#this irony could not have been lost on him. not after all these years. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xwritingdixonx · 8 months

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Is It Better To Speak or To Die? | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: After being rescued from Woodbury by Rick's group, you struggle with living a "normal" life in the walls of the prison. The trauma's inflicted on you at the hands of the Govenour drag you to the deepest depths. A certain archer is the onyl one who can drag you back out.

Warnings: slow burn, language, smoking, grief, depression, talk of body scars, implied smut, implied past abuse, Governor (enough said)

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison, Alexandria.

Song Recommendation: Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Ray, Would That I - Hozier

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The survivors of Woodbury had called The Prison “home” for only a week. The war and downfall of the Governor and Woodbury were still fresh in everyone’s gut, though others were making themselves comfortable very quickly. You were not. It was such an irony to you. Taking shelter in a prison as if this world wasn’t a prison. As if the traumas of the past year of survival didn’t hold you by your throat. Your own mental prison.

The bowl you held still warmed your hands. Though you knew no appetite arose in your stomach, you still took the bowl Carol offered just to be polite. Standing alone, your back leaned against the support beam of the gazebo all the benches sat under for meals. You had been a part of Woodbury...but you certainly hadn’t been a part of the community. Not near the end at least.

Most people steered clear of you. Avoiding your tired hardened eyes and threatening gazes. Avoiding the tenseness in your persona. Completely removing themselves from the possibility of having an interaction with the emotionless shell you had become. Others were compassionate, showing you any empathy they could bear. You’d get a polite head nod and warm smile occasionally, though you never returned it.

In Woodbury, no one asked questions, they talked and gossiped amongst one another but never bothered. But at the prison, you were new. Fresh meat. So in turn, you had your fair share of stares and whispers from Rick’s group.

Carol had become your latest bother. In the mornings, just like today, people would slowly make their way to line up for their share of breakfast. Your desire was to simply come out in the crisp morning air and smoke a cigarette, attempting to forget the night of terrors you encountered when you closed your eyes. You’d be sure to isolate yourself a bit away so the smoke didn’t bother anyone’s morning. But Carol simply wouldn’t accept it.

The last few days she’d noticed the lack of breakfast passing your lips. You’d smoke a cigarette and then wait to eat a proper meal for dinner. Reminding her of another certain someone.

She couldn’t make you line up and wait like everyone else. She couldn’t make you come and sit at a table and be social. So, she’d make you your own bowl and walk it over to you, giving you a polite smile, and then walk away. She did this for the past 3 days, catching onto your pattern early on.

“How’s she doing?” Rick drawled as Carol handed him his own bowl of powdered eggs and steamed potatoes. “Can bring a horse to water but you can’t make ‘em drink.” Carol joked back, Rick nodded in response and thanked her for his bowl.

Rick had been keeping an eye on you ever since you’d arrived. Unlike most of Woodbury, who willingly came running out to be rescued, you were found by Rick. The door to the room he found you in had been locked from the outside.

Everything he found out about you from that point had been from the mouths of others. You hadn’t even used words to tell him your name, he had been told by someone else. “Morning.” Rick greeted Daryl who was already almost finished his own breakfast, “Mornin’.” He stood with Daryl, neither of the men having time to sit with all the plans to improve the prison.

Daryl followed Rick’s gaze, noticing the way Rick seemed to be lost in thought. When the gaze ended on you, Daryl scoffed. “Figured that one out yet?” He asked, shoving a spoon of egg in his mouth. “Not yet.” Daryl had tried himself to scramble for puzzle pieces of you but had no success. You didn’t talk. Not a word, not even a whisper. There was a part of him that was intrigued by you, a part of him that wanted to dissect. But there was the other part that told him to mind his business.

“Good morning.” Riley begins to pass by, greeting Rick and Daryl. If the term Southern Bell was a person, that would be Riley. Blonde hair, dark emerald eyes, sweet smile, curvy in all the right places, and a smooth southern drawl. Smooth and sweet, nothing like your jagged sharp edges. Riley had been brought in with the Woodbury group and quickly made herself useful in running her mouth…but also in learning medical. “Morning.” Riley’s green eyes darted in the direction the men were looking. Because how dare their attention be on anyone but her.

“I feel so bad for her…” She commented, putting herself into their conversation. Rick and Daryl both gave each other a glance. Rick wanted to know about you from you. Not from the gossip and storytelling of others. “I swear it’s like her mouth was sewn into a frown when Jackson died.” Riley actually looked quite empathetic when she said this. “Who was that?”

“Her twin brother.”

Rick took a pause from eating his breakfast to let this new information marinate into his brain. Though neither of them asked for it, Riley continued. “When they first got to Woodbury, everything was fine. But then the Governor wanted Y/n to be one of his soldiers.” Using air quotations at the word soldiers.

“Y/n refused over and over. One night, Governor took Y/n and Jackson for a walk outside of Woodbury’s walls and Jackson didn’t come back…Governor said he got bit but…” Riley’s words trailed off as she looked at your stone-like features. “Y/n joined him after that…some people thought he killed Jackson and used it to force her to.” Her tone was uneasy as if the Governor would come to get her if she dared speak of it.

Or maybe she was more afraid of you.

“After that, I mean..” Riley scoffed dramatically and tried to ease the tension with a laugh, “I-I shouldn’t be talking about this anyway.” She gave the men a sheepish smile before swiftly walking away, joining a full table.

"Forgot how much people love to gossip huh?"

"Hmm," Daryl hummed in response. Rick took Daryl's empty bowl and stacked it on his own. "Gonna go give Judy her breakfast, alright?" As he nudged Daryl with his elbow, Daryl responded with a hum that was accompanied by a nod.

Daryl had learned the art of minding his business a long time ago. He didn't want people in his...so why pry into others?

You had finished your cigarette and smushed it into the concrete under your boot, now aimlessly poking around in the texture of the oatmeal. Carol frequently cooked her oatmeal for a tad too long and with too much liquid, giving it a mushy, snot like texture. It gave you another reason to skip out on breakfast but you at least wanted to try.

Daryl watched as you took a bite from the bowl. You moved around the food in your mouth, chewing slowly. The texture on your tongue was enough to turn you away. You looked in the direction of the bench where all of the younger children sat. Some talking with food still in their mouths. Their chattering stopped when they saw you approach like a dark gloomy cloud threatening rain.

Without saying a word, you placed your bowl in front of Patrick, offering him your share. Behind his thick glasses, he looked at the bowl then at you, and smiled. “Thanks Y/n.” You replied with a nod and walked away. Patrick was one of the few people from Woodbury who was consistently kind to you. He was always polite and never treated you any differently. You had actually heard him defend your name more than once. Perhaps he was just too young to feed into it but it was an act that didn’t go unappreciated by you.

And your act towards Patrick hadn’t gone unnoticed by Daryl. It wasn’t as if you had saved his life but you could’ve thrown your share away. Snuck over to the pig's pen and scraped it in. Instead, you gave it to a child.

Daryl would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't intrigued by you. He had never been intrigued by anyone in his life, though he couldn't deny the itch that was the mystery of you.

Two mornings after that one, Daryl had woken up particularly early. Readying himself to go outside the fences. There was a steady whisper amongst his friends the true reason he wondered out of the safety of the prison walls. The thought of The Governor still being alive haunted Daryl’s mind as it did the others. But no one would do what he did nearly every morning. No one except you.

Not many were typically up at this hour. The sun had barely risen and the morning air was still chilly from the night. When Daryl walked out into the courtyard, he didn’t expect to see you. He knew you were typically up earlier than others but not as early as him, not on days like this. You sat on the top of a picnic bench, feet planted where someone would typically sit. You faced away from Daryl but he could see the puff of smoke that typically followed you.

He could tell you weren’t in your typical nature. Despite the circumstances, you typically kept yourself put together. You wore a black long-sleeve fitted to your body and a pair of old gray sweatpants. Your hair was untamed and frizzy, having not been brushed yet. What had you up this early? What had you out of your cell so disheveled? And obviously, in such a rush?

The drag of the cigarette burned the back of your throat. It wasn’t as if you actually enjoyed smoking them. They tasted bad, itched your throat, and the smoke made your eyes water. But it felt as if holding them stopped your hands from shaking so badly every morning. It didn’t. But you’d keep lying to yourself and saying it did. You had woken up from another devilish dream, jolting you awake with a rapid heart and heavy breathing.

Typically you’d sit on the edge of your bed, head in your hands until your heart rate returned to normal. But on this particular morning, you couldn’t sit any longer in those walls, feeling the tightness of their build.

“Mornin.” He greeted you. What was he doing? Why was he even over here? Daryl’s mind ran with thoughts and questions as he awkwardly disrupted your own running mind.

You glanced over at him, your eyebrows furrowing with confusion. Someone disrupting you at this time wasn’t expected. As soon as Daryl saw the harsh glare hit your features, he regretted his decision. He didn’t know what to say to you or what he was doing. Both of your heads turned at the sound of a door shutting, Carol lugging a big pot over to the serving table.

“Carol’s gonna start setting up soon…if ya wanna get outta here.” Your eyes followed Carol for a second before meeting Daryl’s.

Daryl had never seen you face to face, he’d never even spoken a word to you. Your initial glare wore off your face and you gave Daryl a single nod, standing up from the bench. Daryl caught his bottom lip and nervously chewed at it. “M’going…out” Daryl pointed in the direction of the woods, “If ya wanna come.” You glanced between Daryl and the woods and thought for a second before giving him a proper nod.

“Alright. I’ll wait for ya at the gate with my bike.”

It didn’t take long for you to meet Daryl. You’d switched your pants out with jeans and your bare feet with boots. Accompanied with your backpack and a pair of fingerless gloves to fight the chilly morning. You had obviously run a comb through your hair as well.

Daryl appreciated the space you gave him on the bike. You sat an inch or two back, your arms loose around him. Typically when people rode with him they held on tight, maybe a little too tight and too close for Daryl’s comfort, but you didn’t. A steady routine had been built between you and the archer after that morning. Along with a growing friendship.

Carol had picked up on this growing routine. By the fourth day, she began waking up even earlier, packing both of you lunches and a snack as if she were a mother sending her children to school.

The first few days your silence made Daryl uneasy. But soon, he actually began to enjoy your company. He even enjoyed your silence. It came in handy when he was tracking a deer or bunny.

The two of you had created your own language of looks, touches, and whistles. One morning you had gotten separated from Daryl while tracking and the song of the whistle was born.

The once colorful leaves were now a dirty brown and crunched awfully loud when you stepped on them. The early Fall months were slowly becoming even colder which meant being on the lookout for anything edible became far more important. Especially meat. Daryl had begun to teach you how to track on your own, which meant the two of you could cover more ground on the same hunt.

Your footsteps were steady and quiet, your eyes trained on the consistent tussle of the leaves. There was a specific herd of deer that had been on Daryl’s radar that he’d spotted a few mornings ago. Daryl walked a few feet behind you, checking that the tracks you eyed were accurate.

The leaves began to blend together, and the steady path you found was now lost from your sight. You kneeled down and dug the leaves away from the ground hoping the tracks would be embedded in the dirt. But the ground was too cold and dense to be marked with anything. It was when you turned to face Daryl and accept your defeat that he was no longer there.

A sense of panic seized through you. Your eyes scanned around the surrounding tree lines for a sign of his silhouette but you saw none. You’re fine, you told yourself, but the comfort Daryl’s presence provided was now gone and you were beginning to spiral. You didn’t know these woods well and you didn’t know your way back to the prison from here.

Out of sheer desperation, you brought your lips together and let out a two-tone whistle. You gave it a second of silence and just as you were about to repeat, a long one-tone whistle replied back. Daryl quickly came back through an opening in the trees looking as if he had run back to you. His eyes were filled with panic. “Ya alright?” You nodded, seeing him again immediately put you at ease. “M’sorry. Found the tracks, they go off this way.”

Daryl spent a lot of time studying you. It wasn’t intentional…but he couldn’t help but pay attention to every detail. He knew when something was on your mind by the way you dazed off more or the more cigarettes you smoked. Or the way you fiddled with the sleeves of your shirts and jackets. He understood the different expressions on your face and what every one of them meant. You expressed yourself a lot through your eyebrows and eyes. No matter what expression, your eyes were always filled with such sadness. You never smiled. Even on days when Daryl felt good and felt as if he was going to have some major breakthrough, you never did.

Daryl enjoyed what he’d built with you over these last few months but his mind and body were becoming restless. He yearned for you, he yearned to know you. It was like being covered head to toe in mosquito bites. And then someone tying your hands so you’d never be able to scratch them. He wanted to hear your voice and he wanted to see you smile. He told himself that if he ever got to hear you laugh, he’d start praying and going to the prison chapel.

He realized he’d never even seen your teeth before, though it was an odd thought, it would be added to the pile of things that itched and irritated.

Then there were the other thoughts. The bites that itched but also ached and throbbed. He wanted you to sit closer to him on the bike and he wanted your arms tight around his torso. He wanted to hold your hands and stop them from shaking in the morning. He wanted to keep you close after running away from a hoard.

Daryl had spent his time dissecting you like a frog in science class.

Now, he had grown impatient of dissecting. He’d never wanted anyone how desperately he wanted you. You were his sweet tooth craving, you were his stomach-decaying hunger, and you were his fucking mosquito bite. But despite all of Daryls itches and desires, he'd never try to change you. He'd never push you out of the comfort of your silence though he would always be waiting.

The time spent with Daryl had put a piece of you at ease. You’d had grown a special attachment while Daryl had practically sewn you to his hip. The only time you weren’t with him was when it came time to shower or sleep.

You met Daryl every morning at the gate, ready to go wandering amongst the trees or scavenging. Some day's you made it back in time to catch lunch together. Especially if you had an early morning catch and had to get back before the meat went rancid. Most days, you'd find a quiet and safe spot to eat the lunch Carol packed and made it back to the prison before sunset and dinner.

There was peace in this routine...but you couldn't live in this routine forever. There were other duties that needed attention around the prison. The early morning adventures had become less but the time together never changed.

When you weren't enjoying the company of Daryl, you enjoyed the company of the garden. And when it was too late in the day for either of those things, you read books about the garden and thought about Daryl. You learned what crops could be grown in the winter and then looked for their seeds in old gardening stores...with Daryl.

Some, Most, Every night you thought of him. You thought of all the things he'd taught you, of his patience with you, and all the stories he told to fill the air. He'd tell you stories of him and Merle. You wanted to tell him that you knew Merle. That when the Governor locked you away, Merle would come visit you and sneak you food. That he was kind to you despite being such a prick to everyone else.

But no matter how much time and peace Daryl provided, the nightmares never left you. You still woke up with shaky hands and a racing mind and memories of your brother. Although you did cut the habit of reaching for a cigarette. Mainly because your pack was running low and it was becoming impossible to find any more.

Unknowing to you, Daryl had been finding them while scavenging and hiding them in spots you didn't look.

You grabbed the carrot at its very base and pulled it from the soft dirt, a soft snap following. The gloves that kept your fingers from freezing were covered in mud and bits of green. It had rained in the night which made the ground perfectly soft to harvest produce. So, instead of going out this morning, you and Daryl were in the gardens. Well, Daryl followed you to the gardens and wouldn't leave.

"This one alright?" Daryl held up a cabbage with his own gloved hand only a few feet away. You glanced over and gave him a approving nod. He tossed it into the basket that already held a mixture of carrots, celery, and fresh herbs for Carol's cabbage soup.

Carol had become less of a bother to you. In fact, you'd actually created a swift routine with her. You read and researched the books about plants and gardening while she read the ones about cooking. You were the farmer while she got to play Martha Stewart.

"How's it going you two?" Rick and Carol approached the gardens with a little extra pep in their step. The rain fall had made this winter day chillier which meant everyone was bundling up and multiple fires were lit in the courtyard and cell blocks for warmth. "S'alright!" Daryl shouted as he fought with a carrot that seemed to be deep rooted in the ground. From your kneeling position on the ground, you watched Daryl with amusement as he struggled. You would’ve thought that carrot was as big as a egg plant with all his pull and tug.

“You got it Pookie?” Carol teased, Rick and her both getting their own dose of amusement. “M’fine.” With one last pull, the carrot popped from the dirt. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’” Daryl held up the carrot, it was about the size of his thumb. You heard Rick and Carol have their own set of laughter, “Maybe you should stick to huntin’ those deer.” Rick said between a few chuckles. Daryl scoffed and tossed the baby carrot into the basket, as he kneeled down to continue picking, he caught your expression.

It was so small he could’ve missed it but he didn’t and he was so glad he hadn’t. You looked back down towards the dirt, a smirk tugging up the corners of your lips and poking your cheeks, dimpling them. For a second, it felt as if someone had punched Daryl in the chest. But it was there just as fast as it was gone.

From that moment on, Daryl wanted nothing more than to feel that again…as did you. You felt foolish. There was this awful gnawing inside you that was telling you every day what you already knew within your heart. He was chipping away at every wall you’d built up and beginning to break down the wall to a very soft spot of you. You had begun to feel like a turtle removed from its shell. Mushy, sensitive, and vulnerable. Gross.

"Hey Y/n!" The youngest Greene girl greeted. The community of the prison had begun to warm up to you. They no longer avoided you like the plague opting to actually say "hello" or "good morning" or maybe even a "goodnight." It had become very well known the closeness Daryl and you held and if people knew, people talked.

You looked up from your current book to Beth standing in the doorway of your cell clutching a small pile of tan books to herself. "Can I..come in?" She awkwardly shuffled her feet farther in and adjusted the books, you nodded. Beth let the curtain that covered your doorway drop and happily took a seat on your bed. You sat up straight and set your book of, Wildflowers Of All Seasons, on the bed beside you. While you adjusted yourself, Beth seemed to be studying your room.

It was more decorated than she had imagined. Your cell was on the upper level, one down from Daryl's. You had a very small wooden nightstand beside your bed that had various half-melted candles. Their wax dripped down the sides and embedded itself into the wood. On the wall across from your bed stood a very slim wooden table.

It was decorated with different trinkets and bottles you'd scavenged, a zippo lighter, and a stack of your growing book collection. Shoved underneath was a wire basket that held all your clothes. Your only 2 pairs of boots and bookbag sat beside it. Your everyday black, fleece-lined jacket was hung off the pole of your bed.

"I found these in the library and thought you might like them." Beth laid out the books on your bed, making it a point to show you every single one of them. Peterson - Field Guide to... They all read. They were very small and slim, a pale shade of tan, with various illustrations on the front pertaining to the title. Perfect to slip into your bag.

"I thought they'd be nice for you to carry when you go out in the mornings." Beth watched as you examined each book, "I wanted to grab them for you before anyone else found 'em." Beth held a very innocent hopeful smile the whole time she spoke to you but your silence was causing her to become uneasy. You picked up a specific one, Field Guide to Animal Tracks. You looked up at the girl and gave her a thin-lipped smile to show your appreciation.

A wide smile formed on her face and she left with a very sweet "Goodnight."

Glenn relieved Daryl from watch tower duty later than expected. It had to of been close to midnight when he got back to his cell. As he walked by your cell, he carefully peeled back your green curtain to check on you. You were a restless sleeper, Daryl heard you almost every night tossing and turning or waking up with a jolt.

Most of your features were concealed by the darkness but from what was visible, you appeared to be in a peaceful sleep. There was a veil of softness to you when you slept. A softness and calmness that never graced you during waking hours. He knew it wouldn’t last very long but he wanted to ensure that at least right now, you were okay. But he could not stand and watch all night. He felt creepy enough.

Daryl noticed the little tan book sitting on his bed as soon as he pulled back his curtain. The moonlight slightly gleamed off the sleek shiny cover. Field Guide to Animal Tracks. As Daryl flipped the book open to its title page, he felt his ears and cheeks warm up. Thankfully the darkness concealed his cheeky smile.

To Daryl. Not like you need it. - Y/n.

The group of deer that Daryl had spotted a month ago was still high on his radar. Though he still had yet to actually catch any of them.

The cabbage soup was still hot in your thermal, emitting a cloud of steam when you popped off the lid. You and Daryl sat in each other's company in your typical spot. A large tree had fallen down just at the entrance to a clearing in the woods providing a perfect resting spot. Had it been Spring or Summer you could only imagine the beauty of the green scenery. But this cold winter didn't provide much besides dry grounds, barren trees, and a frozen pond.

There was a peaceful silence that settled, as it always did. You both ate your soups and turned the pages of your books. Surprisingly, Daryl had actually learned a good bit from the book you gifted and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Ask ya something'?" You broke your concentration from your book and looked to Daryl. "Ya know why I started coming out here in the first place, right?"

You took a second to think before hesitantly nodding. "Ya never said anything." Daryl truly never understood why. He never hid it from you but still, you never asked questions. You didn't ask what the notes were on all the maps he had, never asked where you were going, or when you'd be back. But he always knew that you knew he wasn't just hunting deer, he was hunting the governor. "What would ya do...? If you ever got to him?"

Perhaps Daryl had pushed too far. Your head snapped back down to your book, though Daryl knew you weren't actually reading anymore. Your eyes were out of focus and your lips formed a frown. You had never taken the time to think about it. You just knew you wanted him to suffer.

Daryl hadn't spoken another word to you since lunch knowing he had poked at a very sensitive subject. "Wait here a second," Daryl said just as you made it back to his bike. He jogged back into the tree line leaving you sitting on the bike, awaiting his return. Daryl returned soon after, a cluster of bright yellow daffodils in hand. You gave him a puzzled glance but as he held out his hand and said, for you, you felt the urgency to cry. Your nose burning up with tingles and your eyes becoming glazed.

"Thought ya might like 'em, I saw them in your book earlier." Your hand gently took them from Daryl's and you stood still. Very still.

Daryl awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "They're uh...daffodils, right? Start bloomin' late January into March?" He had secretly been sneaking reads of your books over your shoulder. It was so fast it startled him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into you, every muscle in his body stiffened. Daryl was reluctant to hug you back but he gave into his heart and gently laid his arms around your torso. The large jackets you both wore proved to be a barrier from feeling the true touch of the other.

“Thank you.” Your words were raspy and just above a whisper. Had you not been so close, Daryl probably would’ve missed them. “Course.” His words were mumbled against your shoulder, not wanting to make a big deal. A low groan in the distance disrupted your short moment of peace, telling you it was about time to go.

The sun was beginning to set when Daryl’s bike rode up the gravel path to the prison. The smell of a brewing soup hit your nose as the two of you began to walk closer to the dining area. “Find a table, I gotcha.” Daryl’s hand lingered on your shoulder for a second longer than it typically did. Despite wearing such a thick layer of clothes, it was as if you could still feel his touch. Even after he was already at the serving table striking up a conversation with Carol.

