bedside table, before you found a place in your wall to hang it on. 

You walked back up. The cup let out a clicking sound when the little spoon made contact with it, once you set it down into the floor. 

You sat on the little steps, writing on your little pad that was pressed against your thighs, a response that was just as grandiose as the ask had been. 

It read: 

“Princess is more than happy to accept her Duchess Lua Munson invitation, and would like to know at what time she’s expected to arrive at her delightful trailer for the outing. Princess would like to inform Lady Munson that she’s excited to see her, and will make a treat for the picnic.” 

You decided to leave a little red kiss as your signature. A little present that Eddie will cherish for a longer time that you had thought. 

A stupid thought crossed your brain -more than a thought, an image- the two letters resting side by side, the paper now turning yellow, framed on a wall that the both of you share, Lua’s older now, maybe not the only daughter. 

You had to shake your head, so you wouldn’t get too caught into the dream, snap back into reality. 

-

Maybe it was stupid, or a bit childish but you were excited nonetheless. You switched your jeans for a flowy white sundress, the skirt reached your knees, the fabric had a faded small flower print all over. It was girly, but it was also spring, and for once, you didn’t care. 

Your hair was free of any ponytails, or buns or anything like that, and it felt good to let it fall down, being so used to pushing it away from your face when you were working. 

Eddie was a bit lost in you, not really focusing on what he should. 

Lua was holding your hand, and you both were walking in front of him. He was holding the bags with the food and everything you had prepared -with the added things he already had- and he let himself be lost onto the fantasy. 

Lua was telling you about the book he had just started reading for her as a bedtime story, and you kept asking questions, and she yapped in her mumbling voice as much and as excitedly as she could. He saw himself in her in those moments, when her tongue moved faster than her brain and she’d choke on her own words. Her free hand swanged in the air, and when she got caught on a word, she touched it, as a way to comfort herself. Eddie was starting to struggle to not tell you right there how he was feeling. How he was starting to get those scary big feelings. How he could actually see a life with you in it. 

Eddie didn’t want to scare you. 

So when you got close enough to the Lover’s Lake, and while you and Lua looked around for some spring flowers, he set the cloth down, the little sandwiches he had made on one side, chips for Lua, and a bit of cheese that you liked on the left side. The sponge cake you baked, and the rest of your -half eaten- chocolate bar on the right side. He got the drinks, begging you not to spend more things. 

He got a thermos of your favourite tea -he had finally learned how to make it and was eager to see your reaction- water and chocolate milk for Lua, and soda for him. Though deep down he knew he’d end up drinking your tea. 

He opened his arms as soon as he saw Lua running to him, her arms opened, her fist holding tightly to the wildflowers she had picked, you followed her closely, your laughter filling the air in his lungs. 

You kept laughing, everytime Eddie found something new to do, just so he could hear you. And in consequence, Lua chuckled along. From afar, it already looked out of a picture book, but what he couldn’t quite understand is how it felt like it too. 

“Dada?” Lua asked, once she had finished her piece of cake, spinning around so she could look at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you braid?” She pointed at her hair, a question he had to avoid a bit too often. 

“Bug, I’m rubbish at it, you know it.” He tried to plead with her, once again his voice gave in, breaking a bit. He had a tendency to do that when he had to tell her no, as if it would soften the blow. 

“Please?” She asked again, her eyebrows raising just like he did when he was asking for something he deeply wanted. You had seen that look when he didn’t want you to leave, or he wanted another kiss. With a soft giggle, you looked at the little scene, hoping to not intrude too much. 

“I can, if uh… if that’s okay.” Lua cheered and sat on your lap before you even knew if it was okay or not. 

You knew it was, Eddie had that thank you look on his face. 

He decided to do what he actually had learned, way back when he wasn’t living here, back when his mother lived. He knotted some of the wildflowers together, concertraing enough on it that his tongue covered his top lip, hearing his mother's voice singing low one to the top and knot over and over in his head. 

For once it wasn’t a painful memory. 

Rather a joyful one. 

Now it was his two little princesses and his mother’s voice. 

He placed it on top of your head, a kiss on your temple following it shortly after. 

“What’d you do?” You asked, touching your head with care. 

“Your crown, you needed one.” He points out, Lua’s eyes widened as she saw it. 

“No braid but yes crown?” She asked, not really believing the ability his dad had been hiding from her. 

“You know what we can do?” You asked her, trying to distract them both from the way your blood rushed to your cheeks. “Look.” You whispered it to her, as if it were a secret you both shared. 

You started grabbing the wildflowers that were scattered around the cloth, placing the stems in between the knots of her braids, small flowers blooming from her hair. As soon as Lua realised what you did, her hand touching it with as much care as she could gather she started screeching from laughter, a type of laugh that not only warmed you, but Eddie as well. 

She kind of jumped, though it felt more like a push, to your arms, screaming thank you repetitively, her excitement evident in her tone and gesture. 

Eddie just looked at the both of you, his little dream -much similar to yours, even if you didn’t know- nearing the reality right in front of him. 

