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ginnsbaker · 7 months

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In Silent Screams (1/3)

Chapter word count: 10.3k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision Tags: Mentions of Smut (F/M), Cheating, Angst, Gaslighting

Notes: This will follow the events of IFISS (not strictly) but in Wanda's POV. Check the tags, you've been warned. This is not rated M, but feel free to skip parts you feel uncomfortable with.

Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part I

It’s all happening very fast and she’s hardly keeping pace.

You and Wanda have cleared the apartment you've shared for over five years. The boxes are loaded onto the moving truck, while more personal items are safely packed away in the trunk and rear seats. You're in the building's administrative office, addressing the bills and finalizing other necessities before the move, while Wanda waits for you, sitting on the floor in the middle of what used to be the living room.

Sparky darts around the room, the vastness of the deserted space giving him room to play. Every so often, he looks up at Wanda, his tail wagging, perhaps sensing the change that's about to come. Wanda's gaze follows the little dog, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, grateful for his company.

Every corner of this apartment held a memory—from the faded mark on the kitchen wall where Wanda accidentally spilled red wine, to the tiny dent on the living room floor, after Sparky ran into it during a rough playtime with you. Packing up wasn’t just about boxing items; it felt like carefully wrapping up fragments of time, every piece a memory filed away, never to be recovered ever again.

Though the accumulation of belongings over the years had made the space feel a tad cramped, and a move to a larger place seemed the logical next step, Wanda was deeply nostalgic about leaving behind this chapter. It marked the end of an era for you both—the days of being a young, hopeful couple in love. But at the same time, Wanda also held onto the hope that maybe starting anew somewhere would be good, especially since the past few months have been rocky, with her failed attempts to get pregnant and her stagnant career. Maybe a fresh environment would ease some of that pain, she thought.

The trail leading up to this new chapter, however, is characterized by your increasing hours at the office, overshadowing the time spent at the apartment. Yet, it's this very commitment that led to your promotion just two weeks ago, sparking the unexpected decision to move to an unfamiliar town in New Jersey.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, Wanda feels as if life is moving at an almost dizzying pace. Everything is changing so quickly: your recent promotion, the emotional roller-coaster of trying for a baby, and now the looming move. It’s been more than a lot to take in.

Your footsteps, a soft thud against the wooden floor, break the quiet, drawing Wanda from her deep thoughts.

“Ready to go?”

She turns towards you, her eyes slightly misty, and whispers, “Just one more minute.”

Understanding her need to linger, you cross the room and lower yourself beside her. “Are you okay?” you ask.

Nodding, she takes a deep breath, as if trying to inhale every memory, every scent of the place she's called home for so long. “Yeah. I just need a moment to say goodbye.”

Gently, you squeeze her shoulder, drawing her gaze to meet yours. “You know, it's not really goodbye,” you murmur, trying to reassure her. “Scott promised it’s temporary, so there's a good chance we could be back here in Manhattan.”

Wanda turns to face you, her eyes searching yours for any hint that you're merely telling her what she wants to hear. You consistently strive to make her happy, aiming to shield her from distress. It's a trait she adores about you, though it can slightly irritate her at times. But right now—

“You really think we might come back?” she asks.

You nod firmly. “Absolutely. Manhattan is where we built so many of our memories, and it will always be a part of us. Westview is just a chapter, not the whole story.”

—right now she appreciates your ability to ground her with your words.

She laughs a bit, dabbing at her eyes. “God, I've fallen so hard for this place.”

“Me too,” you say, giving in to the urge to kiss her forehead. After all these years, and despite being married for a while, you still constantly seek reasons to be near her, to touch her. “But wherever we’ll go, we’ll make it our own.”

Wanda decides to christen the first day in your new home by making love on the living room floor, and you're as eager to indulge her. It's short and sweet, straightforward in its intensity. You’re both already attuned to each other's bodies, and she knows precisely where to touch, how to curl her fingers to draw out those soft, sultry moans she always finds so enticing.

The shadows created by the fire dance across the walls, mirroring the boxes scattered all around, each labeled and awaiting their turn to be unpacked and settled into this new space. Wanda absentmindedly rakes her fingers through your hair, your head cushioned on her warm, pillowy chest as you sleepily hum a song. Every scratch sends tingles down your spine, adding to the lethargy pulling at your eyelids.

“'Fade Into You' by Mazzy Star,” Wanda says softly, recognizing the tune.

You give a soft, drowsy chuckle. “You always know. Remember that tiny café near your dorm? They played it on a loop. It was drizzling outside, and we had that ridiculously oversized shared umbrella.”

Wanda smiles at the memory. “How could I forget? We sat there for hours, sipping on our lattes and listening to that song. And we weren’t even together then.”

Drawing a deep breath, you let out a contented sigh, murmuring, “Yeah, but I was already so deeply in love with you then.”

Wanda scrunches her nose and smirks, teasingly retorting, “That's really cheesy.”

You grin, nuzzling further into her, feeling her heart's rhythmic beat beneath your ear. “Doesn't make it any less true,” you whisper.

Wanda would later reflect on this memory, wishing she had held onto it more tightly, especially since it marked the true beginning of something withering inside of her.

Westview isn't quite the place Wanda envisioned. Instead of offering an escape from the unresolved threads of both your lives, it feels more like trading one cage for another. The town pulses with its own set of peculiarities, a rhythm and routine foreign to her. She's ambivalent about it. Sees it only as a brief interlude, a temporary concession she's making to support your career endeavors.

The demands of your job appear to be greater than either of you anticipated. As she's finishing up the first dish she's prepared for the evening, you call her midday to say you won't be home for dinner.

It's not the first or even the third instance. She refrains from keeping tally because she doesn't want to be that kind of wife. However, she's certain it's happened more than just a few times. Wanda tries to hide the disappointment from her voice, assuring you it's fine and that she understands. But as she hangs up the phone, a sensation that's become all too familiar washes over her.

She finds herself drifting towards the window, gazing out at the street below, lost in thought. She's never been one to demand all of your time, but this—it's the first time she's felt so small and insignificant. Aside from that first day when you both made love on every possible surface, there hasn't been a moment recently where you've shown interest in being that adventurous again. You both promised never to become that type of couple. Yet now, she's tormented by the thought: maybe you no longer find her as attractive as you used to, or perhaps you've come to realize some latent disappointment in her.

But everytime you come back in the quiet of the night, pulling her close, kissing her neck, and nestling into her hair, you dispel all her doubts. Wanda's only learning now how exhausting and powerless it could feel to need someone this much.

One particular night, mirroring the many late evenings before, you arrive home to find Wanda watching television in the living room. Both of you are thrilled to see each other awake, rather than just you returning to a warm, sleeping body next to your (cold) side of the bed.

Wanda's hair is slightly tousled, eyes glazed from the weariness of the day, but they light up when they meet yours. The corners of her lips curl into a small, sluggish smile. “You're home,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and longing.

You shed your coat, moving towards the couch and sitting down beside her. “I missed you,” you admit, running a gentle hand through her hair.

She leans into your touch, her body molding against yours. “I've been trying to stay awake lately, just hoping I might get to see you before drifting off,” Wanda says. “Tell me about your day.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process the day's events. “Same old, same old,” you say, putting your head on her shoulder. “Tight deadlines. And you won't believe this, but Janet, my secretary, she's going on maternal leave sooner than expected. So the office... well, they decided to throw something together last minute.”

She sits up a bit. “So you weren't held up because of work, but because of a party?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I mentioned it in my text?”

“I didn't get any message about…” Wanda trails off, taking a moment to steady herself. You’ve barely seen each other in the past week. The last thing she wants is to lash out on you.

But instead of noticing her distress and apologizing, or recognizing how your consecutive absences have affected her, you're fixated on pulling out your phone, scrolling through your messages, to… what? To prove to her that you mentioned it in your text?

“I sent you a text. I swear, I mentioned it,” you mumble. After a few more seconds, you let out a sigh of exasperation, showing her the screen where the message lays unsent. “The message failed to send... I thought you knew.”

Wanda looks at the screen and then back at you, her gaze softening slightly. “It happens,” she says with a soft smile.

“I'm sorry, Wanda,” you admit, placing the phone down. “Yes, it was a gathering, and I should've double-checked or called.”

She shakes her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek, just happy to be touching you. “I’m not mad. I just miss you, that's all.”

You take her hand in yours, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I miss you too. So bad.”

Wanda shifts slightly, trying to get more comfortable in the embrace. “Did you have fun, at least?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you reply with an enthusiastic nod. “It was great catching up with everyone, especially Janet. Did you know she only got married a year ago? And they're already expecting. It's amazing how quickly things happen for some people.”

Wanda's expression, which had been soft and open, changes almost imperceptibly. The brightness in her eyes dims a little, and there's a slight tensing of her lips, a subtle sign of the pain you unknowingly inflicted. You love her, yet at times you unintentionally wound her deeply without even realizing it. Wanda doesn't know how that can be, but in this moment, it feels truer than ever.

“She's really excited,” you continue, oblivious to the change in your wife’s demeanor. “They weren't even really trying. It just... happened. I'm happy for her, genuinely.”

Wanda nods, swallowing hard. “That's... that's great for them,” she says, forcing a smile. She withdraws from your hold, rising from the couch. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

This time, you notice the hardened look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It's nothing,” she replies with a faint, unconvincing smile. “Just tired.”

“Wanda—”

“Good night.”

You hold back, not pushing her for answers. She stops briefly at the base of the stairs, shoulders drooping. Then, with a heavy sigh, she slowly makes her way up, each step looking like it takes more effort than the last.

The computer screen shines a relentless blue glow onto her face.

As the weeks pass, she sees fewer and fewer unread emails, fewer blinking notifications. The heart of the art world has always thrummed with in-person interactions, art deals solidified by firm handshakes, cocktail parties filled with patrons looking to be swayed by a charismatic gallery curator, and the intimate closeness that comes from viewing a painting together and discussing its merits. Video calls, as efficient as they are, don't capture the nuance of human emotion and instinct in the same way.

Sometimes she dreams of being back in the thick of it all, surrounded by masterpieces and dizzying energy. Westview, however, is quaint, almost eerily so. It has its charms, its local coffee shops and small art scenes, but it's a far cry from the scenes of the big city.

