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bandgie · 2 months

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Who Dun It?

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

warnings! MDNI18+, fingering!!, (rough/soft) clitplay!!!, poly!skz, 4/8skz, hyung-line, slight mindbreak/subspace, super slight PIV

synopsis: After vowing to find the stranger who was tragically ripped away from you that unfortunate night, your simple plan turns messy when eight men claim to be the one you're looking for. Seven are surely lying, but what's the harm in indulging in all of them?

2.9k words

The cushions of the couch mold the shape of your body as you sit upon it. You find yourself picking at the loose strings anxiously, staring at the eight men who argue amongst themselves.

"He's lying!" It's Hyunjin who's shouting, a finger pointing at his younger frat brother. "He wasn't even there that night! He told me he had an essay due and couldn't come!"

Seungmin, as stoic as ever, rolls his eyes. "I finished early. I said that, like, 10 times. Are you stupid or something?"

It looks like Hyunjin might burst a vein from his neck, but Chan, the president of the frat, places a hand on Hyunjin's slender shoulder. "I don't think yelling will get us anywhere. Seungmin was there; He was fashionable late." He flashes a dimpled smile at you. "But you don't need to worry about who was there and who wasn't, baby, it was me."

Minho scoffs, "As if last I recall, you were too busy getting plastered to remember how to even finger someone."

You shift in your seat, drawing the attention of Felix who glances at you. He eyes you for a moment before wearing a look of sympathy on his face. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to," his deep voice rings in your ear throughout the commotion. "I know the boys can be a little much," Felix gives a friendly smile. "We can always pick up where we left off next time." He finishes with a wink.

There's hardly any time to respond when Changbin loudly shouts, "Yah! Yongbok is cheating! He's putting fake memories in her head!"

Felix quickly puts his hands up in defense, "I was just saying she can leave if she feels uncomfortable. You guys aren't even letting her talk." Upon hearing his words, all the men quiet their bickering and finally give attention to you. All of a sudden, you rather liked it when they didn't have their focus on you.

"Are you? Uncomfortable I mean," Jisung frowns.

You shake your head, "No! No, I'm just nervous, I guess. I didn't think you guys would get so worked up over this. I thought one person would say it was them. Not...all of you."

This makes Chan laugh, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Yeah, well, you got more than you bargained for." A few of the men chuckle. "What do you think we should do then?"

"Me?" You point at yourself.

It's Jisung that speaks, "Duuhh, you. You're the one who came here asking for your fingering prince. It's only fair you make the rules."

You can feel your face heat up at Jisung's joke, but he's right. The eight of them can argue all they want, but it's you who has the reins. One by one, you scan them. There are only vague memories from that night, and you can hardly tell who it might be just by looking at them.

And it's then that an idea pops into your head.

"I don't think I can make a decision just by looking at you guys," you admit. "I think it's better to replicate what happened."

"Replicate?" Jeongin raises an eyebrow and looks amongst his older frat brothers. "What do you mean?"

A sly smile makes its way on your already blushing face, "I think you know what I mean."

It makes sense to go from oldest to youngest.

Chan did the honors of getting you nude waist-down despite Jisung's complaining. You spread your legs, placing your heels on the edge of the cushions with your back flushed against the couch. It's intimidating to see their eyes on you, traveling to your exposed cunt to your embarrassed expression.

"You don't have to be shy baby," Chan smoothes his hand over your thigh. "Got such a pretty pussy. You should show it off all the time."

He laughs at your whine, finding his place beside you as he looks down at your nakedness. Chan hums, fingers traveling lower before going towards your knee again. You appreciate how he works you up. How he takes his time to make sure your hips try to maneuver for his hand to brush against your folds.

Chan is experienced, that's for sure. Even if you can already tell he's not the one from that night, you don't dare tell him. It feels too good to stop what he's started.

"What do you think baby, hm?" He looks at you. "Is this enough to admit it was me? Or do you need a little more?"

You nod, "I think I need a little more." Spreading your legs as further instruction, you gasp when Chan finally makes contact with your heat. He smiles at your slack jaw, opting to kiss your neck and rub soft circles on your clit.

"Feels good, huh?" He mumbles in your ear. "Just tell them it was me, baby. We both know how badly you want to finish."

It's true, you do want to finish. It's why your hips have picked themselves up from the couch and started rutting against his hand. Chan lets your wet folds run over the ridges of his fingers, pressing down more forcefully to add pressure.

"Hey, you can't cum that quick!" Changbin protests against your arrival. "Just hurry up and say if it was him or not!"

You keep quiet, save for the breathy moans and hard breathing. If you do tell the truth, Chan will stop on the brink of your orgasm. But if you lie, everything will come to a stop.

"It's...it's," you shamelessly try to hump his hand, but the impatient look on the seven other guys makes you confess. "It's not."

There's a part of you that thinks Chan might keep going and just let you finish, but he pulls his hand away from you instead. His body completely withdraws from your own as he tuts, shaking his head. "Should've just lied. I would've let you cum as many times as you wanted."

You watch as he puts his soiled fingers in your mouth to suck on, earning a moan from your lips.

Minho takes a different approach, opting to kneel before your spread legs and place his soft hands on the inner of your thighs. His sly eyes look up to your aroused ones as he smiles, "I'll be honest, it wasn't me. But you'll let me play with your pussy anyway, right?"

"No, she won't!" Hyunjin pouts, "You're wasting time! Shoo!"

While Hyunjin's long limbs flail in protest, you keep your attention on Minho. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, waiting for your response. Minho's warm breath sends chills when it comes into contact with your skin, and you find yourself nodding as you grip the undersides of your thighs.

He giggles, "Good girl."

You expect to feel his hot mouth, but you're surprised when he moves his hand to quickly rub against your clit. The sound of your wet folds reverberates throughout the apartment. Your clit is far too sensitive to be played so roughly with, but the sensation brings you back to the edge once more.

Minho watches as your back arches off the couch, how you've thrown your head completely back in pure ecstasy. He leans down to peck the top of your pelvis, a contrast to his relentless rhythm.

"I'm gonna cum," you whine. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum."

Minho smiles, "All over my fingers huh? Little pussy can't handle all this, can she?" He slows his past momentarily to move his other hand towards your entrance, dripping a finger into your pulsing walls. The combination of the rubbing and thrusting has you trembling, hips bucking wildly until Chan has to hold the top of your shoulders from behind to keep you still.

"Stay still baby, you're moving so much."

"So good," you look up at Chan. "Can't stop."

Chan watches as your face contorts into pleasure. Blinding heat fills your stomach and floods your pussy. You distantly hear Minho and a few of the other guys gasp when you cum. Arousal drips down Minho's wrist, pouring out from where his finger is inside.

Finally, you pick your head up to look at the mess, surprised to see Changbin striding to where Minho sits.

"Move move move! It's Binnie's turn!"

You whine when Minho removes his finger, but judging from the look on his face, he isn't too happy about it either. "Impatient ass," he sneers at Changbin, standing up. "I just started."

Changbin doesn't respond, too preoccupied with finding his place between your legs and tapping his cock on your swollen lips.

You gasp, looking down to see the heaviness between his legs, standing unashamed and proud.

"Gross dude!" Jeongin scrunches his nose in disgust. "Pull your pants up. I can see your ass hanging out."

Hyunjin and Seungmin laugh, but Changbin pays no mind. You've been told he has a hard time concentrating on more than one thing at once, but you didn't think he would zone in on you so quickly.

"Let me put it in," Changbin begs, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your slit. "It'll just be the tip, I promise."

You're just about to agree before you remember why you're here. How would you know if Changbin is the one if he doesn't use his fingers? You bite your lower lip, looking between his short fingers to his chubby cock.

"Binnie..." you pout at him. "Those aren't the rules."

He whines, humping his hips quicker as if it could change your mind. "Pleeease! Just one time, let me put it in one time and-"

"Bin," Chan's authoritative voice comes from above you. You feel him tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, reassuring. "Gotta listen to the boss here man."

Changbin looks dejected as his lower lips jut out, but he withdraws his throbbing erection obediently. His solemn expression fills you with pity and you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him from leaving.

"Let's make a little deal, yeah? Tell me the truth if it was you at the party, and I'll let you put the tip in. Okay?"

His eyes lit up a little too quickly, and you repeat yourself. "Just the tip, okay? Only the tip."

"He's not gonna listen," Seungmin shakes his head. "He only thinks with the head between his legs."

The jab has Changbin frowning again, but you tighten your grip around his waist for encouragement. "No, Binnie's a good boy. You'll listen to me, won't you?" Changbin nods, still looking somewhat sulky as he repeats, "Binnie's a good boy." This has you smiling, settling further into the comfortable couch. "I know. So tell me, Binnie, was it you?"

"Yes!"

"Fucking liar," Seungmin swears. "He's full of bullshit."

"Yeah, he's lying!" Hyunjin joins in. "It was me!"

Seungmin moves his cold stare to the taller man, "Why are you so persistent? It was not you." Hyunjin looks like he's about to argue again, but Jisung beats him to it, "Fuck you guys both! It's me!"

You have to tune out their arguing, looking at Changbin who behaves suspiciously. He has a ghost of a smirk on his lips, his eyes can't maintain eye contact longer than two seconds. The cherry on top is his blushing face, red with guilt.

"Binnieee," you drawl. "Are you lying to me?"

With eyebrows raised, you watch as his small smile falls. His lips pucker into something like a scowl, but he looks hopeful. Stupidly hopeful. Changbin shrugs and finally meets your eyes, "Maybe, but that doesn't matter!"

You frown, "You lied to me- oh-" Changbin cuts you off by dipping the fat head of his cock into your entrance. It's so warm, so thick that your cunt wraps around it snugly almost immediately. He rolls his hips to thrust shallowly, feeling your walls try to suck him in deeper.

"That's...That's cheating," you manage to say.

Changbin smiles, pulling his head out to slap it on your clit. "It feels good though."

He places his hand on the base of his cock to aim at your pussy, this time with no scolding from you. Before his tip has the chance to sink back into your heat, Hyunjin yanks him by the shoulder.

"Ya! What are you-"

"You broke the rules," Hyunjin reminds him. "You don't get a turn."

"But she-"

Minho looks rather pleased as he drags the sulky Changbin away from you, mostly likely happy he got his revenge. Though you wave Changbin a pitiful goodbye, your body begins to vibrate with excitement at the arrival of Hyunjin. As beautiful as all the men are, Hyunjin seems to match the brief descriptions you have of your mystery man that night. Long fingers, long hair, and a height that seems to fit.

Hyunjin takes his place next to you, smiling innocently to where you can see his dumpling cheeks and crescent eyes. "How are you doing, beautiful?"

The attention makes you blush, shyly hiding behind your hair as you answer, "I-I'm fine. I...I really wanna cum."

"Again?" He laughs, "You're barely halfway there, you know?" Despite Hyunjin's teasing, his hand travels down your inner thigh to your soaked folds. You gasp at the contact, looking down at his slender fingers rubbing you in circles.

"Mmm, that feels good," you sigh.

Though you aren't looking, Hyunjin beams at the compliment. "Good huh? How about familiar? Does it feel like that too?"

To that, you aren't too sure. Hyunjin is gentle, reassuring, and caring. Even as his digits travel lower to plunge into your cunt, it's still different from the night before. The mystery man was rougher, demanding. Telling you to spread your legs rather than the gentle voice Hyunjin uses.

"Just like that, pretty," Hyunjin whispers in your ear. "Such a good angel for me." Two of his fingers easily slide in and out of you, making you clench and writhe on the couch. His other hand palms his erection at the sight of you and the sound of your moans.

You can feel the men staring at the two of you. Changbin and Jisung have their cock out, stroking at the same face that Hyunjin finger fucks you. Felix seems eager to shove a hand down his pants, but his concentration is glued to your exposed cunt. Minho is whispering something to Jeongin who also can't take his eyes off you, nodding mindlessly to whatever his hung tells him. Chan's heavy hand pats the top of your head, comforting and somewhat wholesome.

"So," Seungmin crosses his arms against his chest, ignoring the raging boner in his pants. "Hurry up and say it's not him."

This makes you shake your head, content with finishing your second orgasm on Hyunjin's hand. His palm slaps against your cunt, briefly coming into contact with your clit. It's so good, so good that you might lie and say it was Hyunjin that night.

"Don't stop," you whine, pleading with Hyunjin.

He leans down and places a chaste kiss on your lips. His lips are plump, full, and wet with salvia. Your mouth chases his when he pulls away, earning a chuckle from him. "Wasn't planning on it."

Hyunjin slows his pace to add another finger, stretching you with three digits before he's pumping again. You squeal at the speed, hands grasping onto the cushions to ground yourself. Your entire body feels hot, overstimulated to the point of fainting. Your heels dig into the couch as your high builds throughout your body.

To make your climax powerful, Chan reaches down and flicks your clit rapidly. A mixture of a scream and a moan tear through your chest and you bury your face in Hyunjin's neck to conceal your embarrassing sounds.

"She's gonna cum again," Felix notes, eyes wide.

The men watch as your body begins to convulse once again, arousal dripping further onto the couch and some to the floor.

"Whatever," Minho snorts. "I made her cum first."

"Yeah, with my help," Chan looks up to narrow his eyes accusingly.

It's in the midst of their banter that you cum, shaking and filled with burning pleasure. Hyunjin's fingers hardly slow their pace, but Chan hears your muffled cries and slows his rubbing. Your drool begins to seep onto Hyunjin's expensive shirt, but he pays no mind to it. He's too caught up in the way your sensitive body jolts and quivers with every thrust.

He only stops when he feels warm tears soak his shirt. His fingers slip out of your cunt, taking a few strings of arousal with it. He cradles your face in his hands, looking worried.

"Oh, my sweet angel," he coos. "Was that too much for you?"

You're still vibrating with pleasure, jumping when Chan tenderly grips your neck.

"G-good," you manage to choke out. "S-so good. More, more. Wanna keep cumming."

The anxious expression on Hyunjin's face fades, and you hear a few of the men chuckle at your admission.

"You can cum many times as you want, baby," Chan confirms. "But we need to know, was it him?"

For a moment, you're confused. Was what who? Who was what? Your brain flicks with thinking before the light bulb goes off.

"It wasn't him, was it?" Jeongin hopes, eyes shining with hope and arousal.

Your mind is half-broken, barely managing to say, "Not...not him." Hyunjin groans in frustration, throwing his head back dramatically. "Fuck! I so thought she was gonna say it was me. Didn't think her brain would still work after all that!"

Hyunjin stands up, defeated. The space next to you feels cold and empty, but Chan's warm touch keeps you feeling floaty and safe. You reach up to grasp onto his form, mewling and pawing at any physical contact you can get.

"Shhh, everything's okay baby. We're right here," Chan leans down to whisper in your ear. "You're halfway there."

a/n: holy shit this is taking me soooooooo long so I decided to break it into parts lmao I apologize. *slightly* proof-read ill be honest. tell me how you like it! taglist: @hyunjinhoexxx, @sharonxdevi, @thexemyy, @linocvp1d, @nahimgoodmom, @oddracha, @ihrtlix, @soobin-is-squishy, @kwanisms-replies, @scrumptiousbasketballranchalien, @got-me-seein-stars, @mkbum(also if you guys want to keep up with fics just tell me you wanna be tagged in the comments or something)

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eddiethehunted · 4 months

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hey y'all here's yet another "i'll probably never finish this" snippet — this one's considerably longer (near 3k words!) so maybe it's okay <3

post-vecna, fwb, idiot4idiot, you know how it is. trans eddie but it’s not really relevant to this piece lol

18+ for sexual themes and also one usage of the f slur

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Eddie knows he's acting weird—or, weirder than usual—but he can't muster up the energy to care.

He's not really talking, sitting off to the side and kind of just listening in. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hang out with anyone, or whatever—it’s that he doesn’t think he can handle hanging out with Steve.

He's successfully avoided Steve all night and he plans on keeping it that way. That is, of course, until Robin, tipsy and warm and happy from the beers she's been crushing all night, gets up and pulls Steve over to the swing chair with them.

Eddie considers fleeing while she’s not sitting on his knee forcing him to stay there, but he’s not quick enough. She flops back down and brings Steve with her, giggling as he stumbles and bitches and complains about it, making the chair swing back and forth and jostle them all together in a way that would normally have Eddie laughing with her.

Instead, all he can do is stare beyond Nancy’s head, rolling his beer between his hands distractedly and wishing the alcohol would hit him even half as hard as it’s hitting Robin. Maybe then he wouldn’t want to fucking bash his head into the wall right now.

He can see Nancy giving him a weird, curious stare, and look, he likes Nancy, really. She’s cool and badass and he’s kind of scared of her, which is awesome. But he’s not about to talk to Steve’s ex about this fucked up friends-with-benefits to maybe-not-even-friends-anymore-and-definitely-without-benefits trainwreck he’s gotten himself into.

Robin sandwiches herself in between them, a sharp elbow digging uncomfortably into Eddie's ribs. Eddie is being absolutely assaulted by Steve's cologne and presence and warmth and he's not okay. His heart feels like it's going to explode and he wants to leave so fucking bad.

Robin starts rambling about graduation and college to Nancy. Eddie tunes out quick, because Steve's arm is flung over the back of the chair and he's rubbing these distracting little circles on Eddie's shoulder, through his shirt. He can feel Steve's eyes burning holes into the side of his face, over Robin's head.

Steve's touch is distracting normally, but even more so now because it's been almost three weeks since Eddie has seen him, and even longer since he's touched him. The last time they were this close, he'd had Steve climbing into his lap, panting and grinding on him and kissing him like he was trying to steal the air out of his lungs. Whispering Eddie’s name like a prayer between breathy little whines as if it fucking meant something.

The painful throbbing in his chest is nearly as bad as the uncomfortable ache between his legs, and he almost forgets that he's trying to distance himself when he feels Steve shift closer. Robin's leaning forward to talk to Nancy, and that leaves plenty of room behind her for Steve's hand to move, to curl into the hair at the nape of Eddie's neck. Plenty of room for Steve to lean into his space and god, Eddie is having a really hard time keeping a grip on his self-control because all he wants to do right now is pull Steve into the bathroom and fucking get on his knees and make it so that he's the only one Steve will ever want.

“Been a while,” Steve says conversationally. Casually. Eddie wants to fucking kick him.

“Uh-huh,” he replies, not willing to give Steve more than that. It earns him a huff, and Eddie doesn’t have to look to see that Steve’s rolling his eyes at him.

His voice is quiet and trickles down Eddie's spine when he says, "You've been avoiding me."

Eddie can't think of a good response, his voice sticking in his throat, his brain full of static. He finally swallows and vaguely says, "You think so?"

Steve's hand squeezes the back of his neck and every single nerve in Eddie's body lights up. Robin is right there. Like, she's half-sitting on Eddie's thigh. This is—its a really bad fucking time for Steve to be touching him.

"Why?" Steve asks him. He sounds hurt, but also a bit angry, and that shouldn't turn Eddie on but it really, really does.

He likes that Steve's hurting. No, really, he does. Because at least it's not just him. (He's never claimed to be a nice fucking person, okay? He knows he's a bit of a selfish asshole, and he's fine with that.)

He's not having this conversation while Robin is sitting on top of both of them, so he jerks away from Steve and gets up, not paying any attention to Robin's indignant shout as he storms into her house. He's been here enough times that he knows the way to the bathroom even with all the lights off, but he doesn't have the chance to shut the door before there's a foot blocking it.

Steve pushes in, looking pissed, and so, so hot. Eddie's knees feel like jelly and his stomach squirms like he's going to be sick. Emotional confrontation is like, the actual fucking worst, and there's Steve, angry and hurt and crowding him against the counter in Robin's bathroom, looking him dead in the eyes.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

His hands are on either side of Eddie's hips and their faces are so close Eddie could count his eyelashes if he tried hard enough. His cheeks are burning, his voice stuck in his throat, and he's annoyed because Steve knows that being pinned like this gets Eddie hot, and that's not fucking fair.

"I'm not," Eddie lies through his teeth. "I've just been busy—"

Steve snorts, cutting him off with a mean laugh. "Yeah, real busy, I bet. Must be hard work pretending I don't fucking exist."

Eddie is like, five seconds away from either punching Steve or kissing him. He hates that this is doing something for him right now, hates how hot Steve is when he's mad.

"Get off of me," he snaps, but it doesn't sound convincing. Steve's gaze drops to his mouth, just for a second, before it flicks back up.

"Did I do something?" he asks desperately, looks at Eddie with those big, dark eyes. Eddie presses his lips together firmly, biting the insides of them, because if Steve keeps looking at him like that Eddie's gonna let him bend him over this goddamn countertop. Steve seems to take his silence as confirmation, and makes a quiet, sad sound.

"You can tell me, Eddie," he says, a bit softer, like some of the anger has evaporated out of him. "I miss you."

That hurts.

Eddie wants to throw up. "Don't say that to me."

Steve frowns. "Why not? What, I can't miss you? Can't wonder what the fuck I did to piss you off so bad that you won't even look at me?" He backs off, a bit, enough for Eddie to breathe, crossing his arms tight across his chest. "One day you're shoving my dick down your throat and the next you're acting like you hate me. Kinda makes a guy wonder what happened."

"I don't—hate you," Eddie manages, nearly choking on his words because he doesn't want to say them, but the sad, hurt eyes Steve's giving him pull them from out of his chest. "I'm not even—I'm not even fucking mad at you, Steve. I'm not—this is so stupid." He rubs a hand over his face. “I just… I can't keep doing this shit. This—whatever it is.” He gestures vaguely between them. “Hooking up. Whatever."

Steve's shoulders slump forward. He moves back, until they're not touching at all and there's a few feet between them. He sounds exasperated and frustrated when he says, "Okay, so don't! You could've just told me you didn't want to fuck around anymore. I’m not gonna be mad or something. Jesus, Eddie, you can like, talk to me. I give a shit about being friends more than, like, getting some ass or whatever.”

Steve's not getting it, which is maybe for the best, but the distance between them makes Eddie want to pull his hair out. "No, I mean—" He can't help but reach out, tugging Steve a little closer by the loop of his jeans, which makes him flush so pretty. “I don't wanna stop."

"So...don't?" Steve says slowly, warily. One warm hand wraps around Eddie's arm, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed. "We can keep... I dunno, doing whatever. Whatever you want. Even just… hanging out. Or watching a movie, or—uh, yeah, whatever.” He swallows, glances down at Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie’s sure he knows just what Steve’s thinking about.

He can't help but laugh, because he's sure that what he really wants is not within the realm of what Steve is okay with. Sex is fun, but—god, Eddie wants to be allowed to love him. He’s already opened himself up more to Steve than anyone else. Steve already knows things about him that nobody else does, except his uncle. It’d been so easy to fall in love with him.

"That's the thing. I don't think we're on the same page."

Steve looks so confused that it would be funny if Eddie wasn’t on the verge of spilling his guts, of throwing up his heart all over Steve right now.

“I need you to elaborate, man,” Steve says. “‘Cause you’re giving some crazy mixed signals right now.”

“I don’t want to just keep hooking up with you. I know this all started just as fun and it is fun, but it’s driving me crazy,” Eddie lets out a frantic little laugh, feels like he’s going to start hyperventilating, but he’s started now and can’t stop, “I’m so into you it’s insane, Steve. Like, I like you. So fucking much. So much it makes me want to rip my hair out or something. I can’t keep doing this knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing to you and I can’t keep pretending that the thought of you with someone else doesn’t make me want to die. Okay? I can’t. It—it hurts and it fucking sucks and I can't do it anymore.”

His voice is shaking by the end of it, and he knows by the burning feeling in his eyes and nose that he’s about to start crying. Because this is it—this is what he’s been dreading, all this time: the moment that the other shoe drops, the moment that Steve rejects him. He’s a nice guy, he’ll do it kindly, let Eddie down gently, but that’ll hurt more. Eddie needs Steve to like, punch him in the face and call him a fag, or something. He can’t handle a sweet, gentle, let’s stay friends forever, it’ll all be okay rejection.

Instead of the bright snap of pain he’s hoping for, he feels Steve’s hands slide up the sides of his neck, almost like he does when Eddie’s down on his knees for him. It’s much softer, now, Steve’s thumbs stroking just under his eyes to wipe away the tears that he can’t stop from falling.

It’s too much.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut tight, shaking his head in frantic, jerky movements as his tears just keep coming. He wants to yell at Steve, to tell him to leave and let him lick his wounds in fucking peace, but he can’t make the words come out. All he can do is suck in another sticky, wet breath.

It tears out of his chest as a sob and Steve swears under his breath.

“Hey,” he breathes. He moves Eddie’s hair out of his face gently, tucking it behind his ears. Any traces of anger are gone from his voice now, and it’s soft, quiet, like he's talking to a frightened animal. “Eddie, hey. Shit, I’m sorry. Can you look at me?”

Eddie doesn’t want to, but he’s never been good at saying no to Steve. He forces his eyes open, blinking away the tears that blur Steve’s pretty face.

“If you’re gonna reject me just do it,” he says miserably. His voice feels thick as it comes up his throat. “I can take it, man.”

Actually, he’s pretty sure he’ll collapse to the ground sobbing and maybe even dry heave or throw up the second he’s alone, but Steve doesn’t have to know that.

“I’m not—” Steve huffs out a breath, something like a laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Eddie, I’m not rejecting you. I’m—I’m just kind of in shock.”