You whispered to him, still holding Lua close to you “You’re full of surprises, huh?” 

“Anything for my girls.” The sincerity in which he said it made you blush, the widest smile on your face as you shook your head at him. 

“Idiot” You mouthed, no actual sound coming from you, careful that she wouldn’t hear a bad word. 

He inched closer to you, leaving a kiss on the highest point of your cheek, right next to your ear. 

“Hopefully yours.” He whispered. 

A promise he intended to keep.

-

requests! are open

@took-me-hours-to-steal-those @edens-vices-art @micheledawn1975 @peachystenbrough @mewchiili @bylermaxmayfield @yujyujj @honeymoonmunsonn @paleidiot @ali-r3n @sunshineandwitchery @supernaturalstilinski @womencriedpower @saramelaniemoon @cultish-corner @babyloutattoo89 @witchwolflea @serenadingtigers @readergf @guineveresghost @saramelaniemoon @angel-upon

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction fem!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #friends to lovers #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x afab #eddie munson x afab reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #Rockstar! Eddie Munson #Rockstar! eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x reader slow burn #eddie munson slow burn x reader #slow burn #eddie munson slow burn #hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort Eddie munson #eddie munson hurt/comfort #Eddie Munson hurt/comfort x reader #st4

[lovelybrooke]

Yandere Castlevaina x reader Concept Pt.2

read this post for some most context. I'm changing how Alucard is found a bit, but it's nothing major, I just didn't want to have to write a big fight scene. Sorry.

Masterlist--Pt.1

---

Life without the Tepes's was fine, for the most part. It was tiring, working on your own, you've started to take up sewing, creating beautiful fabrics and even some clothing just to make money. It wasn't anything great, but it was enough to survive. Though, living away from society, in hiding, proved to be harder than you thought. You didn't interact with people as much as you probably should, and a small part of you started to miss the Tepes. 

The only time you went into town was to sell your clothing. The closest town was Gresit, which due to the ever growing presence of monsters was not all that easy to get to. Living away from people, you never knew where these creatures came from, or why they never showed up around your small home, but thinking about it too long put a knot in your stomach. 

Eventually, you had to get food, you were running low on supplies and wasn't going to last long, so you made the trek into town during the morning to avoid any monsters. Finally reaching Gresit you realized how downtrodden it was, barricades, dead bodies, injured lying in the street. It was hard to ignore it all, and it was even harder to ignore the strange man stalking around the market. He was tall, even while hunched slightly, and there was a strange sense of familiarity to him, especially when he looked you in the eyes, his stern scowl becoming shock in a split second. 

The awkwardness caused you to avoid him at all cost, and as the sun slowly set and your shopping came to an end, you counted out the coins needed for a room, leaning against one of the only non bloody walls as said man grabbed your wrist before you could leave, causing your coins to drop on the floor. "(Y/n)..." He whispered, stinking of bear and clearly drunk "Is it really you?" You squinted at the man, desperation all over him. You slowly nodded, which made him let out a sigh of relief, the hold on your wrist lessening slightly, but still present. "Do you remember me, Trevor, your brother?" 

You almost choked, "I-I don't have a brother, you must think I'm someone else." You say, prying your arm away and picking up your coins. 

"I'm not mistaken" His rough voice was back again "I know it's you--why don't you remember?!" He sounded almost angry, which caused you to back away slightly. He was slurring his words, stumbling slightly. 

"Look sir, you're drunk--" You sighed as he followed you towards the inn "you should get a room, sleep it off." He doesn't listen, grumbling something inaudible. You knew it would be bad to leave him alone for the night, so you bought a room for the night, one right next to you so he wouldn't wander off. You spend the night awake, afraid of what might happen to you if you fall asleep. The sun eventually rises, and you're alive once more. 

In the morning, the man, Trevor, was extremely hungover, but still very adamant that you were his sibling. He didn't try to explain anything to you though, which made you even more frustrated. "Look--I need to go find some speakers daughter or something, come with me, you'd be safer than if you'd stay here." It didn't sound like a question, more like a demand, so you obliged, following him into the tunnels below the city which this supposed speaker got lost in. 

The tunnels were dark, hard to navigate without the help of Trevor, who wouldn't leave you alone despite his aversion to him. As you crept deeper and deep into the tunnel, you began to hear stomping, growling, and something that put a pit in your stomach. Trevor pushed you behind him, advising you to stay behind one of the many pillars. The way Trevor fought was a stark contrast to the bumbling man you knew yesterday. It was amazing, but you couldn't watch it for long as you were too busy staying alive. 

Eventually, the monster was dead, and you were safe. As you calmed yourself down, you were able to spot multiple statues, very lifelike, that all slowly began to glow as the monster died. In front of you, a woman slowly turned from stone and fell to her feet. You and Trevor walked up to her, both learning that she was the speakers daughter, Seypha, who was looking for a "sleeping warrior" in these tunnels. Even after confronting the monster, she was still devoted to finding him, refusing to leave until she explored more, so you both relented, hoping to keep her alive. 