You sat your pack down at the usual table. It was farthest to the left, farthest away from all the other tables. “Mind if we join you?” Glenn asked, he and Maggie both holding a steaming bowl. Just as you were about to take your own seat, a loud chuckle sounded snapping you around.

“Oh come on Y/n.” Two men had been walking past on their way to fetch their own dinners. You recognized them, they were commonly on wall duty at Woodbury. The taller one motioned to the flowers that poked out from the front pocket of your jacket. “You can’t be serious.” You could feel your heart drop to the very pit of your stomach. It was as if your body was preparing you for the merciless mocking that was sure to come.

“You’re telling me the Governor’s number one soldier is walking around with flowers in her pockets?”

Stop.

You wanted to say but the words became a ball in your throat. Your eyes darted off to the side. All of a sudden, you didn’t know where to look or what to do with your hands or how to stand properly on your feet. You knew the truth behind their “jokes”.

You are not soft. You are not delicate. You are not loveable.

“The hell are ya doin?” Daryl had practically appeared out of thin air, putting himself between you and the men. You saw this as an opportunity to make an escape for your cell block.

“We were just teasing man. We were friends in Woodbury, just joking around.” They still had slimy smirks on their faces that only poked Daryl even more.

Daryl was fuming. “Didn’t look like she was fucking laughin’.” He took a step closer. “She never fucking laughs!” Before Daryl could unleash his fiery rage, Rick intervened. Rick beckoned Daryl to walk away, mumbling that everyone was looking. “Hell if I care.” Daryl snapped swinging his arm in the air. He turned on his boot and snatched up your pack that you’d left behind before going off to find you.

Daryl hadn’t found you in any of your traditional spots. He checked your cell, the library, the garden, and even the showers. He asked everyone he walked past if they’d seen you but no one had, it was as if you just vanished. And the thought of that was throwing Daryl into a deep pit.

The prison chapel had been restored and decorated by Carol to be used for the grieving prison folk. She had put as many candles as possible on a long wooden table. They had been burned and replaced so frequently that the wax dripped down the sides of the table and dropped dots on the floor. There were many different pictures of lost family members or lovers littering the table…it was quite depressing truthfully. The glow of the candles lit up the room and cast an orange glow on your sad features.

You didn’t look at Daryl as he sat down beside you.

“Didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not.”

It was an odd thing…to hear you speak so openly but Daryl wasn’t opposed. “I just…” Your voice was hoarse and low, as low as a whisper. “I find this a way to be with my brother.” Daryl had gotten so used to silence that it almost startled him to hear so many words come from your lips. You shook back the hair that fell on your face and let out a deep sigh, resting your back flat against the wooden church pew. Daryl didn’t want to speak, he didn’t want to scare your voice away, he just wanted to listen.

“I hope that doesn’t sound foolish.”

“It doesn’t.” Daryl shifted himself closer to you. “It doesn’t.” He repeated, his thigh pressed against yours. And for some reason, you felt the need to spill your guts. Perhaps being in a church would drag you to confess. “I-uhmm…I never fought against the prison. I refused to do any of it. I truthfully didn’t care if he killed me for it.” You didn’t have to explain yourself to Daryl but you felt the need to. If what you felt towards him was what you thought, you had to. “But, he just locked me in my room. Wouldn’t let me out.” Somehow, Daryl knew. He never saw you with the Governor, never saw you fighting. And when Rick told him the locked room he found you in, he pieced it together.

“Everything is true though. Everything they say about me, everything he made me do before that.”

Daryl didn’t care, he never had. Daryl cared that you didn’t want to. He cared about the fact that you were forced to. You shrugged your shoulders and looked off, “I’m as guilty as they come.”

Daryl couldn’t stand the sad look on your face, “Alright then…put yer hands behind yer back. I’ll take ya to your cell.” His joking manner caught you so off guard that a laugh escaped you. It was airy and gentle. He truly couldn’t believe it.

You laughed. And Daryl was in church.

Daryl returned to his serious demeanor to reassure you, “I care about how he hurt ya, Y/n. Don’t care what you did.”

Your eyes found Daryl’s in the dimly lit room and for a second you felt it, deep within your chest. And it ached and feared but it also loved. “Good.” You couldn’t fight the smile that squeezed your cheeks as you looked at him. Your eye contact broke allowing silence to welcome itself back. But only for a short time. “Daffodils are the birth flower of March…Jackson and I were born in March.”

After that night in the chapel, Daryl wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. It felt like his ears were filled with honey every time you spoke. It was raspy yet smooth with a hint of a southern drawl from growing up in Georgia. A thick rich honey that he wanted in a cup of hot tea and to take down his throat.

Winter was soon turning to Spring. The sky was bluer and most days the sun shined. The green of the grass and trees were returning. The garden was beginning to look even more promising come warmer weather. And just as the flowers were beginning to take bloom, so were you.

Your hard demeanor had softened, especially for Daryl. You still didn’t talk to many people besides him but you said a word or two when you wanted. Daryl took it upon himself to give Jackson a “grave” where the others were. It was just two pieces of wood, formed into a cross with his name carved in it, planted into the ground. “So that ya don’t have to go down to the chapel. Ya can be outside with him and the garden and stuff.” He had said when he showed you.

“It’s rotten work trying to find these deer.” You and Daryl strolled the wooded area, eyes on the deer tracks that embedded themselves in the dirt. Daryl shushed you and continued his concentration on the tracks. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. “I was rotten work…at the beginning.”

“Nah ya weren’t, not to me.” Daryl didn’t even hesitate, he didn’t even turn look at you. He just continued walking ahead of you, following the tracks.

The two of you settled in your usual spot. Leaning against the fallen tree at the opening to the clearing in the woods. You were right about the clearing looking more beautiful in the warmth of Spring. The trees were plump with fresh green leaves and the water in the pond sparkled under the sunlight. The grass grew tall with a mixture of white and yellow wildflowers. Your fingers ran the edge of the book page as you turned it.

Your current book was, Field Guide to Medical Plants and Herbs. There was some type of cold floating around the prison and finding the medical supplies to treat it was sparse and you’d do anything you could to help.

Daryl was interrupted from tending to his bow by your elbow jabbing his side. Without looking at him, you held up a folded piece of paper and pen. Daryl gave you an odd glare before plucking them from your fingertips. You did this often. When you couldn’t be bothered to use your voice or if you didn’t want to break concentration from a book.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

Daryl could feel his heart begin to quicken its pace within his chest. He didn’t know what your words meant but at the same time, he did.

The folded paper got tossed back into your lap.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

Just then, a rustling sound sounded from within the trees from across the clearing. You gripped for your blade as Daryl grabbed for his bow. Two deers came through the trees, their white and tan tails flicking back and forth. You could’ve sworn you heard Daryl stop breathing for a second. Daryl slowly leaned up on his knees, bow in hand raising to his eye. Your eye caught it before Daryl’s did.

Another deer emerged from the trees, a fawn close behind her…and then another. “Don’t.” You brought your hand to Daryl’s bow and lowered it to point at the ground. He went to protest but when he saw the twin fawns happily nibbling at the tall grass, he stopped. It was a beautiful sight, as were you.

When your eyes broke away from the deers and to him, that’s when he decided. Daryl cupped your cheek lightly and met your lips with his. His lips were gone just as fast as they were there but his hand didn’t leave. He was still so close that your lips feathered his. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him down to you again.

What happened that day was never spoken of. But as Daryl sat in the darkness of the train cart in Terminus, he so deeply wish it had been.

But now, you were gone as was the prison. The look on your face, when the Governor stood outside the prison, was burned into Daryl’s eyelids. The way your chest heaved with anger, your hands shook with rage, and revengeful teary eyes stared off. The last he saw was you slipping out through the prison fence to go after him. Daryl yelled at you to not do it, to come with him, but you didn’t listen. You’d let yourself die if it meant you finally got your hands on him and Daryl knew it.

You could be dead. You could’ve died weeks ago fighting the Governor. You could be out there alone and starving and scared. Or you could be just fine. Daryl would never know.

When Terminus fell and he watched Rick cuddle and kiss Judith in his arms, he had a surge of hope. And when he saw Carol alive, he had more hope. As everyone said hello, it was as if he waited, waiting for you to magically appear. “Nobody has Y/n?” A deafening silence followed, quieter than you ever were. “Daryl…” Michonne stepped towards him. As he went to walk away, she stopped him placing a hand on rising his chest. “Darlyl. I’m not saying she didn’t make it. I’m just saying she didn’t look good.”

“Yeah? And you didn’t help her?” Daryl snapped shoving her hand off his chest. “Get off me.” Daryl seethed with hot tears in his icy blue eyes. It became an unspoken rule to not speak your name around him.

Your hand pressed firmly on the wound that oozed blood down your side as you limped your way into the cell block. Your right side was stained in the crimson color, all the way down to the knee of your jeans. You strained and let out a groan of pain as you took a step up the stairs that led to your cell. You didn’t need to look at yourself to know you looked awful. The walkers that completely ignored your existence when you limped by them told you enough.

Your entire torso throbbed in pain. The bruising from the kicks you took to the stomach were forming and it felt impossible to move. Your head felt like tv static and you had an undying desire to sleep. But you couldn’t. You likely had a concussion and knew that if you slept now, you wouldn’t be getting back up. Besides, you had to find Daryl. There was a hope that he’d stayed in the area and you’d find him if you just looked. You knew the woods around here well, you could find him. He was waiting for you, he had to be.

In your fuzzy state of mind, you threw whatever you touched into your pack. You changed out of ruined clothes and into clean ones. When the collar of your shirt dragged down your face, you let out a whimper of pain as it got caught on your bottom lip. There was a cut that dragged from the under your left nostril, across the left corner of your lips, and ended at the bottom of your chin.

It became a blur how you left your cell safely and ended up on the path Daryl and you walked every morning. You had to get to your spot. The spot with the fallen tree and clearing. Daryl would wait for you there. You were sure of it. When you got there and he wasn’t there, it was okay, you told yourself. You just had to wait for him.

You lowered yourself to the ground, a few whimpers of pain escaping your lips. With your back resting against the tree and arm draped over your mid section, you slipped into unconscious. You awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. “Hey, hey.” He said trying to wake you but your eyelids were too heavy to lift and you felt the weight of every muscle in your body. “Heath! Go tell Laura to bring the car around. We gotta take her back.”

“It’s a ten hour drive back Aaron, you think she’s gonna make it?”

“I don’t know.”

You awoke with a slight jolt. Your chest heaved with heavy breathes as your eyes dilated to the bright and unfamiliar room. Your body ached but the softness of the mattress you laid on seemed to comfort it. “Pete, go get Deanna.” Aaron instructed, sitting up in his seat next to your bedside. Your eyes wandered the room, trying to figure out where you were. “Hey. I’m Aaron. You’re in the infirmary in a community called Alexandria.” You looked to the man that sat to your right. He had a very kind face and gentle eyes. His clothes were perfectly clean and his curly brown hair was freshly washed and fluffy.

“Myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast to look for survivors to bring here.” Aaron clarified further, “We found you and brought you back, you were in really bad shape…you still…you still kind of are.”

Aaron could see the confusion and panic drawn on your face. Your head snapped to the door when you heard footsteps on the polished wood floors. “Hi” Deanna gently said approaching your bedside. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. What’s your name?”

Your mouth hung open for a second, your mind still wasn’t clear, and you had no clear memory of the last three days. “Y/n” You finally replied, voice hoarse and raspy. Deanna smiled at you, “Where am I?” You asked finally finding your voice. Deanna and Aaron exchanged a glance, “You’re in a safe community called Alexandria in Virginia.”

Virginia?

You could feel your world begin to tumble, a thousand thoughts racing your mind. You were so far away from Georgia. You were away from home. Away from Daryl. “No.” You attempted to pull yourself out of the bed but were stopped by Aaron softly holding you back. “No, no, no.” You repeated and dropped your head down into your hands as panicked sobs racked your chest. “Pete! Go get her something to calm down.”

You didn’t want pills to help calm down. You wanted to go home. You wanted to be with him. You sat yourself up in the bed despite the pain in your torso telling you not to. “Daryl?” You asked Deanna. She could see the desperation in your teary eyes, “I’m sorry we only found you.”

Aaron sat up from the dirt floor of the barn after Rick had knocked him unconscious. Rick’s group continuously went back and forth with one another debating their plan. Once they finally decided and everyone was being assigned a position, Rick turned to Daryl. “Daryl, go keep an eye-“

“Wait, Daryl?” Aaron interrupted Rick’s order from his spot on the floor. He felt everyone’s eyes on him in an instant. “Daryl Dixon, right? Y-you knew an Y/n?” Daryl stomped over to Aaron and gripped him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “How the hell ya know Y/n?” Daryl’s tone was threatening yet shaky. Aaron knew if he didn’t start talking he’d end up back on the floor.

“She’s in Alexandria, she lives with me, she’s safe! A-a little over a month ago, myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast looking for survivors. We found her in the woods down in Georgia.” Aaron took a pause, “She was in really bad shape, we brought her back and she’s been there ever since.”

“She talks about you all the time.” Daryl’s hand shook around the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his eyes studied his face trying to find any indicator that he was lying. ”I don’t fuckin’ believe ya.” The thought of you being alive and safe comforted Daryl but he wouldn’t so easily believe a stranger. “I’m not lying, I swear.” Aaron frantically said, “She-she gave me something to give to you. It’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

Daryl shoved Aaron back to the ground with a thud. Rick tossed Aaron’s bag to Daryl, practically tearing off the zipper getting into it. Daryl’s unsteady hands pulled out the familiar small tan book. As he flipped open to the title page, he read the words you’d written to another that day.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

As Daryl read the new words you’d written, he could feel the lump forming in his throat.

It was easier to die than to say them.

“I probably should’ve led with that, huh?” Aaron joked attempting to lighten the mood. Rick’s gruff voice responded, “Shut up.”

The sun shined in Alexandria despite the rainstorm that came through the night before. You found yourself where you always were, in the gardens. The heavy rain had bent many of the plants out of shape and the raised wooden garden beds were flooded. The mixture of water and grass squelched under your boots as you examined the damage. With a deep sigh, you pulled out a box of cigarettes from your back pocket along with a zippo lighter. It wasn’t a habit you proudly picked back up. But after the fall of the prison and Daryl no longer being there to help you, it found its way back.

You tilted your head up to the sky and blew the smoke from your lips. You closed your eyes and let the sunlight cast its rays onto your face. And as you did, you tried to imagine that you were standing in the garden of the prison again. That Daryl stood only a few feet away, fighting with a vegetable, and cursing as he did.

“Hey Y/n.”

Spencer disrupted your daydream, standing a few feet away and calling out your name. “Sorry,” He jokingly held up his hands in surrender, “Aaron’s back, he asked for you at the gate.” Aaron had returned to Alexandria several times over the past month with new faces. Every time you’d go to the gate and wait for him to return, your heart full of hope. But every time the same disappointment rained down on you. It was never who you wanted, it was never him. So, when Aaron told you about a group he’d been tracking and trying to bring back, you didn’t care to listen. You saved my ass and now you think you can save everyone? You said to him a few nights ago.

“Going.” You replied bluntly. You wouldn’t allow your hopes to grow just to be smashed into pieces. Your eyes were on the ground as you walked to the front gate, cigarette dangling from your lips, and hair falling in your face. Spencer talked his jaw off beside you, every word he spoke going in one ear and out the other. But the sound of a familiar whistle vibrating against your eardrums perked your head up in an instant.

You tossed your cigarette from your mouth and found your way back to him. Daryl met you halfway, his arms desperately pulling you in close. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, feeling his shaky breaths on the skin of your own. Your hair was soft and smelled of shampoo. Daryl grasped the fabric of your shirt that smelled ever so slightly of cigarettes.

When Daryl pulled away to look at you, he finally saw the fresh scar drawn on your lips. He wanted to scold you. To tell you how foolish you'd been to go after the Governor alone. "Ya got him?" Was all he could bring himself to ask. You avoided answering but you nodded, "Come on, I wanna go see everyone else."

Despite the group still not fully trusting Alexandria, they felt more at ease knowing you’d been kept safe here. After helping Rick settle the group into the Alexandrian homes, you sat on the front porch with Daryl. Daryl hadn’t let you out of his sight for a second. Everything you did and every where you went, he was there. Besides when Carol shoved him away to shower.

The two of you passed back and forth a lit cigarette, comfortable in the silence of the night air. “Tara asked me about the Governor.” Your words were quiet just incase anyone were listening. Daryl looked to you. “Yeah?” With a deep sigh, you blew the smoke from your mouth. “Yeah…asked what he did to me.”

Daryl could see the way the thought of it dragged your lips into that familiar frown. “Told her I didn’t wanna make her guilty conscious even worse.” You said it as if it was meant to be a joke but Daryl saw through it. “It’s gettin late.” Daryl begin to break you from those thoughts. He was right. The sun had set about an hour ago and everyone was setting up their beds for the night.

“Ya ah….Ya gonna go home?” Daryl didn’t want you to leave, he never wanted to be without you again. “I am home.” There was no hesitation in your reply. Daryl’s eyes snapped to yours in an instant. “Ain’t what I meant.” You stood from your spot and reached a hand out to him, “Come with me.” Daryl glanced between your hand and your eyes. The night was dark and the porch light dim but you could see the rosy color blotch at his cheeks. You lightly kicked his foot with your own, “Just wanna show you where I’ve been staying.”

Your room was in the fully furnished basement of Aaron and Eric’s home. Aaron had welcomed you in, knowing you couldn’t be on your own in your condition. The stairs were on the farthest right wall of the basement, leading you down into a lounge like area with tan carpet and white walls. An L shaped leather couch sat in front of a, now useless, flat screen TV. Past the couch, on the back wall, stood two white doors. Daryl presumed behind one of them laid your bedroom.

You walked him over to the left door and pushed it open. There was nothing special about your room. Simply a bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a bookshelf in the corner. You sat at the foot of your bed, Daryl took it as a sign to do the same. “I’m sorry Daryl.” Your voice was just above a whisper, avoiding his eyes when you spoke. “I should’ve looked harder for him…I shouldn’t of gotten so distracted.” Your head hung low in shame, “I should’ve talked about that day..in the woods.” The dimly lit room hid the tears that fell from your eyes. “I should’ve said everything I wanted to say.”

“We should’ve.” Daryl corrected you, stopping all your blabbering. Your watery eyes met his with a look of confusion. “Everythin’ ya said. I was there too. S’not all your fault Y/n.” The impact of Daryl’s words made you go quiet. “Ain’t yer fault what he did to you either.”

“I love you.”

Daryl had never shut his mouth so fast in his life. You weren’t sure where your outburst of confidence came from but you didn’t regret it. You accepted it every waking day and every sleepless night you were apart from him. “Nah, ya don’t.” Daryl rejects your confession at the grace of his own insecurity. Your hands raise themselves to his face, a stern look gracing your features. “I have since the prison.”

Daryl didn’t know what to do. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the warmth from your hand on his cheek. You gently lean in before connecting your lips with his. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his own. If you had just ruined everything Daryl and you had, you at least wanted to bask in his presence one last time. “I love ya too.” Daryl leaned back in, capturing your lips in his.

The night you’d spent together was full of gentle touches and whispers. The only time silence happened was the sleep bestowed upon you afterwards. Your bedroom was dimly lit come morning time. The only windows in your room were up towards the ceiling, just above ground level. For the first time since Jackson died, you woke up peacefully. No panic attack awaiting you, no need to run away and fill your lungs with smoke. Feelings of the night before returned to your mind, memories in vivid detail. Daryl awoke when he felt the movement of the sheet from beside him.

With your back turned to him, Daryl took it upon himself to graze the skin of your bare back with his fingertips. He caught a glance at the deep scarring along your side. The gash had turned into a raised, dark pink, bruised color on your skin. Daryl could see shadow of lines covering its length from the stitches that had held it together.

As his fingertips traveled down, they stopped on another scar. The left side of your lower back was imbedded with the letter “G”. The scarring of the initial raised your skin, though it wasn’t pink and bruised like the other. It had healed to a shade paler than your skin tone. Daryl simply couldn’t believe it. Fucking bastard.

“Branding iron.” You begin, voice slightly rasp from sleep. “Never did it to anyone else…just me.” Daryl’s hand fell from your back, “Come here.” You reluctantly did so, turning to face him. His hand found the side of your face that didn’t rest on the plush pillow. His facial expression’s became serious but his eyes remained gentle. “Ain’t gonna let no one treat you like that ever again. Ya feel like someone breathes around ya the wrong way, you tell me alright?” You playfully rolled your eyes, a cheeky smile forming but you still replied “Alright.”

Daryl thumb drug along your bottom lip, stopping at the pale scar. “Promise ya won’t ever stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“…Bein’ happy.”

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A/n: I've proof read this over and over so I hope everyone is able to enjoy it and theres no mistakes! If anyone would like to submit a request, feel free too. If it's a project i'd be willing to take on, I will try my best to get to it.

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littlejuicebox · 4 months

Text

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

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If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay.

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality.

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully.

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin.

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face.

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige.

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance.

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

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You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell.

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf.

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him.

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring.

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last.

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semischarmed · 4 months

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Thread

Don’t blame me for this one, you guys voted for something diabolical.

= = = = =

The references were esoteric. In fact, I had to hide my true research from the university, under the guise of reclassifying “ritualistic” items. The irony did not escape me. I was actually looking to access a “ritualistic” item that was classified as mundane.

Legends spoke of a god of flesh. One that manipulates the body as one would manipulate clay. Its name has long since been lost to time, but there are echoes of his work in the myths of old. We often hear of a creator god shaping man from the earth, of half-human hybrids and giants and other such peculiarities. Glimpses of this god of flesh. I had only read into such a figure from a blog by happenstance. A miracle of probability.

I eyed the needle, now in my hand. It was unassuming but carried a supernatural weight to it, like the weight of time immemorial. I grinned, practically moaned as I pricked my finger with the needle.

I expected some sort of magical fanfare, maybe a gust of wind but found none. I stared at my hands and then I noticed it. My hands. My flesh. I could feel all of it. I stared intently as I pinched the skin above my finger, I willed the pleat to hold its shape and smiled. I was ready.

- - - -

I thought through the myths, now partial realities in my head. Though I felt myself brim with power, I knew the drawbacks- there had to be a reason the myths had not made it to present day. The answer appeared in my head. There is only so much one man can do, and being giftedoften made one a target. A word echoed in my head. “Protection”. That did seem to match my records. Humans of old would change their flesh to be stronger, more resilient, adapting to every circumstance thrown at them. But the weakness persisted. One prick to channel the same power as the god of flesh, and another prick locks you from that power again. I smiled to myself. I just needed to get… creative.