Eddie stares at Steve with watery eyes. “In shock?” he bites out. “Yeah, dude, that kinda happens when your friend confesses he has big disgusting gay feelings for you.”

“No! Not like—not in a bad way,” Steve clarifies. He has the most adorable pink flush on his cheeks, a frustrated little crease between his brows as he tries to find the words for what he’s so clearly hurting to say. “I’ve been into you for months. I honestly thought you were avoiding me these past few weeks ‘cause you could tell. I’m not, like,” he heaves a sigh, runs a nervous hand through his hair, “good at being subtle, man. I thought you were rejecting me.”

Eddie has no clue what kind of face he’s making right now, but he feels a little bit like he’s floating suddenly. Like he’s just missed the last step at the bottom of a staircase, a heavy, stony pang in his chest, his breath kind of stuck somewhere around his diaphragm. It’s almost like how it felt to flip upside down, weightless, as he climbed through the gate last spring, but only slightly less terrifying.

“I haven’t been with anyone else since the first time we hooked up,” Steve admits, and Eddie's mouth falls open, because that was nearly a year ago. “I know we were supposed to be casual, but it… was never casual for me.” His face is a little redder now, but he doesn't break eye contact. It makes Eddie want to squirm. “I shouldn’t have lied and said I didn’t want more. I wanted you. When we—” He swallows and Eddie can't help but glance down to watch the way his throat bobs, wants to sink his teeth into it. "When we’re together, you know, it’s… it’s all I ever think about. Fuck, I think about you all the time. I feel like I'm going insane.” He groans, letting his forehead fall forward onto Eddie’s shoulder. “I feel like I’m not doing a great job here.”

Steve thinks about him. Steve fucking wants him. Eddie is literally going to pass out or something.

“No,” he breathes, because this can’t be real, he has to be hallucinating or something, “no, you’re—this is really good. Keep going.”

Steve sighs like he’s frustrated with himself, his breath warm against Eddie’s shirt. “What I’m trying to say is that I like you too, Eddie. A lot. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t, I’m just—kind of not great at this shit.”

Eddie really, really wants to pinch himself, but he can’t fucking move as Steve’s words sink into his bones.

“You like me,” he croaks out. His hands curl into fists in the front of Steve’s shirt. He probably looks a fucking mess right now with tears and maybe snot all over his face but he can’t think about that, not when Steve is so close. “You actually like me? Like, not—not just fucking me?”

“I mean, I do like doing that,” Steve says, lifting his head with a ridiculous grin and eyebrow waggle that makes Eddie feel hot all over. He groans and shoves Steve’s face away half-heartedly, and Steve laughs, turns his head to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm.

Eddie just about melts into a puddle on the floor. God, the Steve Harrington charm. Steve’s smile turns a little soft.

“But yeah,” he says, leaning into Eddie’s hand. “I’m kinda crazy about you, man.”

Eddie needs to make sure he's not insane. "Like, you wanna cuddle me and shit? Fuckin’… bake me a cake?”

Oh god, what do people in relationships even do? Is that even what Steve’s gunning for here?

Steve's clearly trying not to laugh. "I mean, I can make you a cake if you want, but I'm not that great at baking. I always put too much flour and it turns out so bad, and this one time I accidentally put salt instead of sugar and Robin still doesn't shut up about it. I can make a pretty solid lasagna, though, if you want—”

"Oh my god," Eddie says, because he's definitely insane, and also because the idea of Steve in the kitchen making him a lasagna like some kind of little housewife is going to make him act fucking stupid, "shut up."

He really does pinch himself, then, and all it does is hurt. Steve’s lips quirk up again, and he steps a little closer, until it would be so easy for Eddie to tilt his head a bit and move in for a kiss. He goes a little cross-eyed trying to keep looking at Steve, trying to make sure this is still real, that this isn’t some Vecna shit and Steve’s about to turn into some kind of fucked up monster and start, like, eating him or something.

“Did you just pinch yourself?” Steve asks, grinning so wide Eddie can almost taste it.

“No,” Eddie lies.

“That’s so cute."

Eddie makes a weird, strangled sound, and it’s the most humiliating little noise, one he didn’t even know he was capable of making. He doesn’t have a chance to be embarrassed about it, though, because Steve moves so their lips are just barely apart.

“Can I kiss you now? I really want to.” Their noses touch. “I know it’s not the first time, but… I wanna kiss you.”

“Like in a gay way?” Eddie blurts, like an idiot.

Steve’s eyes crinkle up a bit when he laughs. “Yeah, dude. In a gay way. I mean, I kinda feel like me licking my jizz out of your mouth that one time was already pretty gay, but yeah. I wanna kiss you for real. If that’s okay.”

#steddie #teehee #posting this then LOGGING OFF BC I AM SCARED OF EVERYONE #desperately craving attention while being so so so scared of you all

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vivalabunbun · 1 year

Text

Sweet Sweet Nothings

Summary: The sweet lull of normalcy in an unconventional marriage

Word Count: 7K

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem! Reader, Fluff, this is just pure fluff, Smut, NFSW, MDNI, Omegaverse AU, A/B/O relationships, Modern AU, Alpha! Alhaitham, Beta! Reader, breeding, biting, established relationship, TW: Very vague mentions of gender dysphoria (of your secondary gender), TW: pregnancy and birth, Protective! Alhaitham, Jealous! Alhaitham

Authors Note: This isn’t much of a story, think of it as a collection of sweet nothings and domestic life with Alhaitham and the Sumeru cast after this. I just felt like I had to give them fluff after that slow burn. Enjoy!

Teal-orange eyes snapped towards the ticking clock on his oak desk, the time read 5 pm. Alhaitham’s duties were over for the day, now he had more pressing matters to attend to. Swift hands gathered up the papers scattered across the dark wood, stacking them into a neat pile before his body pushed against his plush seat. The golden glint of the ring on his finger only spurred him on to quickly exit his office.

“Hey! Alhaitham are you leaving work now? Great, how about we grab some drinks with-”

“No. I’m busy.” He bluntly dismissed his blond senior.

A firm hand snatched up his blazer that had been thrown across the back of his seat, the other flicked off the desk lamp.

“Oi! Your senior is inviting you to a-”

“If you have a request you need approved then please leave it on my desk, I’ll look over it once I return back to the office on Monday.” Alhaitham skirted past the blond’s still frame at the doorway, paying no mind to the disgruntled scrunch on Kaveh’s face. His mind was focused on more pressing matters.

–

“And then the brat just WALKS past me as if I were some dust on the ground! Could you believe that?” Kaveh thumps his glass back onto the tavern table, a small splash of wine lapped over the side.

Tighnari took another big swig from this glass, his ears weren’t drunk enough to handle the tumultuous complaining of the blond. Cyno was only half-heartedly listening, ruby eyes trained on the brand-new deck of cards he had spent the week building in his hands.

Yes, it is just a typical Friday afternoon. Colleagues gathered at Lambad’s Tavern, congregating at an outdoor table and enjoying the nice wine and early Spring air. Although more often than not, there would only be three seats filled instead of four.

“Just what is so important that they trifle over common courtesy? In the world of job opportunities, networking and connections are a critical part of getting higher up the chain. Just how did that shrewd man get that promotion?” Kaveh’s face already had the tall tale signs of a drunken glow.

“Well, it’s not really that out of character for him. People have always found his actions grating, but his efficiency at his work can’t be denied.” Tighnari rested his head on his hand.

“There’s been a change in the head secretary lately.” Cyno asserted, eyes now trained somewhere else.

“Oh? How so? He’s the same old crude man.” Kaveh dismissed.

Cyno motioned with his eyes at a sight just behind the two other men. Two confused heads turned to follow his gaze. Nearly choking on their drinks at the scene they were now witnessing.

There stood Alhaitham’s towering figure walking hand in hand with yours, bags filled with books and miscellaneous trinkets carried in his other. What made the men uncomfortable was the uncanny softness dawned on the stoic secretary’s face, as his teal eyes focused on you.

His Beta wife was pressing her body against his arm as she spoke close to his ear, pointing at random stalls and vendors. Alhaitham leaned down to hear you through the chattering crowd, making sure to maneuver your bodies through the bustling streets.

The three men didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of them as the couple walked out of sight, still holding each other close. Kaveh wonders if the wine being served today was stronger than usual. However, the three unwed men now got their answer to Alhaitham’s sudden full schedule.

The table of bachelors called for more wine. Maybe to cleanse their palette of the sour taste of jealousy.

–

“Have you seen Alhaitham today? I’ve been trying to hand him this paperwork since Friday.” Kaveh approached the head lawyer at the water cooler, the weekend was now over and it was now Monday, and the secretary was nowhere to be seen.

“Hm? The head secretary applied to use his paid vacation time off. It was approved last Friday.” Cyno took a sip from the paper cup.

“Huh?” The papers fluttered out of the architect’s slack hands, jaw agape.

His junior truly was trying to annoy him to death. That conniving bastard Alhaitham.

Fontaine was very different from Sumeru, with different types of foods, shops, and culture. It was quite exciting the first week of your late honeymoon to duck into every shop along the city streets. You discovered that your husband was fluent in the language, anything you pointed at he would translate for you without hesitation. However, the wonder of sightseeing faded within just a few days, like the true homebodies you were, there was a silent agreement to spend the rest of the time in the grand honeymoon suite.

The hotel Alhaitham booked was the most luxurious one Fontaine had to offer. You will have to blame this decision on the generous amount of financial freedom granted by a pharmaceutical payout. It was only fair in Alhaitham’s mind, you worked very hard during the rut brought on by faulty inhibitors. Hard work should be rewarded, so he decides you should be indulged with the best room service, fancy baths, and thousand-count silk sheets.

How you spent your time in the suite was really no different than how you would spend it in Sumeru. Alhaitham was laying down on the silk sheets, back slightly propped up by down feather-filled pillows, unwinding with a book in his hand.

“Ah…Ah!... Ah… Making your wife do all the work while on vacation? You’re such a terrible husband, Haitham.” You stilled your hips, hands propping yourself up along his toned body.

“Mm? You were really enjoying yourself, I didn’t want to interrupt.” There was a teasing tilt in his voice, teal eyes never looking away from the sentences printed as his other hand rubbed circles into your hip.

From this angle he reached deeper than usual, making you feel so much fuller. Your walls were clenching down, trembling with pleasure from the stretch and thick tip poking that one spongey spot. A while ago you had abandoned your book in favor of bouncing up and down on your husband’s lap. It was your late honeymoon, after all, there was almost five years' worth of time to make up for.

You knew your husband was just teasing you, but your lips couldn’t stop a pout from forming. You shifted a bit more on top of his god-like physique, pressing his tip deeper against that sweet little spot deep inside. Wandering hands made their way to grope at his plush pectorals followed by your pouting face, eyes trained on the book your husband was so engrossed by.

“Hmph…” A displeased huff left your lips, it was absolutely adorable to him.

“Is something the matter?” The corner of his lip was upturned just the slightest bit.

“It’s our honeymoon and yet my husband is already having an affair with a book.” You playfully sulked into his chest.

“My, I never knew my wife was the jealous type.” Finally, he snapped the book closed, playful eyes gazing into yours.

“I guess you learned something new then.” You gently confiscated the book from his hand, placing it farther away on the large bed.

Alhaitham gave a hum of acknowledgment, both hands now firmly seizing the sides of your waist. Steadying your body before following it up with a solid snap of his hips. You pressed your face harder against his chest, muffling the moan that was suddenly forced out of you.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? Why are you so quiet now?” His hips set a rhythm, slow and deep.

His thick length dragged along your slick walls in all the right ways, you could feel every inch outlined inside you. Each roll of his hips gently lifted your body up before accompanying it back down. Your mouth fell open, breathing out soft moans against his warm skin. The smell of lust hung heavy in the air of the spacious room. But you wanted more, this slow lovemaking couldn’t satisfy the greed deep within.

“Mmm… More…”

“More?” His pace escalates just the slightest bit.

The sloppy sounds of your connecting bodies were louder now, with each in and out of your slick cunt like purrs of pleasure. He was hitting that spot that brings shooting pleasure throughout your nerves. Still, maybe it's because your expectations have been set a bit high from your first taste, but your greed wanted more.

“More~” You breathed out, face now pressed into the crook of his neck.

“Mmm, I think I know what my lovely wife wants.” A hand supports the back of your head, smoothing out the hair.

Swiftly you got turned under him, his board frame now looming above, that handsome smirk on his face. He rested your head gently on the dawn pillows, as your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him down closer to you. The combination of his weight on top of you and how heavy he felt inside your sobbing cunt sent shivers up your spine. Yes, this is what you wanted.

Leaving the crook of his neck, your lips chased after his. Alhaitham couldn’t help but let out a small huff, you were quite needy today. His lips captured yours in a deep kiss, shallowing all your noises. He shall spoil you, it was your honeymoon after all.

In this position, he had much better footing and grasp on your waist. Meaning the strength and pace of his hips slamming into yours increased to the rhythm you desired. Moans were flowing out like water from your mouth, eyes teary with lust. The claps of your bodies echo through the room, he would pull out to the tip then slam back in. Just the way you liked it.

Teal eyes observed your loose face, the rolling back of your eyes signaling that the knot was about to come undone. But before he lets you reach cloud nine, you have to answer a question that he’s been pondering.

“Would you rather have consistent pleasure spread evenly throughout the year… or four days of nonstop, mind-melting pleasure then nothing for the rest?” Alhaitham asked right up against your ear, making your skin bristle.

You felt his hips roll back to their slow methodical pace. Oh, he wasn’t going to let you taste sweet release until you paid the toll of his curiosity. Really, your husband can be so mean sometimes. You let out a small whine, trying to roll your hips into his but his firm hold prevented such action.

“Answer the question, sweetheart.” Alhaitham continued to egg you on, clearly enjoying your displeased whines.

“Why can’t I have both?” You muttered close to his own ears, tightening your embrace around him to offset the embarrassment creeping up on you.

At your response his hips stilled, stoic teal eyes gazing at you as you looked away. You didn’t see the smirk that returned to his features.

“Goodness, my wife is insatiable.” He dragged his length out fully.

Before you could even let out another whine at the loss, he returned it fully inside of you. Filling out your unexpecting walls again pounding against that spongey patch, making your back arch up and toes curl.

“AH!” Your body was pressed impossibly close to his.

“I wonder if I should keep you at home, confined to the bedroom for your sake.” His hot breath ghosted over your ear.

He was pistoning in and out now, fat tip abusing your sweet spot just the way you wanted it. Your walls were clenching around his girth just like how your arms were holding onto him to ground your sanity. The searing white flashes of pleasure were shooting up through your nerves, the edge was approaching fast. The filthy fantasy Alhaitham was painting in your mind only served to quicken the process.

“All you have to do is be a good wife, and welcome me home with open legs. How about that?” Alhaitham pressed sweet kisses against your neck, a far cry from the filth that was leaving his tongue.

You felt his teeth brush against the side of your neck before they clamped down. That was what unraveled the knot inside you. Your ankles hooked together as your hips pushed closer to his. Back arching almost painfully, bodying trembling and eyes rolling back. Alhaitham let out a small hiss at the tightness of your walls contracting. He wasn’t going to last long if you continued to be this impossibly tight.

He could tell from the way your eyes were still seeing the back of your head you were still in the midst of your orgasm. This meant that Alhaitham was free to chase after his own release now. So he does. His length continues to pound against your quivering walls, pushing through the tight clenches. The extra gush of slick helped to accelerate his movements further. Sloppy slapping of skin against skin, he could feel that his tip was probably red and swollen from his calculated delayed release.

Pressing his pulsing tip right up against your cervix, the tension inside him finally snapped. Flooding your walls with thick, warm release. Your body instantly responded, walls beginning to twitch and convulse more, trying to milk every last drop. Alhaitham panted against your neck, sucking on the soft skin from time to time as he held your body close.

“Mmm… Don’t mark up my neck. I brought all these pretty dresses to wear and now I can’t wear anything but turtle necks.” Your fingers tussled through his messy ash locks. It seems like you’ve returned from cloud nine.

“You can just wear them in the room.” He pressed another kiss to your neck.

Before you could voice your complaints your husband buries your face into the crook of his neck, a silent invitation. Who were you to reject? The sensation of your teeth clamping down onto his smooth skin, leaving deep indentations seems to appease his primal urges noted by the low growl that rumbles in his chest.

“Would you like to take a bath, habibti?” Gentle finger caressed your face.

You hummed in confirmation, nuzzling into his touch more. The calm, sweet lull of intimacy washed over the room. Passion satisfied, for now at least.

“You smell.” Dehya scrunched up her nose.

You gave a deadpan stare at your Alpha friend beside you. You recently returned from your trip to Fontaine, meeting up with your friends to show them the gifts you had brought back.

The weather wasn’t that hot today so you definitely weren’t sweating, and your outfit was also fresh from the clothesline. You even took a quick shower before you went to the agreed-upon cafe. You brought your arm up to your nose for a quick sniff, nothing smelled particularly off.

“I smell normal.” You raised an eyebrow at her.

“No, you smell like you just rolled around in the forest.” She retorted.

Now you were confused, glancing at Candace and Nilou. Wait, why does it look like the two were trying to hold back their laughter? What is going on? You just wanted to give them their souvenirs.

“What Dehya is trying to say is… it seems like you’ve gotten closer to your husband.” Candace rested her elbows on the table as she leaned in.

Oh. They meant that. A scarlet flush instantly engulfed your cheeks, a silent admission of the truth. All at once you saw the gleam in your friends’ eyes, and they started hounding you for the details.

The tea served at the cafe was always brewed to perfection and the leaves were of the highest quality. However, your friends were much more interested in the new development of your marriage.

–

You were drained. You loved your friends, you really do. But spilling the tame details of the budding romance between you and your husband with burning cheeks sure depleted your battery. In a way, they deserved to know, supporting you for over five years throughout the murkier times.

At the moment, you were curled up on the couch against your husband’s chest. Fingers fiddling with the ring that matched yours resting on his finger, as his attention was trained on the book in his other hand. It wasn’t time for your ritual quiet reading session, so you felt it was appropriate to quietly enjoy some skinship. Alhaitham didn’t seem to mind.

“Haitham.” You began.

“Mm?”

“What is your scent like?” You continued to fiddle with his wedding ring.

“According to your friends, a tree.” His deep voice replied, never once looking up.

“Mmm.” Your lips pressed into a line, still toying with the gold band.

You had that look on your face, Alhaitham notes. Demons don’t disappear so easily, even at the start of a new chapter, they will continue to cling to your shadow. If he could, Alhaitham would strangle those devils with his own bare hands. But he couldn’t. So instead, he shall always be there to pull you out from the ice-cold water back to the warm shore.

He flips the book over, placing it faced down on the arm of the couch. His full attention was now on you as he tenderly grasped your hand, pulling you closer. He pressed his nose against your neck, senses searching through the thick layer of opulent woodiness.

The faint sweet hints of padisarah pudding mixed with the bath products and laundry detergent you shared were guarded by that layer. The scent that he recognizes as yours, the scent he shares with you.

“I smell like you. That is the only scent I will recognize as mine.” His teal eyes peered up at you.

You were silent for a moment, hand halting but still grasping the ring.

“Pfft. Have you been reading my old novels again?” You couldn’t suppress the small laugh and smile.

“Did you want me to?”

“No.”

You intertwined your fingers with his, rings clinking together, a physical show of a bond.

Alhaitham rested his head in the crook of your neck, continuing to breathe in your essence. The scent of you always seems to lull him into a drowsy state of comfort. Yet, it wasn’t heavy nor did it cloud his thoughts, so he could always think clearly of you. Yes, this is the scent he adores.

“Have you been doing something to make my Alpha and Omega coworkers avoid me?”

“...”

“What a weird Alpha you are.” You rubbed your cheek against your husband's resting face.

You’ve been sluggish lately, Alhaitham observed. More often than not, he found himself carrying your sleeping frame back to bed after you fell asleep curled up on the sofa. Book in your limp hands. Your alarm would also be ringing longer than usual, you used to be able to turn it off by the first ring so as to not disturb him from his slumber. You knew he was a light sleeper.

As he took a bite of the dinner you had just cooked he notes the blander taste. It was your usual style to throw in as many spices as you pleased. It was the start of flu season, and Alhaitham noted the cough that’s been going around in his office. However, he had a different hypothesis he wanted to share with you tonight. He watched as you chewed then shallowed.

“Habibti, have you taken a pregnancy test lately?” His voice was calm, tone stable.

Your fork clattered against your plate as you stared at him starstruck, eyes wide and mouth agape. This was why he waited, it wouldn’t be good to have food go down the wrong pipe. He maintained a neutral expression, staring into your eyes to read the emotions that were running rampant behind them.

“N-no… but…” A furrow formed between your brow as you brought a hand up your mouth. A habit of yours when you were deep in thought.

The two of you were careful. Pills are taken at specific times. Morning after teas were always in stock around the house, either he brews it for you right after a moment of passion or you would drink it in the morning. However, Alhaitham wasn’t startled. He understands that even with birth control there was always a risk.

Dinner was swiftly finished, dishes piled in the sink for later, there were more pressing matters to attend to. You were currently in the bathroom with the pregnancy test he had picked up on his way home from work. Alhaitham was leaning his back on the wall beside the bathroom door. He was trying to calculate when you last had your time of the month, or when exactly you began to behave differently.

The singing hinges of the bathroom door pulled him out of his thoughts. You had that look on your face again. Alhaitham didn’t even need to look at the test in your hands to know the results, two red lines. From how frozen your stance was in the door frame, he already knew what thoughts were running through your mind.

Children were never planned nor discussed, at the beginning the two of you were much more focused on your careers and enjoying your free time. That is to say, you greatly enjoyed the double income and no kids life. However, there was now a fork in the road. The hands holding the test were now trembling. Alhaitham quickly brought you into a tender embrace, to silence the wild thoughts before they begin to torment you.

“Whatever your decision may be, I will support it unconditionally. Take your time.” Rubbing a small circle into your back.

You were silent but your arms wrapped around his torso, resting your head against his shoulder. Quiet reading time was a bit more quiet than usual tonight.

–

It was now a Saturday night, Alhaitham had already situated himself on his spot on the couch. There was already a book in his hands, but he didn’t open it, he was waiting for you. You usually didn’t take this long in the shower, he was beginning to wonder if he should go knock on the door. But there was no need, soon the soft thumps of your steps were heard coming down the hall.

Contrary to the usual, you make a b-line straight into his lap, curling up against his board frame. He didn’t say anything, supporting you with an arm and holding you closer.

“I want to keep the baby.” You spoke softly against his neck.

Alhaitham closed his eyes, mind going deep into thought. There was more than enough money saved up to support a child. Sumeru has free good quality health care, a great daycare program, and the best education system. The nation offers a generous tax deduction for families with children. There were enough rooms in the house that one could be turned into a nursery, it would be troublesome to have to babyproof everything and rearrange the furniture.

Ah, the two of you will have to sacrifice your free time and sleep to take care of a needy newborn. However… He opened his eyes.

“Then we should start making preparations for our new addition.”

If it’s with you, Alhaitham is more than willing to sacrifice those luxuries and needs.

Alhaitham had to be more observant, the changes to your body and hormones made it so you were much more sensitive to your surroundings. Foods that were too strong in scent had to be dialed back or not cooked in the house. He also took care to clear the floor of any stacks of books lest your foot knocks into them.

The worst part of it was probably how the pregnancy was disrupting your sleep. Your body needs it, yet the growing bump and overactive hormones made it hard for you to find a position that welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep. Often tossing and turning, Alhaitham would place a pillow under your belly which seemed to help a bit.

Then came morning sickness, Alhaitham is adamant that your child be thankful for all the suffering you were enduring to give life to them.

The ashen-haired Alpha had been extra careful with his inhibitors as well, making sure each dose was measured to the line and constantly checking the dates printed on the bottles. Still, the clawing of his instincts only grew stronger as his teal eyes observe your bump growing day by day. You were working so hard to carry the child, he needed to do something to make you relax and comfortable.

–

Currently, your bed has been buried under a mountain of quilts and plush pillows. You had your hands on your hips as your eyes surveyed the messy state of the bed you had just made a few hours earlier. You folded and pack those quilts away weeks ago, why were they back out?

“Haitham, why can’t I see our own bed?”

“There’s no cause for concern. Your body must be tired, go take a rest.” A gentle large hand rested on your lower back, encouraging you towards the heavenly pile.

That sentiment from seven years ago still rings true to this day. Your husband is weird. Still, there was a small smile on your face, what a silly sweet weirdo he is. The soft wafts of fresh linen encapsulated your senses, layers upon layers of fabric cushioning your achy joints and growing belly. Gentle fingers combed their way through your hair, making your eyelids grow heavy.

Were these inherited instincts or learned gestures from old light novels? Oh well, the answer is irrelevant.

One Saturday afternoon you were rudely awakened by the maddening repetition of thumping. You were now well into your second trimester, the bump on your belly growing steadily day by day, which only meant your sleep schedule only got worse. All your senses have been going into overdrive lately, every bump in the night making your eyes snap open. You groggily rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, begrudgingly rousing your sluggish body from the haven of pillows and blankets.

By this point, you and Alhaitham had announced to friends and family about your pregnancy, there were many tears of excitement shed that day. Followed by a steady stream of boxes and gifts placed into your or your husband's hands. These items ranged from teas to help with morning sickness to long loose maternity gowns.