She feels her importance at the gallery dwindling. She can't fault them; many of the responsibilities demand her physical presence. Currently, she can only manage to send crucial emails and direct calls and messages from essential patrons, sponsors, and others integral to the gallery's ecosystem. Her power of persuasion doesn't translate as effectively one email at a time.

Wanda has always enjoyed playing to her strengths, particularly when meeting artists in person, where she can swiftly adapt her tactics based on the reactions of her audience, all while maintaining her self-assured demeanor, knowing that she carries a natural charm. However, being stuck in this town has taken that from her.

Feeling the stirrings of frustration rise in her gut, Wanda steps away from the table and retrieves her cellphone. She stares at it like it’s her salvation, contemplating whether to make the call. She needs someone to talk to, someone who knows her, someone who won't judge.

She dials Agatha's number.

The phone rings a few times before a familiar voice, which once irked her but now only deepens her homesickness, answers.

“Wanda, dear! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Wanda tries to muster her energy to match Agatha's, but a hint of her distress manages to seep through. “Hi, I'm—I'm doing well. How about you?”

“Great,” Agatha replies cheerfully, but then her voice drops, “What's troubling you?”

“Nothing,” Wanda tells her quickly. A soft “hm” emanates from Agatha's end, followed by a silence that feels hefty, but not oppressive. It's the kind of silence that invites confession, though with a gossip-driven curiosity.

“It's this place,” Wanda starts, “It's not what I expected. I thought being here would give me space to breathe, a fresh start, but instead, I feel... trapped. Isn't it ironic? I have all this open space around me, but I feel more confined than ever.”

Agatha sighs, a knowing lilt in her voice. “Look, we've been in this rat race long enough. New city, new job, new whatever—it's all the same cycle, just different packaging. Maybe this detachment you're feeling? It's a cue. A chance to rethink... everything.”

Wanda arches an eyebrow, though Agatha can't see it. “What are you saying?” Sparky trots towards her, mewling. Wanda briefly flashes him a smile before scratching him behind his ears.

Agatha's voice grows sharper, more incisive. “I’m saying that maybe you haven’t really given your new town a chance because you’re holding on tightly on a rope to the past. I'm saying maybe the gallery, as much as it's been your lifeline, is now your anchor. Dragging you down. Ever thought of cutting the cord?”

Wanda's heart races. “You mean quit? Just like that?”

A snort from Agatha. “Why not? What's it giving you right now? A title? Perks? Or just a nostalgia trip and a daily reminder of what used to be?”

Wanda is silent, grappling with the blunt reality Agatha’s laying out. The realization that maybe she's clinging to a past that doesn't fit her present is daunting.

“Look, Wanda,” Agatha continues, softer now, “it's just business. The gallery won't sink without you, and maybe you'll find a version of yourself you didn't know existed without it. Westview’s a new board. Play it.”

The house is enormous for two people and a small dog. The vastness of the space should thrill her, yet it amplifies her loneliness. Your early departures and late returns leave her lingering in the expanse, waiting for life to unfold. The sparkling countertops, the polished floors—she's cleaned them over twice this week, a feeble attempt to occupy her time, to feel some semblance of accomplishment.

But what's the point when, at the end of it all, it feels like nothing?

Wanda's eyes flutter open as she hears the familiar, albeit late, sound of the front door clicking shut. Recently, her sleep has been light, so even your softest footfalls register in her consciousness. She remains still, her back turned to the bedroom door, her breathing deliberate and even. The sounds of shuffling reach her ears: the rustle of clothes, a muted sigh, the faint creak of a floorboard.

The bed shifts, dips, as you ease yourself beside her. The silence stretches, becoming palpable, thick. And then, a whisper, soft and low, bathed in regret. “Wanda?”

She doesn’t respond, biting back the words she wants to unleash, the lack of purpose and direction she feels these days. The longing in her eyes, if you could see it, would tear right through you.

It's been five nights in a row. Five nights of cool sheets and colder silences.

Moments later, she feels you trace your fingers over the bare curve of her arm. “I'm sorry,” you whisper, every word dripping with the weariness of corporate warfare and personal neglect. “Missed you. Like you wouldn't believe.”

You press a tender kiss to her hair and Wanda holds her breath. “I promise, I'll make it right,” you say, your voice a mere breath against her ear. “We'll find our way back. I just... I need a bit more time.” Nestled against her, the familiar contours of her body will always be your home, and soon the demands of the past days pull you into a deep slumber.

Yet, for Wanda, sleep remains out of reach. Despite your assurances, a gnawing uncertainty has taken root in her heart. She craves your company, but she also harbors a growing resentment that she’s been trying to deny ever since she set foot in this forsaken town.

Not for the first time this year, Wanda wonders if you can really love someone deeply and yet blame them for the things in your life that make you unhappy.

The rain pelts down on Westview’s streets, the usually quiet lanes now slick with water and glistening under the sporadic streetlights. Wanda’s pace quickens, her umbrella slipping from her loose grip when an unforeseen splash from a passing car leaves her utterly soaked.

“Hey!” she shouts out, more from shock than anger. But the car drives on, indifferent to the trail of mess it's left behind. She's in the process of assessing the damage—wet strands of hair plastering to her face and her shirt now ruined – when he appears. A young man with strikingly bleached hair, seeming unaffected by the god-awful weather.

“You look like you're having a day,” he remarks, his voice carrying an amused lilt. With a confident stride, he approaches her. He’s tall—almost a foot taller than her. “Here, this might help,” he says, already moving to the trunk of his parked car nearby.

She watches him, curious and a tad skeptical. It's not every day a stranger offers assistance, especially in pouring rain. But this one is already producing a neatly folded tee from the trunk. “I hit the gym quite a bit. Always have a spare,” he explains, flashing a grin.

Wanda hesitates, her gaze shifting from the shirt to him and back. Up close, he appears younger than she initially perceived. “Thanks,” she murmurs, accepting the shirt. There's an odd sincerity in his eyes that makes her trust him, if only for this fleeting moment.

“How about a drink? To warm you up. And perhaps, as a small token of thanks for letting me play the good samaritan today,” he says. She arches an eyebrow, surprised by his boldness. Most people would've stopped at the shirt. Had this conversation taken place in Manhattan, Wanda would have already left with a sharp remark about his bold attempt to engage her in conversation. But here and now, she can't quite pinpoint why she hasn't brushed him off as she usually would have by this point.

Despite her initial reluctance, she finds herself smiling. You're the only person she's spoken to since arriving in Westview. She's so starved for a bit of normalcy that maybe a chat with a stranger might do the trick. After all, he's just a kid. She could regard him as a nephew or something similar.

“Alright,” she concedes, “just one drink.”

Within the first minute, Wanda learns his name: Victor Shade. However, he prefers the nickname ‘Vision’, which Wanda finds a tad whimsical. They find a cozy booth in a tucked-away corner, shielding them from potential prying eyes passing by the restaurant. While Wanda didn't plan to keep their meeting a secret, Vision naturally guided her to the more discreet spot.

“So, Wanda,” Vision begins, taking a sip of his drink, “What brought you to town? It doesn't seem like the most obvious choice for someone like you.”

Wanda looks at him, intrigued. “Someone like me? What does that mean?”

He chuckles, “Well, from our short interaction, you seem like someone who's seen bigger cities, more happening places. Westview is... charming, but quiet.”

“Same could be said about you. You don't exactly scream 'small town boy' either,” Wanda says.

Vision's eyebrows rise playfully, feigning offense. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Your confidence,” she retorts with a smirk. “It's loud, almost deafening. It echoes big city vibes.”

He laughs, nodding in concession. “Touche.”

As their conversation progresses, Wanda begins to see him less as a kid and more as a well-read, intriguing individual, particularly when Vision reveals he's an art major, his eyes lighting up as he talks about his passion for Renaissance art and postmodernism.“I graduated with a degree in art,” she shares, her own memories of university flooding back. She recounts stories of late-night classes and the exhilaration of her first gallery show. They bond over favorite artists and art movements, finding shared preferences and amusing disagreements. It's a pleasant surprise for Wanda to discover that, out of all the people in Westview, the first one she genuinely converses with is someone with whom she shares so much in common.

Yet, as she's engaging with Vision, a tiny voice at the back of her mind keeps drawing comparisons between him and you. The way you and Wanda communicate is so fundamentally different. You lean heavily on the left, analytical and logical in your thinking. Your conversations with Wanda often revolve around structured debates, dissecting topics with precision and care, always seeking the root cause or solution. Wanda, on the other hand, leans more to the right, driven by creativity and emotion. She loves diving into abstract concepts, weaving narratives and ideas with passion.

You and Wanda did find common interests and topics that you both enjoy. Over the years, you've had countless meaningful moments where you both found yourselves talking for hours on end. But the rapport she's building with Vision is something she hasn't felt in a long while, or perhaps ever, even with you. It's not necessarily better or worse; it's just different, and it takes her by surprise.

At one point, Vision’s gaze falls upon the glint of Wanda's wedding ring, reflecting the ambient light of the restaurant. “You're married,” he observes, not as a question but a statement.

Wanda hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Yes, I am.”

Vision looks at her, searching for something in her eyes. “Does he know you're out with a stranger?”

“She,” Wanda corrects instinctively, her cheeks warming as she notices his eyes sparkle with heightened interest, then she adds, “She probably wouldn't mind. We trust each other. Besides, it's just a drink with a friend, right?”

He smiles, raising his glass. “To friendship.”

For the first time, she arrives home later than you that night. Wanda finds you in the living room, curled up on the couch, a remote in hand, and an empty wine glass on the table beside you.

As the door clicks shut, you turn, and your eyes clouded with surprise as you meet hers. “Hey,” you murmur, the TV's remote paused mid-air, “Wasn't expecting you this late.”

Wanda shrugs, unsure of how to convey the unexpected turn her day had taken. She hangs her coat and moves towards the living room, her shoes making soft tapping noises against the wooden floor. “Ran into someone... from college,” she half-lies, the omission of Vision's identity a deliberate choice. Not out of guilt, but more a protective instinct to keep the evening's serendipitous meeting to herself.

“Oh? How was that?”

“It was... nice. Different,” Wanda replies, picking her words with care. She can sense your gaze on her, trying to piece together the puzzle, and she quickly adds, “We just grabbed a drink, caught up. You know how it is.”

You nod slowly, the lines of your face softening. “Good. You needed that. This move... it's been hard on you.” The acknowledgment feels like a balm, and Wanda gives you a small, appreciative smile. She’s about to head upstairs when your voice stops her in her tracks.