Joey Cooper was well-known around the college. A fifth year senior majoring in Sport Science. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he always meant well. He had an air of confidence to him that often aided his statuesque form. Despite this, something else drew my interest even further. His unattainability. The man was often called by his nickname “old faithful,” having been in a relationship with his girlfriend Britney for as long as any can remember. Guys and girls from all walks of life have tried to tempt “Juicy Joe” (A nickname he wasn’t aware of). None of have succeeded.

And then there was Charlie Cooper, his younger brother, a freshman with the face of an angel. He had unattainability in a different sense. Kind eyes and gentle curly locks framed a face that often wore a worried expression. Unlike his brother, he was timid, and a bit reserved. He had a lack of confidence that seemed to be a hindrance to his social life. Charlie would often shied away from conversation, despite others regularly visiting his dorm. Charlie roomed with Joey in the school dorms, a rarity for this campus. I overheard a conversation with Charlie once on this oddity. Beneath his unintelligible mumbling he mentioned something about being “faithful to Brit” and getting Charlie “out of his shell”.

I bit my lip thinking about the prospects.

— - - - - -

“Oh hey Joey!” I waved casually as I approached a Joey returning to his dorm room, face flush and covered in a sheen. He must have just come from the gym. He was consistent with his workouts, so it was no surprise he would still be in campus after finals to get one last pump in.

“Hey dude! Uh, sorry I don’t remember names to well”. He replied back in a friendly manner. I shook my head at that.

“No need to apologize. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.” He looked back at me expectantly, hand outstretched to greet. I shook it as I continued. “My name’s gonna be Joey too”. He nodded and smiled politely but the man’s face couldn’t hide his visible confusion.

I clung onto the lack of rejection on Joey’s part as an invitation for myself. As he continued into his room, I followed, allowing the door to close behind us. The silence from the near empty dorm was deafening. He turned around, again making a polite smile. “Uh hey again… Joey… can I help you?”

I dropped all pretense, rushing to his bed and taking a whiff. “Fuck dude, you smell so hot”. Everything in the room carried a small sample of his scent. Like a gentle sweaty musk overlaid with his detergent. I looked to the sweaty Joey, inching closer and taking a whiff of his fresh personal scent. Divine. I felt my jaw unlock in a small moan. His post workout scent was like a concentrate of the pleasant musk I smelled before. Like raw testosterone and shallow breaths, and a hint of earthiness that exuded power. Juicy Joe. I was drunk on the scent, mind transfixed, until I caught him staring. He was starting to get upset.

“Hey bro, you should probably lea-“ He froze as he saw me extend a nerve out of my hand, like a red root outstretched into the air. “The fuck?”

He began stepping back but as soon as my nerve landed on his arm, he struggled back into stillness. I smiled in euphoria as I felt every individual root of my vein burrow into his skin and connect with his. Checkmate. He watched as more and more of my nerve rooted into his flesh, screaming as he felt the violation to his sense of touch.

“No one can hear you bro, it’s after finals, remember?” I twirled the needle in front of him before setting it on the table. “Can’t have you taking a shower and removing your natural cologne”. Joey was still frozen as he saw me begin to undress. Juicy Joe had a body brimming with power, and I knew it would burst at any moment. I took care as I undressed, rooting and unrooting my nerves, and making sure to always keep at least one red thread of control on him at all times.

Joey glared as he saw me finish placing my clothes in a neat pile on the floor. “Your turn”.

“What the fuck dude!? What makes you think-“ He was cut off as the red strings bridging our flesh began to writhe. In turn, he felt his meaty arms begin to move, and pull down his compression shorts. The feeling was altogether unfamiliar, as he felt his own flesh betray him and move to my will. I willed him to hand me the soaked shorts. Even with the power of the god of flesh on my side, I could feel Joey struggling for control through sheer willpower alone. I laughed a little in my head. There are other ways to break a man.

I brought his heavenly scented shorts up to my face, gorging myself on the potent raw musk of man. Like a pungent blast of earth and humidity and testosterone. A Joey-concentrate. I could practically feel the potency of it clawing at my nostrils. A sweat-laden Joey reeked in the best way. I must have been lost in pleasure, because my eyes refocused to his pleading face. “P-please man, just stop whatever this is. What do you want?”

I laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s you. I want you. Every part of you.”

A few more nerves shot from my legs, and directly into his. With some new tethers in place, I pulled the threads connecting my arms to his, and quickly slipped under his sweaty workout shirt. I clung to his muscled chest for dear life. ‘Bless these stretchy workout shirts,’ I thought to myself. I felt along the ridges of his spine, across his shoulders which screamed power, and with my hands, I greedily caressed the flesh previously only touched by Britney. I gripped our embrace tighter. Joey was screaming and writhing, soaking the shirt further and my body in his struggle. I moaned as he screamed, as every turn and twist his body made also pushed my chest closer to his, confined by his own workout shirt. I sighed dreamily as his struggle compressed us closer together.

With the power of the needle, I made myself much more malleable and began to slip my arms to into the arm sleeves of his shirt. I spiraled them across his meaty biceps, possessively claiming every square inch of his flesh as my own. I did the same with my legs, wanting to bind us further.

The sight must have been bizarre- two men, naked from the waist down, both in the same sweaty workout shirt. And the smaller man, stretching and wrapping his arms and legs over the other.

“Now for some real fun” I stated, as I shot out as many of my nerves into him as I could. He screamed at the sensory assault as he fell unconscious. I merely continued rooting into him, relishing in being able to feel every inch of Mr. Unattainable. I slowly stumbled our bodies toward his mirror, making sure to have him grab his own phone.

= = = = =

When Joey came to, he saw my head hanging to the side in front of his, and his body enveloped by mine. He panicked when he saw more threads from my face rooted into his neck and mouth. “Fuck Joey, I can feel how strong your lungs are. Even your breaths feel like a top jock” I moaned.

Like raindrops, I felt his tears stream down his cheek and onto my face. “L-Let me go man. Look I’m sorry for whatever I did to you. I swear I don’t remember doing anything.”

I laughed callously. “No need to apologize, bro. You haven’t done anything to me. I just want you all to my own.” I brought his phone up to his face so he could see the name on the call screen. Britney.

“Babe?” She answered. “What’s up?”

“H-HEL-“ He tried to holler. Instead, his neck swelled and throat strained as he my red thread began to writhe.

“Joey? Is everything all right?” She asked in a worried tone.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Joey’s mouth laughed, while his eyes showed fear. I continued to use him as my mouth piece. “You’re so boring, Brit. Just called to tell you it’s over.” Tears began to well in his eyes. I could practically hear the tears in Brit’s eyes over the phone.

“Joey… I. Is something wrong? You never call me Brit. I told you how my dad used to…” She trailed, trying to rationalize the situation.

I continued the puppet show as Joey’s eyes continued pleading with me. “Nothing’s wrong, Babe. In fact, it’s finally all right over here.” He stated with a smile. Joey’s eyes winced at the venom spewing from his mouth.

Joey grunted as he tried to stop his free hand from fondling my ass. “Do you know how many girls and guys wanted in these pants, Brit? Do you know how hard is to always turn someone down. They all want a piece of Juicy Joe.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess you mentioned it once…” She sniffled. “But I thought we were fine” said a choked up Britney.

“Fuck no this isn’t fine. Look at me. I’m a fucking bull.” Joey was forced to say, while sticking his tongue out. I briefly stopped his hand from groping my cheek to force it into a biceps flex. He tried to squirm his head away but was ultimately forced to lick it and moan. I huffed and whispered in his ear. “I bet you taste fucking salty, Joey.”

“Babe, what’s wrong? You never talk about your body that-“

“Brit, just shut the fuck up”. That seemed to shut her up. “Always fucking whining too…” I made Joey huff. The upper half of his head was sobbing now. I forced his free hand back over my ass, and used his other hand to set the call to speaker. “It’s over”.

Joey dropped the phone on the table- still mid call, as I willed his other hand to cup my other cheek. Squeeze. “Fffuuuuck” I moaned. “You’re fucking mine, Joe.” Like his musculature, I commanded my cock into a malleable state, snaking over his, encircling it like a fleshy sleeve. Then, all at once, my red threads of control stirred, as Joey fucked his thick jock dick into my makeshift cocksleeve. “I’m fucking yours”. I made him say. My eyes fluttered in drunken bliss.

“Joey- who is that?”

I felt his head struggle as he tried to stop his body from growing hard. At this, I made sure he had full control of his cock. His plump ass cheeks tightened as his body was forced to thrust into me. I saw him wince, but we both felt the change. Even without me controlling it, his cock stirred to life.

I willed my flesh puppet to answer. “Oh, him? I’ve been fucking him during this call, Brit. That’s how boring you are. Stupid too- we’ve been fucking for months and you never noticed” I make him say it to his reflection as well, topping it with a sleazy grin he never wore. I also made a point to moan, to force him to thrust his hardening dick into me in loud, boisterous grunts. “Fuck. Brit. You. Never. Felt. This. Good”. I make him gasp in between breaths.

“So you’re fucking him, right now?” She asked, now turning to anger.

“Mmph… YES” I let him shout, as I tightened my fleshy trap around his engorged dick and milk his seed dry. To add to the injury, I released control of his mouth at the same time, so in that moment, he felt himself scream bloody pleasure and coat my flesh in his juices.

“YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD TO ME,” Britney shouts, before hanging up.

Perhaps it was due to the pleasure, or the bombardment of his senses, or the sheer perversion of the situation, but Joey’s eyes rolled back to its whites and his head slumped into my shoulder.

I basked in the moment, coated in the sweat and baby batter of Mr. Unattainable. Breathing in sync with his unconscious form. With his head still slung forward, I willed his upright form to give my ass another squeeze. “Take me, bro. I’m your fucking meat puppet. Feel me. Use me. These muscles, this body. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.” I make Joey say. Mr. Unattainable wholly mine.

I kept him upright, facing the mirror without a care for how sore his post-workout body already was. I made sure he stirred awake, to still see himself playing and groping my fleshy form, bonded together supernaturally by the god of meat. He sobbed silently at our union.

With Joey whimpering and broken, I began to retreat into my original form, letting his arms and legs and chest free. All that connected our two naked bodies now was just a single thread of red. But just one thread was all I seemed to need. I no longer felt resistance from his body, as his sullen face just looked to me with defeat.

I made him reiterate my will. “I’m all yours,” Joey mumbles. I puppetted him to close the distance, and pull my back towards his abs. Joey did not resist as body grinded into mine. He clumsily grabbed my head for a sloppy kiss. And once again, I tasted and experienced something only Brit previously had. His tears smeared into my cheek as I started making him kiss me. My eyes fluttered closed as I was in ecstasy. True pleasure. His lips slowly pried mine open, then the tip of his tongue touching mine. In our deranged intimacy, I savored the taste of Joey’s mouth and of his tongue now forced mine. I didn’t want this to end. Joey’s body pulled back from the kiss and began groping itself, repeating his new mantra. “I’m all yours.”

Still repeating his mantra, my eyes locked with his, before he grabbed the needle from the desk and pricked his hand with it. In that instant, I heard the door unlock.

What were the chances? Another miracle of probability. There was a single late final on campus, for an upper div class that freshmen rarely took. And yet, it seemed there was one freshman that did happen to take such a class.

Just my luck.

Charlie.

= = = = =

A two-parter. Could not for the life of me get usable photos of “Joey” in a compression shirt, so you’re gonna have to use a little imagination for that one haha.

#male puppet #male corruption

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grandeoatmilklatte · 3 months

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Catching Up 💍 (Ominis x F!MC Arranged Marriage)

This was a fic request by my darling friend @myrachondria ! Hope you enjoy it baby girl! ❤️

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, 18+ || Characters are over 18 || loss of v || oral || p in v || fingering || a very brief description of a noncon kiss that quickly becomes consensual! ||

Catching Up - Ominis Gaunt x F!MC Arranged Marriage || 3k words

Ominis Gaunt was never grateful to be born blind, but he did take advantage of his disability in this moment, as his cold, shaky hands took hold of his bride’s hands. He was glad he didn’t have to look her in the eyes as he listened to the officiant speak about how beautiful marriage was. The irony of this moment wasn’t lost on Ominis, as there was a time where he actually dreamt of this moment; but Ominis hadn’t had this dream in years.

Ominis’s bride; however, was born with sight, and thus tried her best to look at anything other than the man standing in front of her. She cursed the gods for playing this cruel joke on her - making her dreams come true, three years after she had given up on them altogether.

What once was a beautiful friendship that danced on the cusp of romance, was now a faded memory shared between two enemies.

They had been best friends since childhood, their wealthy families being very close. Although they were in different friend groups while at school, they still found time for each other. Eventually, they both found themselves fancying one another, these feelings reaching their peak in fifth year.

Fifth year was going to be different, she had told herself. Fifth year was going to be the year she confessed her feelings for Ominis. Unbeknownst to her, Ominis was also hyping himself up to confess his own feelings, his friend Sebastian encouraging it.

But those confessions never came. They were doomed the moment the new fifth year showed up. The dissolvement of the friendship started with Ominis beginning to overreact and lash out at the slightest inconvenience. When she pressed Ominis about this, he always claimed to be on edge because of Sebastian, but never went into details as to why Sebastian had upset him. This was out of the ordinary for Ominis, since he had always been one to tell his best friend everything. This unusual behavior eventually morphed into Ominis ignoring his best friend all together, as well as her constantly stumbling into the boys in the middle of a screaming match in the Undercroft.

Despite the growing distance between them, she was still hopeful a confession of her feelings would turn their situation around. It was the evening of Valentine’s Day, and she was on her way to the Undercroft. She was hoping to surprise the boy, a heart-shaped box full of his favorite sweets in her hand. Her hope was immediately destroyed when she found Ominis and the new fifth year standing in front of the door to The Undercroft, warped in an embrace.

“What is the meaning of this?” She shouted, which caused Ominis and the new student to pull away from each other. She could see that Ominis’s eyes seemed wet, but paid no mind to this.

“No wonder you’ve been so distant, Ominis, you’ve been too busy cozying up to the new girl!” She wanted to say more, but she stopped herself as she felt tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She threw the box of sweets on the floor as she left, ignoring the cries of “Wait, I can explain”, “We’re just friends” and “I love you”.

Ominis spent the remainder of the school year trying to make amends, but to no avail. The summer break brought with it various letters from Ominis, none of which the girl responded to, and only one of which she opened. In a sloppy script written by an enchanted quill, the first words on the parchment were “I’m sorry”. She refused to read any further, because there was nothing Ominis could say. The damage was done.

With sixth year came more aggressive attempts at contact, with Ominis frequently leaving her gifts in front of her room - bouquets of red roses, sweets, jewelry - all of which she’d refuse.

Their seventh and final year brought complete silence. Ominis had finally accepted that he lost the girl he loved. Graduation came and went, and they both worked to forget the love they once had for each other.

Their commitment to forgetting was interrupted one day, shortly after the girl’s 18th birthday, when she was dragged to the Gaunt home by her parents, where they and Ominis’s parents informed the former friends that they were to be married. No amount of protest changed their parents’s minds. And now here they were, being forced to spend the rest of their lives together in a loveless marriage.

The bride was ripped out of her thoughts when the officiant spoke directly to her, asking her the question she dreaded answering.

“I do.” she said through gritted teeth as her eyes bore into Ominis. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she hoped he could feel the anger in her stare.

“I do.” Ominis muttered when asked the same question. He swore he could feel her eyes digging into him as he said it.

With the declaration that they were now wed, Ominis hesitantly cupped his new wife’s face in his hands, bringing their lips together in a kiss, an expectation they were required to fulfill. Her mind short-circuited as Ominis kissed her. She used to spend so much time dreaming of their first kiss, and despite how much she hated him, this moment was better than she ever dreamed. Ominis too found himself lost in the way their lips moved against each other. As she felt Ominis begin to pull away, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him back in. They savored each other’s lips for another few seconds before they both pulled away, fearful that this would unearth feelings they worked so hard to bury.

–

As Ominis sat down to dinner, his new wife right beside him, he couldn’t help the audible sigh he let out, though he hoped their guests were too intoxicated to notice. He hadn’t had a moment to process his feelings since their nuptials. Neither of them had, as the couple was immediately forced to pretend they were happy and in love in front of their families.

But despite the truth of their predicament, Ominis couldn’t help but linger on their kiss. While everything about this day was completely fake, the kiss felt real. Ominis felt conflicted, wanting it to have been real desperately, while also not wanting to resurrect those old feelings. Next to him, his wife was grappling with the same conflicting feelings. She longed to feel Ominis’s lips again, preferably on more than just her own lips. Forcing herself to remember the hurt Ominis put her through, she pushed the thought out of her mind.

–

As Gaunt manor emptied out and the evening came to a close, she was once again met with the same conflicting feelings. She knew that after the wedding day came the wedding night, and she knew what was expected of her. Part of her was repulsed by the idea, angry at the expectation that she was supposed to just lay back and let him strip her of her innocence. But the more she thought of the act, the more she desired it. Her mind betrayed her as it produced lewd images of what his body might look like and how he’d feel inside of her.

“My dear. It’s nearly and we’ve had a long day. We should get to bed.” came the soft voice of her husband from beside her as he held his hand out to her, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She began to walk ahead of Ominis, refusing his hand and ignoring the inappropriate thoughts that still danced in her mind. They found their bedroom on the other side of the manor, both of their hearts racing as Ominis locked the door behind them.

Several minutes of painful silence passed as Ominis stood awkwardly by the door, eyes directed towards the floor, while his wife stood by the bed. Her eyes took in the sight of the bed - canopied and king-sized with emerald green satin bed sheets and red rose petals haphazardly sprinkled on top. She let out a sigh before she began to undress, removing her shoes, followed by her veil, and then moving towards the buttons of her dress.

“Are you undressing?” Ominis asked, his tone laced with nervousness.

“Well I have to, don’t I!? How else are we supposed to consummate this ridiculous marriage if I don’t!? You should do the same, so we can just get this over with!”

“You don’t have to.” Ominis spoke softly, his heart stinging at the harshness of her words. Despite how distant they had gotten over the years, Ominis had always hoped that maybe, just maybe she still felt something for him. Her words were a cruel reminder that she did not. “We don’t have to do this. I would never force you to do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The words felt like a knife through her chest. The restraint she had maintained all this time had finally been broken.

“You don’t want to hurt me!?” she scoffed. “Oh darling, you already have hurt me! You hurt me the day you replaced me with that new girl! Shame you didn’t marry her instead!”

She watched as Ominis’s expression changed from sadness to anger. He began to yell, something she had heard him do to Sebastian before, but never her.

“I NEVER loved her! It was you who I loved! It was always you! She never loved me either! She loved Sebastian! The reason we spent so much time together was because she was helping me deal with Sebastian. You have no idea what he was like in fifth year! He did terrible things! I was losing my second closest friend and it was unbearable!”

She stared at Ominis, and dumbfounded expression on her face as she absorbed his words. He loved her. He wasn’t in love with that new girl. He was distant and cold because of Sebastian. She had heard rumors in her sixth and seventh year that Sebastian may have had something to do with his uncle’s death, possibly being the one who committed the act. But she never knew for sure. Now everything made sense.

“I…I had no idea…” was all she could muster as her eyes went to the floor. A feeling of guilt rose up her throat like vomit.

“Of course you had no idea! You never let me explain myself!” Ominis shouted.

Her cheeks were wet from the tears that were running down her face. She struggled to form a sentence. “I..I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”

A soft sigh made her pick her eyes up from the floor. Ominis’s face had softened into a solemn expression, and his eyes were starting to water.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t open up to you the way I should have. I was just scared to involve you in Sebastian’s issues. I didn’t want him to hurt you as well. I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt, but in doing so I hurt you anyway. I didn’t mean to push you away, I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Ominis let out a soft gasp as he felt his body be pulled against hers as her arms wrapped around his neck. She was hugging him. The most physical touch they had in years. Ominis couldn’t control the movement of his arms as they wrapped around her waist.. They held each other for several minutes, too engrossed in the feeling of each other to want to let go. All of the feelings they had locked away began to flood back to them.

“I love you.” He whispered against her neck. “I loved you in fifth year. I still loved you when you shut me out, and I love you now. It’s okay if you don’t love me, I don’t deserve it, but now that we’re married, I hope you’ll give me a chance to at least make this marriage bearable for you. I promise I-...”

Ominis was unable to finish his sentence as he felt her lips press against his. He kissed her back, with much more fervor than he had earlier. With his hands still on her waist, his fingers grazed the buttons of her dress, fighting the urge to undo them. The fight was short lived however, when his new wife’s hands moved to his chest as she began undoing his tie, followed by the buttons on his shirt.

Ominis felt like he couldn’t breathe as his hands came back to her waist, now completely bare. He followed her lead as she walked backwards towards the bed, leaning back on to it and pulling him with her so that he was above her. Ominis brought his lips down, landing on her collarbone instead of her neck. He didn’t mind the error, eager to kiss every inch of her body. His lips lingered on her collarbone for a moment before he brought them upwards. He sucked and nipped the skin on her neck, hoping that he was leaving a mark, before bringing his mouth back to her collarbone, and then down her chest to her breasts. His hand cupped one breast as his mouth latched on to the other, his fingers and tongue playing with her nipples simultaneously. Her soft moans serving as an approval of his actions. He switched positions of his mouth and hand, making sure both of her breasts received the love they deserved, before continuing his exploration, his lips moving down her stomach creating a trail of kisses as her hips slowly bucked upwards.

Ominis continued downward, pausing just above her center. He could hear her breathing speed up, the sound making his cock leak with need. He took a deep breath before bringing his mouth down, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking.

The sounds that fell from her lips were heavenly, making Ominis grateful he wasn’t missing his sense of hearing instead. Eager to draw out more heavenly sounds from her, Ominis continued, his lips and tongue sucking and licking her clit as his index finger slipped easily inside of her. After a few pumps of his finger in and out of her, he added a second finger. When her legs came up to rest on his back and her fingers came down into Ominis’s hair, he knew she was close, and he took this as a sign that he should work her harder, which he did willingly, resulting in several more desperate cries from his beautiful wife.

With one final moan of his name, she reached her climax. Ominis took another moment to be grateful he wasn’t missing his sense of taste either as his tongue lapped up every drop she gave him. He moaned against her as he tasted her, and wanted to taste her forever.