At first, you raised an eyebrow at the shapeless dresses your mother had gifted to you. Stating that they made you look like a lost ghost. However, now with your baby bump, the soft loose fabric felt divine against your sensitive skin. Carefully, pushing off the mattress you took your time gaining your balance. Moving has become troublesome because of your now shifted center of gravity.

Steadying yourself with a hand on the hallway wall you waddled toward the source of the commotion. As you grew closer to the room across the guest room, an extra space that was utilized as a small side library the barrage of noises stung your ears more. You felt irritation creeping up on you.

Grasping your hand on the door frame you peered inside to see a head of blonde hair. Oh. It’s Kaveh. That explains the noise.

You quietly observed the back of the unaware man as he continued to hammer furniture together. Your husband had told you earlier in the week that Kaveh would be coming over to help set up the nursery. He mentioned something about the blond having to pay off an old debt.

Oh well, it saves you and Alhaitham the trouble of rearranging the furniture.

“Ugh, that bastard has not changed a single bit. Who would choose such an ugly bassinet? His poor child will be welcomed into the world surrounded by ugly furniture.”

Your lips pressed into a firm line. You had chosen the bassinet when out shopping with your husband. You bought it with your own money too. You thought it was quite cute… It’s cute, right? You waddled off to find your husband.

“Alhaitham…” Tighnri stood just to the left of the glass door of the small cafe, your favorite cafe.

Your husband was exiting the door, a small chime from the bell hanging above his head announcing his departure. A brown take-out bag, that contained the padisarah pudding you have been craving for the fourth time this week, clutched firmly in his hand. Alhaitham greeted his fellow colleague with a nod of acknowledgment.

“I know your wife is pregnant. However, food should be in moderation. Especially sweets. You should know that during pregnancy the change in hormones makes it harder for the body to control its levels of-”

The ashen-haired man raised one hand, signaling for the other to halt their lecture.

“I acknowledge your expertise and advice. However, time is precious and to save both of ours, I invite you to take this debate up with my wife. To warn you beforehand, you will lose.”

Tighnari let out a huff of exasperation, steps heading in the direction of your shared home with Alhaitham. Surely you were more reasonable than your Alpha husband at the moment. Tighnari knew it was in their primal instincts to pamper their mates, caving into any demand no matter how unreasonable or troublesome.

The head secretary has always been a rather level-headed individual in his eyes, sometimes to a fault, so it must just be his instincts influencing his actions. Tignari even heard from a certain blond that the ashen-haired man had given him the deadliest glare because the architect had critiqued your taste in home decor.

“It’s normal for people to have cravings during their pregnancies, and for the most part, it’s harmless. However, there is a whole misconception about the saying ‘eating for two’. In truth, you only need about an extra glass of milk and an extra pita pocket a day. You are feeding a small-”

Alhaitham stared ahead at the path in front of him, doing his best to tune out the ramblings of the shorter man walking beside him. He had one purpose, and that was to deliver your padisarah pudding to you.

–

Tighnari was now walking in the direction of his own home, spirit shaking a bit. Like always, Alhaitham’s prediction was flawless. He lost. The defiant blank gaze you gave him at the doorway of your house was enough to make the ebony-haired Alpha stop his clearly unsolicited advice. In the end, you got your pudding.

“That is all I have to report. Now that you have this knowledge, I trust that you will be able to decide if this proposition is fair or not. Here are the files for you to look through.” The ivory-haired Alpha placed the stack of papers on the smooth desk.

“Understood. Thank you for the report, Cyno.” Alhaitham gathered the paperwork into his hands, beginning to skim through the contents.

His teal-orange eyes soon left the crisp papers, peering at his colleague with an inquisitive glance. It wasn’t like the head lawyer to remain in his office after he finished delivering his information.

“Is there any more you would like to discuss?”

“Yes, I have prepared a gift for your child.” Cyno reached into his blazer pocket.

Alhaitham hid his sigh. Your home was already littered with so many gifts and baby items, it was troublesome keeping the floors clear of any potential tripping hazards. You were now in your third trimester, slow steps more focused on your balance and the ache in your lower back than paying attention to the floor.

Your husband wonders if he should have waited until he applied for maternity leave to tell his closest colleagues about your pregnancy.

“Here.” Cyno handed him an engraved box.

Was this a TCG card case? Alhaitham’s unreadable eyes shifted between the case and the head lawyer’s eager eyes. Really, he should’ve expected this, he is already well aware of the tan Alpha’s obsession with the card game.

“Thank you.” Your husband took the gift from the awaiting hand.

“I custom-made the deck to be as beginner friendly as possible. Even still, these cards are staples in the game so this deck will be solid regardless of the changing meta. I made sure to have every card laminated as young children don’t know restraint. The box is also custom-made, it is made from solid wood but any sharp edges have been rounded out.”

“You didn’t have to go through so much unnecessary trouble.” Alhaitham wishes that Cyno didn’t.

“Since most gifts have been either for your wife or for the child, I have prepared a gift for you as well.” Cyno reached into his inner coat pocket.

This was unexpected. Your husband observed the tan man pull out a small journal. Stationary? You had already gifted Alhaitham a lifetime supply, but they were for only very important situations. So this could be a welcomed addition.

“I wrote down some of my best jokes for you to tell.”

Nevermind. Alhaitham didn’t even want to reach for the small notebook. Cyno places it on top of the desk.

“It’s unnecessary.”

“It will help pass the time while entertaining your child. Your wife has been pregnant for a while now, it must feel like an maternity.”

“...”

“Did you not get it? It’s because ‘maternity’ sounds like ‘eternity’ and-”

“I am very busy, head lawyer. Please excuse yourself from my office.”

Alhaitham was aware of the concept of ‘pregnancy glow’ from the anatomical journals he read some time ago. However, seeing it in person was much different from what the book had described. Another example of how learning purely from books is not enough.

You were radiant, features softer and skin glowing. The aura around you has also been much gentler, likely attributed to your constant drowsiness and lack of stress from work as you were now on maternity leave. More often than not, Alhaitham finds it hard to keep his hands off of you.

Resting an open hand on your round belly, feeling the subtle shifts of your child as he reads. Hugging you from behind as you cook, it’s to support the baby he reasons. He offers his chest as a pillow whenever sleep calls for you regardless if it was on the couch, you needed your rest.

However, there’s a caveat: others can’t seem to keep their hands off you either.

“Oh! What a strong kick! I think they have real potential for dance.” Nilou exclaimed as she felt your belly.

“Haha, what a meddlesome kid already. Kicking your poor mommy.” Dehya also had one hand resting a top.

“It’s uncomfortable, yes, but it’s a good sign that they’re healthy and strong.” You let out a small sigh.

“Here, have another pillow to support you” Candace placed the soft cushion behind your back, relieving some of the pressure.

“Thank you, Candace. Even though I’m going to become a mother soon, it seems you’ll always be the mom of our group.” You giggled, giving your friends a wide smile.

“Oh, you flatter me too much.” Candace chuckled, joining the rest in feeling your round bump.

Alhaitham sat in your usual spot on the adjacent sofa, trying to read his book. However, his teal eyes couldn’t help but peer over at the hands that were plastered all over your belly. Although his gaze remained neutral, his lips were slightly pressed into a line. Their hands didn’t need to linger for that long he surmises.

–

“Have a safe trip back!” You bid your friends goodbye, it was nice to have visitors when you couldn’t leave the house easily.

Alhaitham closes the front door after their figures disappeared into the distance, offering his muscular arm to support you. You gladly accepted, as your feet and joints sang with relief as pressure was shifted off of them. Slowly strolling down the hall back to the living room.

Alhaitham presses a soft kiss against your temple, a clever diversion from his true intentions. He couldn’t help the frown that formed on his lips or the scrunch of his nose. Your friends had drenched you in their scent, overpowering your subtle fragrance. Tsk, this is why others should keep their hands to themselves.

“Let's take a shower. Of course, I’ll assist you.”

“Mm? Haitham, it’s pretty early. We haven’t even had dinner.”

“I’ll help you wash your hair as well.”

“Haitham-”

“I’ll massage your shoulders and feet afterward.”

“... Fine… remember to use the lotion as well.”

“Of course.”

There was no reason to be nervous even as your due date grew closer and closer. A room at the Bimarstan has already been reserved. He had already prepared a hospital bag with extra clothes, blankets, and toiletries. Alhaitham also packed some books in there was well. However, as you began to count down the days, it’s hard not to notice the anticipation in the air. You were very much ready to meet your child and to finally not be pregnant anymore.

“Do you think the child will be more like you or me?” You turned to face your husband as he lay in bed.

“It doesn’t matter. As long as they’re healthy.” Alhaitham tucks a quilt from the nest up to your chin.

“Oh? I think that if our child looks like you but has my personality, they’d be quite popular.” You pondered out loud.

“Mm.” Alhaitham pulls you closer to him from behind, resting his chin atop your head.

“Then if they resemble you, it's best that they have my personality. Lest our peaceful lives will be disrupted by a constant stream of suitors at the door.” He entertains your musing.

Your soft giggle jingles through the air as you stroked your belly, his hands soon join yours. A comfortable silence encapsulated the two of you, his soft caresses lulling your heavy lids closed. This was the sweet calm lull of normalcy, and you both were satisfied.

Alhaitham had closed his eyes, only for them to snap open with the sudden jolt of your body. Did the baby kick again? They sure are disruptive, he can already feel the long sleepless nights to come. However, there were still a few days to stock up on as much rest as possible.

“Haitham, I think my water broke.”

Nevermind.

–

You were holding onto his hand with an iron-clad grip, crushing his fingers together. However, he knew this was barely scratching the surface of the discomfort you were currently experiencing. If he could, Alhaitham would bare all your pain himself.

However, he couldn’t so he’ll sit beside you in the Bimarstan, brushing the hair out of your sweat-socked face and whispering sweet nothings to encourage your efforts. You’ve been in labor now for about four hours. Alhaitham has decided that the first thing your child learns to write will be a thank you letter addressed to you.

You were trying to keep your breathing as stable as possible, practicing the technique the midwife taught you. Put the pain of the contractions always broke your streak, making you have to start from the beginning to try and steady your breath. The midwives and doctors were encouraging you to push as hard as you could. You already were, but you took a deep breath and then held onto it. Giving it your all.

“WWAAHHHHH!”

A loud, piercing, yet beautiful cry echoed off the walls.

“It's a boy!” The doctors announced.

“He’s got quite the set of lungs.” You giggled, tears still pooling at the corners of your eyes. Cradling your newborn.

Alhaitham only let out a gentle hum, resting his head on your shoulder as he gazes at his son. Eyes as soft as the little one’s plump cheeks. It was quite a riveting experience, how can one fall in love with a little stranger so quickly?

“No more full nights rest for us when we return home, huh.” You rested your head on top of his ashen hair, smiling as you continued to stare at your little bundle.

Your husband lets out a soft mixture of a hum and a chuckle. He’s already prepared himself to sacrifice sleep in order to nurture this little bond created between the two of you.

To your surprise and his great delight, your child sleeps through the nights well. A little too well. You had been released from the Bimarstan just a few days ago, the doctors all said your child was healthy. However, you couldn’t help but stare at him as if you were in a trance.

“Come to bed, your body needs the rest to heal.” His warm touch grasped the sides of your shoulders, as Alhaitham pressed his face into your neck. Trying to lure you back.

“Yes, I know but… just a little while longer.” You reached a hand up to tussle through his soft locks.

Your eyes never stopped observing the small ups and downs of your little bundle of joy as he slept. Well, the face he made earlier when you had woken him up for his regular feedings sure wasn’t one of joy. He’s just like his father, grumpy when disturbed from the sweet embrace of sleep. But he needed to feed every three hours if he was to grow up healthily.

“He’s quite a lot like you. A deep sleeper.”

“Oh? I think he’s quite like you, Haitham. You should’ve seen the mean mug he gave me.”

“I never scowl at you.”

“Yes, but you’re grumpy when woken up.”

“Hmph.” Your husband buries his face deeper into your nape. Teal eyes never breaking their gaze from the child you’ve gifted him.

The air was quiet, yet warm and sweet. It was well past your preferred bedtime, but strangely not a single muscle felt tired as two pairs of eyes continued to study the small moments of his chest.

“Should we head to bed now, Haitham?”

“Mm, perhaps a few more minutes wouldn’t make a drastic difference.”

Fin~

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #al-haitham x you #alhaitham headcanons #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #alhaitham scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin omegaverse #genshin smut #alhaitham fluff #vivalabunbunfics #alhaitham fanfic #al haitham x you #alhaitham x yn #alhaitham imagines

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mandarinmoons · 25 days

Note

Hi! So what about BAU!Reader and Spencer are fresh into their relationship. Like weeks into it. Reader is just as shy and nerdy as Spencer was in early seasons. (This can be any season of Spencer) anyways it’s Spencer’s birthday and Spencer begs reader to not buy anything for him so instead she knits him a replica of Dr. Who scarf because she remembers him mentioning to Garcia he was trying to find the perfect replica for his Dr. Who cosplay (7x23 when Garcia and Spencer go to that convention) so reader, who never watched it before, watches the entire series while knitting the scarf bc she knows how much Spencer loves Dr. Who and she wanted to understand his interests more. Maybe she makes herself a matching scarf or hand warmers in the process. And then she’s like “I have a ton of questions about the series though” and pulls out a notebook of her questions as she’s asking them Spencer realizes she’s THE ONE and it’s all just fluff and two nerds in love 🥰

I've never consumed any content about Doctor Who so I'm sorry if this is a bit vague BUT the idea was so cute so I had to give it a shot x

You and Spencer were both nerds, it’s what drew you two together and keeps you both joined at the hip. Even though you two had been together for less than eight weeks, both of you had your eyes on one another for a good while. When mutual feelings were finally admitted the only thing different from before was that you got to hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek comfortably without having to worry if it’ll make the other person uncomfortable.

Spencer’s birthday was coming up and with Spencer being the way that he is, he was adamant about not letting you splurge on his big day. You were a bit annoyed by it because a part of you did want to go out and treat your special boy the way he deserved to be treated. However, you did not want to argue with him so you decided to get a bit creative.

Long before the relationship had been established, Spencer had talked about how he was searching for a replica of the Doctor Who scarf for his cosplay. Knitting was something you had learned before, although it had been quite a few years since you last picked it up, you decided to try it out again and hopefully make Spencer’s face gleam with joy.

After digging out your old knitting needles and yarn you looked up some tutorials online to familiarize yourself with your old hobbie. A few hours and some messy pathworks later, you managed to remind yourself of how everything went down and began work on the scarf. Luckily the pattern wasn’t difficult at all and as you began working away you thought about looking up the show and getting a feel for what Spencer talks about all the time.

After many weeks and countless trips to the store to get more yarn the scarf was finished and you were both excited and nervous to hand it over to Spencer. A million thoughts ran in your head as he undid the bow on the carefully packed present and removed the scarf from the paper, his eyes went wide and he was speechless for a whole minute.

“Y/N, how did you…”

“Surprise?” you chuckled and Spencer was still speechless, he ran his thumbs over the carefully knitted garment. He wrapped it over his neck and walked over to the mirror to have a closer look, his heart was melting over how you took so much time and effort to make him this. He walked over to you and placed his arms around you in a bone crushing hug which only made you laugh.

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“Like it? That doesn’t even come close to how I feel about it, I love it.”

Spencer held your cheeks as he kissed you and as you parted a thought came to your mind.

“Oh also, I watched a bit of the show!”

“Really? Did you like it?”

“Mhm, I have a few questions though, firstly…”

As you went on about your questions regarding the show Spencer stared at you while a smile crept on his face. He loved how you took interest in anything he was fascinated in, and in return he would do it with your interests as well, it was one of the ways you both showed love to one another.

Spencer guided you back to the couch, pulling you to his lap as he cleared his throat and explaining the questions you just layed out for him. You looked up at him and nodded along as he got into the topic and you were reminded of one of the reasons why you fell for him in the first place, his passion, and that same passion grew now that he had someone like you in his life.

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @reidstheyfriend @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 months

Text

Yandere! GILF Headcanons

Warnings: Implied Smut, Older Man/Younger Reader, Age Gap, Spanking, Jealous Dominic, Manipulation, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

♡ Hector had only loved once before meeting you. Likewise, he had only loved once after meeting you. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in you.

♡ On the contrary, when Dominic had pulled up to the sprawling manor Hector orchestrated, expecting to see Marilyn at his side yet seeing an unfamiliar face in her stead, his curiosity was, admittedly, peaked. No small achievement considering this man has done and seen everything this world has to offer.

♡ Dominic explained – in monotone French – that Marilyn was sick, hence she couldn’t come. He’d brought you – a family friend – in her place. You couldn’t ignore the waver in his voice, his pointed stare up at his father, who resided in an almost throne-like armchair behind a mahogany desk.

♡ Hector looked through Dominic and gazed at you. You could see now where Dominic’s predilection for sharp, underhanded stares originated; the founding father of Dominic’s cold architecture.

♡ You felt as if his eyes combed over your very being, unravelling all the tangles in your make-up and laying you down to your most base, threadbare foundations, seeing you for what you really were.

♡ “Very well,” the older man grumbled, only taking his eyes off you once Dominic cleared his throat. Beside you, his son’s fingers twitched.

♡ You were excused shortly after with Dominic taking you outside, almost jogging down the steps with a haste you’d never witnessed before, and bringing you to a most isolated spot. You’d noticed a collection of staff – chefs, maids, caretakers, gardeners – crawling about the mansion. None of them resided near you now.

♡ “Don’t talk to him unless you’re with me,“ Dominic warned. In his eyes watched a man you’d never seen before. Something vaguely…human in the colour of his irises. Warm. Afraid.

♡ Interaction with Dominic’s father – Hector – was uncomfortable at first. You’d tried to juggle Hector’s hostile hospitality with Dominic’s warnings, ultimately toing and forming between the two since they never inhabited the same space for more than ten minutes whenever meals were served.

♡ One day, when Dominic had to leave the manor on important business, unable to take you with him, he’d instructed you to stay in your room. He tried to smooth over the jagged brickwork of his command with a suave charm that could put the incarnation of panic at ease, but you could tell – for perhaps the first time – that it felt false.

♡ Dominic left. Hours passed. You grew bored.

♡ You left your room.

♡ And who did you happen to meet whilst trawling the halls, searching for any form of entertainment?

♡ Why, the very man Dominic had forbidden you from seeing.

♡ Hector came down the hall on certain footing, obviously having taken great care of his mobility in his younger years to be able to traverse the many staircases and rooms this residence held. So why did he have so many caretakers?

♡ You scarcely had time to wonder as, before you could hide, he spotted you. Ordered you to come to him. You did, hesitant. He gave you a monotone look.

♡ “You. Come with me.”

♡ You followed him to a door that felt familiar. Inside, his study. On his desk, a pre-set game of chess. He sat at his desk. He motioned for you to join him.

♡ You, with a pounding heart and a strong sense of being out of place, played chess. Hector taught you the best way to win – “For when you compete against Dominic.”

♡ You bantered, lethargic at first, until you found even footing on subjects that weren't just Hector’s only son.

♡ You wondered what it was about his father that Dominic was so keen to isolate you from, to conceal from you.

♡ Nothing you cared for, honestly. Especially when Hector showed you just how solid his sense of humour was, how intelligent he was. How lively he could be despite his initial coldness.

♡ Of course, he was still icy, very blunt most of the time. But you could tell it wasn’t his choice – he was made this way. By who or what, you couldn’t be sure. But what you did know was that you weren’t about to let Dominic’s personal vendetta ruin your budding friendship with his father.

♡ No longer did you hide from Hector’s judgement as you scampered back to your room, the shutting of the front door reverberating through the manor’s great walls; you sought refuge from Dominic’s as he came storming down the hallway, his footfalls faster than he’d have liked them to be as he rushed to check on your condition, to see you after being forced to leave you in his father’s un-care.

♡ After that, you made more of an effort to see Hector. Especially as you had few other people to talk to – Dominic especially as he seemed more and more swept up in sudden business meetings and last-minute supply chain issues.

♡ The longer you spent in Hector’s presence – in the garden, in the library, in his study for more games of chess – the more you began to see slivers of him in Dominic. Scratchings of silver beneath rock; the inclinations of a vein of purest ore.

♡ Though, that did not mean the metal that lay dormant beneath was pure in itself.

♡ On the contrary, when you weren’t around, Hector made full – and I mean full – use of the maids, caretakers and staff at his disposal. Anyone who bore a similar enough resemblance to you was subject to any manner of his objectification.

♡ Lasting stares, increasingly lewd requests, commands to snoop through the few personal belongings you’ve brought with you – the sort of thing any powerful older man will do for the object of their affections.

♡ Sexual matters aren’t off the table, either.

♡ Far from it.

♡ In fact, it’s bent over the edge of Hector’s desk, whining and whimpering and at the mercy of a man far more experienced than his old age could belie.

♡ He’s so nasty with it, too. He knows his workers will do anything he asks of them – for the right price. And he’s got nothing but money to burn.

♡ God forbid his most recent toy talks back to him, lest they be subject to a thorough spanking by Hector’s belt.

♡ He’s still more than capable of getting himself off without the assistance of his employees, though. He just enjoys the power he has over them. Enjoys the taste of the influence he’ll have over you.

♡ Guy’s a wealthy man, he’s got cameras everywhere. And Dominic knows this. Hence he’s always around to cover you up when you’re getting changed – even if it makes him look somewhat questionable.

♡ You’re for his eyes only, but he knows his father will find a way to try and sneak a peek of you – to show Dominic that, while in his house, you’re both under his rules.

♡ As was the case now as Hector requested for you come to his study for afternoon tea.

♡ While there, making light conversation, he dropped a question that hung, heavy, between you in a way you couldn’t quite describe/

♡ “Did I ever tell you,” began Hector, knowing full-well he’s not once recounted this tale to you. His old age will afford him the disguise of senility, if only for a short while. You’ll listen, politely.

♡ “About Dominic’s mother?”

♡ You tell him no, that not even Dominic has ever mentioned his mother – or his family – to you before. Hector hummed. Grumbled, more so.

♡ The void in his chest sank lower as he recalled to you the greatest love of his life.

♡ “Too good for this world,” he said, regaling her acts of altruism, of philanthropy. “Someone upstairs must’ve known it, too.”

♡ You had a feeling that ‘upstairs’ transcended far beyond the many dusty rooms Hector had advised you and Dominic not to go exploring during your time here.

♡ He told you, with practiced malcontent, how Dominic’s birth would be his mother’s un-birth; her escort from this life to the next. Hector sniffed, though not for tears. You still jolted forward to comfort him, though.

♡ And he wasn't one to reject your offer.

♡ The portrait of his wife – young and beautiful for a cruel infinity – watched over the two of you.

♡ “So you see,” he continued, “That’s why Dominic doesn’t visit – or I’m willing to guess, talk about – me as much as you perhaps do with your parents.”

♡ Of course, you understood perfectly where he was coming from. Something in him grinned at the idea of even a drop of a villainous hue staining Dominic’s curated disguise, making him scrub and scrub at the veneer until it wore away and revealed the corpse beneath piloted by parasites.

♡ You tell Hector that if he ever wants to talk, you’re always down to listen. Hector grants you a small smile. Artificial warmth. Gently, he slides his hand atop yours, pats it.

♡ You are the singular object his son desires. Hence, you are the object he shall steal from him, for there is no better form of discipline than loss.

♡ And Hector wants Dominic to know what it’s like to lose everything.

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ragingbookdragon · 9 months

Text

Ghost wasn’t a man who knew how to do relationships. Even when he was a teenager, the idea of romance was stamped out of him when he watched his father beat his mother. Love between two people didn’t exist to Ghost, and yet, he found himself sweet on the recruit they’d gotten from overseas a few months ago. If there was a person who had Ghost’s demeanor and Soap’s personality, it was her. Quiet when the moment called for it, always watching, always waiting, loud and boisterous when a party needed to be started.

He bonded with her over a love of fine bourbon and good knives, finding himself watching her at every opportunity to see if more of her would be revealed to him. He wasn’t going to ask, of course, a man like Ghost never asked. He observed and acted with careful thought.

Starting a relationship with her, however, proved to be a much more arduous task. Soap had once teased her about her love of having a knight in shining armor and she’d practically floundered in embarrassment while hastily spitting out, “Well, I’ve saved myself since I was eight. Forgive me for wanting someone to take care of me and treat me like a princess.” And that’s when Ghost realized that she wanted it all. She wanted the roses on the first date, to wear that sexy red dress, and go to a fancy restaurant. To have a man be a gentleman and open doors and pull her chair out, but still a little suggestive and whisper blush-inducing words in her ear when no one was looking. She wanted someone who would wake her up with slow kisses, bring her breakfast in bed, take her dancing under the streetlights when it was drizzling in the cool night.

She wanted what Ghost couldn’t offer her.

And yet, he tried to.

He had successfully asked her out with a dozen red roses, managed to get her into a red dress and to a nice restaurant, but the longer he found himself sitting across from her, the more he felt himself becoming uncomfortable with the environment. Too many windows, too many open spaces, too many unfamiliar faces. His nerves were on alert, and it was only until her hand gently rested on his that he looked at her, blinking in shock.

“Simon?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “Is everything okay tonight?” concern was etched onto her face. “You look like you’re gonna have an anxiety attack.”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “I’m fine…jus’ not used to this is all.”

“Dinner with a pretty woman who can kick ass?” she joked, and he tried for a smile but managed to make a better grimace. “Simon, what’s wrong? Really?”