“That's a... unique shirt you've got there,” you comment. She turns around slowly to face you and sees a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Wanda glances down at the shirt she's wearing, an admittedly garish tee that's far from her usual style. “Some idiot in a car decided I looked better drenched,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “This was the only option the nearby store had.”

It's her third lie of the evening, and Wanda can't explain why she keeps doing it.

“Well, I've got to say, it's a look. You're absolutely killing it,” you tease, a bit sarcastically.

Wanda snorts, the tightness in her chest loosening a little. “Oh, shut it.” She can't help but smile. “You're one to talk. Remember that hideous Christmas sweater you insisted on wearing last year?”

Ah, a challenge. You rise from your spot on the couch, taking a deliberate step towards her. “That was festive. This is... rebellious?” you guess, tracing a finger in the air around the outlines of her new shirt. “You pulling a midlife crisis on me, Mrs. Maximoff?”

She blushes, but whether from the memory of the car incident or your close proximity, it's hard to tell. “It's just a shirt,” she retorts, but her voice cracks and the light in her eyes betrays her amusement.

Your fingers itch to brush against the fabric of her shirt, to maybe pull her closer. “You know,” you murmur, voice low, “you could make even a potato sack look sexy.”

Wanda bites her lower lip, her breath catching just slightly. She revels in the banter, the space between yourselves shrinking with every heartbeat. She finds herself lost in the pull, but a gnawing unease lingers, making her wary. Just then, Sparky comes out of nowhere, sprinting and eventually running into Wanda’s leg. His tail wags a mile a minute, pleading for Wanda to shower him with affection. Grateful for the interruption, Wanda quickly shifts her attention, bending down to indulge the spirited pup. “Missed me, did you, Sparks?”

You try to mask your disappointment, but the subtle change in your expression isn't lost on her, even as she pointedly looks away.

Nights following her meeting with Vision find Wanda restless. It isn’t necessarily Vision himself that haunts her thoughts, but rather their impassioned discussion on art (and just about anything). She realizes, with a sharp pang, how deeply she misses the world that served as her refuge for years when she sought to escape her own reality.

With a renewed sense of purpose, she heads to Westview Institute of Arts and Sciences, seeking a place where her passion and expertise could be valuable.

Hours later, she gets an email inviting her for an interview with the dean. Apparently, the school has been looking for an assistant professor for the past several months now.

A week later, they offer her the position, and she talks to you about it shortly after sending them the signed letter of acceptance.

Her first day at the school is all kinds of awkward, likely more so than her first day as a student years ago. The university building looks massive for being in such a remote, out-of-the-way town. All around, there's a crowd of young students bustling about, their laughter and conversations filling the crisp, morning air.

Among them, Wanda stands, momentarily frozen—an outsider looking in. She wears a chic black ensemble: slacks, a blazer, and a turtleneck, hoping to conceal the anxiety that's making it difficult for her to keep her breakfast down. However, as she's introduced to a few of the other professors, her resolve wavers. They're in more casual attire, and she can't help but feel a tad overdressed, sticking out like a meticulously painted stroke on an empty canvas.

She doesn't get to meet her students immediately. Instead, her day is consumed by orientation processes, faculty meetings, and an extensive tour of the sprawling campus. Every time she turns a corner or meets someone new, a mix of excitement and jitters rushes through her. The enormity of the responsibility she's shouldering, coupled with the fact that she's never taught anyone before (not even tutored)—it's both intimidating and thrilling all at once.

It's been a while since she's felt this alive, apart from the rare times when you're home on time, or when she gets to spend an entire day with you. But this? This is the first time in ages that something beyond the comfort of your love has rekindled a spark in her, reminding Wanda of a part of herself she had almost forgotten.

At the end of her first day, Wanda does meet one of her students.

Technically, she has met him before, but it was in the context of a friendly stranger who lent her his shirt when she needed it the most. When Vision told her that he was an art student, she didn't actually expect to find him attending the same university. She had assumed he was from the city and just passing through.

(Perhaps it’s her silliest assumption she's made to date but—it is what it is.)

“Aren't you a pleasant surprise,” Vision says, rolling down the window of his Mustang. When his voice reaches her, it's distinctly out of place, an unexpected ripple in her carefully mapped out day.

She swallows hard, resisting the urge to take a step back, “Vision, I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

He grins, the sunlight catching the edges of his aviator glasses. “It's a small world, or rather, a small university.” He tilts his head playfully, “Wait... are you...?”

Wanda cuts him off, “Let's just say, I'm exploring my options here.”

A pause ensues, both understanding the unsaid implications.

“You know,” Vision starts, leaning against his car, “I'd heard there was a new, 'exceptionally dressed' professor in town. Just didn't piece it together that it would be you.”

“It's a small world,” she murmurs, her face a shade paler.

He seems to sense her discomfort and remarks, “I suppose this changes everything.”

Wanda sighs, “It's just... I need to maintain a certain decorum here. It would be inappropriate if—”

“—If I turned out to be one of your students,” he finishes for her. His smirk is replaced by a milder expression. “Don't worry. Whatever our relationship outside this campus, I respect boundaries. And I expect you do too.”

She nods, appreciative of his maturity. “Thank you, Vision.”

Before she can fully turn away, Vision snaps his fingers together. “Oh, by the way, you left something with me from last time. Your shirt? The shirt you had to change out of?”

Wanda's face reddens slightly at the memory. “I completely forgot about that. Do you have it?”

Vision points with a thumb over his shoulder towards his car. “Wait a second. It's in the back.” He moves to retrieve the shirt, but after rummaging for a few moments, he frowns. “I could have sworn I left it here…”

He removes his sunglasses, allowing his gaze to lift in thought, revealing the unnaturally vibrant blue of his eyes to Wanda. “Ah, I remember now. It's in my laundry bag, which I took to my apartment.”

“It's fine. You can give it back another time,” Wanda says.

But Vision, with that same gleam in his eyes, counters, “Why not just come with me and get it now? It's a short drive.”

She bites her lip, thinking. On one hand, she'd rather not prolong their interaction given the new dynamics. On the other, it might be best to just get it over with. “I'm not sure…”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I promise it's just a shirt, Professor.”

The inclusion of the title almost brings a smile to her face. “Alright,” Wanda gives in, “But only if it’s quick. And remember, as far as the university is concerned, we’re merely acquaintances.”

“Technically, you haven’t met your class yet. And as of now, I’m not your student,” he points out with an innocent shrug.

The logic is sound, though it does little to quell the anxiety bubbling within Wanda. She nods, exhaling deeply. “Let’s go.”

They drive to Vision’s apartment building, the journey marked by fleeting glances and a silence that's not entirely comfortable. He attempts to dispel the tension, “I've washed and ironed the shirt for you. Hope that's alright.”

She looks over, surprised by the gesture. “Thank you, that's... unexpected.”

As she sits in the passenger seat of Vision’s car, Wanda inadvertently starts picking up on the small details surrounding her. She notices the immaculate interior of the car—not a stray piece of litter, every surface gleaming. There's a fresh, clean scent permeating the space, a subtle hint of citrus perhaps. It's not the typical aroma one would expect from a college student's car. She thinks of the younger people she's known and how their vehicles often doubled as chaotic storage spaces, littered with discarded clothes, takeaway containers, and the musty scent of overdue laundry.

When they arrive at his apartment, it further exemplifies this meticulousness. Sketches, paintings, and art supplies are neatly arranged, yet the area feels lived-in, warm, not sterile. It's easy to forget he's just 21. He exudes an aura of maturity that doesn’t align with his years. If they had met under different circumstances, and if she hadn’t known his age, she would have pegged him for someone much older, someone who's seen more, experienced more.

“Your shirt,” Vision says, pulling it out from a cupboard—neatly folded, rather than from the laundry bag he remembered earlier. “As promised.”

As Wanda accepts it, her fingers brush against a freshly painted canvas. The vibrant colors smear slightly under her touch.

“Oh! I'm so sorry,” she exclaims, pulling her hand back.

Vision waves it off, “No worries. Sometimes accidents lead to the best kind of art.”

He then looks contemplative for a moment before posing a question, “You know, Picasso once said, 'Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.' What do you think of that?”

The randomness of it throws her off for a second, before she regards him with a thoughtful look. “Well, in a way, creation and destruction aren't opposing forces. One can be a precursor to the other. To create something new, often something old has to give way.”

Vision's eyes light up, clearly pleased by her response. “Exactly! It's like when you're sketching. Sometimes, you have to erase an entire section just to rework it. And often, the second attempt is much better than the first.”

They continue discussing, each statement leading to another topic, and another. After a while, Vision hesitates before making a bold request, “Wanda, would you... would you mind if I sketched you? Just for practice. You have such unique features, and it'd be a challenge for me.”

“Trying to butter up your professor already?” It comes out a bit flirtatious by accident, and Wanda struggles to retract it.

He nods, a little sheepishly. “Only if you're comfortable. It’s just... our discussion has inspired me.”

Wanda laughs lightly, unable to deny that the notion does flatter her.. “Alright, but only for a bit. I'm not exactly dressed for a portrait.”

“You are…” Vision murmurs almost too quietly to hear, his eyes already fixed on his sketchpad. But Wanda still catches it, and a faint blush tints her cheeks. Vision gets to work. In this moment, she's both his muse and his critic, and for a brief while, a hushed silence envelops the room.

However, as the minutes tick by, Wanda begins to feel increasingly restless beneath his studious, penetrating gaze. She tries to keep her posture, attempting to appear at ease, but her muscles gradually tighten in response to his intent focus. There’s a kind of intimacy in being observed so closely that she wasn’t quite prepared for.

“Can you tilt your head just a bit to the left?” he asks, never lifting his gaze from the page. She obliges. Moments later, “A little to the right now, and chin up. Perfect.”

Wanda obeys, adjusting her position to his liking. But it's a stray strand of hair that falls onto her forehead that really tests her composure. Vision notices it immediately. “Could you brush that hair away, please?” he asks.

She reaches up, trying to tuck it behind her ear, but it stubbornly returns to its original position. Frowning in mild irritation, she tries again but with the same result.

Vision chuckles softly. “Stay still,” he murmurs, placing his sketchpad to the side. He carefully rises from his seat and approaches her, eyes never leaving her face. “I'll fix it.”