When he had finished, Ominis’s lips moved back up her body, leaving a path of wet kisses until he reached her mouth. He kissed her passionately as his painfully hard cock bumped against her. She sat up slightly, reaching a hand between their bodies to gently squeeze his cock and rub his tip against her entrance, a desperate moan falling from her lips as she did so. His hand replaced hers as he pushed his tip against her wet entrance. He waited for her confirmation before proceeding, which came in the form of a simple sentence.

“I love you, Ominis.”

He slid inside of her, slowly, but deeply, not stopping until his hips were flush with hers. Ominis took a moment to let both her and himself adjust to the new feeling, asking if she was okay before he continued. When she gave him a breathless yes, he slowly pulled himself almost entirely out of her before he pushed back in, just as deeply as the first time, but with a bit more force.

“Does it hurt? Please tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” He whispered.

“No. It doesn’t hurt. I promise. Please keep going.” she moaned.

Ominis, eager to please his new wife, did exactly what she asked. What started off as slow movements quickly became hard and fast thrusts into her, a symphony of moans from both of their lips bouncing off the bedroom walls. Her second climax came quickly with another whimper of Ominis’s name. Feeling her release around his cock rapidly pushed Ominis towards the edge, with him falling off completely a few moments later. Ominis let out a desperate cry of her name as he fell off the edge, stopping his movements and spilling his release into her.

As his cock throbbed within her, he reflected on how grateful he was to be married to the beautiful woman beneath him. The girl he loved, that he was convinced he had lost, was now his, body and soul. This marriage wasn’t going to be an unhappy one, as he had feared. It wasn’t going to be a marriage forced into existence by his family. Although this marriage had been arranged by their parents, this was going to be a marriage that would be full of love and respect. Ominis made a vow to himself to never hurt her again, and to love her until his last breath.

Once Ominis had come down from his high, he gently pulled himself out of her, collapsing on the bed next to her. After several minutes of laying next to each other in pure bliss, the newlyweds cuddled under a blanket, their limbs intertwined. Ominis’s wife ran her hand down her husband’s cheek before speaking.

“I can’t believe we’ve been given a second chance, but I’m so grateful for it, and I won’t waste any second of our time together. I promise to love you with every piece of me, for the rest of my life. I love you, my darling husband.” The word “husband” felt different on her tongue. Earlier she dreaded the word, but now, she couldn’t wait to use it every chance she got.

Ominis smiled as his hand held her hand, still stroking his cheek. “I love you too, my darling wife. Now, we should get some sleep. After all, we need to be up early tomorrow.”

“We do? What for?”

Ominis chuckled. “We missed out on quite a bit of time together my dear, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

She planted one last kiss on his lips before she rested her head on his chest, the lovers quickly falling asleep.

—

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt smut

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romanoffsdarling · 7 months

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Summertime Sadness

Pairing: Dom!Wanda Maximoff x MILF!Reader

Summary: You hadn’t expected the summer after your divorce to be anything more than you simply getting used to being alone and drowning your sorrows in glasses of wine. The sudden homecoming of your daughter brings those plans to a screeching halt, but nothing could have prepared you for the woman that she brought along. Her best friend, the woman you’ve been hearing about in all of her phone calls home, offering you a glimpse into parts of yourself you never even knew were there.

Word Count: 4,891

Warnings: Legal age gap, oral (R receiving), fingering (R receiving), and hints of possessiveness. 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I’ve seen a lot of stories with Wanda being the MILF, rightfully so, but I wanted to spin it a bit and make the Reader the MILF in this instance. Hope you all enjoy! (Also, I’m so sorry for disappearing for so long, college has been absolute hell.)

You never truly comprehend how much time you waste, how much had truly slipped through your fingers, until it’s already too late to do anything about it. Until you look into the mirror and see the once youthful face marred by faint wrinkles, a sign of wisdom your best friend would tease, and hair speckled with the vaguest hint of grey.

Twenty-five years... You had been married to your husband for twenty-five years; giving him your youth, giving him your heart and soul, and you never once imagined that he would have tossed all of that away for some floozy at his law firm. Never thought that you’d look down at your left hand and not see the delicate gold band situated on your ring finger. Of course, even now, you didn’t regret marrying him-- for it had given you the house you lived in now, the friends that had flocked to your side when the news of his infidelity spread through the neighborhood, and it gave you your darling daughter. Even if she was not yours by blood, you couldn’t imagine anyone housing the same space in your heart like your beautiful Natasha did.

All you did regret was being stupid enough to trust him so much. For putting your faith, and your dreams, in his clearly incapable hands. It had hurt, and still does hurt, but it wasn’t because you had lost him-- your marriage, in truth, had been dead for years-- but for all the time you had lost in chasing smoke and mirrors; in staying for something that should have been let go of long ago. You hated him for what he did, for getting caught with his pants down in between his secretary’s thighs, but you hated him even more for not being man enough to simply let you go, to give up the fight when it had already been lost after his first thirty seconds with his new whore, and it’s for that reason that you were currently scrubbing every inch of his old office clean.

You wanted to get rid of any reminder of him-- both in your home and in your mind.

The smell of bleach and lemon disinfectant surrounds you, but you had long grown used to the cloying scent. Dark oak floors, and the matching desk, gleamed underneath the antique lighting of the room; it had been a long time since they had been given the proper care they needed. It seems that I have more in common with inanimate objects that I thought, you muse, a sense of bittersweet irony strewn within the thought.

Settling back on your haunches, a sigh escapes your lips, and you roll your shoulders, wanting to relieve the tension that had been slowly building up for the past couple of hours. “I’m not getting any younger,” you mutter, tossing the damp rag to the side. “I just hope everything will get a bit easier.”

Even to yourself you knew that was asking for a miracle.

Before you could delve down into that specific line of thought, you faintly hear the sound of the front door being opened and the familiar sound of jangling keys with the slightly deadpan calling of ‘mom’ permeates the usual silence. The sound, although not unwelcome in the slightest, causes a small frown to furrow your brow all the same.

“Natasha?” You call back, already making your way towards the living room, sure that your confusion rung clearly within your tone. An expression that only grows that much more pronounced when you’re met with the shimmering gaze of your daughter; tousled red hair cut short, falling to just above her shoulders, and her usual penchant of wearing darker colors being tantamount. “What are you doing home, sweetheart? I wasn’t expecting you for another month.”

Her lips twist in a wry smile. “Are you not happy to see me, mother?” She tilts her head, faux hurt making an appearance. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

You gently swat her arm, before pulling her into a tight hug. “Of course, I’m happy to see you, Natasha,” you murmur, your lips briefly brush across her cheek before you disentangle from her completely. “I just know how you value your independence too.”

“I knew that you were alone in the house, mom,” she replies, a shrug calmly following her words. “I didn’t want you to wallow in self-pity while that fucker I call a father gets his rocks off with someone half his age across town.”

“Language, Natasha,” you gently chide, well aware your daughter was in her early twenties now and didn’t need to be reprimanded for it. “You know that your father still loves you dearly, and I believe he’s excited to see you whenever you get around to going to his new house.”

Jade eyes roll so hard you’re almost concerned about them getting stuck. “He should have thought about that before he stuck his tongue down someone else’s throat.” Natasha’s lips press into a line, clearly agitated, but she takes a deep breath through her nose and forcibly calms herself down. “But I’m not here to talk about him. I’m here to spend time with you.”

Sudden movement from behind Natasha causes your reply to catch in your throat when you finally focus on the woman standing behind your daughter. Whose presence you were completely astonished you hadn’t noticed before, especially given how electrifying it felt to have her emerald eyes honed directly on you, but your gentle smile doesn’t fall away; even if you do feel it twitch slightly due to your surprise. Your hand, that was near enough to your daughter’s forearm, clenches around it in a silent reprimand, but you try your best to keep the pleasant tone to your voice.

“I see that my daughter didn’t think it best to introduce her guest first.” You gently pinch Natasha once before stepping closer to the unknown woman in your home. “I apologize for not noticing you sooner.”

The woman smirks, the light emerald of her eyes shifting to tantalizing jade as she observes you. “It’s quite alright,” she replies, her voice a husky whisper that’s enveloped in an accent you couldn’t pinpoint the origin of. “I’m not surprised that Nat was too focused on her mother to remember me.”

Subtext is etched into every inch of that statement, but you didn’t have time to even try to sift through it before your daughter’s teasing voice cuts through.

“It’s not my fault my mother is more interesting than you, Wanda.” She slides past you to stand beside the now smiling woman. “You just need to learn to get on her level.”

Wanda’s gaze shifts from your daughter to you once more-- the barest hint of her earlier smirk returning. “I don’t know, Nat,” she teases, amusement, mixed with something else you couldn’t put a name to, laced within her words. “I think I quite like my view from where I’m at.”

Your daughter, once again, rolls her eyes skyward but her easygoing smile doesn’t leave her lips. “Mom.” She turns back to you and gestures towards Wanda. “This is Wanda Maximoff, I’ve talked about her a bit when I’ve called home.”

The name finally clicks into place within your head. Memories of your daughter’s exasperated voice, filled with hints of fondness, come forth from the recesses of your mind. All of the stories, all of the thinly veiled jokes, that your daughter had shared with you, and the clear warmth that she felt for the other woman, brings a fond smile to your lips. An expression that causes various emotions to flicker across Wanda’s face for the briefest of moments before it smooths over.

“So, you’re the one my daughter kept talking about?” You couldn’t keep the genuine amusement out of your tone if you tried. “Her best friend?”

Wanda arches a brow. “I’m your best friend, Nat?” She playfully places her hands to her heart. “I’m honored that you think so highly of me.”

You can tell your daughter just barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Not even bothering to deign Wanda’s teasing words with a response, Natasha turns back to you. “Can we go put our things away, mom?” She rolls her shoulders, and, for the first time, you notice how tired she looked. Of course, it was over a four-hour drive from your house in Westview to her college in Ithaca.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you soothed. “I’m just going to finish up some work down here and then I’ll get started on dinner, okay?”

Natasha smiles. “You’re the best, mom.”

Your heart flutters at her words, a simple compliment to most, but one that you’ve desperately needed in the last few months. Knowing that you may start crying at any moment if you tried to speak, you wave your daughter towards the stairs and step back towards the hallway to continue your work in the office. But, before you could a throat clearing behind you causes you to turn back around-- only to be met by beautiful emerald eyes that seemed to encompass you in a bubble you didn’t know if you wanted to escape from.

“Is everything alright, Wanda?” Your gaze quickly flicks over her body: from the black skinny jeans with holes, to the simple red leather jacket, and the casually tousled way her dark auburn hair fell over her shoulders. “Did you need something?”

Pale pink lips quirk for a moment, before a genuine look of something passes over Wanda’s face once more. “I don’t need anything.” She shakes her head, a low chuckle escapes her, but you weren’t quite sure what was so funny. “I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay here with Natasha. Especially since it was clear you didn’t know I was coming in the first place.”

“It’s not a problem, Wanda,” you reply, a smile of your own playing across your lips. “I’m glad that I won’t be alone in this house for however long you both decide to stay. It definitely beats what I was going to do.”

“What were you going to do?”

You shrug. “Just wallow around and get drunk off of some wine.”

Wanda considers you for a moment, emerald eyes cast in shadow. “I’m not so sure about the wallowing, but I’d love to have a glass of wine with you sometime.”

“Oh.” You’re surprised by the simplicity in which Wanda makes the offer. None of Natasha’s previous friends, or best friends, had ever bothered, or seemed that keen, to spend time with you. Not that you’d ever fault them for doing so. Who would want to spend time with the parents of their best friend? “I’m sure you’ll have much more interesting things to do, Wanda.”

A smile, much softer than the one’s she had shown you before, plays at the corners of her lips. “I’m not so sure about that, but the offer still stands regardless.” She looks over her shoulder when the call of her name from Natasha’s room spears through the house, an almost disgruntled look etching itself across her face because of it. “I think it’ll be fun to get to know the woman that raised Nat. Her stories of you haven’t done you justice in the slightest.”

You’re not able to reply before Natasha’s annoyed voice from the upper-level calls Wanda towards the stairs, clearly impatient with how long her friend was taking. Conversation over then, you think, taking a small step back, towards the direction of the kitchen. The action elicits the smallest of frowns from Wanda, an expression that is there and gone before you could even blink, and you offer her one last wave before heading further into your house, vaguely aware that you didn’t hear the telltale signs of footsteps on your stairs until you rounded the corner.

The following week passes quickly, and you easily grow used to having Natasha back home-- Wanda slipping in seamlessly throughout it all. It was nice to have some company in the large house, even if Natasha did tend to disappear to reconnect with friends she had left behind once she went off to New York and left Westview behind, but knowing that your daughter was there, and would continue to be, if you needed her soothed you in a way that you hadn’t even known you needed.

Wanda, despite Natasha’s persistent pestering, seemed to enjoy spending her time lounging around the house, citing that she didn’t know anyone in Westview and didn’t plan on getting chummy with the locals, offering her help whenever she saw you doing something, with an ever present look in her eyes that you still couldn’t place. Although you didn’t exactly mind spending time with the younger woman, her perception of the world was enlightening, along with your shared interests in various topics that had never seem to intrigue anyone else except you-- until now, of course.

You could feel yourself getting close to her, closer than you’ve allowed yourself to be in a long time. Not since college, you muse, taking a small sip of the chilled wine that Wanda had just brought you. Finally deciding, with Natasha going out for friend’s birthday party, that it’d the perfect time to finally share that glass of wine. You didn’t bother trying to argue with her, not when she looked so earnest in her request.

Wanda settles next to you, causing you to shift your position, pressing your back into the arm rest, in order to be able to look at her. Emerald eyes were glued onto you, a smile playing on the edges of her lips, before she shifts into a comfortable position of her own.

“So,” you begin, setting down your wine on the coffee table. “What are you planning on doing once you graduate college? Any idea on where you’d like to end up?”

“I’ve always loved the idea of being a Producer, being the magic behind the scenes if you will,” Wanda replies, a charming grin catching her lips. “And, yes, I do believe there’s a place that’s caught my eye on where I’d like to end up.”

You arch a brow. “Really?”

Wanda simply hums in response, a spark of mischief dancing within her gaze-- a look that you had long since grown used to. It’s clear that she wasn’t going to answer you, not that you truly expected her to, after all what college kid has plans on where they’d like to end up? Ideas, perhaps, but nothing concrete as most go where the wind takes them.

“Well,” you continue, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “I’m glad that you have everything figured out. I definitely envy you for that?”

The younger woman’s brow furrows at that, bottom lip disappearing behind pearly white teeth. “Why do you say that?” Emerald eyes flit over the immaculate expanse of your house, one that you had strived hard to maintain through the years. “I think you’re definitely a few steps ahead of me in that department.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You wave the pseudo-compliment away. “All of what I have isn’t what I originally dreamed of, or wished for, myself, but when certain cards are laid out in front of you.” Trailing off, you run a singular look over the now empty expanse of your ring finger. “You either fold or raise, I wasn’t willing to do the latter. Not when it had so many other consequences attached to it.”

“What would you wish for then?”

You shift your focus back to Wanda, confusion etched across your face. “What?”

She waves a hand. “You said that all of this isn’t what you originally wished for yourself.” Wanda shrugs. “What is then? What would you wish for?”

“I wish I could find someone that’d treat me in the way he never did, that’d show me what love truly is, and make me forget about all that he’s put me through,” you sigh, taking another sip of your wine. “Of course, with my age, I don’t think that’s really in the cards for me anymore.”

Wanda scoffs. “I don’t think that’s true. I think there are quite a few people that’d love to be with you.”

Something tells you, maybe some deeper part, a more sensible part, of your brain, that you shouldn’t continue forward with this conversation, that you should take her words as the compliment they are, but another, more needy part of your brain, one that desperately needs to feel some form of validation after so long, doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Rolling your shoulders, you level Wanda with a look. “Really?” She hums in confirmation. “And who might those people be?”

“Me.”

If it wasn’t for your back being wedged against the armrest of your catch, you’re fairly certain you would have reared back completely at the calm nonchalance in which she gave you the answer. “Y-You can’t be serious Wanda.” You shake your head, not believing at all what you were hearing. “I’m over a decade older than you.”

She tilts her head. “So?” A salacious smirk tugs her lips upward. “I think that makes you even hotter.”

“You--” You huff out a breath. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Wanda. I think I’m going to get you some water because you’ve obviously had quite a bit to drink already.”

But, before you’re able to even push up from the couch, Wanda’s hand grabs your wrist and tugs you closer. Noses almost smashing together, you’re only able to keep yourself steady by grabbing ahold of Wanda’s shoulder with your free hand. “I know exactly what I’m talking about,” she hisses, warm breath ghosting across your face. “I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you on Nat’s phone and it only grew the moment I saw you in person.” Her hand lightly traces down your face, almost reverently. “You’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen. No one could ever compare to you in my eyes.”

The sweets words, coupled by the earnest expression etched across her youthful face, causes your willpower to begin to falter. How long has it been since someone looked at you like that? Spoke to you in such a manner? Have you ever had that? The thought makes something twist within your gut.

“You’re my daughter’s best friend,” you begin, trying to force some semblance of reality into this situation. Trying to make yourself see reason before you did what this was no doubt leading to. “We can’t do this, Wanda.”

“We can do whatever the hell we want. We’re both adults, I’m not some child.” She tugs you closer, nuzzling her nose against yours. “And what I want to do is kiss you the way you’re supposed to be kissed.”

A hitch in your breathing gives Wanda all the information she needs, and seals your fate completely, but, even with that go ahead, at the clear sign that you wanted her as much as she clearly wanted you, her lips still descended onto yours at a snail’s pace, giving you the opportunity to pull away.

You didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to have this moment be ruined by what could potentially come after. For the first time, in what felt like forever, you were going to put what you desired, what you wanted, before everything else. So, when Wanda’s lips finally did meet your own, and you’re able to faintly taste the cherry chap-stick she seemed so fond of, you give your all to the embrace. Mouth easily opening to her questing tongue, a small moan escaping from deep within your chest at the feel of it entangling with your own, and Wanda seems to press even closer.

At this point you’re not even sure where you begin and Wanda ends, being pressed so closely together as you are. All you do know is that you never want this to end, never want to go a moment without Wanda’s warm hands trailing down your body, slender fingers digging slightly into your sides to pull you tightly against her, never want to be without the feelings she invokes within your chest-- the butterflies she causes within your stomach.

With a small snarl, Wanda rips her mouth from yours, making you just barely stifle the noise of disappointment the action causes within you, but the darkened emerald eyes leveled with your own renders you temporarily mute. Wanda’s chest heaving in her effort to get enough air, but she doesn’t once stop running her hands down your body-- seemingly not being able to get enough of touching you.

“I want to see you,” Wanda growls, hands gripping the material of your flimsy shirt and quickly pulling it over your head. Darkened green eyes taking in each inch of flesh that’s been revealed to her-- on any other circumstance you’d be mortified by the fervor in which she was looking at you, but underneath all that hunger, you could see a sense of awe, a spark of reverence, as if you had just made a wish of hers come true. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.” Her head dips, pressing a hot kiss against your neck, tongue soothing the place her teeth had dug in. “I’m going to worship you, baby, I’m going to make everyone else before me feel obsolete.”

Your back arches on its own volition, pressing yourself further into the heated touch of the hand trailing down your abdomen. Burning kisses, that feel like they’d send the raging inferno coursing through your veins absolutely haywire, following the path her fingers had just traced-- sharp canines delicately nipping the flesh of your navel before her tongue sweeps over the flesh to soothe the mark that she had undoubtedly left behind. You’re barely aware of when Wanda had been capable of tugging your sweatpants down your leg, along with your panties, before tossing them in a random direction behind her, but you’re definitely honed in on the moment her tongue, that had just done such sinful things to your chest and stomach, made contact with the apex of your thighs.

A breathy whine escapes you then, the feeling of Wanda’s tongue lapping at the wetness beginning to escape you, little hungry mewls escaping her throat, as if you were the most appetizing thing she had ever tasted, brings a whole new high to your pleasure-- something you had never felt before. Digging your fingers through her hair, tugging at the long strands to pull her impossibly closer, you’re rewarded by a breathy snarl, Wanda’s lips latching onto your clit and sucking it into her warm mouth-- slender fingers taking up residence where her tongue had just been, entering you hard and fast. Not giving you even a moment to get used to the new feelings before she’s pounding into you, the slender digits curling up just right to brush the spot within you.

The sounds of your wetness, of the sloshing noises that Wanda’s fingers made every time she pulled out, would have normally made you embarrassed, and it probably would have, if Wanda hadn’t made sure to maintain eye contact with you throughout it all. Emerald eyes, blown almost black with lust, keenly observing every minute expression that flits across your face, tongue lashing across your clit in the precise moment that you needed her to, fingers scissoring inside of you the moment you felt your high coming that much closer. The simple fact that she already seemed to know your body so well, that she could already read your face, in a way that your ex-husband never could, makes the need to have her closer almost like a drug coursing through your veins.

With the fingers still tangled in her hair, you tug her upwards. Seeming almost hesitant to leave, Wanda follows your wordless command after another thorough swipe of her tongue, her mouth latching onto your own the moment she’s within reach. And, the heady mix of yourself and something that’s inherently Wanda, fogs your brain, but you still have half the mind to wrap your arms around her back, arching more fully into her body-- needing to feel connected to her in some way. Moreso than you already were.

Ripping her mouth away from your own, when air becomes a necessity, Wanda groans. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.” Nimble fingers are quickly accompanied by a third. “Taking my fingers so well. Fuck you’re so tight for me, aren’t you?”

You nod, a soundless scream escaping. The stretch, the feeling of being so full, and the warmth of Wanda’s breath across your ear, a combination you never knew you needed until now. The cliff, that you hadn’t been able to achieve by yourself, and rarely ever with your ex-husband, seems to be getting closer and closer; you were more than excited to finally take the plunge.

“That’s right, baby,” Wanda coos, thrusting harder into you. “Just feel my fingers in your perfect cunt. He never fucked you like this, huh? Never treated with the roughness you’ve obviously wanted?”

Something in her voice, in the darkened tone, tells you that this line of questioning wouldn’t be as rhetorical as the first. “N-No--” A sharp whine is pulled from your lips. “Only you. Only you’ve fucked me the way I’ve wanted.”

A sharp grin pulls at Wanda’s lips, her free hand gripping your hip in a possessive hold. “And I’m only ever going to be the one to do it from this point forward.” Her head dips, teeth digging into the sensitive flesh right beneath your pulse point. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes!” Your back arches, your incoming orgasm nearly blinding you. “I-I’m so close. I-I can’t--”

Wanda rolls her hips, shushing you gently. “It’s alright, baby. You’ve done so good for me. Be my good girl and cum for me.”