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, feeling like a fool for being in his thirties and unable to properly explain his emotions like a teenager. “I’m trying to give you a good date, but…I don’t…” she gently encouraged him by brushing her fingers against his hand. “I don’t know how to do this right. And I…I don’t want you to get upset that I’m not doing it how you want.”

“How I want?”

Simon gestured vaguely. “A knight in shining armor…treating you like a princess.” He looked at her. “I…care about you, love, I just don’t know how to do this in a way that you deserve.”

Her eyes shown with a softness, and she nodded her head, then pulled away, flagging down a waiter for the bill. He wasn’t even able to argue when she paid and pulled him up, dragging him to the car where she ordered him to drive her back to base. And all the while, Ghost was cursing himself for being so open that it wasn’t until he was trying to stop his heart from escaping his throat at her quarter door that he realized it.

She opened her room and walked in, stopping when she realized that Ghost didn’t follow her. “Simon?”

“Look, I get it, this isn’t what you want, but I just need to—”

“Will you get in here?” she huffed, pulling him in by his suit jacket. “Jeez, can’t even read the room.”

“I don’t follow?”

“You’re a smart man, but I think you’re spending too much time around Soap.” She smiled and sat on her bed, bright expression lit up at him as she said, “Simon, I don’t need you to be some type of prince for me.” Holding out her hand, she added, “Besides, I think a knight in shining armor is a little far-fetched even for you. You’re more like a death knight. The grim reaper. Death incarnate. Death—”

“I got it,” he scowled and sat down, taking her hand in his. “So…you don’t want the whole suit and tie?”

“You look like you’re genuinely going to have a hernia, Simon. It’s like you stuck a cat in a Halloween costume. Besides, you look the best in a pair of dark jeans and that jacket-hoodie combo you always have going on.” She looked away, embarrassment in her tone as she admitted, “It’s sexy.”

“You think I’m sexy?” he teased, and she rolled her eyes, glancing back at him.

“I once watched you break a man’s neck with just the heel of your boot and that’s when I genuinely realized there was something wrong with me, because it was very enticing to see how deadly you were.”

“So, you don’t want to be saved by a prince, you want to be saved by an asshole knight who was assigned to guard the irritating princess against his will? And they bicker at every single moment of their life?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s the relationship goals.” She smiled at him. “And then they fall in love, and he realizes that his irritating princess is actually all he’s ever wanted in life.”

“Besides a paycheck.”

“Besides a paycheck.” She gently reached up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips as she murmured, “Simon, I don’t need you to be something you’re not. I just need you exactly as you are.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, maybe you can smile at me more than you do everyone else. Maybe not be so grumpy with me.”

He knocked his forehead against hers. “I already do that with you.”

She barked a laugh. “HA! Could’ve fooled me. You grunt at me like you do Soap.”

“That’s because you and Johnny become Dumb and Dumber when you two get together.”

“We do not!”

“And you turn into the three stooges when you get Gaz in on it.”

“That one might actually have grounds, but the jury’s still out on the former.”

“Uh huh.”

She shifted, throwing a leg over his lap, perching herself gently atop his thighs, forearms resting on his shoulders. “Why don’t we get out of the nines, put something comfier on, and get takeout? We can eat Chinese watching the water and talk shit about our childhoods.”

Simon visibly melted beneath her and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah…that sounds good.”

Clearing her throat, she leaned back a little and offered, “You should help me out of this dress though, Lieutenant Riley. See I can’t reach the zipper and I’m defenselessly naked underneath.” She batted her lashes. “I need a man of upstanding honor to make sure that no one can take advantage of me in my nude. A man who wouldn’t feel up all this woman underneath her clothes.”

Ghost smirked, reaching behind her to grab the zipper of her dress. “Is that right?” he started pulling down. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but there are no men with upstanding honor here.”

She sighed dramatically and feigned passing out, a hand pressed against her forehead. “Oh no, whatever shall I do in the hands of this scoundrel? Am I really to give in to the throes of passion and let him ruin me and my honor?”

The zipper touched the top of her rear, and he slipped his hands inside her dress, feeling her warm, bare skin beneath. “Funny, I was thinking that exactly.”

“My bodyguard is going to kick your ass,” she retorted, arching against his palms as they smoothed up her back to securely pull her down by her shoulders. “I’m serious. He’s very protective over what’s his.” She leaned in and murmured, “He once cut a man’s head off for touching me.”

Ghost’s chest rumbled with a growl, and he leaned into her ear. “Well, well, Princess, it’s a shame you can’t tell your bodyguard from a common knave.”

“Oh, I can,” she flirted, tugging at his tie. “It’s just fun to see him get annoyed.” She grinned and curled the tie in her fist, yanking him forward. “Treat me well. Princess’s orders.”

He matched her smirk, already turning her back into the mattress, hands pushing up her dress to her stomach. “As she wishes.”

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after-witch · 3 months

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Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Just Feitan wanting to touch your nyloned feet.

Word count: 774

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, forced footplay, brief tickling

Feitan's grip on your nylon-clad ankle is not especially tight. His fingers do not press into your flesh, ensuring small printed bruises that will last for days.

Instead, he holds your ankle like it’s something precious and sentimental. Like you held your grandmother’s porcelain figurines when you were little, and she’d told you again and again that she loved those figurines so much that if you were to crack a single one, it would break her heart.

But, taking in the look in his eyes, perhaps sentimental is the wrong word. He looks more fascinated than anything else.

“Feitan?” You ask, shifting yourself on the worn cushions of the sofa. You don’t dare pull your foot away--he’d stop you, if you were stupid enough to try.You’re not that stupid anymore.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

You curl your toes, unused to the stretch of the thin nylon material over them--and his eyebrows actually lift up. Seeing any expression on him that wasn’t irritation or disgusted glee while he tortured people was almost astonishing enough to make your own eyebrows raise.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, almost husky.

It’s the question you wanted to ask him.

“Nothing,” you say. Right? You’re just sitting here. He’s the one acting odd.

“You curled your toes.” His answer is short. Factual.

Because well, you did curl your toes. But… you didn’t mean anything by it. They were stiff, you’ve been sitting here so awfully long, and Feitan hasn’t explained a thing.

He didn’t respond this morning when you asked why there were nylons on the bed with the outfit he’d picked out--a short white nightgown that you’ve had for ages, worn in the armpits, with a lace trim that needed a good bleaching--or where your socks had gone.

He didn’t give you a reason when you told you to sit on the sofa, or when he grabbed your legs and yanked them up, forcing you to pivot around to avoid an uncomfortable twist in your hips.

Nor did he offer up any explanation when he’d taken your ankle in his hands and placed your foot on his thigh and simply… held it there--is still holding it there.

“I… I didn’t mean to?” You lick dry lips. “I mean, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just going to ask you why you’re…” You trail off as his eyebrows go from high to furrowed.

Slowly, his other hand moves from its spot on his thigh and hovers above your foot. Your heart begins to beat faster--you weren’t disobedient lately, or at least he hadn’t said so.

He wouldn’t break your foot without telling you the reason, surely. The lecture he’d given after he broke a few of your fingers the first (and last) time you’d ever slapped him was a testament to that.

His fingers descend--one, two, three, four, five--but he doesn’t break your foot. Instead he begins to massage it.

That should make your heart slow down, but instead it only speeds up, even as his fingers begin to press down harder, a firm pressure down the length of your arch, then up your sole, ending just underneath your toes.

The nylon material shifts under his fingers. It feels strange, like some kind of thin second skin that heightens the sensation of being touched. It feels warm from the rubbing, despite the vague undercurrent of ticklishness that makes you want to yank your ankle away.

His fingers begin to lightly massage your toes, which stretch and curl instinctively. It’s too light, too ticklish.

Your breath hitches.

So does his.

“Ticklish?” He asks.

You nod. Lying had been trained out of you long before this.

He hums. There’s a pit in your stomach that begins to eat itself as you watch emotions play out on his face. It’s harder with the cowl up, but his eyes can give enough away, if you know how to look. You’ve had lots of practice.

He’s delighted by something.

Which is rarely a good sign.

Still, you know better than to try to yank your foot away, even as his fingers return to your toes, pressing down harder. It still tickles, but there’s more to it, now. The warmth is back, an unexpected, unwanted pleasurable feeling.

He stares at you the whole time, gauging your reaction.

Your fingernails dig into the sofa, digging into the already frayed threads. You bite your lip. You don’t want to give him anything. But he’ll just take it anyway, won’t he?

It’s going to be a long evening, you think. And judging by the expression on Feitan’s face--he thinks so, too.

#yandere feitan #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #afterwitch writes #eh I decided to just go to bed before 8pm so a lil indulgence it is

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manicpixiefelix · 3 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 7.

Summary: A chance to look through Oliver Quick's eyes as he watches through windows, decides he wants to be loved, and finally takes a chance with the reader. Until it comes crashing down because Michael Gavey called Felix a slag, and it's made Oliver's problem.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT (we see reader topping felix from last chapter but through oliver's perspective, cockwarming, vague somnophilia because of that i guess??, reader getting head and reader giving head but reader's AGAB is not specified), also some vaguely unsettling imagery i guess, and the scene in felix's room with the cleaning is made even more tense and uncomfortable

A/N: 7084 words. POV shift to Oliver! Also this chapter is FUCKING HUGE, i tried to find a good place to maybe split it, but couldn't find one. so you're stuck with 7k, eat up friends! also i would really appreciate if anyone has any thoughts about how i've written oliver, id love to hear them, i don't want him to 100% like the reader, and i think ive managed to have him come across more uh, cerebral i guess im going with? yeah thoughts good, would love some. holy shit this chapter goes so many places.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Y/N's been rambling on about reading Anna Karenina for one of their classes ever since they'd met Oliver after his final class for the day, but he's barely able to focus on their words. Usually he likes to look like he's paying attention to their words, he knows it makes him seem attentive, and everybody loves to feel heard, but Oliver's mind is elsewhere. It's in the garden outside of Y/N's window. It's outside their door where he'd sat patiently, giving blithe smiles to your dormmates and telling them he was simply waiting for you to get dressed. The doors of the Oxford dormitories were thick, but not thick enough to hide sound on the other side from an ear pressed up against them when the hallway was empty.

It's not even close to the first time he'd seen you in these moments together; how no-one else in your group of friends, apart from Farleigh he suspected, believed you two were sleeping together was baffling. Wilful ignorance is a hell of a drug. He hopes the two of you never learn how to close your blinds.

But there was something different about yesterday.

"Any of youse seen Felix? Or Y/N?" He'd approached the group on the grass with the same kind of hesitancy he'd always put on for them, never wanting to seem too arrogant, to comfortable in their presence. He knew they didn't like him, but people like this liked feeling powerful over the 'lesser folk'. Anyways, it's not like he was particularly keen on befriending any of them, it was okay to hold them at arm's length.

Farleigh, beautiful, condescending Farleigh, looked up at him through his lashes; there was no sun in his eyes, the squint was more likely to be him half-pulling a face of contempt with plausible deniability.

"Maybe." Unhelpful.

"Y/N came through here like a fucking hurricane," Annabel told him; Oliver could only think of the irritating nasal in her voice as she'd listed off all the things she hadn't liked about him to Felix when they hadn't known he was around. Oliver fought not to make a face of his own.

"Took Felix and headed that way," a blonde boy -Rex? Reg? Oliver hadn't even bothered to retain his name - nods in the direction of the dorms.

"They're so co-dependent sometimes," India shakes her head, strange little expression on her face. Perhaps she did know and was trying to convince herself otherwise.

"Yeah," laughed Annabel, "they could have at least tried meditating or something."

"I don't know," Farleigh shook his head, clicking his tongue, "I don't think they have any other coping mechanisms apart from their co-dependant shit."

"They've always been like this?" India actually sounds a little fond.

"It actually used to be worse," Farleigh snorted, and Annabel pitched herself back in the grass, claiming that it couldn't be true.

"I mean, with that kind of money I think Felix is allowed to be weirdly close to his cousin," India says with a shrug. What? Why was the group laughing like it was an in-joke.

"They're cousins?" Oliver asks; Farleigh he knew about, but no-one had ever really talked about how Felix and Y/N had gotten so close. Considering all he'd seen them do together -

"Kissing, codependent cousins," Annabel sighs, sitting up.

"Hot, kissing, codependent cousins," India wraps an arm around her in solidarity, and the girls share an exasperated chuckle, though from looking around it seemed that a lot of the group shared that sentiment.

"You're hot too, Farleigh -"

"Thanks, but I'll stick with just that for now, I'm happy being the non-kissing, non-codependent cousin," he chuckled, before turning his attention back to Oliver, still awkwardly by the edge of the group as everyone else continued to gossip. However, catching Farleigh's eye, for the barest moment, his wolfish grin, Oliver had total and complete confirmation that Felix and Y/N were in no way actually related.

Which, if he were to guess, meant that Farleigh definitely knew the two of you were sleeping together.

And judging from all the times Oliver had spoken to you both, neither of you were aware of this well established gossip in the group, Farleigh was never ever going to correct anyone, considering how damn funny he clearly thought the entire bit was. It at least explained how the rest of the group was so unphased by the closeness you and Felix shared, while still apparently - kind of - dating other people.

Eventually, tired of putting up his awkward façade, though he was grateful for the slim amount of information he'd learned, he clears his throat.

"So -"

"That way," Farleigh doesn't look at him this time, voice flat, thumb jerking towards Y/N's dorm.

Its the afternoon, grey, most people are at classes, so the courtyard outside of your dorm room is empty of any other living souls. Whenever he stops in, or even walks past, he checks in your window out of habit to see if you're in; you don't close your blinds often so it's an easy way to tell. Anyone passing by wouldn't be able to see anything, not unless they stopped and made an effort, but Oliver wasn't most people, and knew the layout of your room and how to search it when granted even a sliver to look through like today.

And today, not only are you in your dorm with Felix, as predicted, but the sight of you both makes his mouth go dry.

Felix Catton on his back, arching, perfect mouth open in some kind of wanton, whorish noise undoubtedly as you masterfully worked his cock with your hand. Fuck, Oliver knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching this.

He steps forward into the bushes. They rustle, his heart jumps, but neither of you seem to notice.

He can't see your face with your back to him like this, but you must be saying something, because Felix's lips are moving and his chest is heaving as he's gasping out words. Oliver knows he's embarrassing flush, embarrassingly hard in these fucking slacks, but the courtyard is still empty, and he knows all too well how little the outside world matters to you and Felix in these moments.

He can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his ears, painfully against his ribs as you slide one leg so smoothly over Felix's hips, hand between your own thighs as you hover yourself above him. You're toying with Felix, taking your time, taking full and total control in a way Oliver's never seen you do. He didn't know anyone could make Felix act like this, look like this; he never thought Felix would let anyone. But he shouldn't be surprised that it's you of all people.

When you lean down over Felix, your chest against his, like a proud lion over its prey, Oliver feels sick with himself, with how he wants to burn this fucking image into his brain, with how fucking perfectly he can watch from here as you take the entire length of Felix's cock. Its impressive, both his length, and how fucking easy you make it look. You're kissing him. You're fucking him. You're riding this Adonis in a way that makes him pliant and desperate beneath you.

Oliver steps back from the window, finally glancing around to double check his surroundings. No-one peeking out of windows, no-one around. He heads inside. He knows he shouldn't but he does, pulls out the sweater he'd loaned from Felix and folds it in his lap when he sits with his back against your door, both as an excuse should anyone walk past, and to hide the visible hardness in his pants.

Sometimes you're too quiet to hear, but the way the bed creaks and the two of you moan, it's some kind of debauched symphony. Oliver swears he's not a masochist, but it almost hurts to hear you both like this, like something out of a dream or a fantasy, and to remain stone-faced at your bedroom door -

"I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Oliver can't even begin to imagine the things this means, the things you want to do to Felix, but then he hears -

"Yes, fuck, yes- my Y/N, anything you want - please." Felix gasping, begging like Oliver's never heard before. Sounds he knows only you could have elicited from the man who makes people around him fall in love with him by accident.

Oliver Quick is never going to get these moments out of his head; he's never been so desperate to be wanted by anyone in his life, let alone two people. There is a shameless, lascivious kind of love between you both that he vows to get the chance to drink from the source.

It's again changed his perception of you, perhaps made him a little bolder once more. So the day after, walking to the pub after class, barely listening to you talk about your book, he's trying to see if anything's changed. As far as he was aware, your encounter with Felix the day before was unusual for you. Perhaps something's changed, and perhaps he's not subtle about looking.

It's something unspoken between you, it ebbs and flows depending on Oliver's mood, how bold he's feeling. A quiet, voyeuristic exchange you share, the pleasure of being watched, and the pleasure of watching. The roles reverse and your eyes are on him in the way eyes rarely are.

More the observant than the observed, he'd told you, yet he took pleasure in feeling your gaze upon him, taking the time that he knows is so precious to you to watch him. You are familiar to him in a way that is so foreign; you are watching and adapting and anticipating the desires around you. Not action, but reaction; a people-pleaser down to your bones, wrapped up Felix's brand of hedonism. You get off making people feel loved, but Oliver can't help but wonder about the desire you keep to yourself, just below the surface.

Neither of you have spoken about the night at the club; Oliver's desperate to see how long it will take you before you act, rather than get pushed into reacting. He doesn't know how long he can last.

Felix shows up to the pub with Annabel and a strained smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Which is better than Annabel's outright scowl. They sit in chairs across from the rounded bench that always took up half the table your group liked to tension filling the ample space between them. As the last to arrive, everyone else's attention was drawn to them, going quiet as everyone picked up the couple's sour mood.

There's a moment where Oliver catches the way Felix looks at you across the table. No-one else picks up on it, since in the next moment Felix raises his hands to cover a cough, and what Oliver suspects is a grin, but you've turned your head sharply, sniffing loudly and almost managing to press your face into Oliver's shoulder. After a beat you fake a sneeze, and apologise. Oliver brushes it off, and fights off a smile of his own. He doesn't have all the details, but clearly you made good on your promise to make Felix's other future fucks jealous.

"You know what? I'm desperate for a pint, anybody else -" Felix goes to stand, attempting to break the tension, but immediately Annabel scoffs.

"Desperate sounds about right." And she's not quiet with her scorn.

"Can you not do this now? We've been here two minutes, you want a drink?" He hissed, trying to keep up a positive façade despite the faint anger and embarrassment in his eyes. It doesn't last, of course, not with all eyes on the pair of them. It's Farleigh who speaks up first, not even bothering to hide his smug smile.

"You okay there, Felix?" He wears a grin that's all teeth.

"What?" Felix frowns, but Oliver can see exactly what Farleigh's talking about. When he brings it up, however, he does his best to sound genuinely innocent, concerned even.

"Have you got yourself hurt, Felix?" And when Felix meets his gaze he knows it's come across as intended, the conflict and frustration still somehow looking beautiful in his brown eyes.

"No, I'm fine," he tugs at the collar of his shirt, hoping it sits a little higher, hides the hickey that's clearly there.

"Burn yourself on a curling iron, Felix?" India teases, matching Farleigh's earlier energy, and while it did nothing to help Annabel's mood, at least Felix no longer seemed conflicted.

"Had a run in with a particularly aggressive vacuum cleaner?" You piped up from beside Oliver, and the minute Felix sees your own triumphant grin he starts to go pink around the ears and has to duck his head.

"Try several vacuum cleaners," Annabel snapped to the table, "or one whorish townie girl!" For just a moment, the group is quiet, contemplating what she'd said, the upset in her voice, but it's short-lived.

"How many vacuum cleaners?" Farleigh leans forward, elbows on the table and chin on his hands with a grin like the Cheshire cat. Felix tells him to fuck off, but his blush is still distinct.

"They're all over him," Annabel sticks her nose in the air, arms crossed and looking especially petulant. The lads at the table did actually cheer at that, much to her continued frustration.

"You spend entire nights hitting on other guys in front of me! You made eye contact while one latched himself onto your neck as I was trying to dance!" Felix argued back, and the jury of their peers began to shake their heads at this new information. Annabel pouted for a moment.

"That's different -"

"It kinda isn't," India tried to shoot for sympathetic, wincing as she said it, which was enough for Annabel to sigh dramatically, standing from the table.

"Fine, I do want a drink," and she immediately made a furious beeline for the bar. Felix, however, hesitated for a moment, watching her leave before he turned back to the group with a cocky smile, yanking down the collar of his shirt to show off several more bright, scandalous hickeys.

"Best vacuum cleaner I've ever had," he tells them all smugly, before standing up straight and righting his shirt, "okay, this round's on me." A cheer rises from the group, but as Felix walks off, Oliver catches the way he winks at Y/N. You snort a quiet laugh, but Oliver's pretty sure he's the only one who heard it.

Christ, you two weren't even trying to be subtle half the time.

Still, for all her apparent frustration at Felix's mystery partner, it seemed to only make Annabel cling to him further. No more flirting with strangers, no more sitting apart. She reeks of insecurity, but Oliver just watches you watching her. There's something in your eyes in these moments, like a lion too sated to be bothered with the hunt, but the instinct to pounce could resurface at any moment.

But Oliver's obsession with the intricacies of your lives still lead him outside of Felix's window after one of countless parties. Still watching with animal curiosity and a cigarette in hand, as Annabel works hard to stake her claim on a man she desperately wants to own.

Annabel is an unenthralling understudy, Oliver thinks.

Throwing the butt of his cigarette into the bushes, he can't bring himself to stay. He knows where he needs to go, knows what he needs to do; in his mind Annabel is a lithe and graceful performance of extasy, and Felix is all quiet focus and hard, gorgeous muscles shining with sweat from the exertion of it all. But there's no love. It's all performance, a pleasurable performance for them, he's sure, but it's just two beautiful people smashing their bodies together in sloppy ecstasy.

Fuck.

No only is a creep, and a pervert, but now he's a picky, creepy pervert.

But his thoughts stop in the courtyard outside of your dorm. You light is on. Your window is open all the way, and there you are, looking like a dream in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill and having a smoke.

"Ollie!" He'll never get sick of how you say his name, how you smile when you see his face. There's a split second where he has to make a decision, has to figure out how to approach you in this moment. At the club you'd all but folded on the spot at his bold approach, he knows he could have had you practically there and then if he'd been inclined, but part of him can't stop thinking about how you'd had Felix on his back, practically begging.

Oliver feels like every time he thinks he's close to figuring you out, he learns something knew about you that makes him rethink it all. He wants to know all of you, your hopes and dreams and the grotesque desires you will never tell the world, desperate to keep testing you and your reactions, and perhaps even your limits if it ever came to that, to figure out how to get underneath your beautiful skin the way Felix had. Part of him feels like you're never going to stop surprising him, one way or the other. You are intrigue and unexpected and he wants to carve a home for himself in your bones.

"Thought you'd still be out," you tell him, back flush with the frame of your window, one leg up on the ledge while the other dangled over the gardens he'd watched you from more times than he'd like to admit.

"'s not the same without you," he admits after a moment, hands in his pockets. Your endeared, bashful smile is predictable, but no less heart-warming to see. He loves the way you react to him.

"Is that why you're here," it sounds teasing, but he can hear a hint of something that almost sounds hopeful. When you look back at him again, there's that same look you've been giving him since he'd held you, kissed you, ghosted you at the club.

"I don't know," he lies softly, "I just started walking."

"Come on then," you grin, stubbing out your cigarette on the windowsill, "you came all this way, why not have a sleepover," and you swing your legs inside, hopping off the ledge. He moves automatically towards the window, but when you hear him moving, you frown over your shoulder, "door, Ollie."

He's never been inside your room at night.

It glows with the same gold light that all these old building with their old lamps glowed, casting all your knickknacks in shadow and sharp relief. Only your bed lamp was on, book open on your bed. Jane Austin's Emma.

"Sorry, I don't mean to impose," Oliver's voice matches the rest of how he wants to appear; small. Sitting on your soft, patterned duvet, he looks not at you, but around at the room you call home, cataloguing everything in this new light, trying not to think about Felix and Annabel fucking, Felix and Annabel laughing, Felix and Annabel joking about how -

He's a scholarship boy who buys his clothes from Oxfam; no-one wants to sit next to fucking Oliver.

"I love you Ollie," you tell him blithely, easily, truthfully, "you never impose."

Annabel grates on his ears and his nerves and his fucking memories. Your smile is like a balm for that the burn that snobby bitch leaves in the back of his mind when he thinks too hard about her.

You move with such ease around the space, not that he should be at all surprised at that. Perhaps it's more that he still feels like a stranger in his own room at times. Planting yourself against your headboard legs crossed and looking so at ease in your summer pyjamas, you ask, tone light, "you don't mind if I read for a bit, I'm not going to be up much longer, but like I said, you're always welcome to stay."

"What are you reading?" Oliver lets himself relax in your presence, lays himself back on the bed, looking up at the sculpted ceiling of the old building. He knows what you're reading, he just likes hearing your voice.

"Emma," he can hear the rustle of the pages, had seen the worn spine and yellowing paper, wonders if it's vintage, wonders how you got it if it is, "Jane Austen for my lit class."

"Finished Anna Karenina?" You make a quiet hum of acknowledgement. More silence and the warmth of company and lamp light, "it's been a while since I've read any Austen."

"Do you want me to read some to you?" Of course there's humour in your tone, but Oliver can hear it for the genuine offer that it is. When he looks at you, he can't help but smile. There's such fond affection in your eyes as you look at him over the top of the book.

"Please," he says it so softly, so sweetly, and it's enough to see you smile before you disappear behind the book again.