The tunnels slowly turned from wet and stony walls to metal and cogs as you traveled even deeper. Sypha was amazed by it, while you were terrified, reminding you of something you didn't want to remember. The deeper you went, the more hostile the architecture became, having to stay near the two in order not to be crushed by anything. Eventually you reached the end, a large pedestal with a coffin on top, vials of blood being pumped into it. At this point, your breathing was heavy, shaking as you backed away from the coffin, watching as it slowly opened, a familiar face rising out of it. 

Adrian slowly lowered onto the ground, standing before you all. He looked the same, which made sense for him, but the only difference was the large scar across his chest. You couldn't pay attention however, panic coursing through your veins as Trevor confronted him. The world was spinning, and you could faintly hear someone calling for you before you passed out. 

When you awoke, Adrian was kneeling next to you. You were placed on a few blankets in an old, run down house. He was staring at the ground, only moving once you did. He didn't speak for a while, nor did you, until a few seconds passed. "Why did you leave?" He asked, causing you to scoff. 

"You know why I did." You sighed. "I-I just felt suffocated." You whispered, but you were sure he heard you. 

His expression didn't change much, but you could almost see something sad in his eyes. "Father and mother are doing this because of you." He dropped that on you, causing your heart to drop. 

"What do you mean?" 

"They thought you died. They couldn't find you. I couldn't find you." He answered, quieting as she heard the sound of Sypha and Trevor arguing in the distance. "We are going to confront them, you'll come with us, maybe that will fix the damage you caused." His voice was devoid of malice, but it didn't make his words hurt less. Ignoring his silence, he took your hands and pulled you up from your makeshift bed, dragging you towards the others. 

This was all your fault, the deaths, the fear, the horrors, it was all because of you. You were selfish, and you left something that was good for you, and now people are suffering because of it. You keep repeating what Adrian said over and over, "(Y/n)...are you okay?" You heard Trevor ask, causing you to nod your head. 

"Yeah--let's just get going."

---

A/n: This would've been too long if I included everything so feel free to ask any question that you have.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #platonic yandere castlevania #castlevania x you #castlevania x reader #yandere castlevania

[thatdammchickennugget]

Bookish Escapades

pairing - lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

warnings - fluff, kinda shy enzo I guess, bookworm!reader

a/n - I loved writing the first one and can't get this pairing out of my head, so I had to write a second part 💕

wordcount - 1.6k

part one - part two

The days leading up to Saturday seemed to drag on endlessly, each moment filled with anticipation and nervous energy. Enzo found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his thoughts consumed by the prospect of your upcoming date.

Finally, Saturday arrived, and Enzo could hardly contain his excitement. He spent the morning getting ready, carefully selecting his outfit and making sure he looked presentable. He wanted everything to be perfect for your date.

As the afternoon approached, Enzo made his way to Hogsmeade, his heart pounding with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see you, couldn't wait to spend the day exploring the village together.

When he finally caught sight of you waiting outside the Three Broomsticks, a smile spread across his face. You looked even more beautiful than he remembered, and Enzo felt a surge of happiness at the sight of you.

"Hey," he said softly as he approached, his heart racing in his chest.

"Hey," you replied, returning his smile with one of your own. "You look great, Enzo."

Enzo felt a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks at your compliment. "Thanks," he said, feeling suddenly shy under your gaze. "You look amazing too."

The two of you fell into step together, making your way through the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. A wave of contentment washed over him as he walked beside you, the warmth of your presence filling him with joy.

As you explored the village together, Enzo found himself drawn to your infectious enthusiasm. You seemed to find wonder and delight in everything around you, and he couldn't help but be swept up in your excitement.

The hours flew by unnoticed as you wandered from shop to shop, chatting and laughing as you went. Before Enzo knew it, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the village.

"Hey, do you want to head to Tomes and Scrolls now?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

Enzo nodded eagerly, a smile spreading across his face. "I'd love to," he replied.

Together, you made your way to the bookstore, the warmth of your laughter filling the air as you went. Enzo couldn't remember the last time he had felt this happy, this at ease with someone else.

As Enzo and you entered Tomes and Scrolls, the cozy atmosphere of the bookstore enveloped you. The scent of old books mixed with the faint aroma of ink and parchment, creating a comforting ambiance that felt like home to you.

You immediately gravitated towards a shelf displaying a collection of classic wizarding novels. Enzo watched you with a fond smile as you ran your fingers over the spines, your eyes alight with excitement.

"I love this section," you said, turning to Enzo with a gleam in your eyes. "Have you read any of these?"

Enzo shook his head, feeling a little sheepish. "I haven't, actually," he admitted. "But they look interesting. Do you have any recommendations?"

You grinned, pulling out a book from the shelf and holding it up for him to see. "You have to read 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'," you exclaimed. "It's a collection of wizarding fairy tales, and they're absolutely enchanting."

Enzo took the book from you, flipping through the pages and skimming the titles of the tales. "It sounds intriguing," he mused. "I'll definitely give it a try."