At her command your body finally releases the final coil that had been prepared to spring forward, as if it had been waiting for her words all along, and a keening cry passes your lips-- Wanda-- as your world is whitened by your pleasure. Only vaguely aware of Wanda’s lips pressing repeatedly against your cheek, her fingers gently guiding you through.

When you come down from your high, from the toe-curling pleasure that she had given you, and your vision clears enough for you to see Wanda, still hovering over you, with that same look of reverence on her face from before, you couldn’t help the almost shy smile that appears. Something that causes Wanda to dip forward to place a chaste kiss against the smile, so tender from the hungry ones that she had bestowed on you only a moment before.

“How the fuck could he ever leave someone like you?” It’s said in a low voice, one that you don’t think you were supposed to her, but her clear confusion fills you with warmth, nonetheless. Emerald eyes raise to meet your own gaze, softness suffused within it. “Will you give me that honor, baby? The honor of making you forget.”

Your earlier words, said in a mournful whisper, come back to you instantly: I wish I could find someone that’d treat me in the way he never did, that’d show me what love truly is, and make me forget about all that he’s put me through.

“I’m over a decade older than you, Wanda,” you rebuke. “Why the hell would you want to be with someone like me?”

Her brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t I?” She lowers herself, finally pressing her body against yours, allowing you to feel the warmth of her skin, she places another gentle kiss to your lips. “You’re the only woman that’s ever made me feel like this. I don’t give a damn how old you are, I don’t give a damn if Natasha has an issue with it, I’ll talk to her, all I care about is that I get to have you like this again. That I get to love you in the way that you deserve to be.” Emerald eyes sharpen, her grip on your body tightening. “In a way that only I could ever give you.”

Your eyes flutter shut at her words, something you’ve been wanting to hear for so long. Could you actually take this plunge? Allow yourself to take such a huge risk? Potentially cause a crisis with your daughter and Westview at large? What if it didn’t work out?

What if it did? The gentle voice of your conscience counters. What if this is your chance at finally being happy? At finally finding the one person you’ve been searching for? Are you really going to let that pass you by?

You didn’t know how this was going to turn out, how any of this would end up snowballing into years down the line, but as your eyes open and you peer into emerald green, a color that had enchanted you since you first looked upon it, you know your answer instantly-- have known it for longer than the question even being posed.

“Yes.”

Wanda’s answering smile, bright with her happiness, is all you see before she descends onto your mouth again, clearly wanting to show you everything that you’d now be experiencing from this point on.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #summertime sadness #mcu imagine #avengers imagine

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theemporium · 8 months

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Could you maybe write something with Carlos and his wife who's shy and more quiet despite working for the social media team of Ferrari and when fans get a bit handsy Carlos steps in when he notices her discomfort?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

You always preferred to stay behind the camera.

It had always been the case, even since you were a kid. You were shy, a little introverted. You didn’t like it at home when your parents tried to film a few home videos, you didn’t like it at school, you just didn’t really like it at all.

Your fascination came from being behind the camera. In being the one to capture all the moments around you so you could share it with the world. And with a growing love for motorsports ever since you were a young girl, it only made sense that your career and line of work would follow your dreams.

You joined the Scuderia Ferrari team the same year Carlos Sainz was signed on as their new driver, and it felt like fate that you two crossed paths.

It was difficult not to fall for the Spaniard. He lived true to his name and you were practically wrapped around his finger after you two first spoke. Carlos was sweet and kind and romantic, and despite having his undivided attention, you never felt like you were under a spotlight like you tended to feel with others.

Carlos always made you feel safe. He helped you grow, just as you did with him. And it was no surprise to anyone that after a few years of dating, Carlos finally put the ring on your finger.

The irony was never lost on you that despite your shy and reserved nature, the man you married ended up being one of the most photographed and sought out people in the world. He was constantly in front of a camera, and you were more than happy to be the one behind it. And all in all, fans were mostly respectful of your wishes to stay in the shadows.

But sometimes that wasn’t always the case.

Monza was a big race for the Ferrari team, one marked on the calendar and anticipated throughout the season. It was their home race. It was where the fans were the wildest, craziest, most passionate. And the boys were at the middle of it all, the hopes for a good race in front of their most loyal fans.

Carlos had one hand perched on your lower back as you made your way towards the paddock entrance. Both your paddock passes were in your hands as Carlos used his free hand to sign as many photos and caps and shirts as he could.

“Careful, mi amor,” Carlos murmured, his arm winding around your waist to keep you upright as more fans flooded your husband.

“You don’t need to rush,” you told him with a soft smile. “We still have another fifteen minutes before the meeting.”

He raised his brows. “Are you sure?”

“They are here for your, Carlos,” you assured him as you squeezed his hand, before letting him step away and give his full attention to the fans.

However, before you could step away from the crowd like you planned to do, an influx of more fans started pushing forwards to try and catch a glimpse of your husband. They were yelling and shoving and you started to feel hands all over you, and it made you want to crawl into yourself.

Your breathing quickened and your eyes darted around the group to try and find an escape, but it was useless. You tried to ignore the way your throat closed up, a sense of panic and dread bubbling inside of you as more people pushed and more hands touched you, and for a second you were concerned you were about to have a breakdown in front of everyone.

“AY! AY! MOVE AWAY, LET HER BREATHE!”

The crowd around you started to dissipate and soon enough the sight of your husband was no longer obstructed. Carlos quickly moved towards you, his hands cupping your face the second he was close enough.

“Mi amor,” he murmured breathlessly before he wound an arm around your shoulder protectively and began to guide you away from the crowds.

“Carlos,” you murmured as you sunk into his embrace. “The fans—”

“Can wait,” he finished for you. “I’ll go back later. You’re my priority.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry.”

He paused, looking down at you with a frown on his face. “Do not apologise, amor,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “You’re my wife, you’re my world. Nothing will ever be important to me as you are.”

Your lips twitched. “Many years later and you still make me swoon, Mr Sainz.”

“I like to remind you why you said I do, Mrs Sainz,” he replied with a cheeky grin as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head before guiding you towards the Ferrari motorhome where you’d be safe from the onslaught of crowds.

#carlos sainz #formula one #f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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hero-deserves-to-be-happy · 2 months

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What Hero's Attempts to Comfort Sunny on the Night of "Two Days Left" Tell Us About His Character

Hi Hero Enthusiasts, let's talk about one of the only times Hero talks about himself and his grief in the entire course of the game...

It is easy to see this as just usual, selfless Hero being in-tune to others' emotions and trying his best to help any way he can. On the surface, Hero appears to be well-adjusted and at a sense of peace with what happened. When he reassures Sunny that Mari "would always want [them] to be happy even if it was without her" thereby encouraging him that it's okay to move forward and find healing, the player of the game believes him. Arguably, even Sunny believes him to a certain degree, but the real question here is: does Hero believe himself?

Let's Discuss Under the Cut...

(Warnings: OMORI spoilers. Heavy themes including death, grief, depression, and guilt).

It really says a lot about Hero that this scene is one of the only moments he talks about himself and his grief in the entire course of OMORI though it makes sense in the context. Being such an empathetic person, Hero could probably fairly easily pick up on the fact that Sunny was thinking about Mari in the piano room in the middle of the night, so, of course, he would start talking about her in attempt to comfort him.

However, it does beg the question: is it deeper than that? Is Hero so quick to put this together because that's what he, himself, was doing in the piano room in the middle of night? If Hero was there to grieve Mari, it would make sense that he so easily jumped to the idea that Sunny was there to grieve her as well, but he immediately stops everything and pushes aside his own grief and his own feelings to try to comfort Sunny.

On that point, it is clear from the context that Hero is only sharing what he thinks will be helpful or comforting. He says "It has been hard for me too" to show empathy, to try to tell Sunny that it's okay that he still misses Mari and that he isn't alone in missing her. He expresses his own complicated feelings surrounding how (he believes) she died, but he ultimately reassures Sunny that Mari would want them all to be happy even in a world without her thereby encouraging him to find healing and to move forward.

There is a painful irony in hearing this from Hero knowing that after losing Mari, he curled in on himself and spiraled into a deep depression that was all-consuming and that the survivor's guilt almost destroyed him. He just shut down and stopped living until eventually, he threw himself in his school and extracurricular activities, always striving to stay too busy to fall apart. Even his choice to pursue a degree in medicine will require years of school with long hours of study and clinicals, then residency, and eventually work itself. As a doctor, Hero can really just hide in his busyness, and that's really all he seems to want anymore.

Though Hero would be the first to wholeheartedly insist to Sunny that Mari would want them to learn to be happy again and that they can find healing and move forward, the truth is that for Hero himself time stopped when Mari died. Life stopped. All of his dreams for the future died with her, and given his survivor's guilt, he honestly thinks that's what he deserves, regardless of what Mari would have wanted for him (but that's a topic for another discussion). For now, to summarize, there is something so lost and listless about Hero in the Real World after Mari's death. He doesn't really know what he wants out of a life without Mari besides not hurting anyone and staying so busy that he just doesn't feel anything anymore.

But despite his best efforts to remain completely numb to it all, that grief and that pain inside of him doesn't go away, and no matter how hard he may try to push it aside, it's still there. He has just locked it away, brushing it under the rug or slamming it behind the door--whatever it takes to be able to function and not drown in it again, because (as the end this scene itself ultimately showcases), Hero is still overwhelmed by it all.

This is reason enough that he doesn't talk about it and doesn't want to talk about it, but arguably another, possibly even bigger reason is that Hero is terrified of being a burden on others. When looking at this situation from the outside, one would think that Hero would have a lot of support and understanding given that so many of his loved ones are also grieving Mari. Everyone grieves differently but there can be a powerful comfort in surrounding oneself with people who also experienced the same loss and who also knew and loved that person. This moment with Sunny could have been an opportunity for Hero and him to really empathize with each other over having lost someone they both loved (albeit in different ways), but Hero would never ever, ever even dream of talking about his grief with Sunny or with Basil, Aubrey, and Kel for that matter. He sees himself as their "Big Brother" and because of that, he feels he constantly has to push aside anything he may be feeling or may want for himself to take care of them. And there is an added problem here that he doesn't feel he has done a very good job of that.

He blames himself not only for Mari's death, but for Kel, Basil, Aubrey, and Sunny's pain as well. Their friend group is fractured--the day's events at the lake have proven that, and in a way, Hero feels like this is his fault. If he hadn't been so depressed and broken himself, he would have been able to help his brother and his friends who have always felt like siblings to him, but he was too weak, too helpless and now they're fighting amongst themselves and miserable.

He feels he has no right to talk about his problems with them, but the truth is, he feels he has no right to talk about his problems with anyone. And this goes back to his one (1) fight with Kel (which, honestly probably deserves its own analysis post one day). Kel was terrified to see Hero spiral into such a dark place and felt like he is losing his brother. When he finally confronted him about it, however, Hero snapped--finally crumbling under the weight of everything that has gone wrong and all the pain he has been carrying around alone. It was, arguably, the one and only time in their lives that the two had ever really fought, and it (most likely) remains one of Hero's greatest regrets. He now lives in fear that his relationship with Kel is permanently and irreparably damaged--that nothing he could say or do and no amount of apologizing could ever erase that distance between them. Hero is terrified that Kel will never really open up to him again and that he'll always feel like he needs to walk around eggshells around him. He is scared that Kel must think he hates him, and he can't bear the thought that it's all his fault and no amount of apologizing will ever make it right.

The whole experience leaves Hero broken and overwhelmingly guilty (even though no one blames him Kel least of all), and while he does come out of the worst of his depression, he is still depressed. He hasn't found healing and closure. All he has really done is gotten better at hiding how miserable he is because he is terrified of ever hurting anyone in the same way he hurt his brother. Vowing to never be responsible for causing pain to his loved ones because of his problems, he buries and represses his emotions and his pain--managing to hide them from everyone but himself.

This is made all the more apparent when, as soon as Sunny leaves, Hero breaks down into tears overwhelmed by his own, repressed grief.

From this incredibly vulnerable moment (arguably Hero's most vulnerable moment in the entire game), it becomes clear to the player that all of the "well-adjustment" and acceptance Hero had been displaying up until this point is, at least to a certain extent, for show.

Hero is not okay. He just wants everyone to think he is.

#omori hero #hero omori #omori sunny #omori #omori analysis #omori meta #hero character analysis #omori spoilers #thanks for reading

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eclipsedzs · 1 year

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𝗣𝘂𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗗𝗼𝗴

𝗘𝗖𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗦𝗘𝗗 ▰▰▰▱▱▱ Volume: James Potter

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Genre: ✓

Paring(s): James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James likes a girl, who shows no interest in him. Though it isn’t new, and he’s still like a puppy in love.

Disclaimer(s): Cursing

JAMES POTTER was completely smitten with a girl who, to his dismay, showed not the slightest hint of reciprocating his affection. Oh, the irony!

Like an eager puppy, he trailed her relentlessly, day after day, his eyes brimming with adoration and a sparkle that only intensified upon catching a glimpse of her.

His unwavering devotion knew no bounds as he gladly shouldered the weight of her burdens, eager to anticipate her every need.

Sulking in the Great Hall, James Potter appeared like a dejected puppy, arms defiantly crossed. His hazel eyes, still heavy with sleep, reflected both weariness and an undeniable yearning. Breakfast unfolded before him, accompanied by his loyal companions: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew.

Despite the jovial atmosphere, James's gaze ceaselessly wandered the expanse of the grand hall, desperately seeking a familiar figure that effortlessly ignited his heart. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, his emotions riding a rollercoaster of anticipation and hope.

"Lost in his infatuation," Sirius remarked playfully, his tongue clicking with mischievous delight. Remus suppressed a chuckle, huddling closer to his book as he enjoyed the scene unfolding before him.

Amidst James's scowl, a playful glint shone in his eyes, perpetually scanning the surroundings in eager anticipation. Sirius, always the purveyor of mischief, dramatically gasped, his own grey eyes widening mischievously. "Look, Prongs, your beloved master has arrived," he teased, unable to resist poking fun at James's infatuation.

Following Sirius's pointed finger, James's head swiftly turned, and his heart leaped within his chest as he beheld the girl who trudged wearily into view. Without a moment's hesitation, he sprang to his feet, propelled by an overwhelming desire to be near her.

Amidst the light-hearted banter, Remus couldn't help but snicker, gently setting his book aside. "He's utterly lost without her," he chuckled, fully aware of the profound connection that had ensnared James's heart.

James matched his stride with hers, effortlessly catching up to the object of his affection. He gazed upon her with adoration, his eyes caressing every feature, completely unfazed by the scowl she aimed his way.

"Potter," she spat out his name with a sharpness akin to acid. Undeterred, James shook his head, a smitten smile playing on his lips as he remained steadfast in his adoring gaze, even if it meant unintentionally stumbling into a sulking first-year.

"Oops, sorry there," James muttered, slightly flustered but unable to tear his eyes away from the captivating girl before him. It was as if the whole world could crumble around him, but he would remain blissfully lost in her presence.

Ever since they were eleven, James had been undeniably smitten with her, their shared journey now reaching the age of sixteen. His body instinctively gravitated towards hers, fighting the urge to intertwine their fingers and unleash the pent-up longing within his heart.

"Sorry," she offered a gentle apology to the first-year James had accidentally collided with, her tone remarkably softer and distinctly different from the harshness she reserved for him.

The contrasting sweetness of her voice panged within James, for he yearned to be the recipient of such tenderness. Nonetheless, he took hold of the strap of her bag, determined to relieve her of any burden in his presence. After all, she should never have to carry her own belongings when James was around.

Unyielding, she attempted to reclaim her bag, urging him to return it with a tone slightly softer, a flicker of vulnerability hidden beneath her scowl. “Give it back James, Don’t’ need you carin’ it for me.” She spoke

Yet, James remained unfazed, his smile unwavering, his lips slightly jutting out in an endearing manner. With wide, puppy-like eyes fixed upon her, he replied, "S’fine, love," his voice laced with unspoken affection and a sincere desire to protect and care for her.

James guided her towards the spot where he and his friends were settled, his subtle gestures silently coaxing her to take the seat beside him.

However, she chose to sit next to Remus instead, offering him a soft smile that tugged at James's heart with a pang of jealousy. "Hey, Remus," she greeted the brown-eyed boy warmly, her voice dripping with genuine affection.

Sirius, ever the keen observer, raised an eyebrow mischievously, keenly aware of the subtle changes in James's demeanor.

He couldn't help but notice the tightness in James's clenched jaw and the transformation of his once tender, loving eyes into a steely gaze whenever his attention shifted to the pair.

"Now, now, let's not go around killing poor Moony here," Sirius playfully teased, delivering a playful smack to James's shoulder.

Wearing an awkward smile, she turned her attention to Peter, who had a piece of bacon dangling halfway into his mouth.

"So, Peter, how's Potions been treating you? Heard you had a little mishap with that third-year and ended up exploding your cauldron," she playfully taunted, her eyes flickering mischievously toward the wide-eyed boy.

James couldn't help but emit an exasperated huff, stabbing his fork into his pancakes with more force than necessary. "Oh, look, the puppy's getting jealous," Sirius whispered with a mischievous grin, promptly earning a smack on the back of his head from Remus and a piercing scowl from James.

James and Y/N strolled through the dimly lit halls, the soft glow of the floating candles casting an ethereal ambiance around them.

"I didn't know you were a prefect," she murmured, breaking the silence that weighed heavy on their surroundings. She couldn't bear the quietness, nor the intensity of James's lovesick gaze fixed upon her.

James pressed his lips together, concealing a secret smile that threatened to surface. Finally, she was talking to him.

However, he decided to keep to himself the truth that he had worked diligently, studying hard and earning excellent marks on his tests, all in the hopes of becoming a prefect alongside her.

He had overheard her desire to be a prefect last year, and he wanted nothing more than to share that experience with her.

"Yeah, it was a surprise owl one night, and just like that, I became a prefect without even trying," he replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Yet, a wince flashed across his face immediately after the words left his lips. He had come across too cocky, and it stung him deeply. In reality, he had indeed tried, putting in genuine effort to become a prefect alongside her.

He had gone to great lengths, even attempting to bribe the head prefects to assign him and her to patrol together, time and time again.

She couldn't help but cringe slightly, inwardly berating herself as she nodded in response. She desperately tried to avert her gaze from his face, fighting the urge to let her eyes roam freely.

She resisted the temptation to study every detail, from his captivating hazel eyes down to the bridge of his nose adorned with a sprinkle of freckles that peeked out beneath his round glasses.

She admired the way his dark brown curls framed his face and the mischievous smirk that always seemed to grace his lips.

Frustrated with her own inability to resist these observations, she let out a quiet huff, drawing a questioning look from James. "You know, you don't have to carry that," she pointed out, tilting her head slightly in reference to her bag that he still held onto dutifully.

Her scowl masked a hint of internal turmoil, as she grappled with her conflicting emotions

James shrugged, a gentle smile playing on his lips. He readjusted the strap of her bag, feeling a slight ache in his shoulder from carrying it almost the entire day, during those moments when he insisted on accompanying her and shadowing her like a devoted puppy.

"S’fine," he replied with a smirk, his eyes darting between her eyes and her lips. She attempted to dismiss the intensity of his expression, trying to ignore the subtle way his tongue peeked out, grazing his lips.

She swallowed nervously, her mind filled with conflicting emotions. She was supposed to despise this guy, so why did she find herself being drawn to him in this inexplicable way?

James couldn't help but smirk mischievously, raising an intrigued eyebrow in response to her questioning gaze. As they continued walking through the halls, she made a conscious effort to keep her face averted, hoping to conceal the faint flush that had spread across her cheeks.

Unbeknownst to her, James noticed everything.

He possessed an uncanny ability to pick up on the tiniest of details—whether it was a new haircut, a solitary pimple on her face, a subtle change in her eyes, or even the slight shift of her body language.

His perceptive nature and unwavering attentiveness allowed him to observe and appreciate every nuance that made her uniquely her.

It was as if he held an unwritten catalog of her every feature, storing away the intricacies that painted the portrait of the person he held a deep affection for.

She cleared her throat, discreetly running her hand down the sides of her body to adjust her oversized sweater. James couldn't help but smile, stealing a glance at her before redirecting his gaze forward.

He couldn't help but yearn for the day when she would wear his clothes, a tangible symbol of their connection, instead of the worn sweater she had been sporting since returning from Christmas break. (Not wearing it over and over of course)

Yes, he was that attuned to her preferences and personal history.

Drawing upon his courage, James subtly shifted his body closer to hers, relishing in the delicate brushes of their hands and shoulders.

Each fleeting contact sent a wave of blissful anticipation coursing through his veins, as if their proximity held a secret language of its own.

Suppressing a smile, she allowed their bodies to remain in close proximity for the time being. "So, how were your classes?" she asked softly, her aversion to small talk making it difficult for her to initiate conversations.

Inwardly, she hoped James would steer the conversation towards a more engaging topic.

James couldn't help but smile as they rounded the corner, feeling a surge of warmth and excitement within him. If he could go back in time and tell his first-year self that he would eventually have the privilege of brushing hands with and engaging in conversation with the girl he envisioned spending his entire life with, his younger self would have been absolutely beside himself.

"Just got detention from dear old Minnie," James sighed dramatically, running a hand through his tousled curls. He glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. "But don't worry, she'll come around eventually," he added with a wink, subtly hinting at his growing affection for her.

"I'm sure she will," Y/N chuckled, her laughter causing James's heart to flutter. He observed her closely, his eyes filled with adoration as he watched her nose scrunch up and her eyes crinkle with joy.

It was moments like these that he treasured, where he could witness her genuine happiness and feel his own soul light up in response.

Y/N playfully raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So, did your little gang get detention with you?" she asked, a hint of mischief lacing her words. She was, of course, referring to Remus, Sirius, and Peter, who were often inseparable from James.

James chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, they managed to escape Minnie's wrath this time," he replied, a touch of admiration in his voice. "Those three have a knack for slipping through the cracks. But I guess that's what makes them my partners in mischief," he added with a grin.

Y/N's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Partners in mischief, huh? Sounds like quite the dynamic trio," she remarked, playfully nudging James's arm. The camaraderie between James and his friends was undeniable, and Y/N couldn't help but find it endearing.

Waking up in the arms of the person she had sworn to hate since their first year at Hogwarts was a surreal experience for Y/N. If someone had told her younger self about this, she would have scoffed and dismissed it as sheer madness.

But the memories of the previous night came rushing back to her, flooding her mind with a mixture of surprise and warmth.