Heart inexplicably racing, Wanda can't comprehend why she obeys so willingly, remaining motionless as Vision's fingertips ghost near her face. The distance between them becomes almost negligible as his face hovers mere inches from hers. She can feel the warmth of his breath, see the earnest concentration in his eyes. Slowly, ever so gently, his fingers brush the errant strand away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “There we go,” Vision whispers.

But instead of retreating, he lingers. She watches as Vision's eyes flutter closed, and he begins to lean in. She's teetering at the precipice of something that can't be taken back, and she’s horrified to discover a part of her that wants to give in.

Shaking herself out of the trance, she manages to whisper with a tremble in her voice, “I... I have to go.” Her words cut through the moment like a knife, yet Vision remains close, eyes searching hers as he softly challenges, “Are you sure?”

That simple question, laden with suggestion, irks Wanda. This was more than just an innocent sketching session. Irritation builds as she understands what he might have been attempting. In her haste to distance herself, she stands abruptly, accidentally brushing his face with her head. She doesn't apologize, too focused on gathering her belongings.

Vision, realizing his mistake, scrambles to his feet, “Wanda, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

But she cuts him off, hand already on the door handle. “I'll see you in class, Mr. Shade.”

Wanda doesn't know how you managed to convince her to shower together one morning.

To be fair, you didn't make much of an effort to persuade her, and she was more than willing to participate. Perhaps it's because life has been an unending whirlwind lately, a blur of responsibilities and ever-mounting pressure. Her fresh endeavor into academia had consumed much of her waking hours, leaving her mentally drained by the end of the day. You, on the other hand, seemed perpetually buried under a mountain of paperwork and late-night calls.

It's not an excuse, of course, but these realities have inadvertently wedged a distance between the two of you. So, on that fateful morning, when you followed her into the bathroom, you were a woman on a mission. But as you wordlessly entered the shower, a certain determination evident in your stride, Wanda felt the need to object. Her protest, however, was cut short. The feel of your lips on hers, possessive and demanding, effectively silenced her. Her knees threatened to give way, and if not for the firm grip you had on her waist, she might have collapsed. Instead, she melted into your arms, letting you take the lead, and well—

That resulted in her losing nearly half of her students for her first class of the day because they believed she wouldn't show up after being nearly twenty minutes late.

“That can’t happen again,” Wanda told you.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

It occurs a few more times before she intentionally begins waking up before your alarm goes off. Wanda misses her wife, but she misses the life you both left behind even more. And despite finding satisfaction in her new career, she can’t seem to stop resenting you for that.

Her period is a week late, but Wanda isn't worried. You both stopped trying to conceive before coming to New Jersey. However, it does remind her of something else she had to let go of and how it felt like you gave up on her too easily for comfort.

The stress from her new job eventually begins to take a toll on her. Stacks of papers sprawl across the table, some marked with red ink, others waiting to be perused. Her hand moves methodically, adjusting her notes, reviewing her questions, ensuring every detail is in place for the impending exam. Her back protests from the hours spent in the same position, her eyes blink away the fatigue, but she's determined to finalize every last bit. It takes a few more moments before she finishes editing her students’ first examination. It's late—far too late for her to still be at the university, but a sense of accomplishment washes over her.

In the middle of soaking up her minor achievement for the day, she suddenly remembers Sparky. He's been left for hours, with just water, and that she's supposed to get groceries for him this afternoon. Shit, Wanda curses breathily, hurrying her movements.

She's about to shut her laptop when she hears a knock on the door. Thinking it's the security guard, she quickly rehearses her plea for just a few more minutes. However, when she opens the door, she's staring into the all-too-familiar blue eyes of Vision.

Wanda takes an involuntary step back, her pulse quickening. “Mr. Shade,” she greets, an uncharacteristic iciness in her voice.

He looks equally surprised, “Wan—Professor Maximoff,” he responds. “I... I wasn't expecting to see you here.”

“Neither was I. What are you still doing here?”

Vision runs a hand through his hair, looking bashful for a change. “I often come to the art room late at night. It helps me think, especially when I feel creatively stuck. I was on my way home and noticed the lights still on in this office.”

Wanda feels a pang of suspicion, even as she tries to remind herself that the university is as much Vision's space as it is hers. Still, she can't help but feel wary. “Well, I'm just leaving,” she says curtly, shouldering her bag. Before she can take another step, Vision's fingers encircle her arm, the unexpected touch of warm skin on skin causing her to pause. She looks down at where his fingers lightly grip her, and then up into his earnest eyes. She can feel the warmth of his hand, the roughness of his fingertips.

“Wait,” he murmurs, his blue eyes locking onto hers, an earnest plea evident in their depths. “We need to talk.”

Wanda instinctively tries to pull her arm away, but Vision's grip tightens, not painfully but enough to keep her there. He steps closer, effectively cutting off her escape route. His height becomes even more pronounced as he leans slightly, bringing his face closer to hers. His presence feels overbearing, almost intimidating, as he places himself between her and the exit. He quietly closes the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence, and the room feels much, much smaller now.

Wanda's eyes dart around, looking for a way out, her mind racing. “Vision, this isn't appropriate,” she manages to say.

All he says is, “I know. I'm sorry.”

They find themselves engaged in a staring contest, with only the sound of their breathing serving as a reminder of each other's presence. Several tense seconds pass, with neither willing to break the gaze. Then, slowly, Vision eases the grip on her arm, his fingers lingering for a moment before letting go entirely. He steps back deliberately, emphasizing the space between them, a clear invitation for her to leave if she chooses to.

Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, Wanda takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She wants to leave, to create as much distance as possible between them, especially when she knows what's about to happen if she gives in even the slightest bit.

She takes a shaky breath and, for the briefest moment, her gaze drifts to her work laptop. A flash of silver catches her eye. Her USB, containing the work she's been laboring on for hours. “I-I forgot something” she mutters, panic rising in her voice. “I need that before I go,” she says, pointing to the device.

Vision nods, not saying a word. Wanda cautiously begins to move towards the desk, but before she can reach it, Vision's there, his movements swift and silent. He suddenly wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. The initial shock has her resisting, pushing against his chest, but it's short-lived. Before she knows it, she's letting out a quiet sigh, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He hoists her up effortlessly, seating her on the edge of the desk.

As she looks up at him, he slides his hands up, disappearing beneath her skirt. The faintest image of your face flickers across Wanda's mind, a ghost of a memory that almost pulls her back to sense and reason. But as Vision's fingers find their wet mark, Wanda's grip tightens on the edge of the desk, her eyes fluttering closed. She can no longer recall the sequence of events that led her to this very moment, nor the myriad reasons why it shouldn't be happening.

Every bit of rationale, every thought of you, all seem to evaporate, leaving only the need to breathe and to feel.

To just be.

Wanda remains in her car without starting the engine for a good thirty minutes. She left the room as soon as she could pull her panties up past her knees. She can feel the residual heat on her skin, how he felt inside of her. She resists the urge to squeeze her thighs together, attempting to disregard the stickiness and discomfort she feels.

She clutches the steering wheel, knuckles white, struggling with the realization of what she's done. She's betrayed you. It wasn't just a lapse in judgment, it was a deliberate decision, a yielding to curiosity, to loneliness, to that inexplicable pull towards someone who isn’t you. But as much as she’s drowning in guilt, she couldn’t deny how her mind keeps going back to Vision’s touch, the way he'd made her feel so alive, so seen, in a way she hadn’t felt in a while. It's maddening, this push and pull. It's like there are two sides of her fighting it out inside—one, the devoted partner who loves you, and the other, a woman who's awakened, yearning for something she can't quite put into words.

She laughs, the sound teetering on the edge of hysteria. It's an unsettling sound in the quiet of the car, an indication of her fraying sanity. How did she get here? How did she become this person? In what manner did she find herself engaging in infidelity despite your presence in her life? You've been the guiding light in her life for so long, making her the best version of herself she's ever known. But still, how can she undo this part of herself she never thought existed?

Tears form in her eyes as she closes them, trying to banish the memories, to shut out the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. But they're too powerful, too raw, too fresh. Too real. And she knows she has to face them, to confront the reality of what she's done and decide where to go from here.

It's just past midnight when Wanda's car pulls into the driveway. She emerges from the vehicle in a daze, her steps slow and disconnected, as if each step leads her inexorably towards her reckoning. The door to the house opens before she can even reach for the knob. There you stand, concern evident in your eyes. Wanda hadn't expected to find you awake, especially not at this hour, waiting for her.

It’s your scent first that reaches her before anything else, the distinct aroma of fresh pine from the sprawling garden surrounding the house, coupled with the distinct smell of Sparky, suggesting that you've held him close most of the night. The protective, almost desperate way your arms encircle her reveals just how much you've been consumed with worry about her whereabouts and safety.

Every time you’re near, every time she gets to hold you, it’s instinctual for her to break into a smile. But tonight, it's ephemeral. A tidal wave of guilt and regret crashes over her. She stiffens in your arms, the realization of her actions making her insides churn.

“Where were you?” you exclaim as you pull away and clasp her shoulder blades hard. “I've been here, pacing, worried out of my mind, and I couldn't reach you.”

It's the questioning, the concern, the love in your voice that breaks something inside her. “My phone died and I forgot to bring my charger. I was writing the final exam that I have to turn in by tomorrow, and got carried away. I’m so sorry,” she says evenly, almost robotically.

You raise an eyebrow, frustration evident. “You could've borrowed a phone or used the school's landline, right?”

She has to remind herself that your words aren't accusations. You're not out to corner her; you genuinely don't know what she's done. And in that moment, she decides that she'll do everything to ensure you will never know.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda resorts to tactics she despises in herself. “Like I said, I was working,” she retorts with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, hoping the hint of condescension in her tone might distract you, even as it tears at her own conscience. “It’s Westview. What’s the worst that could happen to me? Please let it go, I’m so fucking exhausted.”

Your reaction to her words is immediate, a palpable retreat, and she's overcome with the urge to spill every secret, every confession, if only she could be certain you wouldn't walk away.

“Fine,” you say tersely, stepping aside to let her pass. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” You don’t bother to hide the hurt in your eyes and her resolve almost crumbles.

“Sounds good,” she says and turns abruptly, making her way upstairs, her pace quickening with every step.

In the morning, she offers you kisses as an apology, and you're blissfully unaware of the hundred ways it's steeped in treachery.