As you continued to browse the shelves, Enzo followed along behind you, enjoying the way your eyes lit up with each new discovery. He found himself drawn to your passion for literature, captivated by the way you spoke about the books you loved, letting himself get lost in the thought that eventually, you might talk about him with the same fondness.

Eventually, you came across a shelf filled with books on magical creatures, and your excitement bubbled over. "Oh, these are amazing!” you exclaimed, reaching out to pull a book off the shelf. "Have you ever heard of a Niffler? They're the most adorable little creatures, but they have a tendency to steal shiny things."

Enzo chuckled at your enthusiasm, nodding along as you launched into an animated explanation of Nifflers and their mischievous antics. He found himself hanging on your every word, captivated by the way your eyes sparkled with excitement.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him as he watched you pull out book after book, entrusting him with your thoughts and opinions on each of them. He had never felt more at ease than he did in that moment, surrounded by books and laughter and the warmth of your presence.

As you placed the last book back on the shelf, Enzo noticed a determined look in your eyes, as if you were on a mission. He watched curiously as you scanned the shelves, searching for something specific.

"What are you looking for?" he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

You turned to him with a grin, excitement shining in your eyes. "Did you forget? We’re on a quest today," you declared. "We’re going to find the perfect book for you—one that you'll absolutely love."

"You don't have to do that," he protested, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks. “Today should be about you. Go pick some out for yourself, it’s on me.”

But you waved off his concerns with a laugh. "Nonsense," you said. "I want to do this. Besides, it'll be fun!"

With that, you launched into a series of questions, asking Enzo about his interests, his favorite genres, and the types of stories he enjoyed. Enzo found himself opening up to you, sharing bits and pieces of himself.

As you listened intently, a thoughtful expression crossed your face. "I think I have just the thing," you said finally, taking his hand with a grin on your face.

Leading Enzo through the aisles, you eventually arrived at a section filled with adventure fiction books. You scanned the shelves, your eyes darting back and forth as you searched for the perfect title.

"Here we go," you said, pulling out a book and holding it up for Enzo to see. "How about this one? It's got action, adventure, and a hint of romance. I think you'll really enjoy it. And the main character is a Quidditch player like you!"

Enzo took the book from you, examining the cover with interest. The artwork depicted a young man clad in Quidditch robes, sat on his broom as he was chased by a group of cloaked assailants against a backdrop of swirling clouds and jagged mountains.

"It looks great," Enzo said, a smile spreading across his face. "I'll give it a try."

With a sense of excitement, Enzo tucked the book under his arm, feeling a rush of gratitude towards you. He couldn't wait to dive into the story, eager to experience the adventure that awaited him within its pages. But maybe this sudden interest came from the hope that when he was done, he got to discuss it with you.

You smiled at Enzo's enthusiasm, feeling a surge of happiness at the thought of sharing the book with him. You grabbed another copy for yourself. "I'm glad you like it," you said, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having found the perfect book for him. "We can buddy read it together and share our thoughts as we go."

Enzo's eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. "That sounds great," he agreed. "I'd love that."

You shot him another dizzying smile, turning to make your way to the counter to pay when he stopped you, gently taking a hold of your arm.

"But wait, there's one more thing," he said, gesturing back towards the shelves. "I get to pick out a book for you too."

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you quickly recovered, shoving down the flutter stirring up in your stomach. "Do your best," you declared, watching him turning to the shelves with determination.

You watched with amusement as Enzo browsed the shelves, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched for the perfect book. After a few moments, he pulled out a book and held it up for you to see.

"How about this one?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It says that it’s a mystery novel set in the wizarding world. I think you'll enjoy it."

You took the book from him, examining the cover with interest. It showed a dark alleyway illuminated by the glow of a wand, hinting at the secrets and intrigue that lay within the pages.

"It looks intriguing," you said, a smile spreading across your face. "I can't wait to read it. Thank you, Enzo."

Enzo grinned back at you, feeling a rush of satisfaction at having found a book that he thought you would enjoy. "Anytime," he replied, feeling a sense of warmth at your gratitude.

He lead you up to the counter, pushing you away playfully when you reached for your wallet, refusing to let you pay. With the books in hand, you and Enzo made your way out of the bookstore, the warmth of the setting sun casting a golden glow over the village. As you walked side by side, a sense of excitement filled the air, anticipation for the adventures that lay ahead in the pages of the books you now held in your hands. And maybe, just maybe, in the adventures you would share together.