She recalled her sleep-addled self murmuring incoherently as James guided her into the Common Room, his concern and adoration evident in his every action. He had insisted on watching over her so she could rest peacefully.

In her drowsy state, Y/N had found herself inexplicably yearning for the presence of the lovesick boy, almost pleading for him to cuddle with her. And, to her astonishment, he had obliged, albeit hesitantly, careful not to overstep any boundaries.

And that was how she found herself in this predicament—the comfort of her head nestled against James's chest, her ears attuned to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the gentle sound of his breath.

Their legs were entangled, fitting together like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces—something James probably imagined as well.

Y/N couldn't help but notice his hand tracing delicate patterns on her slightly exposed skin, his subconscious gestures revealing a tenderness he only wished to also do in his out of dream state.

Y/N let out a soft huff of air, attempting to wiggle free from James's firm yet gentle hold. But he mumbled unintelligibly, his voice gravelly with sleep, as he tugged her closer, not willing to let her go. "Stay," he murmured, his voice laced with a sleepy plea.

Her cheeks flushed with warmth, a combination of embarrassment and a fluttering feeling in her chest. She couldn't deny the allure of being held in James's embrace, even if it went against the walls she had built around her heart.

"James," she whispered, her voice barely audible, into the fabric of his chest as he pulled her closer. The two of them lay intertwined on the sofa in the common room, the early morning silence enveloping them like a comforting blanket.

She silently thanked Merlin that no one had ventured downstairs yet, no one would see the boy who loved the girl who denied him every chance he took.

Her words hung in the air, a gentle plea for him to acknowledge her presence, to understand the mix of emotions swirling inside her.

His grip on her hip tightened slightly, his touch conveying a mixture of possessiveness and a sleepy reluctance to let her go. He grumbled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin, as if he were caught between the realms of consciousness and dreams.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his response, her mind swirling with a myriad of thoughts and emotions. The closeness between them felt both exhilarating and unnerving, as if they were teetering on the edge of something significant.

"James," she whispered once more, her voice a tender plea laced with vulnerability. The single word carried the weight of unspoken sentiments, expressing a desire for understanding and connection.

His grip on her hip loosened slightly, and his sleepy eyes fluttered open, meeting her gaze with a mix of confusion and tenderness.

In that fleeting moment, the world around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them in their shared space of intimacy.

"Hi," James greeted with a charming and slightly goofy smile, his eyes brimming with an overwhelming amount of love and affection. The intensity of his gaze caused her to avert her eyes momentarily, feeling a mix of shyness and warmth wash over her.

Seizing the opportunity, James gently tugged her closer, his touch guiding her until their bodies aligned, chest to chest. The sensation of their hearts beating in unison added a layer of intimacy.

"Hi," she whispered back, her voice barely audible, her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating in synchrony with the rapid pace of her thoughts. It was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking to be in this moment with him.

As she nestled her head under his chin, she felt a mix of vulnerability and comfort wash over her.

It was to quick for her heart, sure this boy had been pinning over her like a lovesick puppy for almost more than five years.

And sure she had felt her emotions reciprocating his a year ago, but she was scared. Scared that once he got her he would leave her.

The fear that had held her back for so long still lingered, but in this embrace, she allowed herself to let go, to bask in the warmth of his presence. Ignoring his surprised sound, she felt a sense of contentment settle deep within her as they breathed in unison.

"I love you," James whispered, his words hanging in the air as he tightened his arms around her, seeking to express the depth of his emotions.

For five long years, he had professed his love, and she had doubted him. But in that moment, as her own voice trembled with vulnerability, she found the courage to say the words she had never thought she would utter.

The weight of the admission settled between them, forging a connection that felt both fragile and unbreakable.

"I love you too," she whispered back, her voice barely audible, as if testing the reality of her own feelings.

His breath caught in his throat, a mix of surprise and joy washing over him. His grip on her tightened, his breath quivering with a delighted giggle. Though she couldn't see it, the love-struck smile played upon his lips, a reflection of his overflowing happiness.

"Ah, you said it back!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and elation. The moment brimmed with a lightness, and even in the darkness, their shared laughter filled the space.

"Hey now, Potter, don't get too comfortable," she teased playfully, her words a playful reminder that their journey had just begun.

James sat up, gently pulling her with him, keeping her nestled against his chest. His eyes sparkled with a mix of adoration and excitement as he showered her face with a cascade of affectionate kisses.

Each tender touch spoke volumes of his love, starting from her neck and traveling up to her jawline, then caressing her cheeks, nose, and finally landing on her forehead.

As he pulled back slightly, his gaze locked onto hers, his eyes silently conveying his unspoken desire. His glance lingered on her lips, a subtle yet unmistakable invitation awaiting her response.

A soft nod from her granted him permission, and with that, their lips finally met in a long-awaited kiss.

A smile played on James's face as he poured his heart into that single moment, capturing all the lovesick smiles, stolen glances, and longing that had filled their five-year journey.

It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a convergence of emotions and desires unleashed with a passion that could no longer be contained.

In that tender embrace, time seemed to stand still as their lips danced in perfect harmony. It was a kiss that marked the beginning of a new chapter, a declaration of their shared love, and a promise of a future filled with unending affection and devotion.

And so they fell back asleep, wrapped in each other's loving embrace, blissfully unaware of the curious eyes that observed their intertwined figures and the hushed murmurs of gossiping voices.

News of their newfound connection spread like wildfire throughout the school, capturing the attention and excitement of their peers. Even the teachers couldn't resist being swept up in the joyous atmosphere, some having secretly placed bets on whether they would finally become a couple.

As whispers of their relationship echoed through the corridors, it was a day of celebration and triumph for all who had rooted for their love to bloom.

In that peaceful slumber, oblivious to the world around them, James and Y/N basked in the warmth of their shared affection, ready to face the challenges and adventures that awaited them as a united couple.

It was a blissful day, marking the beginning of a love story that would be cherished for years to come.

#james potter x reader #james potter #jamespotter imagine #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #sirius black #remuslupin #remus lupin #marauders #peter pettigrew #imagine #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #peterpetigrewimagine #puppylove #just wow #keeperofthebooks

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 4 months

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"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

by ijuststareatstuffhereok89

Prologue: The Stone

The Loom is breaking. The Timelines are in chaos at the TVA. Just as Loki realizes he may have to sacrifice himself, O.B. offers one last Hail Mary that may spare his rueful fate...until it shoots him across time and space instead, to the most Norn-forsaken place imaginable: Syracuse, New York.

CHAPTER WARNING: violence toward our poor Loki

MASTERLIST

Time Variance Authority Outside of Time and Space No Time and Every Time, AM and PM

It was as if Loki was gazing at a gallows, just waiting for him on the other side of the door. A gallows just for him.

An abstract gallows, to be sure, one snarled and twisted by the fraying timelines. The Loom wasn’t going to hold them much longer. Victor Timely’s tens of repeated failures had yielded no progress. Loki had just finished spending centuries’ worth of time jumps learning everything he could about time, physics, and metaphysics. It all came to nothing but false hope.

Zapping his way back to Point A one last time, he knew what was needed. Only a God could survive in the temporal void long enough to reach the branches and save them. That left one of two people in the room with the ability.

Loki knew now that Sylvie would never see reason. The parts of ‘a Loki’ that were driven by self-preservation were too strong in her. Perhaps one day, after centuries behind that fast food counter, she’d have a moment of clarity. But reality couldn’t wait for that to happen. Even in the repeated attempts to calm her bloodlust in the Citadel there had been in no change in her resolve. Sylvie was lost, but pity would come later, after Loki took the glorious burden upon himself to save the universe.

I can keep the timelines stable as long as I keep my hands on them…at all times. For all time.

It was the single worst case of irony that reality had ever known, or at least that Loki in his thousands of years of travels had never known: that only now he would be getting a throne. The Throne of Time awaited him, only instead of eternal glory, it would bring him eternal imprisonment, forced to watch the eons pass by as if each were a vignette on a stage. He would have to watch Mobius die, as well as Sylvie and OB and everyone. Even Thor, for no creature was truly immortal. He would have to stand by as all of consciousness fell back into the void of death and rebirth at the end of it all.

And indeed, at the End of Time, where would he be?

After one final look around the room, everyone looking back at him with expectant apprehension, Loki took in one deep breath and began his march to the Loom. He felt a solid hand on his shoulder, and didn’t need to turn to know it was Mobius.

“What the SHIT are you doing?” he whispered frantically.

Looking into his worried eyes, Loki felt a stabbing pain in his chest. If only we’d met somewhere else, you brilliant man, I would’ve shown you the world.

"I know what kind of God I need to be. For you. For all of us,” he said, his voice faltering in spite of his wish that he sounded more sure.

“Wait!! I have one more idea! Look!”

Loki looked back beyond Mobius and Sylvie. OB was running back from somewhere he’d slipped away to. No one had even noticed that he’d left the room. He carried two small pebbles in his hand that to the unknowing witness would look like two small pieces of emerald, or perhaps tinted glass.

He was closer to Sylvie, so he pulled out her hand first, placing one of the dead Time Stones in it. It began to glow softly, a dull gray-ish green. The light was pulsing weakly, but it was clear that something in her skin was activating the time magic within the stone.

“Loki! Catch!” OB said quickly, tossing the stone at Loki, whose godlike reflexes caught the dangerous relic with ease. It also glowed green upon touch, only a much brighter, indisputable forest green.

“How is that possible?” asked Mobius. “How did we never think of that?”

The God of Tricks turned the stone over in his palm, as if doing so would give him some kind of clue. “Well, it’s quite lovely, OB, but I don’t understand--”

“Time Stones thrive off of the energy of the timelines and work by being linked to every single one, enabling the one who uses it to hop from time to time! Maybe if you throw one of those at the timelines while it’s active, it’ll act like a pill and regulate the streams again!” OB suggested enthusiastically. “But only if it’s active, and it looks like the only place they work in the TVA is…well, in the hands of a Loki variant.”

“Are you suggesting we give aspirin to the Temporal Loom?” Sylvie scoffed, the weakened stone in her hand blinking with every other syllable.

“You sure that’ll work?” asked Mobius with skepticism.

OB shook his head, “Oh no. It’s a long shot. Odds in the trillions, and that’s just a guess,” he admitted bluntly. He looked at Loki and twisted his lip into a hopeful smile. “But it’s worth a try, right?”

Loki looked down at the brilliant stone he held. Something within the stone felt like it was attuning itself to him. Small threads of green light were radiating from the stone and digging into his skin, illuminating it from underneath, as if his very veins were filling with the power of the Time Stone.

Looking up one more time, Loki shrugged. “Indeed,” he said under his breath. “Well, here I go.”

“Loki!” Mobius shouted one more time. “Let her do it,” he said, pointing back at Sylvie. “She’s the one who caused all of this.”

“I don't know, her stone doesn’t look as strong as yours,” said OB, now at Sylvie’s side and watching the pathetic pebble in her hand barely flicker in tandem with her breath. “If we have one chance to do this, I think it has to be you, Loki.”

The more Loki stared down his permanent imprisonment within the twisted vines of time, the more he realized that he’d been fooled the entire time…and by none other than himself! He’d assumed that every variant of himself would have every capacity to grow that he had. Perhaps Sylvie did, and Loki was only looking at a portrait of who he had been as a rash, physically-driven youth.

It didn’t matter anyhow. If this worked, Sylvie would be going back to the counter at McDonald’s. If it didn’t, Sylvie’s mind would always be at that silly little place, unable to see the world past the end of her own nose no matter how many people suffered for her choices.

“I’m sorry, Mobius, but I think we both know it must be my action,” Loki said softly, gently taking Mobius’ hand in his own. “Have an extra slice of pie for me.”

“Go throw it,” OB suggested. “Quickly! We’re out of time!”

Victor stood clueless behind everyone else. “This has been a remarkable day” he mumbled.

Finally going beyond the door and into the temporal space, Loki felt the stone begin to burn in his hand, the sensation not only pressed against his flesh, but in his bloodstream.

One last breath, and Loki reared back, pitching the Time Stone toward the Loom.

As if the air were too thick, the stone’s speed was almost too slow to make sense, slowly floating toward the fraying, entangled timelines in an arc. It fell in a spiral toward the Loom, increasing speed as if it were being sucked directly into the messes of fibers.

The God’s breaths slowed to a standstill, his veins still on fire with green energy from the stone. Loki suddenly felt as if he’d turned into a marionette as hundreds of points on his body were suddenly yanked, throwing him off of his feet and into the air behind the stone, flying at incredible speed toward the epicenter of energy.

As if the Time Stone was pulling him by invisible chains, Loki was dragged along until he reached the Loom, after which a strong updraft knocked him unconscious, the last thing to grace his open eye being Mobius’ frightened stare.

Around his lifeless, floating form, the green clouds, rogue lightning, and whipping winds began to form a time vortex, shooting the helpless god through each and every reality, one by one…

Syracuse, New York, USA June 9 7:19pm EST

“Get off my shit!”

Loki awoke with a start, his head roaring, his skin tingling, and his vision blurred. Hungover from the unexpected trip, he felt weakened and confused. The skinny man yelling in his face wasn’t helping him regain his bearings.

He was splayed rather unflatteringly among a pile of garbage bags filled with clothes and cans. Frommhis view, he could begin to see that he was in some sort of alleyway surrounded on three sides by brick. The sky above was dim and overcast.

“Oh, Norns, what is…?”

“I said, GET OFF MY--

“--my shit, yes, that much we’ve established…”

The angry skinny man was impatient to the point where he started shoving Loki to his feet, urging him away. “Find your own awning!” he called after him as he finally managed to throw Loki into the street. “And some clothes, too!”

Loki looked down, realizing for the first time that he was stark naked. His clothes had been torn from his body in transit across the realities. Well, at least it wasn’t my skin.

The street was full of potholes, the environment claustrophobic as it could be for being outdoors. The air smelled of sewage and tar. A sign hanging on the corner building nearby read S. Salina St.

Looking down into his palm, the stone remained aglow in his grip.

Now, where in the Norns am I? Loki asked himself, keeping to a nearby shadow in hopes no one was nearby to see his nudity.

It felt like dusk was at hand, though the thick greasy cloud cover did little to explain the actual position of the sun. The air was warm, humid, and unpleasant. Rain was inbound, as evidenced by a building darkness rolling in from the western horizon.

“Damn,” Loki whispered. “I…”

He took off down the street and around the corner onto S. Salina, scurrying in such a manner that a mouse could beat him in a footrace. He used his godlike ability to absorb detail in order to learn as much as he could about this place.

Wait a moment…I can control my time jumping!

How simple! Loki rolled his eyes and chuckled. He sucked in his breath and clenched, just as he’d taught himself to do in order to control his phasing.

Seconds went by. Perhaps a minute. Nothing happened when the reaction should have instantly drawn him back to the TVA.

“Hey Di, look at the naked guy shitting himself across the street!”

Two women were sitting on a porch across the way, a small white dog at their feet, staring directly at Loki as he squinted and attempted to force himself through space. He was suddenly the most self-conscious he’d ever been in his entire life.

“Hey Mister, what’re you doing with no clothes?” shrieked the other. “How much’ve you had?”

“Yeah, he’s drunk,” agreed the first lady, trying hard to hold in a laugh.

“It’s gone! My time phasing!” Loki whispered aloud. He snapped his fingers, attempting to bring some cover to his body with seidr, only for the stone in his hand to dim its glow. “Magic…none of it works here.”

The two gleeful ladies continued to mock Loki from across the street. “I’ll give him this, he’s hot.”

Di raised an eyebrow. “Kinda looks like that guy from the movies, doesn’t he? Loki! He looks like Loki!”

“Holy shit, you’re right! He’s dead on for Loki!”

“Of COURSE I look like Loki, blast you!” he swore, beginning to move towards them, not bothering to check and see if any vehicles were bearing down on him. “Because I--”

“--dude, don't come any closer! Just because I don’t like the cops doesn’t mean I won’t call ‘em if you’re gonna…” the larger of the two women got up to reach for a cell phone perched on the railing.

“What? No, ladies, I just need to know where I am and how to get to--”

“--dude, get out of here, and stop by the Salvation Army or something on the way because no one wants to see that!”

“Speak for yourself, Di.”

“Where am I?” Loki asked, slower this time.

“Yeah, he's drunk,” mumbled Di. “Dude, you’re on the south side! Near the park!”

“Did you say that I need to find an army?” Loki asked, backtrack, unsure about which way was up.

“Mister,” continued Di, “head that way and you’ll be downtown in ten minutes. Someone’ll either help you or arrest you up there.” She pointed further up the road, which led to a bright district of flashing neon and nightlife about to get underway with the sunset. “Ain’t nothin’ down here for you except fentanyl.”

The larger of the women quickly ran inside and came back a few seconds later with a small fleece blanket in a nasty shade of hot pink. “My daughter doesn’t use this anymore. Use it to cover your junk. I don’t want it back.”

She threw it down to Loki, who gratefully wrapped it about his waist, tying it off at the hipbone. It hardly qualified for more than a belt, only covering him from below his navel to a few precious inches below his…other time stones.

“Thank you, madam,” he mumbled. Without further awkward conversation, he left the two women to their excited giggles and whistles and headed in the direction he’d been given.

He didn’t even have any shoes, as was quickly made evident by the painful tar gravel that burrowed between his toes and under the balls of his feet as he paced himself, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone as he fled from shadow to shadow, hoping to remain unseen despite at least being minimally covered now.

“Hey buddy, nice skirt!”

“The gay bar is on the west side!”

Loki was still exposed to catcalls and insults nearly the entire way up the trashy, unwelcoming city. Even as he approached a larger, brightly-lit square accompanied by live music from several different outdoor patios, he could feel the eyes bearing down on him.

This place is deplorable, Loki thought. No magic, no help…

“Ew, guy! At least put on a skirt that covers your crack all the way!” a woman called from behind him.

“Hey, there are kids here, man!” a huge man with a shaved head stepped into Loki’s path, causing him to stop short. The man had about three inches on Loki, and even though his Asgardian density made him about the same weight as the sizable human before him, Loki wasn;t sure he wanted to risk an altercation in his present state. He smelled of beer. “Put your dick away, alright?”

“Let me pass,” Loki mumbled. “Please. I’m on my way to the army.” He tried to throw up a defensive arm, which the man caught with ease.

The skinhead laughed. “Jesus, what I have to deal with…”

Without warning, the asshole laid out a direct punch to Loki’s temple, sending him to the sidewalk. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Regents Park, London, England June 10 12:19am GMT

“Oooh, talk to me! What did they do to you?!”

The Doctor, frustrated, removed the magnifying goggles from his face and squinted as he looked up into the undercarriage of the TARDIS console, trying desperately to find out what had stranded him here and how to fix it.

Having barely made it out of yet another fray with the Cybermen, The Doctor’s beloved TARDIS had been hit, or perhaps bombed from within somehow (who could tell?). Barely landing safety in a place the TARDIS recognized as a ‘favorite’ location (London, England, early 21st century), The Doctor quickly learned that whatever had attacked him had destroyed what held the Time Vortex in place within the TARDIS’ core.

The Doctor’s ship was nothing more than a wooden box, sitting in a public park on Earth in 2023. Nothing, not the screwdriver, not The Doctor’s own ingenuity, was yielding any hope.

“Maybe Jack could…oh no, no, no,” he thought out loud, shaking off the idea. While it was true that Captain Jack Harkness could always be assumed to be waltzing around somewhere at any given place in time, what did he really know about TARDIS mechanics?

The Doctor sighed. Thinking about Jack always eventually brought his thoughts back to Rose. She may have been as human as anyone else around, but sometimes her intuition would shine through, triggering some epiphany in his head and bringing about the best answers.

That was Rose: brilliant in the most unexpected ways.

“If only it were easier to fall through realities,” he bitterly mused. “Or at least find a good fix-it shop that has equipment to jumpstart an Eye of Harmony…very basic stuff, not sure why it’s so hard to find--”

He was interrupted by a sudden, instantaneous flash of emerald, brighter than the sun, sending The Doctor squinting and crouching to the floor. Though he couldn’t see what had happened, for a brief moment, he heard the TARDIS breathe, as if the Vortex had been restored within it for as long as the luminous green assault filled the interior.

“What?” he asked nobody. The flash of green ceased, as did the TARDIS’ temporary recovery.

“WHAT?” he asked himself, running up the stairs to the top of the console, looking at every screen and pulling every lever he could.

Something had triggered the Time Vortex within the TARDIS, as if it were being given a push by an external force somewhere else out there in the world…something with enough time energy imbibed in its core to do so.

Perhaps if it was something he could find and bring back to the TARDIS…

Running to the doors and flinging them open, The Doctor was just in time to catch a streak of green flash across the night sky, heading southwest and missing London by a long, long shot. As it left the airspace above England, the TARDIS grew dark and cold again.

The Doctor’s mouth couldn’t close as his brain tried to keep up with his eyes.

“What?? WHAT?!”

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team7-headquarter · 6 months

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ABOUT THE POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS OF THE LAND OF THE WAVES ARC, THE ACTIONS OF TEAM 7 AND WHY ITS ONE OF THE BEST ARCS OF THE ENTIRE FRANCHISE:

I'll never shut up about the Land of the Waves arc.

Here are the facts:

A corrupted man —who was believed to be the richest man in the world due his shipping and transportation business— decided he wanted to make his a small land made out of islands, better known as the Land of the Waves.

In Tazuna's words: "Nami No Kuni (the Land of the Waves) isn't a real prosperous land. Even our local lords are poor..."

The name of the corrupted man is Gato. He was affiliated with drug trafficking and contraband, as well as being a criminal who employed gangs and teams of shinobis to help him (through violence) to take over companies and countries alike. That's what he did to the Land of the Waves, taking hold of all the marine transportation and their shipping industry. Since the Land is made of a number of islands, Gato successfully isolated them. He was now the owner of the local economy and had the power to decide how people lived there.

Tazuna is an old man with no money at all who had been tasked to be the architect and overseer of the new bridge. If completed, it would mean that Gato no longer had absolute control over the Land of the Waves. It'd free them all, bring more movement to their economy and stop the crazy violence promoted by Gato's gangs.

To make sure we all understand the severity of the mission and the power of Gato, let's remember that he employed Zabuza Momochi.

Zabuza is one of the Seven Ninja Swordmen of the Hidden Mist. Kirigakure was known for one of the cruelest traditions regarding shinobis: they'd have to fight each other to death and only the survivors would be promoted. Zabuza put an end to it himself, killing an entire year of graduates. He was not even a student yet.

Zabuza also plotted a coup against the Mizukage, but he was betrayed. He became a rogue nin after that, taking money from men like Gato in order to keep living.