It keeps happening with Vision and she starts to waste away. On the surface, she seems to be taking better care of herself: shedding some weight, toning in ways that leave you entranced during the few mornings you catch her making breakfast.

But Wanda is adept at playing it cool, brushing off your hungry gazes as if they're mere figments of her imagination. She longs for you in the same intense way she always has, but she's entangled in this twisted duality now. As she writes names and explanations on the board, she can almost feel the intensity of Vision's stare, a heat on her back that she's come to recognize all too well. Sometimes, during a lecture, she'll turn and catch him staring, and right then, she knows where they'll be once the session ends. She also begins to frequent places she's never been to before, corners of the town she hopes no one will recognize them in. There, they sit side by side, their knees touching underneath the table, talking about everything and nothing.

And you wouldn't, not for a second, entertain suspicions about her hardly ever being at home. Because your love for her is profound, and your trust, even more so. Because she knows you're buried under the weight of your own challenges at work, and capitalizes on this knowledge for the time being. Because whatever this is, whatever she’s doing with Vision, she knows it’s temporary. She swears she’ll clean up after herself, the moment she can purge this from her system.

Because none of it feels as if they're truly happening, and Wanda convinces herself it's just a hazy, erotic dream from which she can wake at any moment she chooses.

“Do you love me?”

The question hits Wanda like a freight train. Of course she does. You’re her… of course she does. And she’s never felt the fear of losing you, the true love of her life, more acutely than now.

“Of course I love you,” Wanda says, fighting to keep her voice steady even as her chin quivers. “What a silly question.”

“I guess I’m just feeling silly. We’ve been working hard, and when we’re together,” you pause, your voice quivering, letting out a mirthless laugh, “We’re still working.”

Her guilt amplifies. She's been so engrossed in her own struggles that she failed to see how it's affecting you. The toll it's taken on your relationship. Your insecurities, your need for validation, all because she's been distant and distracting herself from her own demons. She's grateful the shadows conceal her face from you, or else it would be to easy for you to recognize the truth, and—

“I just miss you,” you confess, and it stings.

“Me too,” she whispers, the words filled with layers of meaning she can't articulate. Wanda tries to find more words, something to reassure you further, but she can't quite comfort as effortlessly as you do for her. You've always been more adept at loving her than she's ever been with you.

“Good night,” you say, and Wanda detects no underlying bitterness in your tone. She almost wishes there were. It'd be easier if you didn't love her so unconditionally; then she wouldn't feel so wretched for the secrets she's keeping just beyond this room's walls.

She goes as far as asking herself if she simply misses having a cock inside of her, the thought nagging at her especially when Vision stays firmly inside her, holding her in place as he spills into a condom. She flutters around him a few more times before she slackens in his hold.

Pushing away the guilt that threatens to engulf her every time they are together, Wanda wonders if this reckless escapade with her student is merely an escape from the monotonous predictability of her life or a deeper reflection of some unmet need. Vision’s bedroom becomes a space of both pleasure and torment for her. When she catches her reflection in the mirror he’s installed in front of the bed, she barely recognizes the woman staring back, eyes clouded with both desire and regret. She clings to the belief that once she figures out what she's truly seeking, she can end it all and return to you, wholly and completely. But the more she thinks about it, the more elusive the answer becomes.

Vision’s bony hips gradually come to a stop, and he finally pulls out of her. She feels the evidence of their recent activities on her skin, and is hit with an overwhelming need to wash it all away.

“I need a shower,” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. He simply nods, watching her intently. There's a question in his eyes, perhaps seeking assurance or simply wondering if she'll return to his bed afterwards. Wanda doesn't give him an answer, nor does she meet his gaze for long. Instead, she wraps herself in whatever piece of clothing she can find and heads towards the bathroom.

When she emerges from the shower, redressed in the clothes she wore earlier, Vision is absent from the bedroom. Instead, the appetizing aroma of food wafts toward her. Following the scent, she discovers him in the kitchen, incongruously clad in a pink apron over his boxers.

As Wanda heads straight for the exit, Vision's voice abruptly stops her.

“Wanda, wait.”

She halts, not turning around, her hand still clutching the handle.

“You act as if I'm luring you back each time, Wanda. Like I'm this puppeteer pulling your strings.” He casually flips whatever he's cooking. “That's not how it is, and you know it.”

Wanda grimaces, his words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “Vision, it's not that—”

He interrupts her, his tone dripping with feigned innocence, “Have I ever forced you? Pushed you into anything? Or have you willingly come to me every time? You have, haven’t you?”

She turns to face him. “You know it’s more complicated than that—”

“Yet you keep coming back. And every time you do, I think, 'Maybe she sees in me what I see in her.' But then you run, making me out to be the villain.” He finally looks up, his eyes pleading and calculating at the same time.

Tears well up in her eyes. She tries to speak, but he continues, overriding her. “You're an intellectual, Wanda. A brilliant mind. I've learned more from you this semester than years combined. Isn't it natural to be drawn to such brilliance? To want more than just lectures?”

“I'm married,” Wanda states with conviction, even though just an hour ago, that fact held no meaning beneath the sheets. “I've made vows. Promises. Every time I’m with you, I question myself, my integrity. I don't know why I keep letting this happen.” Wanda's voice quivers with frustration and desperation. Vision sees it as a minor victory. He knows he's affecting her.

Disregarding the pan and turning off the stove, he approaches her, his gaze never leaving hers, trying to weave his narrative into her consciousness.

“That's just it, isn't it? There's no betrayal. We're not sneaking around, planning secret getaways. We're two souls who've connected on a level that's rare. Deep, profound. We're just... experiencing it.”

She takes a step back, shaking her head furiously. “It's not right.”

He follows, closing the distance between them. When she’s within his reach, he lifts her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Who defines what's right, Wanda? Why is it wrong for two souls with undeniable connection to explore every facet of it? Does it make us bad people to want to feel alive?"

She tries to pull away, her gaze dropping to the floor, but he tightens his grip on her chin. “Look at me,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “Tell me you don't feel it. This connection.”

She inhales sharply, her resistance waning. “I do... but I can't understand why.”

He releases her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. “Because it's natural. And maybe… maybe there's nothing malicious in it. Nothing deceitful. We're just... experiencing.”

Wanda closes her eyes, his words washing over her, causing further confusion. “What do you want from me?”

He smiles, his touch growing bolder as he cradles her face. “I want friendship. Inspiration. You've become my muse, Wanda.”

“She loves me,” she murmurs, a last-ditch effort to wriggle free from his hold.

“And you love her, right?” he challenges, slowly starting to unbutton her blouse.

“Yes, but—”

“But love isn't singular,” he interrupts, his fingers moving deftly, revealing more of her skin with every second. “You can love her and still find something unique with me. Your love for her isn’t lessened because of our connection.”

Wanda bites her lip. With every piece of clothing he peels away, it feels like he’s stripping away her defenses, too. “It's not just about love. It's about commitment, trust.”

He slides her jacket off her shoulders, his hands warm against her bare arms. “And haven't you committed to her in every other aspect of your life? You share a life, a home, memories, and love. What we have... it's different. It's intellectual, spiritual,” he argues, his gaze never leaving hers.

“But there are lines we’ve crossed—”

“Lines society drew for us.”

She swallows hard, tears threatening to spill. “I just don't want to hurt anyone.”

His voice softens, even as his fingers deftly work at the last buttons of her blouse. “Neither do I. But sometimes, in life, we have to listen to our true desires, to understand what our heart and soul really need. It’s not about being selfish; it’s about being true to oneself.”

And is this one of her 'true' desires?

Before she can articulate things further, the last of her defenses and garments are stripped away, and Visions sheds his boxers and draws her near. Their skins meet, a tantalizing sensation of heat and urgency. Wanda's breath catches as Vision's strong arms wrap around her waist, effortlessly lifting her. She instinctively wraps her legs around him, their closeness leaving no room for hesitation or doubt.

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

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soft-mafia · 5 months

Text

Very Wrong Place, and VERY Wrong Time

warnings: nsfw, oc insert, fem reader, smut, VERY risky sex, established relationship, fingering, daddy kink, Buggy detaching his dick, kind of short, not really proof read

a/n: I’m backkkk I’ve finally came out of hibernation and burnout and I decided to whip up sometime spicy

Buggy still couldn’t believe that Y/n was on a lower level than he was. I mean, he was glad he hadn’t been freezing his butt off in level 5, but how was his girlfriend’s bounty higher than his?! What the hell did she even do?! It wasn’t fair, and frankly, emasculating. That all wouldn’t matter though as soon as they got out of here. Buggy was running up the staircase to level 2, with Y/n, and Mr. 3 in tow.

Galdino had to make one of his wax boxes for them to hide in until all of the beasts cleared out of the way.. which proved to be longer than initially thought. “Why the hell are they just sitting around?!” Buggy growled in a whisper, looking through a little peep hole. “We can wait until they’re asleep, then we can run.” Y/n suggested. “No way. That’s too risky, they’d wake up to a pin drop there’s no way all three of us are getting past them.” Mr. 3 replied.

“I can fight them off. I can keep them distracted while you two can run-” Y/n started, but Buggy quickly interjected.

“WHAT?! There’s no way in hell I’m letting you do that!” He growled, looking down at her. She furrowed her brows and squinted at him, “‘Letting’ me?”

He pressed his lips together, breaking a nervous sweat before looking back out through the peep hole, “Uh— let’s just wait for them to go away. There’s no harm in waiting, all of the guards are busy somewhere else anyway..” he gulped. Y/n sighed and leaned against the wax wall.

They had been sitting there for what seemed like forever. Galdino had taken a nap, Buggy was leaned against the wall, and Y/n rested on his chest, nestled between his legs. One hand rested on her waist while the other was gently brushing his fingers back and forth on her cheek, occasionally messing with her hair. It felt so nice to hold her in his arms after all of this mess, to have her cuddled up to him like the old times.

She moved her head up to rest against the crook of his neck, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. He swallowed quietly, perhaps he was a little pent up from being in this prison, or a bit frustrated from all of the bullshit he had to go through, but the way Y/n was rubbing up on him right now was making him antsy. He gently put his hand on her jaw and tilted her head up, placing a kiss on her lips, it was such a relief, like getting a sip of cold, fresh water after a good run. She looked up at him with her big eyes. “You ok, baby?” He asked quietly, softly, his words ghosting against her lips.