"I'm near the end, you won't get the context -"

"Doesn't matter," he sits back up, pulls off his jacket, kicks off his shoes, and settles back beside you.

"Settled?" Your voice is a murmur, barely a whisper, and when he laughs quietly, he knows you can feel the way it rumbles within him.

When you start, your voice is soothing, halfway through a chapter, through a conversation between characters he has no clue about. He's never read Austen but he'd devour her books if you were the one reading them. It feels like an almost perfect moment.

"- Seldom, very seldom," his head is on your shoulder, eyes scanning the page, the words as you read them, "does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken, but-”

"I did come here for you," something about the line makes the hairs prick on the back of his neck, he can't keep quiet; there is want still simmering beneath his skin, and each time his mind drifts to Felix and Annabel, something furious and desperate coils in his gut. You fall silent, book still open and aloft, cheek still resting against his head where he's kept it on your shoulder. When you take a deep breath, he feels it, both of you move in sync, "of course I came here for you."

This time, he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch you more than he is. Every time he's reached out, he's gone against the pattern you've observed of him, he's always made a connection with you where you know he holds back from others. This time, he waits with bated breath.

"If there's nothing more you want from me than moments like this, I'll never say another word about it," he assures, as if trying not to spook or pressure you. But still he waits.

"What do you want, Ollie?" To pick you apart like a vulture, to see the desires you keep so close they're written on your bones.

"You," he says instead, all gentle words and just as gentle breathing, "if you'll have me." Tell me what it is you want. Tell me you can want. Tell me you know you can want things for yourself, want things beyond a reaction to the wants and needs of everyone around you -

Carefully, you reach over to your bedside table, trying not to jostle either of you too much, and keep your place with a bookmark before you put the book down.

But you do make the first move. You take his face in your hands, holding him like he's fragile and perfect and porcelain, shuffling to face him properly. This kiss tastes almost like home, like finally from you both, until his tongue runs along your lips and you part willingly for him, the kiss turning quickly more passionate. Oliver's not even sure how he came to be straddling your lap, nor how he didn't notice you undoing half of his shirt buttons already, but when the kiss breaks he takes your hands in his.

"Of course I want you," tumbles from your lips, sounding heady, needy, and for just a moment, Oliver breath stutters in his chest. But he slows things down again, leans in to kiss you sweetly once more, before he's pulling off your pyjama shirt.

"I want to know what you want," he murmurs against your lips, kissing his way down your jaw slowly as he speaks, "wanna know how to make you feel good."

"Anything you do -" you try, but he looks up after pressing a kiss to your sternum.

"You need to be needed," he says softly, punctuating each statement with a kiss, refusing to break eye contact with you, "and you want to be wanted," his warm lips on your belly, he sees the conflict in your eyes, the desire and embarrassment all at once, "and you're very good at those things, one of the best, I'm sure." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he pauses, "is this okay?" You nod quickly, enthusiastically, and he gives a warm smile.

"You're like me, sweetheart," he says softly, resting his cheek on your inner thigh for a moment, watching you still. Reaching out, you card your fingers through his hair, fingers trailing down his jaw, and he turns his face to kiss your palm, "I know that if I gave you half a chance, you'll figure out how to be all I could ever want, but tonight I want everyone to hear how you sound when someone's making you feel good-" he doesn't realise he's quoting something he should not have heard from Felix until it's too late, but you cut him off. You didn't even seem to realise.

Then your other hand is in his hair, a new look in your eyes, a newfound determination, a nervous excitement. You grip on his hair tightens.

"Yes?" He gives a cheeky grin, and you finally smile like you mean it.

"I get it," you roll your eyes, but there's nothing malicious about it, especially since the gesture has Oliver pressing his own chuckle against your thigh, "now you have one guess as to how I'd like you to shut up." There's that confidence he'd heard the other day, the confidence that was burned into the back of his mind, the confidence that had been part of the reason he'd spent a good hour in the shower after hearing it.

"Only if you turn out your lamp," he smirks, though inside all he can think about is how bright the whole room is through the gap in the curtains. It doesn't seem to bother you, it never has, and though he was grateful for it when he was on the outside looking in, there's something about being the one potentially being watched that causes him a faint sense of unease.

You call the moonlight more romantic anyways, and Oliver doesn't need to be told twice to go down on you.

When Oliver wakes the next morning, still in your bed, still in you, he almost wants to pinch himself. It's a childish sentiment, but you're in his arms, wrapped up in him and this early morning light through your curtains. Though he tries not to jostle you too much, the arm beneath his head is asleep and getting more uncomfortable by the second. Except the movement just makes you mumble around a breathy moan, hips moving against his.

"Fucking hell," he groans into your ear, and he gets a sleepy, contented chuckle in return, turning your face a little more towards him to give an affectionate bump against his forehead.

"Ollie~"

For just a second, Oliver thinks about living in this moment for the rest of his life.

"You okay?" He murmurs, watching your smile grow. Everything about you looks so pleased, so content, so satisfied.

"Never done that before," you admit, wiggling your hips a little. Oliver swears under his breath again, but judging by the mischievous smile you wear and the twinkle in your eyes, you knew exactly what you were doing. Then, with all the casualness of any other conversation, you manage to catch him off guard again; "anyone who thinks you don't fit in has clearly never fucked you; you fit perfectly -" his teeth sink into your shoulder before he can even properly figure out how he should have reacted.

But instead of finding it strange or off-putting, you let out a breathy laugh, tension easing in your shoulders. Your hips begin to roll against his, consistent, deliberate. He wonders how many people you've let fuck you like this, like they love you, like they care about you. Oh he knows you fuck your friends with love on your tongue, treat them like they're your last meal, like they mean something, but Oliver gets the feeling you don't expect them to return the favour. He's seen the kind of company you keep, he's pretty sure they never do.

How many of them have seen you grateful the way you look now, bathed in the morning light of Summer, laughing and unable to stop talking with such casual fondness in your eyes and on your lips.

When you go down on him in the shower, Oliver thinks he sees hearts in your eyes.

There might just be something very fucking wrong with you, and he's grateful for it every day.

But it doesn't last.

It's on a Summer day that's too hot, less than a week since he'd spent the night with you. Summer days around here seem to always be too hot, but this might be the worst. Felix still doesn't close his blinds, sun painting him golden where he lay on the floor of his room with a cigarette. Oliver had perched himself on the windowsill as you'd taken up residence on Felix's bed, sitting with your back to his headboard, engrossed in what appeared to be notes, or some kind of file.

Oliver has no idea if you've told Felix, or what you would have told him. The dynamic between the three of you appears to have remained otherwise unchanged. Sometimes, however, Oliver catches Felix looking at him out of the corner of his eyes, head tipped, curious like he was about Oliver's past; his expression is always unreadable, but it's started pitting in Oliver's stomach whenever he catches it. Felix always looks away. Felix has been looking at him less lately, that too causes some kind of anxious feeling Oliver would rather not dwell on.

"I don't like Michael Gavey," you announced from your relatively dark corner of Felix's bed. How did you even know Michael Gavey?

"Who?" Felix makes a face in the sunlight, whole expression wrinkling up, as if trying to wrack his brains. But you're looking at Oliver. There's no affection in your eyes, manila folder in your hands.

"He's-" Oliver feels like he's on the back foot again. All the comfort and good will he'd built up around the two of you feels suddenly so far away, "he's in my year." There's no precedent, no road map in his mind for where this could be going.

"He likes you," it's accusatory coming from you. Oliver looks to Felix for a moment, if only to avoid the intensity of your gaze, but he's closed his eyes, staying out of it.

Oliver considers bailing out of the window, but thinks better of it.

"He, erm, kind of was my friend, I suppose."

"Kind of was your friend?" Felix's voice is almost cold, surprising Oliver, but apparently not you. It's clear you're both looking for some kind of elaboration. Why did this feel like an interrogation? What had Michael done? Why was Oliver on trial for it? Felix cracks his eyes open as he takes a long draught of his cigarette.

"Back at the start of the year," Oliver wets his lips, fidgeting, focusing his attention only on the folder you held, desperate to know what was in it.

"Nasty friend you had," you tell him. It's so cold it almost stings.

"Is he the one who got you all riled up the other week?" Felix finally appears to connect the dots, sitting up on his elbows. Thankfully, however, his amusement breaks the tension, and you have to hide your face behind the file as you opened it and began to read. Oliver could feel his heart in his throat, confused, anxious -

"Impressive mathematic record across the board for his first semester, as well all throughout sixth form," you rattled off, eyes narrowed as you look at the paper, "several documented attempts to contact the Head of Math, Phys-Ed, and Life Sciences to," you cleared your throat, shaking your head with surprising disdain, "beg to be exempt from any potentially mandatory Humanities or Social Sciences courses. Unsurprising," you rolled your eyes, "since he bombed his English and French GCSEs, and I think he's the kind of person who prides himself on a perfect GPA."

Every fact you list you do so with such casual cruelty, momentarily folding the file closed and leaning down to make sure you could see Felix.

"He went to high school with us apparently," so casual it actually hurts Oliver a little to hear, "year below us he said," and you wiggle the file in your hands, "looks to be true."

"Still don't know him," Felix shrugs, like he doesn't give any kind of a shit how you got your hands on all of this information. Sitting back, you continued;

"Applied for scholarships - didn't get them; turns out you have to play sports to get a sports scholarships," you click your tongue as you flip through the pages of Michael's file like you were reading the newspaper, "no clubs, no social life, and a notably arrogant prick." You snapped the file closed, levelling a look at Oliver that he'd never seen you make. It was nothing, like a void, demanding a reaction, a response from him. Accusatory yet without any hint of blame, there's something about this look of intense, demanding neutrality that makes him feel actually sick, like you'll be able to know when he lies, know all his secrets if you look at him long enough.

Felix settles back down on the ground, seemingly immune to the tension so thick Oliver felt like he was choking on it. Even if he looks away he can feel your eyes boring into him, like a spider watching a futile fly in it's web.

"What's your problem with him?" Oliver can only bring himself to look out the window, bringing his hand up to scratch at his nose. Maybe if he covers his mouth he won't spill his guts under your gaze. Then, almost so fast it gives Oliver motion sickness, the tension drops.

You sit yourself back, kick your feet out in front of you, and toss the file to the end of the bed. That can't be legal.

"It's sweet that your friends are protective, but he knows you're your own person, right -?" God your light, flippant tone all but rings in his ears. Still, Oliver knows a warning when he hears it.

"He's not my friend; he was, but he's not," Oliver quickly insists, desperate to be on the other side of this deeply uncomfortable conversation. The tension eases in your shoulders when he looks over to you; the right answer. Something about the relief he feels doesn't sit quite right; why had you brought Michael up now of all times? Why had your gaze felt so constricting, even when he and Michael weren't even close; all you would have had to do was ask -

"Said some nasty things about us is all," your voice goes quiet, rueful even, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the bed to where you knew Felix lay, "called Fi a slag."

But there it was; the true audience for your show of force, and the blade that sliced so cleanly through any other attachment people think they have with Felix, all in one.

Its a simple nickname, the most basic nickname anyone could give to a guy named Felix, but no-one else calls him anything but Felix. No-one else calls him Fi the way you do, they wouldn't dare. He wears your nickname like a collar and he doesn't even realise.

"What a cunt," Felix groaned, so infuriatingly uncaring.

In the moments that follow, Oliver almost feels like his head's spinning from the interaction that had just been forced upon him. There's so many questions, new, anxiety-inducing implications for the information you've brought to them both today. Felix doesn't seem troubled by it, but that seems to be the point.

"So fucking hot," he sighs into the afternoon heat, finishing off his cigarette like none of what you'd said even mattered now.

"I know," Oliver finds his voice again, barely. He can't look at you, at the way you're lounging in what he could mistake for triumph. All he can see is Felix, the centre of the fucking universe.

There's something grotesque about you both in this moment, in this room, beautiful and terrible; the perfect picture of privilege and squalor.

"What's that smell?" Pizza, mostly empty drinks, plates and cups unwashed, dirty clothes -

"Uh," if Felix thinks about it, he isn't thinking too hard, clearly, "I don't know." Smoke rings from his pretty lips aren't enough of a distraction from the moment, from the filth of it all now that Oliver's starting to properly look around.

Again he finds himself realising that he has no idea about your background, how you came to find Felix. Sitting with your back to the headboard and eyes closed, even you seem to not care-

"Can't believe you let him live like this," Oliver actually scoffs, hopping from the windowsill, needing to do something with his hands, move, shake off the layer of moral grime that your verbal attack on Michael Gavey had showered him in.

"What?" Felix barely even props himself up, "what are you on about?"

"It's disgusting, Felix."

"It's fine."

"Right, I'm cleaning up -" Oliver moves without thinking, picking up a the waste paper basket and throwing out trash from every surface he can reach. He can't look at Felix, can't look at you, but you're both watching him, "only rich people can afford to be this filthy," he hears himself say. Then, after barking a laugh with no humour in it, he turns his shallow gaze on you, "and what's your excuse? Just picked the habit up after all those years?" For a moment you look at him with genuine confusion, but you give him no real response before Felix tells him to fuck off. But Oliver doesn't stop.

Even as Felix is growing more fed up, insisting he'll clean up later, Oliver's own frustration rises. Felix will never do anything for himself.

Except he doesn't mean to say that part out loud.

That's what gets Felix on his feet, gets him to grab the basket, irritation and resentment on his tongue. Oliver feels like he's touched a live wire, like he's pushed Felix too far, watching him tall, frustrated, glowing with sweat from the afternoon heat. It's the heat Felix complains about as he blows about him room, resentfully stuffing rubbish into the bin, complains about the building and it's age and it's wood fucking panelling that can't be ruined with an air conditioner.

In the moment Oliver chooses to glance to you, he's surprised. You only have eyes for Felix, watching him with an expression Oliver can't begin to fathom, curled up in the corner of his bed. You are waiting. You are holding yourself back. You are desperately trying to let Felix prove Oliver wrong.

"Stressing about the exams?" Oliver tries to pivot, tries to redirect the conversation to something he can claw his way back from, that will keep these relationships from being unsalvageable.

"I'm not stressed about the exams, Ol," Felix sounds like he could snap at any moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, wastebasket held on his knees while his other hand reaches out to you. Still half a foot of space between you, and you keep yourself compact, but the intention is clear; Oliver wonders if he even knows he does that, or if it's just instinct for the two of you these days. Felix, however, is looking at him, that same look he's been giving Oliver since you'd slept with him, "you're driving me fucking -"

Felix seems to realise what he's saying, however, with a sharp inhale as he looked away, moving his free hand from beside you to run through his hair. What is there to say now?

Felix says he's got revising to do, that he'll text later about going to the pub. Oliver desperately wants to believe it, but can hear that it's a lie. Felix can't even fucking look at him.

Oliver finally throws a helpless, hopeful glance to you. This time you are looking at him, but there's apology in your eyes. It's enough. It's the confirmation he'd dreaded, that makes his stomach drop.

"Ollie," even just a few hours ago he'd been in love with the way you said his name. Never like this.

"I'll catch you round," he can't look at either of you as he retreats, cant bare your eyes on him like that, and Felix's turned away.

A million thoughts, desperate ideas, all circle the drain that is quickly becoming his mind as the anxiety and the anguish sets in.

Unsalvageable. Past the point of no return. Irrevocably, awfully different.

With all he'd learned of you both, however, he couldn't just let it go to waste. Oliver had worked for all he had in this life, this prestigious place, among these self-important people. Despite his ongoing attempts to figure you out, he at least knew that if he was good to Felix, he was in good with you.

And Oliver knew exactly who Felix Catton wanted him to be.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #head heart hand fic #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #felix catton smut #oliver quick smut #saltburn smut

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solarmorrigan · 1 year

Text

Steve and Robin are going to need new jobs after spring break because, let's face it, they left the video store in the middle of their shifts and just never came back. That's kind of a fireable offense

They see one of the local diners is hiring both cooks and servers, so off they go to apply. The manager assumes Robin is there for a waitress position and Steve is there to be a cook

This is not so

You think Robin can stack dishes up her arms and carry them around like that? You think she can balance an entire tray of glass on one shoulder and weave around other servers and tables and not drop anything? You think she wants to pretend to be interested in people's inane small talk and put up with men flirting with her so she can get a good tip? Absolutely not, she's here to be a cook

Meanwhile, Steve thrives on other people. He doesn't want to be stuck in the back getting sweaty and covered in grease from the grill (that would be hell on his skin, honestly). Besides, his balance is excellent, he has zero trouble lifting heavy trays, and he's great at pretending to be interested in small talk and flirting with people. He's here to be a server

The manager doesn't really have any better prospects, so even with Steve and Robin's suspiciously vague "resignation" from Family Video, they're hired

The uniform for the cooks is basically just jeans and a clean t-shirt, and Robin kind of loves it. She likes dressing up sometimes, but under her terms; she doesn't want to be expected to do it, and she enjoys the lack of expectations placed on her appearance when she's just here to sling burgers and pancakes

The uniform for servers (well, the uniform for the waitresses, because up to this point the diner has been the kind that has sassy, middle-aged women as servers almost exclusively) is a collared, short-sleeve shirt and a good black skirt (or pair of slacks). Also a frilly half-apron

The manager, awkwardly holding the apron up for Steve: I'm sure we can find you something a little less...

Steve, already tying the apron on: I've worn worse things

(They never bother finding him another apron. He rocks it)

The other servers are a little suspicious of Steve at first, but they eventually become his number one fans. He's a hard worker when he wants to be, he'll carry anything for anyone with only an amusing amount of complaining, and he gladly takes the tables with creeps who come in and make the waitresses uncomfortable

The cooks (all men, because that’s how it works, isn’t it) didn't think Robin would be able to keep up with them at first, but damn if they don't come around real quick. She has no problem yelling when she needs something, she has damn pointy elbows that she will employ if someone gets in her way, and finally—finally!—someone has skinny enough arms to reach in and clean the spaces they usually have to pull stuff out to get to

She absolutely extorts favors out of the other cooks in exchange for reaching into these tiny spaces. Is cleaning the kitchen already part of her job? Yes. Does this stop her? No.

No one who works at the diner ever once thought Steve and Robin were dating. They applied together, they take as many shifts as possible together, they have no problem invading one another's personal space, but the first time everyone sees Robin yelling at Steve through the window for NOT TELLING HER HE HAS A PARTY OF EIGHT, DOES HE THINK SHE'S GODDAMN MAGIC and Steve yelling back that maybe he'd have remembered to do that if he hadn't been busy looking for the side of pancakes THAT HE'S STILL MISSING, BY THE WAY, ROBIN, they're all like ...Oh. Siblings. Okay.

If any of the other servers have lingering doubts about Steve’s character, they only have to see him the first time the kids come and invade the diner. They request Steve as their server, and he huffs and he rolls his eyes and he tells them that, no, they are not ordering all of that, but he gets them every damn thing they ask for anyway, remembers to modify some of their orders because Dustin doesn't like pickles on his burger and Mike likes extra salt on his fries, and he smiles while the kids bicker and laugh over their food when he thinks no one can see him

And Robin complains about all the special orders, but she comes out to say hello when she's done cooking it all, and she glows when they tell her how good the food is

#steve is also the sassiest waitress. obviously #platonic stobin #steve & the party #robin & the party #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things #if there's one thing about me it's that I will make characters work in a diner #long post #solar wrote

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evsstolenhearts · 3 months

Text

Summary: you got kidnapped

Implied Spencer Reid x BAU!gn!reader | 1.4k | no y/n |

Warning: kidnapping, drugging, blood, ect. Cannon typical violence

A/N: I wrote this at like, 2am on a Monday I think. Its.... unique. R and spence are not really considered as dating, more just mutual feelings that are not discussed at this time ig?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆

The cold tiles have gone warm from your body heat hours ago. Wrists are sore and bloody from the rope on them, ankles and knees in similar condition.

The window in the old, nearly abandoned-looking kitchen once showed the sun, but now the moon is shining through it. That's the only thing telling you it's no longer day.

Earlier this week, you and the rest of the BAU was called onto a case in Cincinnati, Ohio. Some guy decided he wanted to get people drunk, kidnap them, and torture them before disposing the bodies.

Luckily, you had a lead on a Tyler Mixins, and went to check this out. Unluckily, he got mad, knocked out Rossi, who was with you, and kidnapped you.

So now you sit in an old kitchen, next to a missing girl who has been unconscious since you got here, in a house in the middle of nowhere. It's hard to tell how long it's been because he keeps getting you high. From what you can tell, it's probably high doses of benzodiazepines. Keeping your muscles and mind pliant.

The few times you have been conscious enough to fight back, he's thrown you back into the wall so hard that you definitely have a horrible concussion. From what you can tell, there's also blood coming from somewhere on your head, having moved down to the side of your face and dried there.

Faintly, you hear heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Tyler walks in, hands shaky as he forcefully ties a rope around your head and between your teeth, keeping you from talking, before he grabs your wrists and drags you through the house. Despite wanting to struggle, the drugs in your system keep you from doing so.

He takes you to a separate room, one that seems like it was once a bedroom with a bathroom connected to it. He sets you onto a old vanity chair, tying your middle to the back of the chair.

Your eyes start to droop from lack of energy, brain slightly fuzzy. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see him grab an ax that rests against the wall. Your heart feels like it's going to fly right out of your chest.

Tyler walks closer, standing in front of you, ax in hand. Just as he prepares to swing it, the front door to the house is busted down, and rapidly moving footsteps enter. Vaguely, you can hear shots of commands as Tyler quickly grabs a syringe off a metal medical table, making quick work of uncaring the needle and rushing to inject it into your neck.

With the last of your energy, you try to scream through the gag, clearly being loud enough, as footsteps rapidly approach the room. Prentiss appears in the doorway, a gun pointed at the man in front of you.

"You don't want to do this, Tyler." Emily keeps her voice calm, taking cautious steps into the room.

He quickly goes behind you, syringe horrifyingly close to our neck, yet he remains silent. His silence doesn't seem to surprise Emily; some form of information they got while you were here probably told her why he's so silent. Too bad you didn't get to sit in an only slightly uncomfortable precinct chair while learning more information about this guy.

"Put down the syringe." Emily stops moving closer, with the chance of him snapping and injecting whatever is in the syringe into your body. "We can talk this out; you don't want to hurt them. You'll be in even more trouble for killing an FBI agent."

For the first time since you've been here, Tyler speaks, his voice rough and clearly not very used, "I'll get a lot of respect in prison for killing a fed."

There are footsteps behind you now, who you can only assume is someone else from your team. They probably snuck through a window in the bathroom. Tyler seems to pick up on this as well, as you register his grip on the syringe tightening.

From what you can tell, he does stab that syringe into your neck; there's distant yelling and footsteps. Tyler falls to the ground before all the liquid is administered into your veins, and someone else quickly rips it out. The same hands make quick work to untie all the ropes from your body; everything seems barely there. Like everything you are experiencing is memories from a dream, going in and out of consciousness.

The only thing you can know for sure is the soft, repetitive beeping slowly surrounding you. The last thing you can remember is being untied from the chair after the unsub injected you with something. You probably knocked out. And you know, you're probably in a hospital right now. But it feels like you are underwater. Like you're at peace for now. It's quite the comfortable place you've made in your mind. Feeling weightless and soft. Mind blurry and warm.

But soon you register more than just the beeping in the room. There is a soft-spoken voice. A familiar one. And suddenly, the place in your mind isn't as comfortable. The softness becomes too soft, nearly prickly. Feeling unease as you leave this place in your mind. Slowly, you blink open your eyes.

You were correct. The familiar look and smell of the hospital fills your senses. The lights seem to have been mostly turned off; lights from the hallways shine through the door, unlike the night sky shining through the window. There are flowers on a table next to you, but the most notable thing is the voice.

Next to you, is Spencer. Sat slightly awkward as he reads aloud, though, not very loudly, a book.

"Spence...?" Your voice is rough and sore, turning your head to look at him

He stops reading from his book, looking up, slightly startled. He stands up, setting his book down and walking over to you. "Hey... how are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Any other forms of pain?"

"I don't think so, my memory is really fuzzy though, and I feel drowsy."

"That's to be expected. The doctor said you had an extreme concussion as well as a wound to the left side of your head. There weren't any fractions or broken bones, but the unsub did inject you with high doses of benzodiazepine." Spencer talks quickly, giving you a once-over as he recites what your doctor said. "How much do you remember?"

You recount your memories for a moment, trying to put them into words. "I remember being tied up in a kitchen, as well as the unsub giving me pills; there was a girl here too-" The quick realization of another person being in danger courses through you: "Oh my god, was she okay? Did you guys get her?"

"We did get her, and she is being treated a few rooms over. I'll debrief you on her condition after you finish telling me what you remember." Spencer's voice remains as calm as he can keep it.

"Okay, I don't remember how much time passed, but he took me to a room, I think it was a bedroom, and tied me to a chair in there. Around that time I think Emily and someone else came I to the room, but everything else is pretty blurry."

Spencer nods as you talk, taking in the information. "The other person was Derek; the window to the connected bathroom was opened, so he climbed through that while scouting the outside perimeter. You did get injected with more benzodiazepine, which seemed to knock you out. Prentiss and Morgan got you into an ambulance, and I drove with you to the hospital. You have only been out for a day, which is expected with your injuries."

A small smile overtakes your features. "You joined me in the ambulance?"

Spencer quickly trying to change the subject as you save his heart. "You have a change of clothes, would you like to change into them?"