That's the first Team 7 mission.

Sakura, Naruto and Sasuke are staked to help Kakashi free a land of a corrupted businessman and in the process have to fight one of the most legendary shinobis they can encounter out there. We're talking about an entire small nation!!! We're talking about the insane irony of Zabuza being a rogue because he fought against the corruption of his own Hidden Village, and he lost and now he has to work for a man doing the same to others.

The first Team 7 lesson was not only to work as one, to value their teammates, but to question the world around them. Kakashi told them to not follow orders blindly and the narrative throws the Team on a mission to test it.

Kakashi accepted to continue the mission without telling the Hokage anything. He knew he had the jinchuriki and the last Uchiha with him, that it was a great risk, but he accepted because he wanted to help Tazuna and the Land of the Waves and he knew Tazuna had not enough money to pay for a class B mission. Hell, he was lucky Kakashi got a genin team. One of the best jonins of the Hidden Leaf could give his service under the disguise of a rank C. Kakashi was using a loophole to disobey orders and he complains the whole time in his head because he knows it's gonna be a mess of a mission, but he does it anyway.

Do you want to know why is my favorite arc?

The reality of the Land of the Waves is a perfect scenario to force Team 7 to wake up. Naruto and Sasuke sure know loneliness and misery, but they were also part of a very rich land and a powerful Hidden Village. Sakura didn't go through anything like Sasuke or Naruto, which is worse in the sense that she was more naive than them.

Their world falls apart when they meet Haku and Zabuza, when they realize this is not s fairytale of good heroes and bad villains, but people who had to become violent to survive.

Like Kakashi said, the only reason he and Zabuza are trying to kill each other is because they were paid to do so. Zabuza works for Gato, Kakashi for Konoha, that's it. Kakashi didn't want to kill Haku and Haku didn't want to kill any of them, but the Naruto world is old and messy, the customs and the means to survive are others.

Shinobis are no heroes. They're mercenaries, they act as the military force for the strongest nations. They are tools and weapons. It's not advanced in any sense, so many years after the Warrant Era and the world was just as cruel and wild. People with kekkei genkais were forced to practice that violence to protect themselves, like Haku, Sasuke and Neji. People with bad luck like Naruto and all the jinchurikis were the same. People like Sakura, who loved and cared for those others, devoted their lives to joining the fight, to try and protect the ones dear to them.

That's why the final conversation of Team 7 —the one after the events of the bridge that ended with Zabuza and Haku dead— went the way it did. The members of Team 7 weren't happy with the reality of the shinobi life. Naruto even ended up saying that he would make his own ninja way, basically denying such reality and promising to break the traditional ways that kept all shinobis chained to violence, fated to kill each other.

Just look at it:

Sakura: ... But still... Master Kakashi...

Kakashi: Hmm~~?

Sakura: ... I can't help wondering. Were those two right about what a ninja should be?

Kakashi: A Shinobi shouldn't be concerned with a reason for her own existence... It is important merely that we exist as a tool for our homeland to use in whatever way they need. That's as true for us in Konohagakure as it for any ninja anywhere else.

Naruto: Is that really what becoming a full-fledged ninja's gonna be about? I don't like the sound of it!

Sasuke: Do you really feel that way, master Kakashi?

Kakashi: Well... No. And that's why all we ninja live our lives with that ideal always bubbling beneath the surface of our minds, disturbing us. ... Like it did Zabuza ... And the boy.

Naruto: That's it. I've made up my mind! I am going to create my own nindo— my own ninja path. My own destiny!

This arc plants the seeds of what should be the rest of Naruto and Naruto Shippuden. Team 7 is frustrated and they don't agree with the tradition. None of them, not even Kakashi. Naruto promises to be the change, to make his own destiny.

Sadly, it doesn't happen. The manga changes its tone halfway through. Naruto ends up becoming part of such tradition and he ends up being the fated reincarnation, the chosen one. His destiny is not his exactly and his own ninja path gets lost in the way, replaced by a hollower desire to become Hokage. Naruto doesn't evolve to deeply question the order of his world or his society.

Instead, Sasuke occupies his place and the story turns him into an antagonist (someone who wants the direct opposite of the protagonist, someone who is on the way of the protagonist to reach his goal). The story radicalizes the dream that was so innocently spoken in this chapter. It also ends up chaining Kakashi to the same system, uses him as someone to fill the Hokage role until Naruto is old enough and then gives Naruto the hat, forgetting the themes set on the Land of the Waves arc.

What started as Team 7 fighting corruption and people sick with power while trying to help the victims of the system, understanding that their world is made of greys and not moral absolutes, ends up becoming a kids tale of ninjas = heroes and aliens = villains. All the complexities of politics get softened by Black Zetsu's manipulations and Kaguya's existence.

It wouldn't be a reach to say that the Land of the Waves belongs to a very different type of manga, one that never got its continuation.

#naruto #land of the waves #land of the waves arc #naruto meta #Naruto classic #team 7 #og team 7 #team kakashi #kakashi hatake #naruto uzumaki #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #zabuza momochi #haku yuki #naruto gato

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bookofbonbon · 1 year

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How about these prompts? “Was any of it real? Or is this your way of getting back at my father?” And “Please, don’t shut me out again.”

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

Word Count: 1109.

Posted: 05.02.2023

Edited: 03.09.2023

Three years.

Three years did Prince Aemond spend courting you. An exceptionally long time considering the two of you were already of age to marry when you met.

Of course, you thought nothing of it. After all, your father had initially rejected Aemond’s proposal so, you had always just assumed this was his way of punishing you for pushing back against his decision.

The thought brings a bitter smile to your lips.

How brave you once thought yourself for doing so.

So, proud of yourself you had been.

How foolish you truly were.

In hindsight, you should have kept your wits about yourself, that your father would continue to draw out your courtship for as long as he did; that the dragon-prince would so eagerly continue his pursuit for your affections despite your father’s hindrance.

You thought it was love.

It was only after your father’s death that you discovered the reason behind his hindrance. When upon your return to your homelands for his funeral, your inconsolable mother forced you to see the truth of it - the face of Aemond’s vindictiveness.

How you were nothing more than a puppet and Aemond the puppet master in a cruel game he had been playing with your father. He pulled at your every string and made you dance and dance you did.

Tears prick at your eyes as you stare longingly into the distance through the barred window of your bed chambers within the Red Keep. Breathing a small laugh, the irony is not lost on you.

A prisoner of your own making.

Too caught up in your own thoughts, you miss the first knock but, the second one comes louder, harsher against the wooden grain of the door.

You ignore it, you already know who it is, you already know he’ll let himself in and sure enough, he does.

“We are not yet wed, you should not be inside my maiden chambers,” you speak plainly, continuing to stare out the window.

As if he hadn’t been inside a hundred times before.

“I could not be content to retire to my chambers knowing that you are upset with me.”

You almost laugh at his words; upset was an understatement.

“I’m not upset with you.”

Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth.

You finally look at him, dark circles line the underneath of his eyes, the skin around his sapphire one a particularly nasty shade of red – as if he’d been digging his fingers into it. Fingers that were now anxiously twitching at his side.

“You did not seek me out upon your return. I thought perhaps it was the exhaustion from a long journey but, at supper, you would not spare even a glance toward me. You ignore me when I knock on your doors and dismiss me when I enter. You are upset with me,” Aemond sighs tiredly. “It pains me to think that in the time that you have been away I have done something to hurt you, that you would shut me out so coldly and so near to the day we are to wed.”

His words send a chill down your spine, the deep hurt that had been coursing through you over the last few weeks simmering for far too long and bubbling into a quiet fury that lurked beneath your surface.

Had he no shame?

“Does your spite know no limits?” you seethe. “Is there no reprieve in your wickedness?”

Aemond freezes at your words, your eyes cold, hard, and unforgiving and, it doesn't take him long to figure out why. Face blanching as realisation dawns on him - he should've known better; you had after all chosen to remain in your homelands for an unusually long time. He thought perhaps it was the grief but, as he looked upon you now, he could see the cold fury burning bright within your eyes.

Aemond swallows your words thickly, mouth opening but nothing coming out - his silence speaking volumes. He knew that you knew and when your coiled frame seems to shrink further, Aemond begins to truly fret because it wasn't like that anymore. It hadn't been for a long time but, how could he tell you that without admitting loudly to his once true intentions?

Stepping closer to you, Aemond hesitates- he wants to both bring you into his arms and comfort you and, drop to his knees and beg your forgiveness but, you flinch at his almost touch.

“Was any of it real?” your voice is small and far away, gaze focused on the skyline.

“Of course, it was real,” Aemond tries to reassure you. “It is re-”

“Enough with the lies,” you snap, his words sending you over the edge. "You will tell me the truth of it."

Surging forward, you grab his face roughly between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Now, I will ask you again. Was any of it real? Or was this your way of getting back at my father?”

You search Aemond’s eye desperately, hopeful still but, his eye strays as he speaks his next words. He cannot bear to look at the devastation he has caused you, will cause you as he confirms what you already know to be true.

“…it was my way of getting back at your father.”

A strangled sound leaves your lips as you violently rip your hands from either side of his face and turn away from him, hands burning from his touch.

“Get out.”

“No, no, no,” Aemond panics, rushing forward and pleading with you. “It is not like that anymore; I swear it to you. I love you now, I love you honestly, I love you truly, I lov-”

“Aemond!” your voice cracks, defeated. “Just get out- please.”

He doesn't want to leave, he wants to stay and fix this and fix this now but, Aemond knew you better than he knew himself… knew when to keep pushing and when to stop and this time he knew he needed to stop as the threads barely holding the two of you together threatened to snap.

“Okay,” Aemond nods reluctantly, walking backwards as you usher him out. “But please- just don’t... please, don’t shut me out again. Just give me one more chance. We can fix this; I can fix this; I will fix this.”

You say nothing as you close your chambers doors on him, waiting a beat for his shadow to disappear from the space beneath the door before, you collapse to the ground. Hurt and anger spilling over and staining your cheeks as you mourn your father, your Aemond, yourself.

A prisoner of your own making.

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#requests are closed #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond imagine #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction

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frostbitebakery · 1 year

Text

filled prompts for @codywansleepbingo :D we got: spooning, deep sleeper, insomnia! nothing particularly to warn for, though this is set sometime in the HEA phase of I Got My Head Checked, the Sithywan AU. Rest of the ficlet and bingo card under the cut!

Soft Sick Underbelly

“Major or long-lasting stress can lead to chronic insomnia.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself.

It has been… a while since sleep turned away from him in such a snit. He’s not unfamiliar with insomnia. For a long time he had been too afraid to sleep, catching naps here and there during his training—

“Abuse,” Cody would correct him.

His unconventional youth.

Sleep was for doomed prey until he was shaped enough into a predator to grab the luxury and take advantage of it. To take and take until the sleep deprivation was a fond, silly memory of the weak.

To sleep soundly, arrogantly, next to an enemy until the blaster was pressed against his forehead like birdsong. Nothing to concern himself with because he was made to be just that good.

Cody, Obi-Wan mourns to think of their first morning, isn’t anything special in that regard. What made him special, and continues to do so, is that Obi-Wan came back into his arms to sleep, to rest, over and over.

With Cody, he could wake up slow and unafraid. How Cody manages the same is a mystery to Obi-Wan still, on some days. Possibly the insomnia talking him into the spiral of fear, hate…

He doesn’t bother to remember what came after hate in Qui-Gon’s little speech. Cody said it was something to do with toasters.

Cody isn’t naïve. Perhaps he’s still lacking a bit of life experience, down to the few years he’s existed and how, but he’s not going into situations without a plan. Admittedly, he had lost his sight for a tiny bit there when Obi-Wan slithered into his life like the snake he was. Nevermind that it all had backfired on Obi-Wan rather spectacularly, the blind spot for himself Obi-Wan had started to cultivate in Cody had turned out to be mutually beneficial.

Obi-Wan snorts to himself and goes back to reading treatments for insomnia in hopes the irony alone will put him to sleep.

The small data pad is balanced on Cody’s upper arm in front of him, angled away so no light shines into Cody’s face. Obi-Wan is nothing but courteous.

Cody is a deep sleeper, here. In their space, their home, with Obi-Wan. Endearing and humbling. Not naïve. Not even with his back, his neck, to Obi-Wan like a lamb.

It’s trust like a soldier shows. Endearing and humbling, indeed.

Obi-Wan desperately wants to hold his hand, suddenly. The urge rising in his chest. The back of his fingers brush over Cody in substitute, careful not to disturb.

Cody wakes up anyway.

Slow for a minute, then all at once with a jaw-breaking yawn. One of his hands flaps over and behind him, and Obi-Wan offers his own. Like Cody knows.

His hand is guided around Cody, cradled into his chest.

“Bad night?” Cody asks in a murmur.

Obi-Wan fits himself closer into Cody’s warmth, not exactly hiding from the world.

Sleepy eyes turn to him. “Still blue.”

He feels his eyes are blue but it’s a relief to have the confirmation. Sometimes he can’t tell the difference, insides feeling breakable and rotten.

Cody shuffles back into him, a barrier between Obi-Wan and everything else that is not in his head only.

The early morning sun shines on the windows, sneaks through the glass, and plays with Cody’s skin. It's mesmerizing. Charming, in its own way.

The tiredness, the pulling at his eyelids and thoughts, is sudden and unwelcome. It’s morning. They should get up. Routine is good for both of them, after everything. A bit of predictability to stabilize them. They still get up to too many fun adventures. They're somewhat the personified headache of the Jedi Order, especially after their vacation. But this is home. Home is where the masks fall.

Cody latches onto more of his arm, lays his cheek into Obi-Wan's palm. “I’m awake now. Do you want to sleep?”

“Keeping watch for me?” Obi-Wan teases and his wrist is kissed.

“If you want.”

He sighs into Cody’s neck. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Never.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Inserts the details into himself, of Cody watching over him like Obi-Wan watches in return. The light behind his eyelids, no suffocating darkness. Cody's stubble scratching over callouses.

Sleep doesn't come immediately. It takes its time. But eventually it's there, welcomes him like Cody's warmth.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #sith!obi wan #sithywan cinematic universe in my head #my art #my fic #the clone wars fanart #the clone wars fanfiction #frostbitebakery art

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llondonfog · 5 months

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No pls 😭 i hate the idea that raising Silver was a fun experiment out of curiosity to see if he could love a human or not, and that the answer still isnt clear. I hate the idea of Silver, the son of their enemy, being raised to be nothing but a soldier to serve Malleus in some poetic irony. I feel there’s love there but I’ve almost been transported into Silver’s mind where everything is melancholy and unclear. Does he matter as much as I believe he does 😭😭😭 or is it just a cruel tale of some foundling human always meant to be put somewhere else when the fairies are done with them

The thing is, is Silver capable of accepting the fact that Lilia's happiest moment is Malleus' hatching? Yeah, of course, who wouldn't. The man suffered for years, absolutely driven mad with guilt over Meleanor's death and the fear that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise and hatch the one thing that remained of her, the proof of her existence and love. He had to hatch Malleus, because Meleanor believed that he could, that he somehow carried enough love in those tired, aching, and emptied bones, a love that she saw in him when he couldn't even believe it of himself. If he couldn't, it would be one more insult to her name, a failure yet again, a last betrayal of her trust that he couldn't afford and wouldn't survive.

So that weeping? He's so damn dizzy with relief and love and affection for this silly creature inside that's a symbol of the love of the most important people in his life, how could one react in any other way? How fragile and vulnerable, to know that the happiest moment in Lilia's life is to realize after hundreds of years, he was capable of that love all along.

And Silver sees this— he sees the lengths that Lilia went to in order to hatch Malleus, the horrible abuse he stoically suffered from the Senate, the massive disrespect for all that he had lost and sacrificed. Of course he'd accept that this is Lilia's pivotal moment, the bittersweet reward for centuries of despair.

But on the other hand, Silver; a boy who has lost equally, if not more. He's been cast out of his own time, four hundred years into the future, where everyone and anyone who might have known him or his family (save for Lilia) has been long since dead, the kingdom he might have ruled long crumbled to dust. Is it even a footnote in the history textbook he reads? Is there any mention of the Knight of Dawn, of Princess Leia? Anything at all besides the ring in his hand and Lilia's memories to prove that they existed, that they were real, that they loved and wanted him as much as Meleanor had loved Malleus?

All he has, all he's known, is Lilia. Lilia, who found him, who woke him from the spell as the one fated to truly love him. Lilia who thought of killing him upon learning who had sired him, Lilia who raised him to be a guard, to serve those his father once stood against. Lilia who wondered if he could ever love a human, a question that I agree hasn't fully been answered (or acknowledged by Lilia himself) if we are to associate the fact Silver still bears the effects of the sleeping curse with the belief that either Lilia hasn't called him his son and confessed his love, or if Silver still struggles with self-love himself (and we can get into a whole debate over his self-worth and his view as a sacrificial tool, that's an endless discussion).

Lilia . . . whose happiest moment has nothing to do with the boy who calls himself Lilia's one and only son.

And regardless of how I fully understand why Malleus' hatching is that moment, it's still so fucking sad to me.

Your whole life is centered around this one person whom you love more than anyone else— your short, human life— and in reality, you didn't even feature in that person's dream. We only saw Silver's past due to the blot, memories that were completely out of order and not in sync with Lilia's true dream at all.

And Silver will never harbor resentment over this, he will always place his family and loved ones first, but damn it, I can be a little miserable about it. All that trauma we went through with the last update, and now we learn that finding Silver and learning to love the son of his greatest enemy (the son of the person that killed Meleanor!) wasn't Lilia's happiest moment?

Was it just for the poetic irony? I really hope not. I really hope that TWST gives the conversation that Lilia and Silver need to have the due gravity it deserves, because Lilia needs, whether Silver realizes it or not, to look that boy in the eye and tell him that he loves him, he's always been his son, and no matter what their pasts may show, he's been Silver Vanrouge all along.

#lettie's asks #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #gingerly places this in the tags #but i finally was able to put my emotions about this update into words #this got really long lmao sorry about that

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1d1195 · 2 months

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Physics Extra I

Read the rest here: Physics

Some great inspo from my 🌼-anon.

Hope you like it 💕

A little angsty, a little fluffy. Full disclosure--I'm not sure if I was tired or if I'm stupid, but I couldn't remember what year of college they were in and which Physics level they were in so I'm going to clarify here and I'll fix it later on. It shouldn't be too much of an issue. I left it a bit ambiguous if I remember correctly.

~2.5k words

Part of her worried this would happen. The flare of the savior complex paired with her insecurity finally won out. Time spent apart over break helped their budding relationship. It led to an unbelievably passionate reunion after the new year and return for the spring semester. The kisses from Harry’s lips on her mouth and trailing down her body made her warm just thinking about it and it was nearly a month—almost two—ago.

But now, Harry no longer needed a physics tutor. They didn’t have a class together. Fortunately, they did spend most nights together. Harry took her to parties and broke the hearts of every girl that had pined for him for so long. He walked her to class when he was free, and she met him at the gym just to say hi and run on the treadmill while he did his routines with his friends.

Niall and Louis were over every Saturday morning, hungover and whining for her pancakes before she went to the bookstore. Harry spent many nights in her apartment, snuggled around her and it felt so good. So unbelievably good.

She just couldn’t get her mind to agree that it was a good thing.

It was her own doing. How could she not know he would find out. It was exactly the kind of thing that happened in a rom-com or a sit-com or any comedy really. The irony of it all was not lost on her. She should have known.

For someone that studied Physics, balanced two campus jobs, and managed to have a boyfriend, she was an idiot.

Harry was at the gym again. It was either the gym or pacing the floor of his apartment. After a day of pacing and grumbling to himself, Louis insisted he leave and do something productive before he put a rut in their floor and lost their security deposit.

Studying was hardly his forte prior to dating her and now she wasn’t there to help him with the finer details of studying—like actually getting him to focus—he was a lost cause. Just being in her presence made it easier to focus. Like a little reminder that she was proud of him.

Thus, he was at the gym, the second time in the day. At the very least he would break his personal record twice in a day. The longer he stayed there, the worse his frustration got. His form was impeccable. Niall kept his eyebrows in a fixed uprise on his forehead. He whistled lowly.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Do you know how stupid you’re being?”

“Inform me, please.”

“She’s the whole package, Harry. She’s smart, beautiful, funny, and I thought the pancakes were impressive, but the way she chugs a beer is honestly...” he chuckled. “I want my own tutoring lesson.”

Harry ignored him and made his way for the bench press. “Shut up,” he repeated.

“Harry, it’s ridiculous. You love her,” he reminded him.

“Spot me or shut up.”

Niall sighed. “If I don’t get pancakes soon, I’m going to lose it,” he warned Harry. It had been two weeks. They had barely spoken only murmuring hi when they bumped into one another. People ogled them before they started dating, now it only amplified.

“You’re a grown up, tell her y’want pancakes,” he muttered straining under the weight of his barbell.

“Christ, Harry,” he shook his head. “You’re a grown up. Talk to her.”

Harry did two reps and then his arms started to shake. It was too much for one day on top of the fact that without her help studying she was able to distract him here too.

“Why would she say that?” He murmured.

“Say what?”

“That...” he rubbed a hand over his face. His shirt was soaked with sweat. His scalp was itchy, he wanted to go home. Well, he really wanted to go to her place and lay with his head in her lap while she ran her fingers through his hair. They would watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch and eventually Harry would wake up and carry her to her room where they would snuggle and dream until the morning. “That s’not serious.”

“Well...have you asked her to be your girlfriend?” Niall sat on the floor while Harry straddled the seat. Niall stretched.

“I thought it was implied when we spend every night together.”

“Harry, she’s a nice, sweet girl.”

“Thanks, Niall. I didn’t notice,” he rolled his eyes.

“Well,” he shrugged.

“Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Niall hopped up, grabbed their waters. “But I’m not gonna snuggle with you the way she does.”

“This is ridiculous, you know it’s ridiculous right?”

She was lying on the floor between the TV and the coffee table, facedown. An unintelligible groan went into the carpet, and she tilted her head up briefly and then smacked it back on the floor gently. “Fuck.”

“You could easily apologize,” Sarah told her.

“Why did I say that?” She groaned.

“It’s new! And Harry...”

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Harry’s been nothing but nice to me. He’s done nothing but shown me that he likes me and cares about me. I just ruined it. I humiliated him and I couldn’t even deny it. I feel so...bad. Who does that?!”

Sarah sat on her hips making her grunt. “You. You did that, you idiot.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Well, fix it!”

“Sarah,” she sighed and put hands on her eyes. “He’s never going to trust me.”