“Yeah.” She whispered back at him, hands moving up to hold his shoulders. “You’re so warm. I haven’t held you like this in so long..” He chuckled quietly, giving her another kiss, holding her jaw, his other hand moves lower down her body, down her hip, fingers moving into the hem of her pants, “Captain- not here.” Y/n whispered, looking over to where Galindo was napping. “Come on he’s sleeping!!” Buggy hissed, “Just a quickie, please!” He squeezed her hip, a pleading look in his eye.

“F-Fine.” Y/n bit her lip, moving back to straddle Buggy’s lap, she kissed Buggy’s bottom lip then looked back up at him, “Let’s hope he’s a heavy sleeper.”

Buggy grinned before pulling her in for a sloppy kiss, “Oh Y/n, you beautiful, beautiful girl.” He whispered, pulling her pants down below her hips along with her panties, “Be quiet for me?” He smirked. Y/n nodded and bit her bottom lip, watching Buggy detach his hand so his fingers could toy with her clit easily, she buried her face into his neck again to stifle her moans, whimpering against his skin, making him shutter and let out a soft breath, “Atta girl.” He kissed the side of her head, moving his fingers back and forth, his palm cupping over her pussy as he got her clit nice and wet, “Yeah, I know you’ve missed me.” He smirked, gently slapping her ass with his free hand, then rubbing soft circles around the area.

“Look at how wet you are for me, such a little slut, ready for my cock huh?” He teased, whispering in her ear as he continued to toy with her clit. Y/n let out a muffled whimper while grinding against Buggy’s finger, her hips moving on their own to get more pleasure, twitching and trembling. Buggy’s free hand moved to pull the hem of his pants down, low enough to where he could free his hard, throbbing cock, his thick blue pubic hair was a fluffy mess, “Gotta stay quiet for me, ok?” Buggy whispered to her again, before slowly guiding her hips onto his member.

Y/n had to squeeze her hand over her mouth to stifle her noises, his cock was thick, it had been so long since he’s fucked her she’s forgotten how girthy he was. Buggy grunted softly under his breath at the way she clenched around him on impact, “Shhh shh, relax.” He whispered, rubbing her back gently with one hand as he slowly eased her down to the base with the other, “There we go.” He grunted, then swiftly pulled Y/n’s hand away from her mouth so he could replace it with his lips.

As he moved her up and down on his cock, silently yet rhythmically, their lips molded together, sucking on the other like they were each other’s life support. Y/n’s hands slung around his shoulders, she moved her hips while bouncing on his cock.

He groaned quietly into the kiss, letting his penis detach so he could get deeper into her, hitting all of her sweet spots, letting her whimper into his mouth, “Fuck I missed this.” He growled into the kiss, giving her ass another gently slap, gripping onto her hips as he thrusted his cock deeper into her. “Ah..~ Captain..” Y/n moaned, their eyes locked for a moment before their lips locked again. Buggy had to make sure to keep her quiet, to make sure they could get away with this for as long as possible, but to also hurry it up to save himself from the embarrassment. His new friend wasn’t going to be napping forever, after all.

Buggy groaned, letting Y/n rest her head against his chest to stifle her noises while he leaned his head back and grit his teeth, picking up his speed, perfectly concealed within Y/n’s walls whenever he would thrust deep. He kept her steady, feeling her trembling and twitching beneath his grasp just urged him to keep going, the feeling of her trembling on his cock made him go crazy, closer to orgasm. “Captain.. I-I’m gonna cum.” She whispered breathily.

“Do it.” Buggy growled softly, commanding her to spill her juices on him, even though he loved her to bits, he was still her captain. Y/n arched her back, biting down on her bottom lip as she came, her walls clenching and fluttering around him, a sweet feeling between her legs as her pussy squeezed around his fat cock. Buggy smirked, that helpless look of orgasm on her face made him feel pride, he was really the only man who can ever see Y/n like this after all.

“That’s my girl, now let daddy do his work.” Buggy chuckled hoarsely, gripping her hips, his fingers gripping into her ass, he groaned deeply at the feeling as his cock moved in and out, he knew he had to be quick as he could hear the faint slapping noises grow louder. Y/n was still fluttering around him, still trembling on him, he grunted behind grit teeth as he tilted his head back again, beads of sweat running down his forehead and smearing his makeup.

He growled, then buried his mouth into the top of Y/n’s head to stifle a guttural grunt before releasing his thick load deep into Y/n’s pussy. They both panted heavily, Buggy was drenched in sweat and seeing stars. Y/n was leaning against him, still trembling, holding onto his slightly damp prison shirt, he smoothly pulled his cock out of Y/n and attached it back to his body, pulling up his pants shortly after. “Ahhh.. that felt so much better.” Buggy groaned, forgetting to whisper which led to Y/n quickly covering his mouth, pulling her pants up with her other hand, he did the same thing— although his hand was placed over top of Y/n’s.

“Shut up!! He’s still sleeping and we’re a fucking mess!” Y/n hissed at him, her cheeks still flushed from sex. “Sorry! Sorry!” Buggy croaked, his words muffled by her hand slapped over his mouth.

They both glanced over at Mr. 3, who was thankfully still asleep. They both sighed quietly in relief. Y/n fanned herself with her hand, “This is awful.. they had no showers here in the first place now I’m even more sticky thanks to you.” Y/n’s complaints couldn’t help but make Buggy chortle, he leaned back against the wax wall with his arms behind his head, tufts of fluffy blue pit hair peeking out from his torn sleeves, “Oh don’t be such a drama queen. I promise I’ll run you a cold little bath once we get back to the Big Top.” Y/n gently slapped him on the chest, “Put your arms down, your pits stink.” She frowned at him, putting a hand over her own face. “Don’t talk to me like that when you’re sitting there full of my cum you little brat!” Buggy snapped loudly, which earned a small groan from Galindo across the box.

Y/n and Buggy both turned to look at him with wide eyes as he stirred awake. “How long was I asleep? Are the beasts gone—“ he quickly covered his nose, “Buggy put your arms down, we’ve talked about this!!”

Buggy growled and sat up straight, “YOU GUYS ARE SERIOUSLY JERKS!!!!”

#one piece #one piece buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy imagines #buggy smut #one piece smut #buggy the clown x reader #buggy headcanons #one piece x reader #buggy x y/n #buggy x oc #oc x buggy #reader x buggy

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togenabi · 8 months

Text

apothecary diaries

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x fem!reader

♡—you need peppermint for a salve you're making, but sanji bought all of it, and that's seriously not fair.

word count♡— 3.7k

genre♡— fluff

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader runs an apothecary and likes to make things, inaccurate chemistry for the sake of the story, mentions of flames in bottles, please do not do that, no use of y/n, not fully proofread

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— I love sanji sm he makes me cry. might be first in a series, but we'll see. please enjoy. xoxo, belle.

The third time a pirate entered your shop, you genuinely considered closing up early today.

You level him with a stare despite the man being twice your size. You cut him off before he can get a word out.

“No, I don't have anything that works against people made of rubber.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you gesture to the rest of your wares. “Now, are you going to get anything else? Or should you be on your way?”

He leaves, disgruntled, but without a fight.

A huff escapes your lips. The nerve of these people.

Ever since that outrageous bounty for that new pirate came along, suddenly every pirate and pirate hunter in the East Blue was gearing up to chase after him. All the poisons that were gathering dust in your storage were cleared out within days of those posters showing up.

It was good berry at first, but they got more aggressive, and started demanding more of everything. More doses than you were comfortable handing out. More dangerous poisons that could kill everyone in the room if the seal loosens by even a crack.

You took up this apothecary business because you wanted to help people. It wasn't exactly your dream to become a poison dealer.

The shop bell rings again. Thankfully, this time it's one of your elderly neighbors and not a pirate seeking poison.

The old lady smiles at you, the sides of her eyes crinkling. “You seem to be quite busy these days, dear.”

“If only they were paying customers like you, Ma'am.” You pick up a box of loose tea from the shelf, already knowing her usual order.

She gasps in concern. “Oh my, did they steal from you?”

“Only my time.” You grimace slightly, remembering how many pirates barged in last week.

“Would you like some honey with this? We have fresh jars from today's shipment.” You offer as you tally her order.

The lady hums in agreement. “Yes, I think some honey would be lovely.”

During slow days like these, you like to tinker with new recipes to sell. On a desk at the very back of the shop, obscured by thick curtains, is your beloved workstation.

You review your notes from the previous day. You'll need to get some peppermint for the healing salve you're developing. Taking a small jar of the experimental paste, you test a small amount on your hand.

Indeed, it needs more peppermint. Maybe you should use extract instead of crushed leaves next time, so that the texture is smoother.

The problem arises when your go-to herb supplier says he's run out of peppermint.

“Please tell me you're kidding.” You groan, looking down at your sadly empty whicker basket.

“M’sorry, lass.” The vendor shrugs, not looking very sorry at all. “You just missed the guy who bought everything. I promise I'll get you your peppermint next week, though.”

Resigned, you sigh, reading through the rest of your shopping list. The salve, at least, can wait a week as it's still a work in progress. The rest of your list, however, are crucial ingredients for your usual bestsellers.

“Fancy looking lad. He asked about spices. Told him to go to the shops down by the river.”

Your stomach drops. Everything else you need are sold by those shops.

Mentally cursing that vendor, you run as fast as your feet can take you. You're not letting some tourist get the better of you when it comes to ingredients.

You reach the river in record time. You'd feel proud if you didn't feel winded. Even so, you scan the road for anyone matching the tourist's description.

There doesn't seem to be anyone remotely fancy around. Triumphant, you go on with your shopping.

You begin to feel better as you cross more things off your list. You've almost forgotten about the peppermint incident, if only you didn't suddenly smell so much of it pass by.

A tall blond man walks by, clearly doing a lot of shopping based on the boxes of supplies he's carrying. The scent of peppermint hits you again. In a paper bag, at the very top of the boxes, you spot bunches of those leaves you've been so desperate for.

You can only clench your jaw in frustration and frown at the back of his head. He purchases a large amount of meat and fish in the next stall, and you gather that he must be some sort of chef. No normal person buys so much meat that the shopkeep offers to deliver everything. But that's what happens to this fancy looking lad. He must not be normal then.

“Yes, my ship's in the docks. You can't miss it, thank you so much for your help.” He smiles. His blue eyes wander the stall, then travel to the next stall over, where you are.