Enzo Taglist - @slytherinboysappreciation @urmomsgirlfriend1 @starsval @gillyweeds @sir-elian @harryslittlebitch @gayforyelena @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ravenclawprincess33 @sbrn0905 @helpimhopelesslyinlove @Yhiiil @themarauderswife7 @moonlightreader649 @ihatemyexs @chgrch @nat1221 @thestarlithideout @iamaslytherin0 @bath1lda @ohmaigwad @pinkposttragedy @allshitsangiggles @hoeforvinniehackerrr @mildly-delulu @h3artz4soph @sunasbbie @marsbars09 @vcosette @meepycheep @aglady13 @rinalouu @floswife @ariensversion @agent-tempest @s0urw00lf @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @pinkestfloyd @xlinxdax0704 @chulabeans @l0v3do11 @unstablereader @acourtoflostandwanderingstars @catiwinky @wolfstar-marvelsfan @captainstanksblog @istill-dream-ofyou @pinktreee @ceehance @lizhub @theadventuresofanartist @iamgayforyourmom1501 @feistyfox47 @nat1221 @i-think-you-are-gr8 @cas-planet @csmt_m @selyselyselyse @mrsriddles-blog @the-sylver-dragon @poppysrin @camille-1019 @laniirackssss @slvtfortheo @chosenoneslver @txzii @c0rnf1akessss @yourenogoodforme @opheliamalfoy236 @jeannie-beannie

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

Get Added To The Taglist

#enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire imagine #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire imagine #harry potter #slytherin boys #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mari writes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 6

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

You sleep little better than your time on the bench. The curtain pale with the rising sun and you shimmy to the edge of the bed, sitting up as a tilt of dizziness slants in your skull. You rub your forehead and suppress as yawn. You grasp the footboard of the bed and push yourself to your feet.

“Where are you going?” The Commander’s gritty voice shakes you.

You stop and turn to his silhouette on the bed. You press your hands flat to your apron, “I was going to put on a kettle for your breakfast tea–”

“I did not ask for it.”

“Yes, Commander.”

He rolls onto his back and sighs, “you presume a lot. About me.”

“Sir, I only serve my duty. As the martha in your household–”

“You pretend at wifely duties.”

“Never, Commander, I do not–”

“You argue like a wife,” he snaps and sits up, the dim blue-gray hue of the dawn limning his features. “It is ungodly and insolent.”

You don’t reply. You bow your head. You have let yourself say too much. You are as he says. A dog waiting for an order.

“You stink. I will not smell you all day, so go and wash or I will drag you from the axel.”

You curl your shoulders in defeat, “yes, Commander.”

You turn and stride towards the door. He clears his throat.

“Where are you going? Take a bath.”

You stop and wince. You planned on your usual hand bath from the sink, wiping yourself down with a wet rag until you felt relatively presentable. You turn and peek at the bathroom door. You retreat and enter, placing your hand on the knob.

“Open,” he girds, “for your own safety.”

You flip the light switch and proceed. You go just beyond the view of the doorway and face the bowl of the toilet. You remove your veil, setting it on the end of the counter. Then you sit and unroll your stockings. You pile those atop the veil and stand to untie your apron.

You lift your smock over your head and do your best to fold it before putting it with the rest. You go to the tub in only your shift and bend to turn on the water. You longed for the very pastime but now, you would rather drown in a river. This is not a favour.

You push yourself straight, hips reverberating with agony. You hear the soft pad of a foot and turn to face the Commander. He watches you from the doorway. He wears a pair of grey sleeping pants but nothing else. He breaks the threshold as you remain flush against the edge of the tub.

He takes the heap of your clothing as you watch him in confusion. He spins on his heel, strutting away without explanation. You shudder and look down at your thin linen shift. A rotten feeling knots in your stomach.

🌫️

Commander Shelby returns as you hide behind the bath curtain. Silence but his footfalls and the soft rustle of clothing. You emerge when you are certain he is gone and scrubbed to your hide. Your shift has disappeared too, but a new one lays with a neat stack of gray fabric.

You unfurl it and pull it over your head. Then the black stockings roll easily up your legs, a gray smock and matching cap. You dress in your sentence. The Colonies where the soot and pollution will blend in with that shade of charcoal. You won’t face this shaking.

You steady yourself and come out into the bedroom. The Commander loops his tie as he stands before the oval mirror hung on the wall. He glares at his own reflection as you cross to the door.

“You look older. That colour does nothing for you.”

“Commander,” you bow your head.

He scoffs. You would rather he just send you off to your fate. You can go rot with the other unwomen. This was only ever purgatory.

“Tea.”

You flinch at the word, not processing it at first. You reply with your habitual, ‘yes, Commander’ and flit off to your task.

You boil the kettle and prepare some toast and jam with it. The Commander appears to gruffly take the plate past your elbow as you steep a bag in the steaming mug. You put it before him as he chews mechanically. You stand by the wall and await the next step.

“Funny, isn’t it?” He says as he blows across the top of the mug.

“Commander?”

“Not much changed for you, did it?”

You push your shoulders up and swallow.

“I don’t know what you mean, Commander.”

“A maid before, a maid now,” he states, “I suppose the lord truly does know our purpose.”

You seal your lips. He’s mocking you. He knows who you are. Who you were. It only surprises you that he would bother to figure it out.

“‘All hard work brings a profit, but mere talk leads only to poverty,’” you recite the passage. “I believe I remember that clearly.”

He sips loudly and sniffs, “something like that.”