“Of course, he does. The only thing that’s going through that stupid head of his is that he hasn’t made you feel more secure.”

“But he did.”

“So tell him. It was a lapse in judgment. Alcohol. Tell him you had a cold. He won’t care. He just wants you to know you can trust him.”

“But I am so...not his type.”

“Well, hate t’break it to y’kitten,” she mimicked Harry’s accent and her nickname. “You are now.”

“So how did you meet Harry?” She knew the girl was drunk. She didn’t get her name. It was Shauna or Shayna, or something. She couldn’t remember. Instead, she sipped her own alcohol, glanced around to see Harry playing beer pong with Louis and Niall.

“Uh...” she swallowed. “We had Physics last semester. He needed tutoring.”

“Oh, that’s so cute!” But not-Shauna didn’t make it sound like it was cute. It was so condescending. It made her feel awkward and almost ashamed of how they met. She wished they had met at a party or a bar. Something more college-y—although what was more college-y than meeting in class?

“Uh...yeah, it was,” because it was. It was cute. The way Harry came up to her in the middle of the dining hall—it was out of a movie. He was handsome, perfect, and so nice to her. Even though she heard rumors and felt inadequate about the type of girl he normally surrounded himself with, it was undeniably cute. It was tragic she felt ashamed of their meeting.

“So how long is that?” Not-Shauna continued.

“Pardon?”

“How long have you been a couple, officially?”

It was innocuous. Four months. All she had to say was four months.

“Oh...well...we haven’t really discussed...” she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure of the exact date...” she looked at the contents of her cup. “I don’t think it’s been…” nothing was coming to the surface to explain what they were. Not accurately.

Four months.

That’s all she had to say.

She’d been studying physics for a while. Time dilation was something she only considered in movies and in theory. Einstein’s kind of thing. Not her thing. At a party when she was just asked how long she had been dating the man that spent five out of seven nights in her bed, wrapped around her...hell inside of her... was not a place for physics.

But somehow, the hours ticked by in place of the minutes. The carbonation of the soda water mixing with her vodka was moving in slow motion. It was like she could count every bubble that reached the surface and popped. “Oh, you’re not...official,” not-Shayna said.

Again, that condescension was so uncomfortable, she nearly dropped her drink. The time dilation started again. She was counting the bubbles. “Well, actually—” But not-Shayna was gone. The movie that was her life immediately turned into a horror film. “Oh no,” she mumbled to herself.

The minutes that were hours suddenly turned into seconds. Someone whispered something to someone else. The game of telephone sped by in seconds.

Harry missed his final pong shot. He whipped around to her, her cup halfway to her mouth. Her cheeks turned beet red. As red as the cup she sipped from.

Anger. Anger was an appropriate reaction. A fiery gaze, a flushed complexion. Even hands in fists were understandable for her faux pas.

Anger would have been preferable to the hurt expression on Harry’s sweet face.

After her shift at the bookstore, she was lying on the floor again. Sarah invited her to go shopping. But she couldn’t. Nothing seemed right. An idiot. That’s what she was. A Physics student with a 3.9 GPA and she was probably the dumbest person on campus.

There was a knock on her door. “Sarah, I cannot shop,” she groaned. “I’ll probably trip and fall in the food court and ruin some poor teen couple’s movie and dinner date and they’ll never live happily ever after because that’s all I do. Ruin a perfectly good couple.”

“Um... not Sarah,” she jumped off the floor. Laying down to standing in less than one second. She sprinted to the door and yanked it out of the way. “Hi,” Harry said softly.

“Hi,” she answered awkwardly.

“Can I... come in?”

She swallowed, opened the door wider, and moved out of the way. He hurried in, sat on the couch. It was like the first time Harry came over to help decorate. It was basically his spot. When everything made sense. She felt more at ease seeing him in her space again; making himself comfortable.

But comfort only lasted seconds because he looked… anxious. Which only fueled her anxiety.

He rubbed his hand on the back of his head and sighed. Dropped his hands into his lap. “I think we should talk, kitten.”

“I shouldn’t have said it!” She blurted. Her own pacing started. Her heart rate started to fly to a dangerous level. She was pacing in her floor spot that she designated for laying. “I don’t know what was wrong with me! Sarah told me to tell you it was a cold or the alcohol... or maybe I had a stroke. I don’t even remember what she said to tell you. But I don’t have a reason. Which is worse. I wish I had a reason, Harry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I should have said anything but what I said. You have made me so happy over the last four months,” she was still pacing looking like a psychopath. “You have made me feel so safe and so... loved and I don’t know why I had such a lapse in horrible judgment like that. I mean you made me a hot chocolate bar for God’s sake! You don’t mind studying and you don’t care that I drool like a teething infant when I sleep. Even when I get it all over your pillow or your shirt. I feel so terrible, Harry. So completely terrible. I don’t know how I can be so smart in class and make everyone jealous and then go and say that about you. Or not say! I don’t know what's wrong with me but—”

Harry was quiet while she rambled and paced. It was cute. Sweet even. It was nice to know she was rattled, selfishly—they both paced when upset. It was sweet. Cute to know they shared it. He smiled softly. “Do y'want t’be m’girlfriend?”

She stopped pacing, finally. Her heart finally slowed, she put a hand to her chest, like it would keep it slow as she looked at him squarely for the first time since she started ranting. “What?”

“Well,” his grin grew. He looked at his lap again, his palms rubbing on his thighs. “It might be easier on us both t’tell you I love you. Y’know...if y’were m’girlfriend. Might be easier on you t’answer that kind of question if y’had a date t’tell people of when we’ll have our official anniversary.”

“You’re not breaking up with me?”

He chuckled. “No,” he smiled. “Also have t’be officially together t’break up, kitten.”

“You’re not going to wait till I say yes and then ask to break up, are you?”

Harry stood finally, put his hands on her cheeks to hold her in place. He kissed her forehead for an extended moment. It felt so good. Like the other hundreds of times that he did it over the last few months. In two weeks, it felt like a drought. “M’sorry I didn’t reassure you,” he wrapped his arms around her body and instantly she sank into his embrace.

“Did you say you loved me?”

He nodded. “M’hmm,” he hummed.

“Oh.”

“Do y’want me t’take it back.”

“No, thank you.”

He chuckled into her hair. “S’very polite of you, kitten,” he pulled back. “I love you,” he repeated, gazing into her eyes. “Loved you the moment y’agreed t’help me. A poor, sorry, hopeless, Physics-less sap like me.”

“You’re not so hopeless.”

“M’hopeless ‘bout you, kitten,” he assured her.

“I love you too," she gazed up at him, her eyes wide, expressive and so very sweet, "by the way.”

“I thought s’what y’meant in all that rambling," he chuckled.

She didn't laugh. “I’m sorry Harry, truly. That was so not okay.”

Harry shrugged. “I jus’ missed you, kitten. S’okay. I get why y'said it. We never really defined it,” he promised. “M’sorry I didn’t ask sooner or come make up sooner.”

She sighed into his chest. “Will you stay tonight?” She asked quietly. Her voice muffled by his shirt. The thought of being snuggled together made her so happy.

Harry wanted to make a joke about inertia. Or an object at rest. Something. But it wouldn’t come. He was too happy to have made up.

“Try and stop me, kitten.”

“Niall and Louis make you come here?” She asked.

“M’supposed t’ask if you’ll make them pancakes for dinner once we’ve properly made up," Harry chuckled and murmured into her hair.

“What’s ‘properly’ mean?" She asked innocently, a smile on her face that was anything but innocent.

He chuckled. “I’ll teach you,” he winked, tilting her face so he could kiss her deeply; the way he wanted to for the last week and a half.

And teach her what ‘proper’ meant.

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yuujispinkhair · 7 months

Text

Separation Anxiety (Chapter 09)

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

++ Masterpost ++

Pairing: Sukuna x Yuuji Genre: Memory Loss AU, fluff, smut, light angst Word Count: 3k Playlist: Separation Anxiety Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Chapter 09

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love (Don't You Know by Jaymes Young)

The smell of herbs and candle wax fills Sukuna's nose as he strolls through the narrow aisles of the small deli shop across the street. In his hand is a shopping list written in Itadori's scrawly handwriting.

The irony isn't lost on Sukuna. A thousand years ago, it would have been unthinkable for him to shop for anything himself. He was the King of Curses. He was a God. People brought offerings to his temple, begging him to accept them. And everything he needed for his everyday life got taken care of by Uraume.

But times have changed. His life has changed. Now, Itadori Yuuji has a say in things, too, in their shared household. And as ironic as it is, Sukuna has to abide so he can keep up this little charade.

The brat had been indignant, huffed, and hit Sukuna's arm playfully when Sukuna said grocery shopping was Uraume's job.

"Oh, don't be so lazy, Kuna! The deli shop is just across the street! And Uraume is already busy doing the laundry today. I think everyone should contribute to the household! I will prepare the kitchen, and you go shopping, baby!"

Sukuna catches himself laughing softly at the memory of those golden eyes looking at him so sternly.

The whole situation was rather amusing. So what if the King of Curses is currently looking for ingredients for their dinner? It's fine. He is still the one in control. He just has to make some accommodations. It's part of the plan.

And after all, he is also benefitting from his little shopping trip. The brat wants to cook tonight. He has been watching the Food Channel a lot those last few days and wants to try a recipe he saw there. And Sukuna knows that the boy is a good cook. So if it means getting an exquisite homemade meal, Sukuna is ok with going shopping, or as the brat calls it, contributing to the household.

When he gets back, he is greeted by a smiling Yuuji.

"See, it wasn't that bad, was it?"

The brat looks far too smug, but Sukuna just laughs and lets himself get pushed against the fridge, smirking when Yuuji presses a kiss onto his lips.

Yuuji's tongue delves deep into Sukuna's mouth while eager fingers work to unbuckle Sukuna's belt and undo his pants.

He receives a mindblowing blow job right there, leaning against the fridge, his hands tangled in Yuuji's hair while the boy slurps devotedly on Sukuna's cock, with spit running so lovely down his chin, rewarding Sukuna for being a responsible member of this household.

Sukuna always assumed he would never understand love. And if someone could show it to him, it would be someone who held the same powerful position as he did. Another person who was at the top, sitting on a lonely throne.

He had been wrong.

Because he can see love now. He can see it in a pair of sparkling golden eyes full of warmth and affection when they look at him. He can see it in a broad smile that grows even bigger than the owner of that smile catches Sukuna looking.

He can feel it in tight hugs and sweet kisses. He can hear it in the tender words whispered to him before falling asleep. He can see it in the hundreds of little things Yuuji does for him: A cup of hot chocolate here, a backrub there, letting Sukuna decide which movie to watch or what snacks to get.

Yuuji loves him.

He doesn't love the powerful King of Curses. He loves the man Sukuna. He knows nothing about Sukuna's power or position. The version of Sukuna that he knows is stripped of all those things. He doesn't know that Sukuna could make the world his and give Yuuji anything he could ever wish for.

He only knows his boyfriend Kuna. The man who lives in that penthouse with him. The man who watches movies with him and goes on morning runs with him. And Yuuji loves that man. The man that Sukuna is behind his titles and riches.

It's all based on a lie, of course.

Sukuna isn't that man.

But Yuuji doesn't know any better. He doesn't know what Sukuna did and how he hurt Yuuji and the people close to him in the past. He doesn't know about the death and destruction Sukuna brings with him anywhere he goes.

Itadori Yuuji is just a naive boy who loves with his whole heart. The very heart that Sukuna once ripped out of his chest and threw away like it was trash.

But Yuuji doesn't know that.

Is this fate's irony? That Sukuna finally found the one who can teach him about love, but it will shatter the moment the truth comes out?

"Kuna? Baby? Are you ok? You have that look in your eyes again."

Warm hands cup Sukuna's cheeks tenderly as the boy slips onto his lap and straddles him. There is genuine worry in his golden eyes as he looks at Sukuna.

Sukuna smiles at him. He can't tell if it is a genuine or fake smile. The lines are getting blurred lately. His arms wrap around the boy automatically, holding him safely in his embrace.

"I'm ok, don't worry, darling. Just thinking about the past."

Yuuji nods as if understanding what Sukuna means. His golden eyes wander over Sukuna's face, and gentle fingers trace the black tattoed lines until they reach the scars under Sukuna's eyes. The ones where his second pair of eyes used to be when he was still in his true form. The same scars the brat used to have when they still shared a body. Yuuji's fingertips brush gently over those scars, caressing them carefully.

"Where did you get those scars? Was it some ritual stuff of your family? Like some initiation? Did it hurt? My poor baby."

He leans closer, and his warm breath brushes lightly over Sukuna's cheeks.

"You probably had a rough past, Kuna. And I wish I could go back in time and make it alright for you. I wish I could take away all the pain you experienced. I wish I could have been by your side back then and protected you."

And then his lips land on Sukuna's skin, soft and tender. But it feels as if they burn Sukuna's skin. Yuuji is kissing his scars. And Sukuna can't breathe.

Yuuji's touch is so gentle, and yet it breaks Sukuna more than any violence all his enemies combined have thrown his way.

Has anyone ever wanted to protect him? To save him? It's an insane thought. He came into this world as the strongest, too powerful, too dangerous. Even his mother had feared him. And that's how it had stayed his whole life. People feared him or saw him as a source of power they could use to their advantage. Sukuna was always meant for great things. A new era. A new King. A new God. A monster so powerful it could rule the whole world.

He had never needed saving. It's a thought so ridiculous! As if someone as powerful as Sukuna needed saving! As if someone like him needed a stupid hero!

And yet, a small voice in Sukuna whispers that it may have been different if Yuuji had been there in his past. Maybe things would have gone a very different way. Maybe there could have been another life for him. A life where strength and absolute power weren't the only things he knew. If anyone in this world could have saved Sukuna, it would probably really have been the brat with his stupid, naive heart so full of love.

The brat is getting more restless lately. The morning runs in the park aren't enough anymore. So Sukuna starts taking him on short trips to coffee shops and bakeries. And soon, he finds himself loosening his restraints on the boy. At this point, he knows that Yuuji will always come back to him.

It's even sweeter than having him locked up in the penthouse like a prisoner. It gives Sukuna a deep satisfaction to see the boy willingly come back home to him with a broad smile and his arms full of snacks he bought for their movie nights.

And he always pulls Sukuna into a tight hug after his return, snuggling into his arms, clinging to him as if he feels that dull ache in his chest, too, when they are too far apart. He probably experiences that phantom pain, too. But even without it, he is so smitten with Sukuna that he would never leave.

Such a sweet victory. The brat could run, but he doesn't want to.

Sukuna sighs and gets up from the couch, slowly strolling over to the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes narrow as he gazes down at the park and then lets his gaze wander over the seemingly endless streets and buildings under him.

Tokyo. Such a big city filled with so many souls, with so much warm flesh and life. A kingdom fitting for a King like him. A huge pot for him to stir. All those lost souls, caught in the loneliness and stress of modern life. He could give them something to pray for. He could be their God. He could make this city bow to him, collectively bringing all its citizens to their knees, worshipping and fearing him.

He could have all that. But he isn't even interested in it anymore, strangely. All his eyes search for in that sea of nameless bodies is that familiar shade of pink.

Two hours pass. The sun is beginning to set, casting a pink and orange glow over the city.

No sign of the brat.

The hollow feeling in Sukuna's chest is growing in intensity.

Where are you?

Did Sukuna misjudge the situation? Did the boy decide to run after all?

The shrill ringing of the phone pulls him out of his thoughts. He hears Uraume answer it, hears them sounding surprised, and then soft footsteps approach Sukuna.

Uraume bows deeply before him,

"Excuse me, Master Sukuna, this was a call from the hospital. Apparently, Master Yuuji was injured, and they called to let you know that he is up and wants to go home. But they won't let him leave on his own."

And just like that, Sukuna's vision goes blurry. Black spots dance before his eyes. The world is out of focus. His blood is rushing loudly in his ears, and his heart is hammering too fast in his chest.

"Master Sukuna?"

Sukuna manages to focus his gaze on Uraume. He nods curtly, shoving his shaking hands deeply into the pockets of his black suit pants. An indifferent smirk lifts his lips, but he thinks he can hear a strained note in his low voice when he replies,

"Alright, thank you, Uraume. Get the car, please. Let's pick that annoying brat up, then. That boy is nothing but trouble."

His jaw clenches painfully once his loyal servant has left the penthouse to get the car.

Fucking brat! What did you do?

Sukuna hastily grabs his suit jacket and shrugs into it while striding toward the elevator with large, hurried steps. The ride to the ground floor takes too long. Sukuna groans, one hand tugging at his tie. Why is it so hard to breathe in here?

When Sukuna strides down the brightly lit hospital corridor, he can already hear the brat's indignant voice carry to his ears, arguing with the nurse.

Sukuna stops in the open doorway, glancing at the hospital bed where Itadori is sitting, shirtless, with a large bandage wrapped around one shoulder and his ribcage. His tan skin is littered with bruises and scratches.

Sukuna feels as if someone landed a punch in his guts.

"Yuuji."

The boy turns his head, and Sukuna's heart constricts when their eyes meet across the room.

"Kuna! They won't let me go home! I told them several times I was ok, but they refuse to let me go!"

Sukuna is the one who closes the distance between them and pulls Yuuji into his arms. His embrace is too tight, but he cannot make himself loosen his hold on his brat. He needs that throbbing ache in his chest to go away. He needs his brat pressed to his body as close as possible to make sure he is ok. To make sure that what belongs to Sukuna is still intact.

He is already using his reverse cursed technique, intentionally, this time, mending Yuuji's wounds, taking all the pain away from him.

His lips move against the boy's temple, his voice sounding strange to his own ears,

"What happened? Are you alright?"

Yuuji nods while his arms wrap around Sukuna, and he nuzzles his face against Sukuna's neck,

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm glad you came here so fast. I just want to go home. It's just a scratch anyway."

At this point, the nurse clears her throat loudly.

"I wouldn't call that just a scratch! He got into a fight and got a stab wound in his shoulder that needed stitches. We advised him to stay here overnight, but he is adamant about going home. I can only let him go if you attest that you will stay with him at all times for the next 24 hours."

Sukuna doesn't even hear the second part. His mind starts spinning when he hears the words stab wound. Hot anger fills him, making him hug Yuuji even tighter. What a mockery that someone attacked Yuuji with a knife, of all things! Sukuna is the Master of a slashing technique! He is the one who slashed the brat open in the past, who severed his limbs from him several times just for the fun of it. But now, someone else cut Yuuji's skin open and drew blood from him! Sukuna is breathing heavily. How dare anyone touch what's his! How dare anyone lay a finger on his brat!

His voice is cold, barely able to hide the fury that's raging through him,

"How did this happen?"

Yuuji looks sheepishly up at him,

"Um, well, this kid got jumped by those three guys. I saw it happen, so what was I supposed to do? I went over to help him, of course!"

The nurse's face softens, and she nods,

"That was very kind of you but also dangerous."

Sukuna's fingers twist in the back of Yuuji's hair.

"Where are those guys?"

He will make sure they suffer before he ends their useless little lives.

"Already at the police station."

Sukuna wants to go after them, splatter their brains all over the floor, and make them choke on their own blood.

Yuuji groans slightly, his hands grabbing Sukuna's jacket tightly, probably feeling dizzy from the blood loss. And Sukuna realizes, to his astonishment, that instead of getting revenge, another matter is more important to him at the moment. The urge to hold Yuuji, to cup his cheek and make him tilt his head up so Sukuna can inspect his face. So Sukuna can see those beautiful golden eyes look back at him with that bright sparkle of life in them. So he can caress that soft skin and see the loving smile on the brat's lips.

His gaze doesn't leave Yuuji's as he tells the nurse,

"He's coming home with me. Hand me the papers I need to sign."

They leave the hospital shortly after, walking towards the parking lot with Sukuna's arm wrapped tightly around Yuuji's waist, keeping him close to his side.

He sits in the back with Yuuji on the drive home, holding his hand, unable to take his gaze away from the pastel pink hair and the pretty face of his former vessel. The dull ache of the missing soulbond is gone now that they are so close again, but to Sukuna's dismay, something still doesn't feel right. His chest feels too tight, and his heart feels too heavy.

"Don't ever do something so reckless again. Promise me you won't get yourself into danger like that again!"

He doesn't know where the words come from. Is this part of the role he is playing? The worried boyfriend? He cannot remember making the conscious decision to say those words.

Yuuji bites his lips,

"I'm sorry for worrying you, baby. But I had to help. I couldn't just walk away."

Of course, you couldn't. Even without your memories, you are still the stupid, selfless hero through and through.

Sukuna doesn't sleep that night.

He lies awake in the king-sized bed with Yuuji snuggled into his arms. Thoughts keep racing through his mind while his chest and throat still feel tight, making it feel like he can't breathe.

He cannot remember feeling this way before, but now, in the quiet of the night, he has time to analyze it and realizes that he recognizes those signs. He has seen them before. Short, fast breath, fingers stiff and clenched into claws, eyes wide open and unblinking. He has seen this a thousand times before, just never on himself, only on his victims.

He knows what this is.

Fear.

Sukuna's body is in a state of panic. Something he has never experienced firsthand before.

And the most troubling thing about this is that he knows exactly what triggered this.

The brat got hurt.

Sukuna could have lost Yuuji. And the thought of that sent him spiraling.

He grits his teeth angrily. It's ironic how he spent years wishing the boy death and ruin so Sukuna could finally break free, only to now cling to Yuuji desperately, afraid to let go of him in fear of feeling him slip through his fingers and dissolve into thin air.

When did it come to this? How did this happen?

Sukuna can't find an answer to those questions that race through his mind. But he lies awake the whole night listening to the soft inhale and exhale of the boy in his arms. His hand comes to rest on Yuuji's chest right above his heart. Sukuna's fingers sprawl possessively over the defined muscles of the boy's chest, feeling the reassuring constant thrum of Yuuji's strong heart, silently counting every beat.

Thank you so much for reading Chapter 9!! Big bad Sukuna panicking when Yuuji gets injured makes my heart happy ;) Did you notice when Kuna suddenly thought of Yuuji as "his brat" instead of "the brat"? I cried so much while writing that. It's the little things sometimes that make me emotional. My fave scene to write was where Yuuji kisses Sukuna's scars, though. That has always been something I NEEDED to write for Sukuita, and it makes me so weak. The thought of someone treating Sukuna with such tenderness makes me sob!! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that it could make you emotional, too. Thank you so much to everyone who keeps reading every update! It means so much to me to share this story with you! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

#sukuita #sukuna x itadori #sukuna x yuuji #sukuna #jjk fanfic

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