There's a moment of surprise when he finds you already looking at him, but his expression changes instantly into a suave one. It almost makes you want to back away, but you stand your ground when he approaches.

“Aren’t you stunning? I was feeling tired, but your pretty face woke me right up.”

You turn away, pointedly ignoring him. He can't flirt with you while smelling like peppermint. It's just not fair.

“Sorry for the hold up, lass. What's it you need?” The shopkeep you were waiting for shows up just in time. You continue to not pay the blond beside you any attention.

“Cinnamon and salt, please.” You respond. “Pink, if you have any.”

“I'll have the same, good sir.” Fancy pants says. “Though, my salt doesn't need to be pink.”

As the shopkeep rummages through his supplies, the blond continues to speak to you. Why does he keep speaking to you?

“Pink salt is lovely to look at, same as you,” He begins, “But other than the color, there really isn't a difference to normal salt, isn't there?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulder shifting his suit jacket slightly. “You're paying extra for the same result. It's all the same when you cook it.”

“I'm not using it for cooking.” Is your only response.

The shopkeep returns before the stranger can reply. “Here's the salt for you's.” He hands you a bag of pink rock salt, and the stranger a bag of regular salt.

The dread from the peppermint vendor returns when you realize the shopkeep is holding only one bag of cinnamon. He pats it and says, “I could split it so you both get half.”

“I was here first.” You insist desperately. “Sell it to me.”

“...My hands are tied here, lad.” The shopkeep sells you the cinnamon, and it's quickly tucked into your basket when you get your hands on it. The stranger doesn't barter for it. Good.

And with that, you cross out cinnamon and salt from your shopping list. You were able to get everything except the peppermint, which stays neat and legible at the very top of the list.

You crumple the paper and toss it into a nearby bin before making your way back to your shop.

“Are you on your way to get some peppermint?” How did the stranger catch up with you so quickly?

“No.” No matter how much you wish you were.

You try to walk faster, but his pace is steady even with a large box under one arm and several others tied up with twine held in his other hand.

“But it was on your list.” He seems to be very interested in your dealings. Is he always this dedicated when he flirts?

You cross the bridge that arches over the river together. The townsfolk who recognize you and not the man next to you begin to whisper amongst themselves.

It takes everything in you to resist rolling your eyes. After a week of pirates, you suspect your shop will be full of gossiping neighbors soon.

“A certain someone bought all the best peppermint today.” Of course the scent of it wafts over you again as you say so.

“Ah.” Understanding dawns on his face. “I see, I'm sorry if that inconvenienced you.”

It was your turn to shrug. You were about to say that it was okay, but then remember that you wouldn't be able to complete your salve until next week.

You pout before you can help it. “Did you really have to buy all of it?”

He breathes out a laugh. “I normally wouldn't, but my friends tend to have endless appetites. It always pays to have plenty of supplies.”

Even in the middle of the bustling street, a certain group of strangers stand out. They're gathered outside the tavern. You don't know any of them, but you recognize one of them as that infamous new pirate with the exorbitant bounty on his head.

“Speaking of my friends...” The blond trails off, nodding towards that particular group.

You just about stop in your tracks. He's with them? He's a pirate?

Okay. A rich, flirtatious tourist you could deal with. A random pirate crew? You would probably still be fine.

But the crew with the highest bounty in all the East Blue? That's just asking for trouble to happen.

While the stranger is distracted by his friends, you slip into an inconspicuous alleyway. You'd have to go a little further around to reach your shop, but that's alright as long as you avoid those Straw Hat pirates.

Luck seems to not be on your side, though. Because fancy pants shows up to your shop later that evening.

He grins. “You didn't tell me crossing that bridge together meant something. I would have talked about something more romantic than peppermint if I knew.”

Of course, word travels fast in a small town. You should have known someone would tell him. And that he would be able to find you easily if he wanted.

“How does the legend go, again?” He asks teasingly. “If two people cross the bridge together on the day they meet... Theirs souls are bound.”

“It's a myth.” You dismiss his charming grin and try to ignore him.

He leans his elbows on the counter that separates you. He's hunched down, but still towers over you somehow.

“It's romantic. And I'm glad it happened to us.” He smiles. “May I at least know the name of the person my soul is now bound to? Mine's Sanji.”

“Well, Sanji. Are you going to buy something?” You ask and avoid giving him your name.

Sanji, surprisingly, nods. He grabs two cans of your special handmade tea and a large jar of honey.

“I'll buy these,” He places the items on the counter. “And give you this.” He holds out several sprigs of peppermint. You blink at him in surprise.

“...Thank you.” You gingerly take it, and carefully set it to the side.

You're silent while you ring up his order. It's when you're taking out a paper bag for him that you finally cave and reveal your name.

The smile that blooms on Sanji's face isn't how you expected it would be. You expected him to look arrogant, to look proud that he was able to sway you like he did other women before.

But he looks at you sweetly, dimples showing and eyes sparkling. You wordlessly hand over the paper bag.

“A pleasure, darling.”

You would have thought that would be the last time you saw Sanji. But, be it luckily or unfortunately, he finds you the next day with the rest of the Straw Hats tagging along.

Only this time, they seem to be on the run.

You hold open the door for the Straw Hats and, one after another, they flood into your shop. Sanji smiles and says something about your hair, but you can't process the words with his friends scattering to hide.

“Sanji, what the fuck?”

“I know, I know, love. I'm sorry we had to reunite like this. We just need to lay low for a bit.” He reassures you, caressing your shoulders as he does.

“I'll make it up to you! I'll cook you a romantic, candlelit dinner.”

You frown at him, unimpressed.

Sanji kisses his teeth and sighs. “I'll give you the rest of the peppermint.”

You perk up instantly. “Deal. You can all hide in my workstation.”

“Hi, I'm Luffy!” Their captain greets you jovially. “That's Zoro,” Luffy points to the swordsman. “Nami,” The woman. “And Usopp.” The one hiding under your counter.

“Of course, you know Sanji already, being soulmates and all.”

You trip on nothing, and Sanji grabs your hand to steady you. You glare. He just smiles.

“Your shop is really cool!” Luffy exclaims, looking at all the trinkets on the shelf.

“Thanks.” You say dryly, pushing the curtain partition aside. You lead them to the back of the shop.

“Make yourselves at home.” You wave a hand towards the couch and some chairs around your desk. They should be fine here as long as they don't need to stay the night.

Through the gaps in the window blinds, flashlights and shadows stream into the room. There seems to be an active search party out for these guys. You suddenly can't believe you agreed to this for peppermint.

Zoro, whose three earrings glint in the light, shifts to scratch at his chest. You spot bandages from the gap in his shirt.

You grab the small jar of salve from your desk and toss it to him. He catches it, but looks from the jar to you and back, confused.

“It's a healing salve I made. It should help soothe your skin.” You explain.

The swordsman still looks unsure, but opens the jar anyway. Zoro sniffs its contents, and tries putting a small amount on his chest.

You beam at him, unable to help feeling proud at how his shoulders visibly relax after using it.

“Thanks.” Zoro says simply.

“No problem.” You nod back, still smiling.

Luffy looks at the jar as if it's a miraculous cure-for-all. “That's amazing.”

“It smells really good, too.” Usopp says, sniffing at the air around Zoro.

“Do you sell that here?” Nami asks.

“I will, once I make more.” You answer. You never realized how uplifting it was to share your work with new people.

Subconsciously, you turn to Sanji. But, why is he frowning? You follow your gaze to find he's looking at the jar in Zoro's hand.

Before you can ask him if anything is wrong, Luffy bursts out excitedly, "You're a doctor! You should join our crew!"

You wince. “No, I'm a chemist.”

“Cool!” Luffy's enthusiasm does not wane. “So you can heal, right?”

You're about to correct him before they assume things out of your pay grade when Usopp claps his hands in realization.

“She's even better than a doctor!” Usopp insists. “She makes the medicine that the doctors give out!”

Just as you were about to interfere with how much they were overestimating your skills, the shop bell rings. You turn to the clock. Shit, you should have locked up twenty minutes ago.

You meet everyone's eyes and they all nod, understanding that they need to be quiet. You switch off the lights in the back room for good measure.

The customer is a pirate you've never seen before. He looks angry, glaring at every possible hiding spot in your shop. Particularly the room you just came from.

You're careful to completely shut the curtain behind you.

“How can I help you, sir?” You put on your best customer service smile. “I was just about to close the shop, but if it's urgent, I'll help you find what you need.”

The pirate grunts. He's not buying what you're selling at all.

“Perhaps some calming tea? You look like a refined gentleman who would enjoy this.” You hold up a can of tea as if that will help you seem less suspicious.

“What's behind the curtain?” He points behind you accusingly.

“My work area, where I make all the fine products you see before you.”

Stomping forward, he seems to have had enough of your stalling. Fine.

Just as he's about to bash his fist down onto your counter, you grab a suspicious looking dark jar. You hold it up threateningly.

“The hell is that?!” The pirate snarls.

“Haven't you heard? I'm the go-to poison dealer in all the East Blue.” You bluff. “A whiff of this, and you'll sink like a rock, my friend.”

He freezes, but glares at you more fiercely. You pretend to twist the lid.

“Y-you'll kill yourself too, then!” He barks back. “Let's see your bullshit poison then.”

“Oh, but that's what makes me so brilliant.” You grin, laying the act on thick. “I'm immune to all the poisons I make.”

Your hand settles ominously on the lid. “Shall we test who survives?”

The pirate scrambles to leave. He's out before you can blink. Without missing a beat, you lock the front door and draw all window blinds down.

You rest your back against the door. Letting out a loud exhale, you almost let yourself slide down to the floor. How long do you have to deal with pirates like that?

Thoughts of yesterday with Sanji at the market fill your thoughts. If only all days could be like that, where the worst of your problems had been a peppermint shortage.

“You guys can come out, now.” You call out to the Straw Hats.

“Uh... Is that really poison?” Usopp asks, staying very far away from the jar.

You laugh, though it comes out airy due to your tiredness. “No, those are just some herbs I left to ferment.”

“How brilliant of you, love.” Sanji is beside you in a few strides. Him and those long legs.

“Was he the one you guys were hiding from?” You ask. The crew members shake their heads.

“No, actually.” Nami says. “We were hiding from a bunch of—”

Your shop explodes.