#tommy shelby #dark tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #drabble #blessed are the meek #au #series #handmaid au #peaky blinders

[fluentmoviequoter]

Don't Believe Everyone You See (Is Too Good to Be True)

Summary: After seeing Dalton in the Further and meeting him in the real world, (astral-projecting) reader joins the fight to close the Red Door.

Read Part 1 Here!

Warnings: spoilers for The Red Door (divulges from the events of the movie, but spoilers are still present!), canon-typical violence and descriptions of the Further, Josh calls reader 'kid', angst, fluff. 2.3k+ words

A/N: Thank you for all the feedback and support on part 1! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and as always, please let me know what you think. :)

Flipping the page, you continue taking notes on The Further We Go. You and Dalton had ventured into the Further last night but still aren't sure how to close the door. Unfortunately, you think, the only way to do it seems to be from the other side. As you finish the chapter, Chris sends an SOS text, and you know that can only mean one thing, Dalton.

You leave everything behind and run toward Dalton's dorm, taking as many shortcuts as possible. The closer you get to him, the more you feel the tug of the Further. Though you can't see them in this realm, you know spirits are following you. Finding an abandoned spot outside his dorm building, you stand still and close your eyes as the sun sets, walking out of your body and running up the stairs to his dorm. Chris is in his room with his body, plugging lights in and warding off the spirits. While you're watching her, someone else comes into his room. You recognize Mr. Lambert from Dalton's picture of the door.

"Mr. Lambert? I'm a friend of Dalton's. Can you get us into his mind?" you introduce yourself before asking for help.

"Call me Josh. Yeah, I think I know exactly where it took him," Josh answers.

You follow him into the Further and soon enter a house filled with toys and memories that obviously make Mr. Lambert – Josh – uncomfortable. He leads you to the attic, or more accurately, Dalton's mind, where his memories are playing on repeat. A large dome of chairs is built up in the middle of the room, and a chain extends underneath them.

"Hand me that hammer, kid," Josh asks.

You hesitate for a moment, but you can see that he wants to save Dalton, and whatever caused him to act the way he did in the past is long gone.

"Is it the same demon? That made you…" you trail off as you pass him the hammer.

"No. But it's close enough," Josh answers quietly.

He grabs the chain and pulls, Dalton screaming on the other end as he gets dragged from under the chairs. Josh raises the hammer, and Dalton yells for him to stop, panting as the hammer knocks the cuff off his ankle.

"You tried to kill me! I saw you!" Dalton accuses.

"These things get in our mind, Dalton. One controlled me, and there is one coming back for you. We have to get out of here."

Josh helps Dalton stand, and Dalton sees you over his shoulder. He hugs you tightly before lowering his hand into yours and running behind his dad.

"What are you doing here?" Dalton asks.

"Chris texted. You needed help," you answer.

As you pass through the door, Josh slams it closed and leans against it, asking Dalton to help him keep it closed.

"There's nothing we can do," Dalton argues, his hand still holding yours.

Josh looks into Dalton's eyes and smiles as he says, "Go."

Dalton begins to argue again, but his dad shakes his head.

An idea pops into Dalton's mind, and he looks away from his dad, his eyes finding yours.

"Let's go," he says to you.

"Dalton, I don't think I can leave," you admit, loosening your grip on his hand.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"When I came in, I was surrounded. There's no way that they didn't, you know. My body was unguarded."

"Don't. Don't do this. We have to try."

"Dalton," you whisper, touching his cheek as a tear rolls down yours.

"Go live. I'll make sure your dad gets out."

"I can't leave you. This can't be goodbye."

"We'll always have the Further. Go."

He pulls you in for one last breathless kiss before turning and running, leaving you in the Further, where you always knew you'd end up.

"Mr. Lambert!" You call as you run back to the door and lean against it.

"What are you doing, kid? Why didn't you go with Dalton?"

Something splatters on the door, and Josh frantically looks up.

"Paint? Paint! It's Dalton!"

The red-faced demon punches the door, his fist breaking through between your face and Josh's.

"Mr. Lambert, move! Dalton almost has it covered, get out of here!" You yell over the sounds of the demon.

"No, you're coming too."

"I can't."

He sees the tears in your eyes and shakes his head slowly.

"Go check on Dalton. Tell him I love him?"

Josh nods, looking at the paint covering the hole and traveling downward before he pushes off the door and runs toward the real world. The last of the paint drips to the floor, the now black door shining as the light flickers out. You slump against the door, sliding down it to sit. It feels like a lifetime ago that you ran into Dalton in this darkness, and now it's the only place you'll ever have him.

"I love you, Dalton Lambert," you whisper. You see that your hand has been in a puddle of paint and raise it to your chest, holding it as you pull your knees up, trying to convince yourself that you're holding Dalton instead.

The Further gets darker, and soon you can't tell where you end or the Further begins.

"Mom, is Dad back?" Dalton asks breathlessly as his mom answers the phone.

"Yeah, he's back," his mom answers.

"Dalton, where are you?" Josh asks, taking the phone.

"My dorm."

"Is she with you?"

"Chris is with me."

"No, Dalton, the girl that was in there. The one that told me to tell you she loves you. Where is she?"