"Oh God, yes." You laugh as you sit up, excited to change out of the hospital gown and to spend more time with Spencer, now awake. Even though, this experience will probably leave a lasting scar.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x gn!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid angst

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dammn-dean · 4 months

Text

Unexpected Pt. 2

Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Words: 2700+

Warnings: Pregnancy, vague birth talk, mild panic attack, if I missed anything sorry

(Honestly I have given birth in a hospital, but it was complicated so I didn't get to experience a normal after birth situation. So if this is incorrect, sorry!)

Here is part two🖤 Hope you all enjoy it! It's a bit short, and sweet. I do plan on doing some blurbs/continue eventually. Thank you all for reading!

Part One

Beautiful art/rendering from @ave661

The next few moments are a blur to you both, for different reasons. Simon parks the car in front of the emergency entry, barely allowing for the car to come to a complete stop before he’s out of the car. You barely register as he slides on a black surgical mask when he comes around the car to open your door. Next thing you know he’s leading you inside, talking to a woman at the front desk and getting you into a wheelchair. You are filling out some paperwork as you are wheeled through the hospital, in between contractions that are consistently spaced apart now.

Simon keeps murmuring small words of encouragement to you, but he’s scared shitless. Pretending to be brave in this moment for you, yet he feels anything but brave.

There are a lot of questions that you give answers to as best you can. Simon can barely keep up… there is so much moving around and plans being spoken between nurses. The next thing he knows you are in a hospital bed, donning a gown, being told your doctor should be here within 5 to 10 minutes.

“I’m going to check your dilation now, okay?” A young and sweet woman that is apparently your nurse for now speaks up.

You just nod your head, watching as she gets the stirrups ready for your feet to go in. Once ready she guides your feet to the correct sport before reaching for a pair of gloves.

You glance up to Simon, who is as quiet and still as a ghost. Standing to the left of your bed, fists clenched so tight you wonder if his fingers are going to lose feeling soon.

“Si?” You question.

That breaks his stone resolve. It was like a switch flipped in him, as he forced his mind to catch up with what was happening.

He finally tore his eyes away from the nurse as her hand began to disappear under your gown. When his eyes fell to you and your outstretched hand he immediately grabbed your smaller hand into both of his large ones. Kissing the back of your hand through the material of the mask.

“You ‘kay love?” Simon was gentle, from his touch to his tone.

“Yes… just a little uncomfortable,” you said just above a whisper.

“I bet so sweetheart.” He brought a hand to brush some hair back from your face. “You are doing great,” he encourages you.

“Looks like you are about 5 centimeters dilated! Great news mom and dad.” The nurse tore off her gloves and put them in the trash before typing away on the computer in the room to update your chart.

Simon felt all of the air rush out of his lungs. Dad?? How did he not think before that he was about to be a dad. Sure… he understood what was happening, but there was something about hearing this nurse call him dad that struck a chord with him. His ears filled with static and he stiffened all over again.

You watched as his pupils shrunk, he pulled his hands from you and stood straight as a board beside you.

“Simon?” You softly called to him. Nothing.

His eyes were trained on the wall behind the nurse who was innocently typing away on the computer.

You called for him two more times, watching his chest speed up with more and more rapid breaths. You said his name one more time quite loudly, which got the nurses attention. She looked up at him, staring past her and noticed the signs of a panic attack blooming in him.

Simon wasn’t in the room with you now, his mind lost on his past.

“Sir?” The nurse gently started working her way to him.

Before she could fully make it to him, a contraction started up for you again. You wailed out in pain, and as quick as Simon zoned out and started panicking he stopped. Hearing your pain pulled him from his dark mind.

“Sorry,” he muttered, truly embarrassed.

“It’s okay sir,” the nurse spoke softly. “Would you like to sit down for a moment?”

“I’m fine, just make sure she’s okay.” He left no room for argument.

Resuming his spot at your side, ignoring whatever that was just happening to him. He gently kissed your hairline through the mask again while speaking to you sweetly until the pain subsided. Once your breath had started evening out your tired eyes fell onto Simon. The nurse nodded at him before finishing typing what she needed and mentioned the next steps that would be happening before excusing herself from your room for a moment. Her words went in one of your ears and out the other for you.

“You okay?” You asked, squeezing his hand this time to comfort him.

“Don’t you worry about me, love,” Simon said apologetically.

You gave him a nod, but internally you were freaking out about his reaction. Your mind rolled back a few moments before he started panicking, trying to figure out what happened.

Simon has had a few moments in your time together where certain things trigger him, which is beyond understandable. The memory of the nurse calling you mom and dad moments before finally registering with you. That small thought had your heart instantly feel heavy, and not in the best way.

You felt your eyes get glossy, this same feeling of shame bursting through your chest. Your mind reminding you how unfair this all is to him, he never got the choice about IF he wanted to be a father… hell you didn’t even give him a notice that he was going to be a dad. Your brain was all muddled, but the only thing standing out to you is that you can’t remember why you never told him. It all seemed so silly now, who cares if you had an argument. Who cares that he was working. It was your responsibility to tell him that you were pregnant, to let him know that he was going to be a dad, and especially to give him the option to be involved or not.

You gently removed your hand from his, allowing it to fall into your lap with your other hand. Eyes falling to your lap, unable to stop the tears from falling and trying your best to shield them from Simon. Even though you knew he would notice, how could he not?

“Are you hurting? Want me to call for the nurse?” Simon got the words out quickly, reaching for the button to call the nurse.

“No.. I’m okay,” you whispered with a shrug.

His brows frown down at you, clearly you aren’t okay. Your small sniffles provide proof of that. Simon’s spine straightened, eyes taking you in as his mind moved a mile a minute trying to come up with a solution.

“Do you remember at the apartment, the promise you made me?” Simon asked softly.

You sniffled out a small “Yeah..”

“That if you have something you need to tell me, you will do it. Yeah?”

You nod your head softly before meeting his eyes briefly.

“What is it baby?” He asked, hand reaching into your lap and interlocking your fingers together.

“I’m just so sorry,” you respond quietly. “And I know you told me to stop saying sorry but I truly am.”

“Love,” Simon began, but you cut him off. “I didn’t give you the opportunity to come to terms with all of this. I just sprung it all on you, and-”

Simon knelt beside you, making him eye level with you.

“Do I wish I would have known before? Sure love… but mainly because I hate you have done all of this alone. It eats me alive. I am supposed to be the one taking care of you, but I was selfish. Never made sure you knew what you were to me. I will never let that happen again, okay?”

“Then what just happened to you?” You whisper. His hazel eyes squint a little, but they never leave yours.

Simon was silent for a while which heightened your anxiety. That’s when the beginnings of another contraction started. Your hand squeezing Simon as you rode through the pain. You barely register his voice, soft and sweet, talking you through the pain.

“Don’t you worry about that sweetheart, but after this. And we have our baby… I will be sure to explain everything to you okay? All you need to know is I am here, and I can’t wait to be a father to our child.” Simon knew he owed an explanation, but now wasn’t the time.

Simon tugged his mask down enough so he could press a kiss to your hairline while using his free hand to wipe away the last few tears from your wet cheeks.

“Good evening,” your doctor enters the room and announces himself.

Simon gently clears his throat as he straightens the mask on his face before standing up to take his proper place beside you.

You didn’t feel 100% better, but knowing he would explain more. You fixed your mental state as much as you could, you knew this way was about to be the toughest thing you have been through.

There was some small chat between your doctor, Simon and you. Talking about the birth plan, checking your dilation, planning the next steps as well as you could. Before you know it you are pushing, and pushing. Simon is next to you the entire time, feeding you ice chips and doting on you constantly. “You are doing so good, lovie.” - “There you go, my strong girl, you got this.” - “You are so perfect, sweetheart.” - “Almost there love, you are doing great.”

Somewhere between the tears, the pain, the constant pressure and with help from nurses and doctors. You hear cries. Your body feels instant relief, and the joy that bursts across your chest is unlike anything you have ever felt. Your eyes fall to Simon, he’s standing stiff as a board. Eyes never leaving the newborn as the nurse gently cleans the baby’s body as the doctor finishes up with you. Before you know it they are gently laying your baby onto your chest.

“Congratulations mom… a beautiful healthy baby girl!” The nurse whispers excitedly to you as she pulls your hands back, ensuring you have the baby.

You can’t hold back the few tears that fall, “She’s a girl.”

Your nose taking in her smell, your lips gently brushing her head. A perfect baby girl. After a few moments of silence, you look for Simon. His hands shoved in his pockets, standing to your side, eyes on your baby girl.

“We have a baby girl, Si.” You can’t help the smile on your lips.

Simon’s chest rose and fell rapidly, taking everything in. He was a father to a baby girl.

“She’s so small,” Simon comments softly.

“She sure is,” you praised. “And perfect.” Your finger found her hand, letting it wrap around your finger. You looked at the small amount of hair on her head, her eyelashes, her cheeks, her fingers, just taking her all in. After about 5 minutes of silence, a nurse speaks.

“Congratulations you two, would dad like a turn holding her?” She asked politely as she reached for your daughter.

“Here Si,” you encouraged. Gently handing the baby to the nurse. Watching her carefully as she took the baby from you, walked around the bed to Simon and she patiently stood in front of him.

Simon of course wanted to hold her, but she was tiny. He had only really ever been around one baby before, his nephew and he couldn’t for the life of him remember him being this small. His blurred eyes took in her features, she was beautiful.

“I uh-” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can. She’s so small and I’m so-” he gestured to himself. Clearly uncomfortable with the idea of his hulking frame, meant for killing to hold this sweet innocent baby. His sweet innocent baby girl.

“You can hold her, just trust me, you can do it” you encouraged. “Look at me Simon.”

He almost had to force his eyes from your daughter so he could look at you. Your sweet face, eyes tired but shining happily, encouraging him. You almost took his breath away, beautiful as ever. If you believe in him, maybe he should believe in himself.

“I love you, you can hold her. Look at her Si, our daughter, she wants her daddy.” You swallowed hard, not entirely sure if that is what he needed to hear or not.

Barely a moment went past before he held his hands out towards the nurse. She showed him exactly what to do, she never let go of the baby until she was certain that he was ready. Before you knew it there he was, as still as he had ever been, barely even breathing as he held her.

You couldn’t believe it, seeing her tiny body being held by such a mass, that is Simon. A singular hand of his is almost the size of her whole body. You felt warmth bloom across your chest watching him with her. The way his stiff shoulders eventually relaxed more. How he leaned into her, smelling her tiny head, followed by whispers you couldn’t hear.

“I can’t believe I have a daughter,” Simon chuckles out with a wet laugh. “I am so proud of you baby.” He then turns to you, “You did amazing.”

Brown eyes filled with unshed tears hold onto yours that are allowing tears to fall freely. “We did amazing, Si…” you said truthfully. “Just look at her, she’s as much me as she is you.”

Simon pulled his eyes back to the sweet baby in his arms. “Yeah I guess so, huh?” He could even see that the tiny wisps of hair on her head were definitely the exact shade of his.

It was then the nurse popped back up, “And what are we naming her mom and dad?” She asked innocently.

How have you both forgotten you need a name for the baby?

“Uh- well we haven’t quite decided yet,” Simon answered quickly.

“That’s perfectly okay! No rush,” she responded politely. “Let’s finish getting her and mom all cleaned up. Then I’ll get you to your room. How does that sound?”

Simon looked at you, you nodded at him with a grin.

“Sounds great, thank you.” He responded politely.

The nurse went back to him to grab your daughter, hands out waiting. Only Simon didn’t budge. His eyes were solely focused on the baby in his arms.

“Sir?” She questioned gently.

Simon almost startled before looking at her, then down at the baby again, and back to the nurse.

“I just need her for a little bit, then you can have her back. How does that sound?”

Simon actually grumbles, no words, just grumbles.

Fuck, you love him. “Simon,” you almost laugh. “Let the nurse have her baby.”

He doesn’t give in immediately, a minute or so passes before he huffs and gently hands her over to the nurse.

“Thank you…” the nurse smiles at him. “The doctor will be right back to assist you with another nurse. I’ll meet you both in your room.” She turns to you. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you say to her, eyes not leaving the baby.

A moment goes by and you turn your head to Simon to find his eyes already on you. Nothing but pure adoration for you.

“You’re going to be the best daddy ever,” you whisper to him truthfully.

“I can only promise you that I will give it my all,” Simon says honestly. Hand nervously touching the back of his neck. “I only wish to give you both the best life possible.”

Both of your eyes are unwavering, holding each other trying to convey emotions you can’t quite say out loud. You aren’t naïve, you know this will be hard, of course raising a human together won’t be easy. If there was anyone in the world you would be willing to go through this with, it was Simon.

“I know this was all… unexpected, but I don’t think I have ever felt happier than I feel at this moment. Right now.”

“Ditto, love.” You can hear his smile. “Ditto.”

Tags: @daemondoll @mileyraes @axoleos @arminarlertssword @wawuwe @cxltblood @mrflyingbanana03 @itsmytimetoodream @arminarlertssword @mrssabinecallas @babygirl-riley @gplol @yuly

Thank you for reading! If you have an idea or request for where they go from here, feel free to send 🖤

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #reader insert #simon riley #call of duty #thank you #fic recs #my fics #dad!simon

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wndaswife · 1 year

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matriarchal disturbance | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Iryna Maximoff pays her daughter a visit, and Wanda must learn to balance living with her ever-complicated mother while navigating her rocky relationship with you, her stepdaughter.

Word count: 14 615

Tags: smut, angst, fluff, family issues, infidelity, age gap, strap-ons, cunnilingus, spanking, hair-pulling, praise, degradation, slight cnc, impact play, mention of somnophilia, mommy kink, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

You sped down the stairs and slung your backpack over your shoulder, hoping to avoid your dad and stepmother on the way out. The rapid padding of your feet prompted Wanda to force herself out of her husband’s arms as you passed the kitchen.

“Y/N?” she called out, listening close to how you walked over to the front door. Wanda rounded Vision and headed over to you. You were leaned over, pulling your shoes on with a backpack hanging from your shoulder. Wringing her hands around the dish towel she was holding, Wanda asks, “Are you going somewhere?”

You stalled with some stuttered hesitation in hopes of leaving and talking with your stepmother as little as possible. But you watched the way she stayed planted in front of you and you still had another shoelace to tie. “Yeah, going out, forgot to tell dad,” you answered finally.

“I can drive you if you’d like. Vis can finish making dinner,” she offered, and you saw her playing with her fingers when you looked up slightly from beyond your eyebrows. She was always trying to make some excuse to spend time with you. But you wouldn’t let her. Not unless you were forced.

The afternoon could be recalled as clearly as if it were yesterday. Months of getting close with your dad’s new girlfriend, gentle caresses and passing longing glances, excuses to get each other alone, delicate kisses exchanged, vows of love, all tossed away as delusion the moment her engagement to your dad was announced. He had his hand on her knee, Wanda’s hands wringing around uncomfortably in her lap as she anticipated your answer.

Suddenly, you had no idea what to do with all the months you spent loving Wanda. She lost her virginity when she was sixteen to a senior at the back of his truck. She won a spelling bee contest when she was ten. She broke one of her ribs once when she was a young child hanging out of her father’s moving car.

What were you to do with knowledge like that?

Information about her that you held close to your heart for whatever reason, a pride you felt in knowing her and having been able to watch her face as she recalled stories of her life. She was once a grand and beautiful constellation, each day spent with her discovering one of the many stars she was made of.

She made you feel and look like a fool — a lovesick puppy blinded by the thrill of first love. You hated her for it, and you hated her all the more when she made those pathetic attempts to make it up to you.

“I’m walking,” you told her and straightened to take your sweater from the coat rack.

“Walking? Is it far?”

Hoping that your brief response would suffice, you answered, “No.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed on.

“Wanda, I told you — I’m walking,” you repeated, meeting her eyes. She nodded and stepped to the side to let you open the front door. The stability of her relationship with you was precarious and she wouldn’t think twice before yielding to maintain what closeness she had left with you after her marriage to your father.

You didn’t believe there was much, if any at all, but you imagined that Wanda liked to hold onto the idea that there was.

Before you could step off the porch and finally make some space between you and home, Wanda called from behind you and asked if you were planning on being back home before dinner. You replied with something vague for you didn’t feel like thinking about when you wanted to be home, and you didn’t want to give your stepmother the benefit of knowing your plans.

Pretending to be content in spite of her lack of a role in your personal life, Wanda refrained from asking anything else and let you go without another word.

Several days ago, Vision suggested that you start calling Wanda something along the lines of ‘mom.’ Your father had initially argued against your refusal, insisting that it was time you started behaving maturely rather than acting like a rebellious teenager. Wanda was quick to defend you, but you were already cutting your meal short, heading to the sink to wash your dishes before going out for a drive.

Even if you had stayed seated while Wanda vouched for you, she was convinced you wouldn’t have been listening anyways. You hardly responded to her when she spoke to you, you didn’t even look up. Typically, it took urging from your father to even get her messages across.

Dinner was dull when you didn’t come home later that night. Things normally were when it was only her and Vision at home. Interaction between you and your stepmother was scarce, but knowing that you were home, having you for meals and seeing you occasionally when you came downstairs brought Wanda great deals of joy and comfort. She loved it when you were home from school.

It never crossed her mind how you interpreted her attempts at becoming close with you again, for she always had faith that you’d warm up to her eventually. She knew she had hurt you when she married Vision though she’d been dating him for months prior to the marriage. But she believed that what the two of you had was special.

You were one of the reasons she felt assured in the decision to marry Vision. Things would be different, but she’d always have you. Wanda strongly believed that although things couldn’t return to precisely what used to be before her engagement, it would take a bit of effort to eventually return to the trust and affinity the two of you used to have for each other.

She hadn’t meant to lose you in marrying your father, and she wasn’t planning on it. She promised to herself to be a good stepmother, although she felt lost at times without a maternal figure to rely on for an example of how to provide for you as you needed.

These days, Wanda thought of Iryna a lot more than she used to. In her failures to earn your affection, she worried she was becoming more and more like her own mother. She had no one to ask advice from and in spite of her tumultuous childhood, Wanda caught herself wishing she had the kind of relationship with her mother in which she could simply call her and ask her for help.

Iryna and her daughter talked a few times perhaps every three months. Their communication was irregular and when they did talk, phone calls would consist of Iryna asking a few obligatory questions about Wanda’s life and listening to answers she didn’t truly care about hearing before the topic was swiftly changed to Pietro, Wanda’s twin brother.

Pietro was part of a travelling soccer team, having firstly started his soccer practices for a few hours after school when he and Wanda were only children, and was now making his way towards his dream of earning a spot with his team representing their home country in the Olympics. He and Wanda texted a lot more regularly than she and Iryna, and unlike their mother, Pietro attended Wanda and Vision’s wedding a few months ago.

They were close, and it was only different paths of life that put space between them. Even so, the distance was merely physical as the twins continued to maintain their close connection.

Though they had a strong bond, Wanda truly found herself rather bored listening to her mother drone on about how successful Pietro was in his most recent games, listening to all the countries he’d been travelling to and the games she attended. She’d heard it all from him anyways, but what was more was that Iryna travelled around the world to see Pietro, a total of seven different countries to watch his games and spend time with her favourite child, yet could not even bother to attend her daughter’s wedding.

Wanda was once a favourite of her father before he passed when they were young, and it was no secret that Pietro was always mama’s favourite, even after there became only one parent to share between the both of them. In spite of how the two of them knew Iryna favoured her son over her daughter, any and all of Wanda’s conflicted feelings had always been directed towards her mother rather than towards Pietro. It was miraculous, in a way, that they’d maintained such a close relationship over the years. But Wanda loved Pietro as he did her. It was only her mother that made her feel heaps of unease and burrowed in her years of unresolved insecurities.

Sitting in the living room with a movie playing on the television though she wasn’t entirely paying attention to it, Wanda wondered about what you were doing. When putting on the movie that was currently only being partially-watched, Wanda hoped she’d be able to catch you coming in to make sure you got home safe. She supposed you were seeing your friends, which you were, but she wondered about what you might be doing with them.

Was it cold out? Did you end up wearing that sweater you brought with you? Would you be back tonight or tomorrow? She wanted to text you something brief asking how you were, but if you wouldn’t have a conversation with her the next time you were home about how you didn’t like for her to be pushy with you, you wouldn’t respond to her text at all, which likely would’ve made her even more worried.

Her head perked up from her phone when a knock came at the door. She checked the time on her cellphone — it was ten-forty in the evening — before setting it down and heading to the front door and opening it.

Where Wanda expected to see you waiting on the porch stood her mother instead, the handles of two travel luggages in each hand. She felt a strange mix of dread and a kind of frozen pause that came over her body, making her unsure how to react aside from blinking at her mother with parted lips in disbelief.

“Aren’t you going to take my bags?” Iryna asked, urging them forward.

“O-Oh, yes,” Wanda stuttered, leaning down to take them by their handles. She wheeled them towards her then lifted them up into the front foyer.

Sighing, her mother stepped into the house. “Mannerless child,” she bit passively as she looked around at the house and the living room.

Wanda asked, “Mama, what are you doing here?” She locked the front door and turned to her mother who continued to survey the house with a great deal of scrutiny.

“A mother can’t visit her own child?”

Playing with her fingers in front of her stomach, Wanda said quietly, “You didn’t even come to my wedding, mama. You want to visit me now?”

“Yes,” Iryna answered, looking at her daughter with her head tipped upwards slightly. “You’d like me to leave, then? Give me my bags.”

Wanda blurted out a ‘no,’ before she stepped towards Iryna and let go of the bags. “I’m happy that you’re here, mama. I really am.” She wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders and gave her a hug.

Her mother was never one for physical affection, though Wanda always was; it was one of the reasons she loved how close she was with you before — you were equally as physically affectionate with her. Wanda missed it. It didn’t feel nearly the same with Vision.

In all honesty, she’d never loved being touched and hugged by anyone as much as she did with you. It was a strangely specific preference, but you always made her feel like you wanted only to be close with her when you held her hand or kissed her cheek.

To be wanted like that… It felt amazing. She’d only ever felt it with you. She only ever had a place when she was with you.

She pulled away and smiled at her mother. “How is Pietro?” Wanda asked though she knew how he was as the last she spoke to him was that afternoon. But Iryna’s mood always seemed to lighten when her favourite child was brought up.

The two of them sat on the living room couch, the movie on the television paused, while Iryna went into detail about her trip to Madrid during which she visited Pietro that she’d just come back from. Wanda sat in silence, nodding and listening and occasionally making comments.

It was nearly an hour of listening to Iryna’s recount of her trip and her doting adoration and pride of her only son before the front door was unlocked. You stepped into the house and Wanda’s head perked up. She looked you over quickly and was then relieved at the sight of you — a sweater on and zipped up and even one of your hats from your backpack pulled onto your head.

Wanda stood from the couch as your eyes darted between her and her mother. “Y/N, this is my mother, Iryna,” she introduced. She’d never talked about her mother before, and all you knew of her was what you supposed after her lack of presence at your stepmother’s wedding.

She looked like Wanda, in some ways, though her stare was cunning and her eyes frighteningly calculating. A part of you couldn’t believe that the soft-spoken Wanda and her free-spirited twin brother were born from a woman like this.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said finally, taking off your hat and unzipping your sweater.

“Likewise,” Iryna replied with a cordial nod.

Wanda felt nervous suddenly, recalling all the times she turned to her mother for advice in communicating with you. She hardly ever went to her mother for help about anything after her high school years, but after being newly-married and becoming a stepmother, she had initially relied on Iryna for help in trying to become closer with you. Her advice was poor and mostly judgemental of her inability to parent, so Wanda soon ceased bringing you up to her.

There was also always something strangely disconcerting about having her mother know things about you. Wanda felt possessive of the knowledge of you and felt uncomfortable that a woman like Iryna knew the kind of person you were and of her once-close relationship with you.

Now, she felt rather uneasy watching the two of you interact. Iryna was indeed a cunning woman and unnecessarily conniving at times, and Wanda’s relationship with you couldn’t take any more pressure.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you,” Wanda said when you didn’t head upstairs, hoping that you’d leave and spend as little time as possible with Iryna. You gave an awkward smile to her mother and bid her a goodnight before turning and heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams,” she called softly from the living room.

You caught sight of the two travelling luggages by the front door as you headed up and you dreaded the next unspecified while until Iryna left. You didn’t have any problems with her, but you were certain that you’d have to get to know her and spend a bit of time with her to be friendly, and that undoubtedly meant you’d have to spend more time with your stepmother.

Wanda and her mother spoke for a little longer as you could hear bits of their conversation while you were getting ready in the washroom. Later on, Wanda carried Iryna’s bags up the stairs and you listened to her lead her mother up to the guest room.

“How long are you planning on staying with us?” you heard Wanda’s muffled question through your bedroom door as she walked through the hallway and towards the extra room. Iryna told her that she’d stay for about two weeks before she’d need Wanda to drive her to the airport so she could take her booked flight back to Russia.

Two weeks.

You figured it wouldn't be too bad if you filled up the next little while doing anything else but being at home.

You were awoken in the morning hearing the stifled shouts of your father from his and Wanda’s bedroom down the hall. He got pretty loud when he felt like it, he really did, and he was rather prone to being overdramatic when he was upset.

On the night of their wedding, Vision’s family brought up what a perfect match Wanda was for him, how perfectly her sensitive attitude complemented his. In a way it was true, but mostly it just made you roll your eyes. The pair was painfully traditional.