"I don't know," Dalton confesses, standing and running his hand through his hair. "Dad, I don't know what to do." He starts crying as he continues, "She said her body was unguarded, but I don't know where she was or if I could-"

"Bud, slow down. I'm leaving right now, and I'll be there as soon as I can. If you find anything before, call me."

Dalton leaves his dorm room and begins circling campus, looking for you. He stops by a tree, pushing his fist against it and wondering if punching it would take any of his pain away. He regrets leaving without trying to help you and wishes he had stopped to ask more questions or convince you to come with him.

"Dalton, we've looked everywhere. I don't know where else we could check," Chris says quietly. "I'm going to give you some space before your dad gets here, but call if you need anything, ok?"

Dalton nods, and Chris pats his shoulder before walking away. Approaching the corner where he started searching, Dalton sits against the side of his dorm building. Tilting his head slightly, a gap in the fence reveals itself in the moonlight. Dalton stands and sees several loose boards a few feet away. Perfectly shaped, as though someone has used it to pass through numerous times, Dalton pushes one board and steps through, feeling his heart drop to his stomach as he sees a figure slumped in the middle of the abandoned courtyard.

You groan as you force your eyes open, nearly crying at the sight of your dorm room, the copy of The Further We Go, and your notes sitting on your desk in the same place as before you ran out to help Dalton. Hoping not to see Dalton and make the pain worse, you leave your dorm to explore the campus one last time.

Dalton knows he should call his dad, but he can't. Instead, he cries as he cradles your body in his arms. Dalton whispers apologies into the night, too scared to project and try to find you again. Eventually, he texts his dad where he is, then throws his phone in the grass beside him, holding you tighter as the last of the ambient light fades to darkness, not unlike the night you met.

The closer you get to Dalton's dorm building, the darker it gets. You try to convince yourself not to go to the last place you remember, but the morbid curiosity of if anyone's found your body and what happened after you started projecting leads you on. Climbing through the bushes on the far side of the field, the moment your foot touches the grass, you lose consciousness again.

"Dalton? I'm so sorry," Josh says as he pulls the fence boards closed again. He kneels behind Dalton and rubs a hand on his back.

"It's my fault," Dalton confesses, his voice cracking.

"What can I do for you, bud?"

"There's a book we were reading together in the building across the quad, room 707. Can you go get that?"

"Yeah, bud. I'll be right back."

Your hearing is the first thing to return, but you feel so heavy that you don't want to open your eyes. Despite the heaviness, you feel hands on you, like someone is holding you in their arms. You hope it's not a malicious spirit and continue to delay opening your eyes.

"I'm so sorry. My dad told me what you said. I wish I could've heard you say it because I love you too. Please just say it one more time," Dalton begs somewhere above you.

Your heart breaks at the desperation in his voice.

"I love you, Dalton," you say, surprised to feel the words.

You snap your eyes open at the sensation, and Dalton lifts his face; wide-eyed as he looks at you. His hand flies to your neck, pressing against your pulse point before his tears increase as he begins laughing.

You join him in the wet laughter, wrapping your arms around his neck as he shifts you upright to sit in his lap. Dalton buries his face in your neck as you press your nose into his hair.

"I thought you were dead," he says, pulling back from your shoulder to look at your face.

"That seems to be a theme with you."

"Are you ok?" Dalton brushes his fingers down your face as his eyes scan you, looking for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine. You saved my life, Dalton. You saved everyone in this realm."

"I left you."

"I asked you to because I thought it was the only way. But I'm back, so it doesn't matter."

Dalton hugs you again, smiling into your neck and pressing occasional kisses into your skin. Your hand travels to his hair, fingers gently scraping his scalp.

"You know what does matter? That I love you," you say into his ear.

Dalton jerks back quickly, nearly pulling you to the ground with him.

"I love you. So much. I've loved you since I first saw you in the Further."

"When you thought I was dead?"

"It's our theme," Dalton teases before gently grasping your face and bringing your lips to his.

His kiss is one of love, relief, and absolute devotion. Your hands settle on either side of his neck as he tilts his head back to deepen the kiss.

"Ahem."

You pull back just enough to look over his shoulder, then stand out of his lap when you see who it is. Dalton rises beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you to his side.

"You see that little device in the grass? You can use that to call people and tell them pertinent information. Such as, say, 'Hey, Dad, you know my dead girlfriend isn't actually dead so you can head back now,'" Josh says as he passes the book to Dalton.

"Thanks, Dad. And I'd say I'll call next time but this isn't happening again," Dalton responds.

"Jokes aside, I'm glad you're alright, kid," Josh tells you. "What you did back there was commendable, and I'm glad you're willing to settle for someone like my son."

"Thank you. And I'm not settling, I love him."

"Chapter 7: What to Do When the Girl You Love Tries to Sacrifice Herself but Miraculously Comes Back to Life," Dalton reads.

"I'm going to go back to Dalton's dorm and order pizza. Enjoy that chapter," Josh says, winking at you before exiting through the fence.