You supposed he was upset about Wanda’s mother staying over without any notice. If you had a say in the argument, words of advice that would matter at all, perhaps you’d make a comment in defence of Wanda solely to argue against your dad. You imagined your words wouldn’t matter much to your stepmother anyways, who disregarded you to marry a man you always thought she never felt much sentiment for. It was he that she chose over you, anyways. Who were you to stand up for her?

Now that you were awake listening to the muffled words of their ongoing argument, you figured you wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, so you climbed out of bed and headed downstairs to have breakfast.

To your surprise, Wanda’s mother was sitting at the dining room table eating buttered toast with a book in hand. Feeling chilled by the sight of her tranquillity, you poured yourself a bowl of cereal and had no choice but to sit down across from her at the dining table lest she think you were intentionally avoiding her.

“Good morning,” she greeted, looking up from her book and setting it down by her plate. You met her eyes and smiled at her before returning her friendly greeting. “A mismatched pair, no?” Iryna said, indirectly referencing the argument upstairs.

When you stared at her for a moment slightly stunned by her overt criticism, she darted her eyes up at the ceiling where Wanda and Vision were arguing upstairs before looking back down to you. “Oh,” you answered, feigning an onset of realisation. “They’re okay.”

Iryna said, “Wanda never had children of her own. I always told her she married too late. I do not intend to offend you, but I take it you aren’t very close with my daughter.” She chewed on a bit of her toast and swallowed.

“Uh, no, not very,” you answered. You had no intention of being rude to her, but you weren’t sure how to approach her questions. It seemed to you that her words held more weight than she was letting on, and you felt you had to choose your words carefully around her.

“In my own experience, I found it difficult to connect with her at times,” she recalled, cleaning the tips of her fingers from crumbs and moving her empty plate to the side.

You mentioned, “But you’re visiting her here, so that means you must be sort of close.”

“An obligation to check up on one’s daughter. It’s been many years since I’ve seen Wanda in-person. You know of her brother?”

Your eyebrows came together as you tried recalling his name. “Pietro?”

“Indeed. Successful boy. I just returned from visiting him in Madrid. It was a rude awakening coming here to see Wanda.”

“Why?” you asked, feeling strangely interested in Iryna’s recount of Wanda.

With a sardonic chuckle, Iryna replied, “She’s an unaccomplished housewife, devochka.”

Wanda eventually headed downstairs from the argument while your dad was no doubt fuming in the bedroom, trying to cool down before having to eat breakfast at some point and face his mother-in-law. She sighed heavily as she stepped into the kitchen looking exasperated, a hand running through her hair.

She caught sight of you and Iryna sitting at the table and she froze, her eyes darting between the two of you. “Mama,” she greeted cautiously before smiling at you. Her smile was brief as it dissipated when she looked over her shoulder to her mother. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing important, Wanda,” Iryna said and lifted her cup of coffee to her lips. She watched as her daughter turned and began boiling water for herself. You looked up from your bowl of cereal subtly as she eyed Wanda with a certain scrutiny that made even you uncomfortable, and Iryna wasn’t even looking in your direction. “What was the argument about?” she then asked suddenly.

Taken off guard, Wanda hesitated, “What?”

“The argument,” her mother pressed, a deceiving lightness to her tone in spite of her blunt questioning. “Upstairs. We could all hear it down here.”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Wanda look over at you, seemingly searching for confirmation, questioning if you really did hear her argument upstairs with Vision. But you refused to make eye contact with her — all you wanted was to get the hell out of that kitchen as soon as you could.

She cleared her throat and prepared her mug for her hot water and placed a teabag of berry tea into it. “It was nothing,” she answered. “It was about work.”

“Not your place of work though, I’d presume,” Iryna asked innocently, though she knew Wanda wasn’t working, and Wanda knew that she knew. Wanda flushed in embarrassment at her mother’s words that held a great deal of criticism despite the benign way they were spoken, and you felt that Iryna was humiliating her on purpose.

“N… No,” she answered finally, looking down at her empty mug and fiddling idly with the teabag’s string.

Humming in a way that could be interpreted as Iryna feeling satisfied with the way she chastised her daughter out of the blue, she took a sip of her coffee and picked up her book again.

“Y/N, how was your night out yesterday?” Wanda asked, pouring her boiled water into her mug and looking over at you.

You weighed the pros and cons of brushing her off with a dismissive response, answering her honestly, or standing up from your seat abruptly and running out of the house like you wanted to do since the moment Iryna made that comment about the argument upstairs.

A part of you felt bad for the passes Wanda had to endure, so while you stirred your spoon around in your bowl of milk, you answered, “It was fine. I met with some friends at this bar. It was slam poetry night.”

Wanda asked curiously, “You presented some of your things?”

“No.”

“You should. I think you’re a really talented writer.”

The compliment sent chills up your spine and you quickly downed the milk left in your bowl then stood to wash your dishes in the sink. You recalled sharing some of your pieces with Wanda when you first became close with her — a symbol of your trust in her.

“Will you be going out today too? I was thinking of heading to that greenhouse you like. You could help me pick out some things for the garden now that the snow’s all melted and it’s gotten warm out,” she offered, her spoon weaving in and out from between her fingers.

The mention of the greenhouse made you tense, for it was a common place you and Wanda liked to stop at when you had time for yourselves as an excuse to browse the vast greenhouse gardens hand-in-hand.

“Yeah, I’m going out later this afternoon,” you replied quietly. “Sorry.”

You looked over at Wanda and smiled briefly as to not seem abrasive before putting your clean dishes on the rack. You said goodbye to Iryna and quickly made your way out of the kitchen — finally — and headed upstairs before Wanda could reply.

A sense of anxiety settled within Wanda as she watched you scurry away. Her eyes immediately went to her mother. “What did you tell her, mama?” Wanda asked, trying her best to restrain the amount of unease she felt as she let her mind wander.

Her worry was certainly not at all assuaged when she saw the way Iryna sat at the dining table with a complacent expression.

“You are not a teenager anymore. Do not worry yourself with gossip and adolescent concerns,” Iryna dismissed though it seemed she found amusement in disregarding her daughter.

Wanda placed her mug down on the table and replied, “Which implies that there was gossip to be told.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no.”

“Mama,” Wanda urged, not yet taking a seat at the table and staring down at her mother.

Iryna scoffed and put her book down before looking up at her. “Prekrati, Wanda. Let it go. I told her nothing she didn’t already know.”

Pulling out her seat, Wanda lowered herself onto the chair, feeling like a sulking child in the shadow of her mother like she always has. “I can’t have her being any more upset with me,” she said quietly.

“You will live without the validation of a child,” Iryna replied bitterly.

Wanda didn’t respond to that. She only set her tea bag aside once it was finished steeping and drank from her cup, feeling weighed down by her mother’s criticisms as they lingered heavily in the silence of the kitchen.

The next few days passed with you making any and every excuse to get out of the house, much to Wanda’s dismay. She hoped desperately to have some sort of interaction with you that was greater than those that took place in brief passing; you were always busy, you always had somewhere to go or something to do.

One afternoon when you had nowhere in particular to go but a quiet spot in the library closeby, an argument began between Iryna and Wanda downstairs in the living room. Your bedroom door was ajar while you were doing work at your desk, and you could hear Wanda trying to keep her mother quiet as her voice started to rise. Your stepmother was a sequence of hushed whispers and pleads for her to speak quieter for Wanda knew you were upstairs.

You tensed the moment you heard Iryna hiss out a string of angry Russian curses and you stood from your desk and tiptoed to your bedroom door. Carefully, you closed the door slow enough as to not be heard from downstairs. Then you sat back at your desk, hoping that they’d cease their arguing so you could leave for the library as soon as you could.

The last thing you wanted to do was get in the middle of them again.

After about an hour when you were sure their arguing came to an end, you crept downstairs, staring at the closed door of the guest room as you did to ensure you didn’t signal to Iryna your presence passing through the hallway.

Vision was always rather fastidious about having you ask Wanda for permission to go out when he wasn’t home, which you found pretty ridiculous considering you were now in your last years in college still needing permission from someone in the house to go out. But over time you gave in, finding that exchanging a few words with your stepmother wasn't as bad as having to listen to lectures from your father about safety and obedience.

He’d be home soon, but you were more likely to get the green light from Wanda, who more or less could not bear saying no to you.

You raked through the living room and the kitchen, and even called downstairs for her. Eventually, you found Wanda in the garden on her knees repotting a few flowers from the greenhouse she invited you to a few days ago.

She was wearing a pair of ankle-length jeans and a black blouse with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a sun hat, and her gardening gloves. Her hair was tied back and out of her face aside from some loose strands as she leaned over and dug some space for her tomato seeds.

“Wanda,” you said when you stepped past the open sliding door and into the garden. She looked up from the ground at you, one hand wrapped around the handle of a gardening hoe and the other knuckle-deep in a pile of mulch.

Some stupidly-sentimental part of you wished you were as close as you used to be with her last spring because you would’ve never let down the image of her on her knees looking like a total dork with her fingers in a pile of dirt and a massive sun hat on her head.

You looked away and distracted yourself from the thought as you ran your eyes over the things she bought from the greenhouse. “I’m going out to see a few friends on Friday. Probably won’t be back until Saturday afternoon,” you told her.

“What will you be doing?” she asked.

“Carol’s hosting this big party at her house, so we’re going.”

Wanda stood up and laid her gloves down on a flower pot. She brushed a speck of mulch off from her cheek with the back of her finger. “I think you should spend more time on your studies,” she said. Her words nearly made you scoff out a laugh, but you were more confused than anything, so you just looked at her.

Continuing on, she added, “You’re never home, and your Spring Break is nearly over. If you were responsible, you’d use what time you have left here to stay home and study.”

“Where is this coming from?” you inquired incredulously. Not only did Wanda hardly ever criticise you for anything, but this was completely out-of-character for her. The strict authoritarian figure didn’t suit her. It made you hate her even more, in fact. “Dad tell you to say this?”

“No,” she replied. There was a hint of uncertainty in her speech, and you felt that though she Wanda was speaking, it sounded like the words were coming from someone entirely different. You weren’t as close with her as you used to be, but this was certainly not Wanda speaking. “I’m just saying that-that you’re a bright girl with a promising future, and I would want to see you take advantage of that instead of… wasting your time.”

You argued, “Wasting my time? It’s one party. And it’s Spring Break. I never do things like this at school anyways.”

Your raised voice seemed to make Wanda hesitate as she spoke her next words a bit more quietly. “But what about that thing at your campus on Friday?” she questioned.

“What?”

“The club enrollment event.”

From what you knew when you looked over the information sheet briefly, it was an evening event on campus showcasing a bunch of different sports teams, sororities, and frats gathering up members for the second half of the semester. There’d be food stands and games. It was a pretty big deal. But you’d never brought it up to Wanda before.

Your eyebrows stitched together in confusion. “How do you know about that?”

Wanda stuttered and ran her hands down her blouse, seemingly reprehensible. “You told me,” she answered.

You straightened defensively at the realisation of where she could’ve heard about the event. “You looked through my things!”

“N-No! I didn’t. Your things were just face-up on the dining table when I passed and I saw the flyer,” Wanda reasoned, desperate to have your anger subdued.

You replied sternly, “I’m not going to that. And stop going through my stuff!”

Suddenly, a voice interjected itself into the conversation and your dad popped himself into the garden through the open sliding door. “What event are we talking about?” he asked, looking up at you as he stepped down and kissed his wife’s temple, greeting her after just come back from work.

“Nothing, just some stupid thing at school,” you dismissed. You looked away from the married couple and at the furthest wooden fence at the back of the garden. You wondered what Wanda and your dad would do if you suddenly just took off running and ran straight through the fence and didn’t stop running until you were two or three cities over.

But then eventually you’d have no place to go, and you didn’t exactly have your wallet with you at the moment. Or your phone. Your dad and Wanda would catch up after a while. Even in your wildest imagination, you’d still have to face the reality of eventually having to deal with your dad’s scolding. That made you even more upset.

“You should go,” your father advised carelessly without even knowing what the event was for.

“Dad, it’s nothing. It’s for, like, clubs and stuff. It doesn’t matter.”

Wanda was silent in the shadow of your father, wordlessly listening in on the topic she brought up, the conversation she started. If she wasn't acting like herself then, she was now. Typical for her to start something then leave right in the middle of it just to flee behind your father’s back.

You weren’t the greatest fan of hers, but the angrier you got with your stepmother, the more you felt yourself sympathising with Iryna.

“She doesn’t have to go, Vis,” Wanda spoke up, brushing her hand against his as if to nudge him into being more lenient.

“When is it?” he asked, completely ignoring her.

Wanda answered, “It’s Friday, but—”

“Perfect,” he exclaimed. Then he looked at you. “If it’s for school, you should bring your stepmother. I’d go but there’s a conference I have to attend after work.” He kissed the top of Wanda’s head then walked back up the stairs to the house.

“Dad, I don’t want to go!” you protested, turning to look at him.

Not stopping once to look back at you aside from waving his hand over his shoulder, he answered sternly, “I won’t hear it. Wanda’s bringing you and I expect pictures. It’s for school, Y/N, and you’re an adult. It’s time you started taking responsibility for your education.” He shut the sliding door and left you and Wanda in tense silence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” she apologised, stepping forward. “I didn’t mean for him to hear, I just… I wanted to go with you. I wanted to see your school and… your friends and professors. I want to be part of your life.”

You turned to her, a cross expression on your face. “I haven’t seen my friends from here, any of them, in months.”

Wanda apologised again and reached for your hand, but you stepped back from her. “I really am sorry. I-I can still drive you to your party instead.”

“He isn’t going to let me go.”

She reasoned desperately, “It doesn’t matter, I’m the one who’s driving you.”

You made a comment referencing how strict Vision was, and Wanda silently understood the sentiment. All she’d been hearing from him was his complaints and arguments about how irresponsible she was, letting Iryna stay without notice. He wasn’t used to not having a say in everything, although Wanda hadn’t even known she was coming, and he didn’t let a day pass without letting her know it.

“I won’t force you,” Wanda spoke quietly.

“I don’t have a choice,” you told her before opening the sliding door. But before you stepped into the house, you turned to look at your stepmother, who was looking up at you guiltily.

“You want to talk about how much ‘time’ I have left here?” you said. “You and dad are lucky that I come home at all. I wasn’t sure about keeping my distance until the end of the semester, but I’ve made up my mind. You’re right — I’ll be responsible.”

Wanda’s expression seemed to be racked with an incredible amount of regret and her lips parted to say something before you shut the sliding door and left without another word.

That wasn’t the first time you and Wanda have argued, but it was the first time that she ever kept her distance from you rather than only the other way around. She seemed extremely troubled by your interaction with her that afternoon, and would not even look up from what she was doing to meet your eyes when you walked into any room she was in.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, for when you left for your campus’ event, you vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t be home until your Summer Break started.

Friday eventually came around and Wanda once again made attempts to be friendly with you, albeit nervous and hesitant. About twenty minutes before you had to leave, a knock came at your door while you were making your bed before you had to leave. Wanda opened the door and looked into your room, seeing your two packed luggages and your now half-empty room.

A certain feeling of despair settled within her as she looked at your room knowing this would be the last time until the end of your semester that she’d see you here.

Quietly, she asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you answered blandly, adjusting your pillows.

“Okay. I’ll wait in the car,” your stepmother replied.

There was a silence that came after her words and you could see her still standing at your door. You looked up at her, seeing that she looked like she wanted to say something else. She was wearing a black floral wrap dress that reached just below her knees with a pair of black flats. Her long hair was straightened and she had earrings on, and her makeup looked really pretty on her.

Wanda always looked pretty when she did her makeup, especially when she had on this pinkish-brown lipstick that looked amazing on her. You recalled a time with her when she did your makeup and chose a lipstick colour for you, and you remember her giggling when she saw you blush after she talked about how beautifully certain colours would work with your complexion.

She took a breath and parted her lips, but quickly redirected her attention to your luggages. “I-I’ll take one of these down to the car for you,” she said, stepping into your bedroom and taking one of luggages. She extended the handle then wheeled it out, closing your bedroom door carefully behind her.

It’d been months now since you and Wanda spent time together that was something more than quick exchanges of words. Going out in the evening while Vision was out at work reminded you all too much of those early months of getting to know her when she was just your dad’s girlfriend.

Wanda opened the trunk from the driver’s seat when you rounded the car with the second luggage. You lifted it into the back then shut it before walking back around and getting into the passenger’s seat. She waited for you to buckle your seatbelt before she pulled out of the driveway and started the drive to your campus.

There wasn’t much conversation aside from Wanda asking if you had everything packed and if you wanted to stop for anything before she got onto the highway. Again, it was uncharacteristic of her to be so silent with you. But you didn’t care. None of it was your problem until the summer.

Nearly half an hour into the drive, Wanda said with a quiet tone, “I’m sorry for how I spoke to you before in the backyard when you told me you were going to that party.” You were silent, continuing to look out the window without a word. “Not just because Vision ended up hearing about it, but also because I’m… sorry for what I said.”

She continued, “My mother told me that there was a reason you didn’t want to be close with me, and that I only had to change the way I approached things with you. She told me that I was being spineless and that I had to change the way I was. Normally I wouldn’t listen, but having her over my shoulder every second for the last two weeks has only reminded me of how weak-minded I am with her.”

Regretfully, she said, “Even after so long of being away from her. I’m sorry. I should have known better, and I should have treated you better. You are very important to me, Y/N, and I’m sorry I let anything get in the way of how much I care about you.”

You hated the warm feeling that was instilled in you by her words and you wished you could hate her instead, but you found it harder the more she apologised.

“I didn’t mean anything I said,” Wanda added. “But I do think you’re a very bright girl, Y/N. I meant that part.”

Suddenly a wave of recollections from the last few days came to you, memories of what Wanda had been dealing with from both Iryna and your father. She’d been criticised relentlessly since she allowed for her mother to stay. If she wasn’t defending her mother from Vision, who never took a liking to Iryna, then she was making attempts at defending herself and Vision from Iryna, who also never took a liking to the life Wanda made for herself.

Without really thinking, you said, “It’s fine. I forgive you. Just forget about it.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Wanda look over at you and smile. “Thank you.”

Then after a moment when she’d looked back to the road, your stepmother confessed, “I’m really excited to be spending time with you. It’s been such a long time, and I miss being out with you.”

The both of you decided that you wouldn’t stop at your dorm and that you’d just go directly to campus then drop off your bags after. Anyways, you wanted to get the event over with, and you hoped you could use the luggages as an excuse to leave early somehow.

Wanda found a parking space behind the science wing close to one of the larger gymnasiums where the event was being held.

As you watched her step out of the car and look around, you found that she stood out from the rest of campus. It felt a bit bizarre to see her walking around in a place neither her or your dad had been before.

For some strange reason, there was a fondness that grew in you seeing her look around curiously, trying to take in your campus and trying to picture you walking around between classes or hanging out with friends on a bench by the parking lots or something like that. She really did want to be more involved in your life, and she desperately wished to know what you did when you were away from home.

You hardly ever texted her back when she messaged you when you were at school.

Wanda kept fiddling with her hair and her dress while you walked to where the event was being held, adjusting how it fell around her hips or how her sleeves looked, tucking and untucking her hair behind her ears and running her fingers through it. She seemed nervous, but more than that, she was meticulous about her appearance, though you couldn’t figure out exactly who she was trying to look good for as you didn’t think she expected to see anyone she knew here.

Your campus’ gymnasium was rather large, and inside was a grand array of food booths, games, and club stands. By the ceiling, the windows were cracked open to allow some ventilation, but it still smelled like a delicious medley of foods once you walked in.

One had to purchase tickets at a booth with money then exchange them to buy food and participate in any games. It was a dollar for each one, and Wanda paid for thirty tickets as you assured her that you weren’t interested in playing any games and that you only wanted to buy enough food for dinner. She followed behind you, looking around at the gym and all the club stands curiously as you walked around looking for somewhere to eat.

After apologising to you in the car, Wanda began to talk a lot more with you. She led most of the conversation, which was rather rare to see her do with other people. If you were honest, you don’t think you’d ever seen her as talkative with anyone but you. She talked about a lot of things from her plans for spring gardening to a book club she was thinking about joining that one of the neighbours, Dottie, mentioned to her.

While waiting with Wanda at the side of one of the food booths for your order, some of your friends from your political science class spotted you and approached you. At the sight of them, Wanda immediately stopped talking and moved back to your side as your friends approached.

Like you realised earlier, she was really not one to talk much around anyone but you.

“Are these your friends?” she asks quietly, looking at you. But you suddenly felt that you weren’t in the mood to talk with Wanda and you ignored her question to greet your friends, talking about each other’s Spring Breaks and complaints about your poli-sci class.

You talked with two of your friends about wanting to check out one of the swimming teams they were interested in and you went with them to stop by their stand while Wanda waited for the food the two of you ordered.

Eventually, one of your friends that stayed back waiting for you to return with the other two looked over at Wanda. “You must be Y/N’s stepmom,” she said.

Wanda felt rather elated knowing that you talked to your friends about her. She was initially rather worried about meeting your friends amongst everything else. She wanted to be part of your life and wanted to be closer with you, but a part of her also worried if there was a place for her in your personal life at all. It made her extremely happy to know that you’d mentioned her to your friends before.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m Wanda. It’s nice to meet you,” she said and stuck her hand out for your friend to shake.

Instead of taking her hand, your friends exchanged a look in which its negative implications Wanda didn’t catch onto. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” one of your other friends added, a bout of mocking humour in her tone.

Wanda put her hand down, feeling that they just didn’t notice her hand sticking out. She just smiled, happy to be included while not really catching onto the fact that your mentioning of her was not in any way in a positive light.

It wasn’t that you hated Wanda so much, but it was that they were just friends from poli-sci, there wasn’t much to talk about besides classes and your immediate shallow issues about each other’s personal life, and Wanda always seemed to be scratching at the back of your head at some point or another.

Your friends, feeling that they wanted to stick up for you a bit in the face of the knowledge of how your stepmother had gotten on your nerves for such a prolonged amount of time, continued the conversation, finding easy segways into abrasive comments veiled at something cordial and friendly.

“It must be nice having Y/N out of the house,” your friend said. “She can really loiter when she has nothing in particular she has to get done.”

“No, I really like having her around,” Wanda replied, feeling some type of comfort talking about you to your friends. “I miss her a great deal when she’s away.”

Another friend said innocently while Wanda was looking at the food stand, eyeing your order and waiting for it to be called out, “I know she hates being at home, so I’m glad she has some time away.”

Wanda looked over to her. “W-What? Y/N?”

“Yeah. She was sort of dreading being home for the break.”

She wanted to not feel hurt about it, for it had to be the truth. There wasn’t any reason for your friends to lie to her as they’d been nothing but extremely kind. Wanda tried not to show the hurt that spread through her chest thinking about how you hated being at home while a large portion of what she did while you were at school was to wait for you to come back.

You being at home while Iryna was staying with her brought her comfort, and she hated to think that you never wanted to be there.

The person tending to the food stand called out the number of your order and she blinked out of her brief stupor and took the food from the stand, muttering out a ‘thank you’ before rejoining your friends. At that moment, you returned with your other friends and quickly said goodbye to them as they planned to sign up for a rowing club together for the summer semester.

Wanda looked at you, trying somehow to read in your expression any sort of hint of what she’d just been told being true. When you looked at her and took your half of your food from her, she looked away.

“Let’s go eat outside. There’s a quieter place by the orchard,” you told her, and Wanda followed behind you, carrying her food and a water bottle while you carried your own. She watched you from behind as if somehow she’d uncover your thoughts staring at your back.

Again, Wanda was uncharacteristically quiet when the two of you settled together at a wooden picnic table amongst cherry blossom trees. Now that it was spring, you thought the orchard looked beautiful, and even moreso now that the sun was setting and the sky was painted a mirage of purple and orange, hinting towards a rather hot day tomorrow.

Indirectly trying to figure out what seemed to upset her, you asked, “What, um… were you and Iryna fighting about? Like, that afternoon I talked to you.”

“Oh…” She fiddled with her fork and poked at her food. Then she looked up and smiled reassuringly. “It was silly, I just brought up something from Pietro’s and my childhood that she didn’t enjoy hearing my thoughts about.”

“She sounded angry.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you with that,” she said regretfully.

You took a bite of your food and you saw Wanda watch you for a moment, looking a bit forlorn, before she forked a bit of her own dinner into her mouth. After swallowing, you inquired, “Does she usually get angry like that? It seems like she’s always mad about something.”

Your stepmother responded, “I’m sorry for how things have been at home; I know you don’t like Iryna. She hasn’t been very kind to me either. I had a very hard childhood.” It seemed to you that Wanda was avoiding answering your questions. She’d gone from discussing every detail in her life, excited to share things about her personal life with you, to becoming completely evasive and almost worried about saying too much.

After hearing that you hated being at home, Wanda didn’t want to burden you with the weight of what was going on in a place you never wanted to be at. Though if she was honest, she also felt fairly saddened knowing how you felt, and now felt much less jovial than she was before.

The drive to your dorm was much less awkward than it was slightly distressing. You wished you knew what was on Wanda’s mind. You’d never seen her so… down. It was different from how she was before. For the entirety of the ride, you didn’t think once about hating her or yourself for the sentiment and concern you felt for her.

Seeing her act so different made you realise how much you relied on her for the eternal peace she brought, her warm embrace available to you with her open arms, the hopeful meeting of her eyes with yours and her attempts at becoming close with you, even if you had been purposefully avoiding her since her wedding months ago.

And most of all, there was an indescribable hollow feeling that came with watching such a warm light glow so dim.

Your dormitory building’s parking lot was emptier than usual as most people were planning to come back from their breaks after the weekend. Not even your roommates were home yet.

There was a strange comfort that your stepmother brought you as she walked down the hall beside you into your building, seeing her carry one of your luggages and looking around. You waited for an elevator together then took it up to the fourth floor where your place was.

You felt Wanda watching as you unlocked the door and despite how quiet she’d been, you could practically feel her curiosity emanating off of her as she waited to see your place. You let her in first and you watched as she looked around, taking note of the decor and wondering what was yours and what belonged to your roommates.

After the both of you left your shoes by the closed front door, you led Wanda into the hallway where your rooms were. She trailed behind you silently with your luggage wheeling behind her and stepped into your room once you turned on the light and wheeled the luggage in your hand by your desk. You took off your jacket and laid it on the back of your desk chair before hanging your keys up.

Wanda followed suit and moved your last luggage over to where yours was, still obviously curious about your room and all your things. It was much more decorated here than at home, and it was different seeing someplace you obviously loved being in evident by the care you put into adorning the walls with posters from your favourite movies and shows, covering your shelves with books and little trinkets and gifts.

Standing in your bedroom made her feel like she was in the centre of your life and although it made her happy to some degree taking so much of you in, Wanda also felt a bit downcast looking around and finding nothing she was familiar with — things about you she didn’t know before now.

There was a realisation coming up behind her that would soon tell her that she simply just had to accept that she wasn’t as close with you as she thought she was, and that she likely wouldn’t ever return to the kind of affection she used to share with you, even if only completely platonic.

“I’m sorta thirsty,” you said, the breaking of the silence making Wanda look over at you. “I’m gonna make hot chocolate. Do you want some?”

“Sure,” she replied with a small thankful smile.

You led her to sit down on your bed while you went to the kitchen.

Her hands laid flat against your bedspread, feeling how soft it was while she looked around your room. At the sight of a photo on your dressing table, she stood up and walked towards it.

It was a framed picture of you and your friends together at someone’s place, and it looked like it was for Christmas.

Wanda remembered that Christmas; she remembered arguing with her mother over the phone about her father’s death which occurred sometime around the holidays and how Vision cared little, if at all, about her not being entirely present. She remembered waiting for you to come back home.

You didn’t come back until Christmas Eve, and left on the second of January.

Textbooks lined your shelves along with some other books Wanda recognized from your bedroom. She looked at your plants and your desk, your pens and your calendar, and though she was painfully curious about all of it, it still hurt her a great deal looking at a life she had no part in.

Maybe it was selfish.

You returned with two mugs of hot chocolate and Wanda straightened and smiled at you, thanking you and taking her own into her hands. It wasn’t too hot, so she took a small sip of it before setting it down on your desk, which wasn’t too far from her spot on your bed.

You remained standing, leaning on your nightstand and sort of looking around drinking your hot chocolate. Then after a few moments of silence, you found the confidence in yourself to ask, “If you don’t mind, um, why was it hard? Your childhood. You said earlier that it was.”

“I don’t want to put a damper on your time away from home, Y/N,” Wanda told you and looked up. “I should… probably leave and stop pestering you with my being here.” She stood up and you reached over and took her hand.

“Well, I wanna know,” you insisted, perhaps a bit assertively, but you wanted to instil in her the knowledge that she wasn’t going to bother you, and a feeling that you wanted to know what was on her mind without explicitly saying you were curious about what was bothering her.

She regarded you for a little bit and you looked at her in return while she was weighing whether or not she should involve you in things she wished she’d never exposed you to. But it was true — Wanda had a difficult time saying no to you.

“It was hard because she has never been any less authoritative than she is now, even in my younger years,” she finally answered.

You carefully let go of her and set your mug down, then took a seat on the bed and in your silent eye contact with her, gestured that she sit down too.

Almost hesitantly, Wanda obliged and sat down beside you.

“How does Pietro deal with it?” you asked.

She put her hands in her lap and looked down at her knees. “No, Pietro was different,” she answered. “Pietro was always the perfect son. He did not have to worry about my mother being the way that she is with me, cynical and judgemental, because he’d always been mama’s pride.”

Wanda added, “We are very close. He went to the wedding and I talk with him often, but… yes, we had vastly different childhoods.”

“So, you had to deal with her on your own?”

She nodded and drew patterns against her knee with her fingernail, not looking up. “Her expectations, her criticisms,” she replied. “Could you believe that she’s been saying the same things to me all my life? Things that weigh down on me now I’ve heard her say since I was fourteen.”

Iryna was indeed harsh. You remembered how she called Wanda an ‘unaccomplished housewife,’ and you’d hardly even known her at the time.

“I wanted to make my mother happy, and I’ve done everything she’s asked me to. I married a man who provides for me and I have a family,” Wanda said. “And still… I’m still not enough for her.”

You couldn’t tell if you felt more angry with Iryna or sad for Wanda. All you knew was that there was a terrible pit in your stomach listening to Wanda recount her experiences with her mother.

“The days leading up to the wedding, I kept thinking about how happy she would be once she saw me achieving what she’d always wanted for me. I imagined her helping me with the wedding planning and her finally telling me that she was proud of me. But she didn’t even come. I begged her to, I told her she’d enjoy being there, and even that Pietro was coming. Then she visits, out of nowhere, after having not even mentioned wanting to see me since the first year I immigrated to America. And all she can do is pick apart my life; nothing I do is good enough for her. But I wish something was.”

Though you felt slightly useless for it, you took Wanda’s hand. She’d never talked about her mother before, not even when the two of you were together. She wrapped her fingers around your hand and you felt reassured in your action.

And then Wanda was… She was crying. Her tears fell against your hand and she raised her other to her face, wiping her tears but mostly hiding herself from you, ashamed of taking advantage of your patience.

“Wanda…” you whispered. “It’s okay.” She tried to move away when you wrapped your arm around her shoulders, upset with herself for being so pitiful as to cry in front of you. But you insisted and your arm rounded her shoulders tightly, your other hand squeezing hers.

Eventually she moved into your embrace, leaning her head against your chest and crying into you. It came to her how unfulfilled she felt and how much she was disappointing everyone, especially you. She felt like a child for being so upset. She felt pathetic. She wished she was more capable, more competent in being a better wife, a better daughter, a better stepmother.

You let go of her hand and wrapped both arms around her, enveloping her in a secure embrace while you hushed her softly against the side of her head.

She wiped her tears from her cheeks then straightened a little in your arms to be able to look up at you. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t apologise,” you told her and dropped one of your arms to allow her more space to move.

“No, not about that, I…” Wanda sniffled and took a breath before meeting your eyes. “Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just— I couldn’t be with you. I’m much past the age I was supposed to be to get married and have children. You have no idea how badly I wanted to…”

She trailed off then looked back up and continued, “But I needed to make something of myself. I’m thirty-two now, and you’re a college student. I felt like it was time I did something serious for myself. I needed to settle with a husband and have children. But I was happy we could stay together. I wanted to stay close with you, but you didn’t want to. You still don’t want anything to do with me.”

A sense of anxiety came over you when Wanda began to talk about her history with you. You weren’t ready to discuss what had happened between the two of you back then, and the heavy feeling of rejection came back up your throat as if the day their engagement was announced to you was only yesterday.

You stood up, taking your arms off of her and stepping back. “I-I think you should leave.”

Wanda sniffled and stood up, wiping her eyes once more and moving towards you. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay and talk with you. I want to be here with you,” she confessed.

“I can’t talk about this, Wanda,” you said. She took your hand and prevented you from moving back from her any further.

She insisted, “You don’t have to talk. Just listen.”

When you finally met her eyes and shut your mouth, waiting for her to speak, Wanda took a breath. Then she spoke, “There’s a lot I have to apologise for in how I treated you and how I handled things with you. I’m sorry for throwing away the trust that I’d earned from you. I’m sorry for thinking that you’d just follow along with the decision I made without telling you about it first. I’m sorry for putting some nonexistent, childish desire to please my mother over you. I should’ve treated you with the respect that you deserve.”

Wanda looked into your eyes for a few silent moments, seemingly gaining some sort of confidence before her voice broke as she said, “I miss you so much. I think about you all the time when you’re away at school, and even when you’re home. I wish you would forgive me. I wish you would give me your attention.”

She inhaled and while you were frozen, she stepped towards you again so she was standing close in front of you. “I know it’s selfish. I know I’m selfish. But I want you to forgive me.”

Your legs felt weak.

Would it be a bad time to faint?

“I’m supposed to say that I would understand and that I would be okay if you never forgave me and if you hated me, and I would try, but I wouldn’t be able to,” Wanda confessed. She had all her cards face-up on the table. There was no point in hiding now. “Please forgive me.”

You looked at her with uncertainty, or perhaps a blank expression. You couldn’t imagine what you looked like now. All you could come to comprehend was the look on Wanda’s face, the desperation in her eyes, and you could feel the way she squeezed your hand.

“Wanda…” you whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

She took one final step towards you and cupped the side of your face with her warm hand. “Let me show you,” she said softly, her eyes on yours as she leaned forward. Her lips met yours and her eyes closed along with yours.

It’d been so long.

Your hand lifted to her lower back and pulled her against you carefully as Wanda’s soft lips moved against yours, the very slow speed of her kiss full of impassioned fragility. You walked forwards and Wanda followed, taking steps back until the back of her knees met with your bed. She sat down and parted from the kiss.

She looked up at you as you stood in front of her and she tucked her hands under your shirt. She lifted it slowly and uncovered your stomach before pressing soft kisses there. One hand held your shirt up while the other ran up your side gently, her delicate fingers brushing against your skin and leaving shivers in their wake.

“Come sit down,” Wanda muttered against your skin then lifted her head to look at you again. You sat beside her and she lowered herself onto her knees so you were looking down at her. Her hands ran up your clothed thighs, her eyes not leaving yours for a moment until they darted down to your buttoned jeans.

Slowly, her hands moved up further and she undid your jeans, her head lolling to the side and resting against your knee.

From this angle, you could see down Wanda’s dress and at her white bralette, its delicate lace resting against her soft breasts and her nipples hardened against her dress. You swallowed, feeling your cheeks flush as your stepmother slipped your jeans with your panties down to your ankles and tugging them off. She pushed them to the side and moved herself between your thighs, revealing your glistening pussy.

She gave you one more look and a gentle smile before moving forward and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your cunt. Her hands moved up your hips, one moving to flatten against your lower back and the other slipping back down to rub your bare thigh.

Her tongue darted out and flicked at the hood of your clit, making you inhale sharply. Her tongue extended and she flattened it against your clit, the tip of it brushing deftly against your opening.

You saw her eyebrows push together as your flavour spread against her tongue. The hand against your back rounded your hip and she laid it against your stomach, gently pushing you back onto your elbows to allow her more access to you.

Eagerly, she delved deeper, her head burying itself further between your thighs. Her tongue teased at your opening before her lips wrapped around your clit, sucking softly then loosening to apply suction to your entire pussy. She released a few times with gentle pops then ran her tongue up your cunt and through your folds that became stickier by the second.

Your hand came to the back of your head and you entangled your fingers with her hair, looking down your stomach at her as she ate you out. “Fuck, Wanda, you look so pretty,” you uttered and you sort of saw her blush, and that made you smile.

Wanda’s hand came to your lower stomach and her thumb began rubbing circles against your clit while her mouth moved south, her tongue sliding itself in and out of your hole, coaxing herself further and further into you as she switched between having her tongue inside you and flicking it against the rim of your opening.

Her eyes opened and green eyes met yours with a chilling focus and you could swear you nearly started choking on the air you were breathing.

Jesus Christ.

Your fingers tightened around her hair and used it as a means to keep her pressed against your pussy while your hips began to buck upwards, grinding your cunt against her face. Each time you moved yourself upwards, Wanda’s lips parted momentarily from you and you could hear the wet suckling of her lips from around your pussy.

Your head was thrown back when she lifted herself from her heels and moved onto her knees. Both of her hands came to your ass, lifting you up against her as she ate you out with an indescribable fervour after growing impatient with the way you kept pulling your cunt away from her mouth with your thrusting.

“Come in my mouth, Y/N,” she breathed against you, her words muffled. “I’m here for you.”

Your orgasm coiled tight in your stomach and it took only a harsh pressure from Wanda’s thumb for you to finally come against her chin and mouth. Your walls constricted around her tongue and her thumb maintained its flicks against your clit.

Slowly, as you came down from your high, Wanda’s thumb ceased its actions and she carefully began cleaning you up, careful not to overstimulate you. She slid her hands out underneath you and watched you from between your thighs as you caught your breath, her fingers wiping at her chin and around her mouth.

There was a momentary feeling of doubt that came over her, the idea that perhaps you’d just send her home feeling worse than she ever had while feeling no less affectionate towards her as you did an hour ago. But you moved yourself onto your hands and leaned down to her, cupping her cheeks with her hair between your fingers.

You kissed her lips after angling her face up and Wanda closed her eyes, still on her knees as you sat in front of her. One hand moved down and you wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up so she was on her feet.

Parting from the kiss, you buried yourself in her breasts, pressing kisses up the soft swells that made the sweetest little moans leave your stepmother while your hands did quick work of undoing her dress. Wanda’s hand rested on your shoulders, fingers playing with your hair a little bit.

Your hands lifted to her sleeves and pulled them down her arms. Her dress fell to the floor and left Wanda in her bra and underwear in front of you. You trailed gentle kisses up from her lower stomach, your hands following along with your lips as they moved up her sides, squeezing her gently, possessively, until your lips reached the valley of her breasts.

Standing from the bed, your hand went to the side of her neck and supported her head as you delved into her neck, kissing her there and sucking gently at her pulse point. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” you told her.

Wanda buried her face in shoulder, overcome by your compliments and feeling her eyes well up from the sheer joy she felt being with you. She was led onto the bed and you kissed her hip when she was on her knees before she laid onto her back, her hair spread out against your pillows. She watched as you dug through your nightstand, eyes following as you lifted a strap and its harness out.

Teasingly, you moved the tip of the cock to her face and ran it down the line of her jaw and you and Wanda exchanged a humoured smile before you kissed her forehead. She watched in admiration as you stepped into the harness and fastened it around your hips. Then you undressed in front of her until you were completely bare and Wanda felt her heart skip several beats.

When you leaned over and kissed her while you got onto the bed on top of Wanda, she lifted her hands to your body, one hand brushing against your breasts and the other running up your side as one would caress a work of art.

You kissed her cheek and trailed kisses down to the corner of your stepmother’s jaw. Your hands rounded her body and unclipped her bra, then discarded it somewhere onto the floor. With two hands, you groped her breasts then squeezed them together before running your tongue over each erect nipple, feeling pride in the way Wanda’s breathing quickened.

“Turn around and stick your ass up in the air,” you told her. She obeyed immediately, her hands wrapped around the top of your pillow, her back arched and her ass stuck up for you.

You moved onto your knees, hands running up her hips then down the sides of her thighs, taking with you her panties. They were slid from her ankles and you lowered yourself to part her pussy with your thumbs, making Wanda hum in embarrassment into your pillow and bury her face into it.

“Tell me that you know you have a pretty pussy, Wanda,” you instructed, looking up over the curve of her ass to look at her. She turned her head and uncovered her face.

“I… I have a pretty pussy,” she repeated bashfully.

You smiled then patted her beautiful pink folds with your fingers, making her flinch forward slightly. “That’s right. Smart girl.”

Slowly, you slid your strap between her thighs then rounded your hips to her between her thighs where you pressed the tip of your cock up against her core. You carefully thrusted against her cunt until she became slick with her juices.

Wanda’s eyebrows stitched together and her lips parted to release her tiny moans, her fingers tightening around your pillows at the feeling of your cock rubbing against her delicate cunt. Then you slid your cock into her hole and began thrusting. Her eyes screwed shut and her moans became louder.

“Is this okay? Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

You pressed, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes,” she said hastily, then reached back to tap your hips with her fingers. “Faster, I want it faster. Don’t be gentle, Y/N. I can take it for you. I can take anything for you. Fuck me hard.”

You wrapped your arms around her hips and jerked her body back against you while you thrusted your hips forward into her bare ass. Your leg was lifted up around her thigh and pulled you against her further, giving you more leverage to fuck down into her pussy.

Her ass bounced beautifully each time you rutted against her, skin slapping rapidly as you fucked your stepmother. She moaned noisily, half her face shrouded from being pressed against her pillow. She whimpered and squealed when you took a handful of her ass and squeezed painfully before delivering a harsh slap to the delicate flesh.

You spanked her over and over until the soft ivory of her skin became a flushed red. You took pleasure in the way Wanda cried out at the feeling of being hit by you.

Driven by the sounds of her cries, you spanked her one more time then took her hair into your fist, pulling her up and forcing Wanda to put her arms out and hold herself up, arching her back and applying more pressure onto your hips from her ass. Her hand reached back further and she placed it flat against your lower back, encouraging your thrusts.

With your one arm still wrapped securely around her hips, holding her in place, you let go of her hair and took her wrist instead with your free hand and pulled her backwards, arching her back almost painfully and only pulling her back against your hips further.

“Take my cock, Wanda,” you grunted. “Fuck. Take it just like that, stupid slut.”

“I love your cock, Y/N,” she whined. “L-Love your cock.”

You watched as her breasts bounced with every one of your thrusts and you let go of her wrist to grope one, twisting one of her nipples and making her mewl something high-pitched and desperate.

Your hand rounded her body and you shoved her forward so her face was pressed back down into your pillow. Your hands wrapped around her hips and took hold of her body, fucking her pussy on your cock like she was a lifeless little fucktoy.

Her hands grasped at the bed sheets, pleasure coming over her body in overwhelming waves and making Wanda into nothing but your cockdrunk slut, whining and crying out your name, whimpering with every harsh thrust into her pussy.

“Y/N!” she cried out when she felt her walls begin to squeeze around your strap. “Ah! I’m going to come, Y/N—” Her words were cut off when she came around you, her loud moans reducing into a long cry that was constricted even further into tiny squeals.

Her sweaty body fell forward and she attempted to catch her breath until you continued fucking into her. “N-No more, Y/N, I can’t,” she pleaded, trying to pull away from you and move herself off of your cock.

You pulled her arm back and lifted her up before sliding your cock out of her.

“Please, I can’t do anymore, I’m—”

You cut off Wanda’s pleads with a harsh kiss and she immediately melted into your arms, letting you turn her body and press her back against the adjacent wall your bed was pressed up against. You lifted her thigh up and positioned yourself between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around your waist and you thrusted yourself back into her.

An arm snaked around her waist and you helped her bounce on your cock while you thrusted forward against her, her upper back pressed against your wall. Her arms wrapped around your neck for support as you started fucking her against the wall, her breasts pressed against yours and her head lolled forward, her forehead slick with her sweat laying against your cheek.

“You’re gonna take my fucking cock, dirty slut,” you bit, grunting into her ear. “I’ll fuck you whenever I please. Won’t you let me, mommy? Won’t you let your special girl use your slutty pussy whenever I want?”

“Y-Yes, yes, Y/N,” Wanda answered. “You can take what you want. I’m yours.”

Your hand moved between your bodies and you squeezed Wanda’s breast before you ducked your head down and wrapped your lips around one of her nipples. She sighed out at the heavenly feeling, opening her eyes just enough to be able to see you suckling greedily at her through the mess of her damp hair.

Her orgasm quickly built up again and her fingernails clawed at your upper back, feeling that this orgasm was creeping up stronger than the last. “I’m close, Y/N,” she whispered, her throat sore from crying out.

“Come for me, mommy,” you told her, biting down on her nipple and making her yelp out. Then you lifted your head and kissed her cheek to grunt into her ear, “Show your sweet babygirl how much you love her big thick cock fucking your tight little pussy.”

Wanda’s hand slid up to the back of your head and she held you in place, loving the feeling of having you close to her. Her head lolled back against the wall and she let you scratch at her hips and grope her breasts, bite down on her neck and pull her hair.

The pressure in her lower stomach finally snapped and Wanda partially-muffled her pleasured screams with her face buried in your neck, allowing you to hear each break in the outcries of her orgasm, the way she called out your name, each syllable ghosting against the tip of her tongue as she spoke it through her release. Her thighs tightened around your hips, keeping you in place.

With her arms squeezed around you, her sweaty body warm and breathing hard against your own, you suddenly felt overcome by a wave of emotion.

When you lifted your head to see Wanda after having come down from her high with her head laying against your shoulder, her messy strands of hair against her damp forehead and her mascara mostly gone and slightly smudged under her eyes, her lipstick faded and likely spread across your own face, you felt that you’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked.

“I’m so happy,” she replied quietly, her eyes closed. “I love being with you.”

With a smile, you lifted her from the wall and laid her down on the bed, letting her breathing steady for a moment while you removed the harness from around your hips and laid it down on the floor.

“That tired me out,” she huffed when you laid yourself on top of her.

“Old woman,” you teased and buried your face in her neck, kissing up to her jaw. “Who knew you’d be so good at eating pussy?”

She grinned slyly albeit with a twinge of fatigue that made her look so cute. “You couldn’t have guessed?”

“What was your time in college like? Were you as much of a slut then as you are now?”

Wanda laughed and you kissed the corner of her mouth, adoring the way she looked when she smiled. “Bigger.”

“No way.”

She laughed harder. “I’m kidding.”

“Dude. I was ready with several questions if you were actually more slutty then than you are now. Because I mean… damn.”

“Y/N,” Wanda giggled.

“I’m joking. I think you’re amazing, you know?”

You kissed her temple, letting your lips linger for a couple moments while Wanda closed her eyes, letting herself feel loved.

When you pulled away, she opened them and met your eyes. “I know.”

“Cool,” you said and laughed through your nose. You slipped off of her and helped Wanda get under the blankets before you followed. Carefully, you removed her earrings and reached over her to set them down on the nightstand. Then you kissed her.

Wanda’s hands came to the sides of your face, her thumbs rubbing your cheekbones gently, adoringly. She pecked your lips one more time when you pulled away. “I want to wake up with your hands on me. I want to be yours even in my sleep.”

“You’d like that, mommy?” you teased lightheartedly.

Wanda flushed and looked away, but you kissed her cheek and you felt the corner of her lips pull up into a smile against your own. “It makes me blush when you call me that.”

“Stay the night,” you told her. “Don’t leave.”

“Really? Here?”

You nodded.

She asked, “On the couch?”

“No,” you laughed. “Here. Right here. With me.”

Wanda regarded you with soft eyes and a small smile, feeling so filled with love and admiration for you. Then she said, “You’re going to regret doing this with me, Y/N. Maybe not tonight when you wake up and find me still here laying with you, or tomorrow, but someday you will.”

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked and moved onto your elbow.

“It is no life for someone as young as you with so many other opportunities to find something better, to choose a life with someone older. Someone like me. Even if only for a short while.”

You shook your head immediately and Wanda cupped your cheek with your hand, telling you that she understood and that it was okay. But you brushed her hand off of you and looked down at her seriously. “Wanda, this isn’t just going to be a short while. I… I want this. I want you.”

“You don’t want me.”

“I do,” you insisted sternly. She shook her head and looked away. You placed your hand on the side of her face and made her look at you. “Why are you doing that? Why don’t you believe me?”

“All I do is disappoint people, Y/N. You don’t think that, at some point, my mother had faith in me? And everyone who ever thought I’d be more than what I am now? And you?”

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling yourself tear up.

“Don’t cry, baby, please,” Wanda said, reaching up to wipe your tears. But you sat up out of her reach and looked down at her.

“This is real, Wanda,” you told her and dropped your hands into your lap. “It’s real. How I feel about you is real. It isn’t just going to be something that’ll go away when you make a mistake or when things get hard. I’m not going to go anywhere.” She looked up at you, seemingly astonished. “You’re not going to get rid of me. I’m not going to let you.”

She whispered your name quietly, but you continued, “I don’t care what you think will happen. I want to be with you.”

You must’ve started crying at some point because Wanda sat up and wrapped her arms around you, rubbing her hand up and down your back, hushing you softly and holding you close to her. Your tears warmed her bare shoulder and you hugged your arms around her.

“Okay, I believe you, Y/N,” she said.

“No, you don’t. You’re just saying that to make me stop crying.”

Wanda pulled away and looked at you. “No, I’m not. I believe you,” she asserted. Her arms unwrapped from around your shoulders and she held your face in her hands. “Thank you.”

It was when your tears finally dried that you saw that Wanda was crying too. You leaned forward and kissed her. “You won’t leave? In the middle of the night or something?” you asked. She shook her head.

Wanda laid back down in your bed and you followed after turning the lamp on your bedside table off. You wrapped her arms around her body the moment you sunk down in bed with her, your bare bodies sharing in each other’s warmths under the blankets.

“I love you,” you promised.

She replied, “I love you too.”

Wrapped in your body and feeling filled to the brim with your promises of love and commitment, Wanda was kept up in your bed after you fell asleep as she basked in the scent of you, the silence of your bedroom, the sound of your breathing.

Iryna always had the power of making Wanda feel like a child, of a wandering daydreamer with an overly-sensitive spirit set on a path of following her heart and nothing more.

Maybe her mother was right about her.

And for the first time in all her life, Wanda felt proud about that.

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