"It does not say that," you exclaim, trying to wrestle into Dalton's arms to see the page.

"Step 1: Kiss her until you can't remember your own name. Done!"

Dalton drops the book and grabs your wrist, where it's trying to pry his hand off the book.

"That's a library book," you complain, but your worry quickly evaporates as he kisses you again.

You pull yourself closer and lean against Dalton, losing yourself in him until you have to take a breath. Dalton leans his forehead against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

"Do you remember your name?" You ask teasingly.

"Nope. But the only one that matters is yours," Dalton answers. He leans over and picks up the book before taking your hand and leading you toward the fence.

Dalton's hand squeezes yours as he says, "Thank you for coming back."

"Thank you for giving me something to come back to. Something to love."

"Chapter 18: Love and the Further."

"Shut up."

"It literally says that."

Dalton lets you into his room, ignoring his dad and opening the book. He points to the chapter on the table of contents page. Then he flips to the actual chapter and reads the first line.

"'It can be tempting to try to mix love and the Further. Don't. One of you may end up stuck in the Further, especially if you are both projectors and encounter danger.'"

"Been there, done that," you say as you sit on Dalton's bed.

"How did you two meet, anyway?" Josh asks.

"Well, we were both in the Further," Dalton begins.

He says, "I thought she was a trapped soul," as you say, "I thought he was a trapped soul."

"It's our theme," Dalton adds quickly, winking at you before continuing the story.

Just a few weeks ago, you tried to convince yourself Dalton was a spirit; now you're sitting in his dorm room laughing with his dad over pizza after saving the realm and coming back from the depths of the Further. Maybe everything, and everyone, isn't too good to be true.

#dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert fluff #dalton lambert #insidious #insidious the red door #fem!reader

[ysljoon]

Whumptober Day 5-Keegan P. Russ

✲Prompt: Debris

✲Warnings: angst (its rlly angsty read at your own discretion yall), main chaarcter death, explosion, feelings of grief

✲a/n: yall i shed some tears as i wrote this my goodness but anyways enjoy this is my first time writing keegan and idk if this is too ooc for him but fuck it we ball

✲MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked)

There was smoke thickening the air and obscuring your vision. Your eyes dilated to get back into focus. The last thing you remember was a loud boom and you blacked out after. You squinted trying to look around trying to understand your surroundings as the dust started to settle. You don’t know who detonated an explosive but it was pretty easy to assume it wasn’t anyone from the team or any accompanying allies that came for assistance. You clambered from the rubble your body was rag-dolled into and steadied yourself, but stumbled once you realized there was a gash down the entirety of your outer thigh. Your adrenaline is through the roof for you to even feel it right now.

You limped through the rubble trying to see any familiar faces from your team or just any individual to know you weren’t alone. The sun was still bright and the heat was stifling. You needed to pace yourself or else you would be stranded with no one to help you if you passed out from heat exhaustion or dehydration. You decided to take a break and sat down on the closest pile of rubble by your feet. Suddenly a hand wrapped around your ankles and it startled you. The scream you let out was earsplitting, to say the least. 

“Kid you’re gonna kill me off with that scream alone.”

The raspy and strained voice you heard was too familiar for it to be a coincidence. You turned and dropped to your knees without any hesitation and were presented with the sight of Keegan with half of his body covered under a pile of wreckage leftover from the explosion. Your body went into immediate panic mode and started to push away the rubble piece by piece. Keegan reached out and tried to stop you, but you were too caught up in trying to help him out.

“Just hold on, I'll get you out and then I’ll patch you up in the meantime until evac comes and then we can properly get you taken care of!.” You began to speed up your movements and this time he clutched your wrist. His grip was so much softer than what you were used to and it pulled you out of your panicked frenzy.

“Doll I’m done for you just gotta leave me here. I’m bleeding out as we speak and even if I do survive this I’m paralyzed from the waist down. I’m not useful either way.” He gave you a soft smile and tears started to well in your eyes. “Keegan you can’t expect me to just leave you here!” You started to tremble from your sobs. You were at a loss as to what to do after hearing Keegan’s words. There was no way you could leave Keegan here he was your everything. He was the one who kept you grounded when missions got to be all too much for you. 

“Just keep me company until my last moments, doll, it’s all I ask for.” He grasped your hand and rubbed his thumb soothingly across your knuckles. The sobs started to come out even harder as you finally came to accept that this was the end. You slid down onto your stomach and just stared at Keegan. You couldn’t bring yourself to even say anything. He craned his neck and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. “I love you, kid, don’t ever forget it, and don’t forget about me.” His hands were trembling more and his skin was getting paler and paler and the sun started to set. You wailed and let all the tears flow out as you watched his life gradually leave his body. You couldn’t bring yourself to sleep, you stared at the stars with your body curled up next to Keegan’s corpse just hoping that you could be taken away soon enough to meet with Keegan once again.

#whumptober 2023 #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #keegan russ #keegan x reader #keegan x you #keegan #cod keegan #cod ghosts #cod mw2 #cod angst #keegan russ angst