Sanji is quick to pull you into his arms and shield you from the debris with his own body. For a minute that feels like eternity, you can't hear anything. Your ears are ringing, and dust clouds over all your years of hard work. You sob into Sanji's arms.

“No!” You cry out.

Marines step into the shop, wood planks cracking and glass panels shattering under their feet. There are so many of them. You don't understand. Even if you hid the Straw Hats here, they shouldn't be allowed to destroy private property, right? Right?

“We got a report of illegal poisons in the area.” The leading officer states, his face stoic. “Just our luck that we run into pirates as well.”

You look to the Straw Hats, all of them are positioned to fight, save for Sanji. He's still cradling you protectively.

Taking a shaky deep breath, you lift your hand to rest it on Sanji's arm. He instantly looks down at you, silently asking if you're alright.

You're not yet, and if you're being honest, you'd rather stay in his arms until everything is over. But you nod anyway. Sanji gently lets you go and gets ready to face your new enemies.

“Get them all.”

Chaos breaks, and you run to duck behind a shelf that toppled over. The Straw Hats put up a good fight, but there are just too many Marines. Your eyes find round bottles of herbs scattered around you, and you come up with an idea.

“Guys!” You yell. “Buy me some time!”

“Anything for you, darling.” Sanji winks at you before sending a Marine flying. You gape at his audacity. The rest of them don't even react, but you notice they rotate slightly, surrounding you to keep you from being interrupted.

Grabbing as many of the bottles as you can, you stuff them with shards of wood and more dried leaves. You take rocks from the debris and strike them together.

With a few sparks, the herbs and leaves catch fire. You act fast, throwing the bottles at the Marines.

The bottles shatter, bursting into flames once they hit their mark. The Marines panic and become disoriented, giving the Straw Hats an advantage despite being outnumbered.

Eventually, the Marines run and scatter, leaving only the few bravest of them to fight. The Straw Hats make quick work of them.

When the battle is over, you watch the dust settle over the ruins of your apothecary. It's going to take years to earn enough berry to restore how everything once was. You can't help but feel heartbroken.

Sanji sits down in the rubble next to you, wrapping you in another embrace. You let yourself fall into him.

“We'll help you get everything back. I promise.” He swears, voice slightly muffled into your hair.

“Or, you could come with us! Join our crew!” Nami hits Luffy on the shoulder.

“What? It's true!” Luffy insists. “We need someone like her!”

You pull back from Sanji's embrace to look at him. He doesn't say anything, but something tells you he wishes for you to come with them. The others look at you expectantly as well.

No one speaks to persuade you further. But when you compare this rag-tag team to your ruined apothecary, your answer suddenly feels very clear. If you're to slave away to earn the berry for rebuilding your home, why not spend that time with them?

The back of the shop is less affected, even if the sight is still dreadfully sad. Your notes are thankfully intact, and you're able to find a bag and shove some extra clothes into it. It saddens you that you're so quick to pack up your life, but you'll come back. Someday.

When you return to the others, they're all smiling. Sanji more so, but you should have expected that.

He holds out his hand, and you reach out to take it.

“I change my mind,” You jest. “I'll take that romantic candlelit dinner now.”

Sanji laughs loudly while he guides you to walk over the rubble safely. You catch some of the others laughing too, but they walk a ways ahead you and Sanji.

“Like I said,” He says with his signature grin, “Anything for you, my dear.”

Your mind must be playing tricks on you, because he still smells like peppermint. Now, that's really not fair.

#vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji x reader #opla vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla spoilers #opla x reader #opla sanji x y/n #sanji oneshot #sanji imagine #opla #togenabi-writes #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x you

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celaenacc · 1 year

Photo

CDD ~ Fresh Start Styled Look

If you’re like me, the first thing you do in CAS is clear everything off the sim for a nice fresh canvas. This custom styled look (when coupled with Mizore’s hider mod) is intended to make that take as few steps as possible every time.

Download and info below the cut for future updates

Item Details:

Base Game Compatible

Toddler Infant - Elder; Masc & Fem frames (Added infant support on June 16, 2023; please redownload)

1 Variant (per frame)

Custom thumbnails

Needs @mizoreyukii’s Styled Looks Hider to truly be worth it. If you’re overly attached to EA’s styled looks, this cc probably isn’t for you.

Removes all accessories, clothing, shoes, makeup, skin details (excluding acne and scars), tattoos, facial hair and hair (changes color to dark brown for adultFem + children, blonde for AdultMasc, red for toddlers for all of them now I believe (I can’t remember tbh 😅 - if anyone knows how to remove the hair without changing the color, please hmu)

Does not change teeth, eyebrows, eye color, acne and scars (I couldn’t get it to remove these last 2 categories)

Tagged for all outfit categories

Added overrides (June 16, 2023) for shoes/bare feet and masc frame nude tops to resolve the look not applying to those categories after one of the recent patches. If you want to use an alternate override from someone else and it isn’t compatible automatically, (only do this if it’s not working otherwise) open your desired alternative in Sims4Studio, navigate to the warehouse tab, tick the setting box for “ShowInUI”, and save the file. (Edit June 6/20) I’ve been informed by @asixteenthrose that even with changing your desired override to have the showinui checked, you still need my overrides for the styled looks for some reason, and the desired override can’t be in a subfolder/must be in main mods folder.

Added “Stripped Start” (June 16, 2023) which affects the accessories, makeup, facial hair, clothing, and shoes, but does not affect hair, body hair, skin details, or tattoos. You can have both Fresh Start and Stripped Start in your folder at the same time or not; they should not conflict with nor do they depend on each other.

Downloads:

> SFS < (Current Version is a zip)

> Google Drive < (Current Version is a zip)

Needs: > Hider Mod for EA Looks < (by MizoreYukii)

Notes:

There is no way I would have been able to figure out this project without MizoreYukii’s How to Make Custom Styled Looks tutorial, so huge thank you to her.

This look is mainly for simmers who want nothing on their sim when they start in CAS. If there is enough demand for a version that keeps existing tattoos, skin details, and maybe hair; I might make that as a v2 down the road. After receiving nonny asks, I went ahead and added a version like this while updating the original.

I timed myself clearing every outfit category for a new sim using just this look as fast as I could, and it only took 15 seconds total.

I have added patch numbers to the files in case someone needs the outdated version.

Kijiko eyebrow texture defaults cause the fem frame teen-elder not to show Fresh Start.

#ts4cc #s4cc #sims4cc #sims4cas #sims4mods #sims4casmods #mycc

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outsideratheart · 8 months

Text

Bees land on the prettiest flowers (Lia Wälti x reader)

A/N: A Lia fic? You’re just a surprised as I am. Also, 10 points to the first person that can tell what tv show a scene in the fic is from.

After the rush of the summer that was the World Cup and the devastation that came with crashing out the champions league before it even began, you found the air around Adidas' HQ in Germany quite refreshing. It would be your home for the next couple of weeks as you and the rest of the team focus on preparing for the upcoming season.

You had a plan this year, one which you was determined to follow if you stayed healthy. Something that wasn't part of this plan was Lia Walti.

The swiss woman caught your eye the moment she step foot in Colney yet despite the encouragement you got from your team mates and the urge to ask her out, you couldn't, in fact you would go so far as to say you bailed at every opportunity. By the time you were ready it was too late because she started dating Caitlin and you knew you couldn't let your selfishness get in the way of her happiness. It’s why you put Lia in the what if box in your head and sealed it shut. Only now the light started to shine through the box and the reason for that was because Lia and Caitlin had broken up.

It seemed that the higher powers had given you another chance but a lot had changed over the past couple of years. You and your heart wasn't the same and you weren't sure if you were ready to care about someone on a deep level.

A knock on the door brought you out of your daydreaming and as you opened it you saw Lia stood on the other side with a nervous expression on her face.

"Hello you, come in" you step aside allowing enough space for the Swiss to enter.

"Actually I was hoping you'd come out"

You both knew what she meant but the way she phrased it causes you both to burst into laughter. Once you both catch you breath Lia rephrases her sentence.

"Would you like to go for a walk with me?" Lia asks still standing on the threshold.

Her intentions wasn’t clear but you couldn’t turn down one on one time with her. The feelings that you once felt were still there, they were simply buried down deep.

“Sure, let me grab a hoodie and we’ll go”

“There’s no need for a hoodie. I haven’t got one”

That she hadn’t. Lia was dress is a pair of sweatshorts and a tank top. If her attire was anything to go by then it was a nice evening outside.

The weather was perfect. Not too warm but not too hot. The sky was pink but turning into a burnt orange and here you were with one of the most beautiful girls you have ever met. It made you wonder what you did in your past life that allowed to have a moment like this.

You walked past the pool saying hi the players that were watching a movie. Those on the loungers knew better than to tease you so they left you be but made a mental note to ask you about it later.

You knew Lia well almost too well because as you walked you saw her chest rise and fall but it would hitch before it falls, she was hesitating. Another tell of this was the way she opened and closed her mouth unaware that you could see the action out the corner of your eye.

It is when you walked through the perfectly maintained garden area that you decide to confront her about it. You could smell the fresh roses and you got distracted by the bright colours of each flower but it only lasted a second then your attention returns to Lia.

“What going on that head of yours?” You ask as you both stand admiring the lilies.

Lia is about to respond but the buzzing of a bee causes you to freeze. Your heartbeat doubles in pace as you watch the yellow and black insect land on her exposed chest.

“Don’t move. Stand still” you beg her.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

Lia follows your eyes which are fixed on her chest. There she sees the reason for you concern yet she doesn’t have the same response. This alone lets her swat away the bee with no hesitation.

“No! Don’t do that” the desperation in your voice and the panic in your eyes scares Lia more than the possibility of a bee sting.

“It’s only a bee”

Lia’s actions had clearly agitated the insect and you hear a buzz at a high volume before it flew away.

“Ow” Lia says calmly.

“Are you ok? Can you breathe?” You asked her but it was your shortness of breathe that was an issue.

“It’s only a sting”

“Are you sure?”

Fear consumes you as memories of the past flood your mind. Your chest feels like it’s on fire and you try and fail to bring your breathing back to a steady pace.

Lia can tell immediately that something is very wrong. In hopes of calming you down she takes your hand and holds it over the sting on her chest. She then takes her own hand holds it over your chest. It forms a connection between the two of you.

“I’m ok Y/N. It’s just a bee”

“Don’t say that!” Your concern was replaced with anger because Lia refused to see the severity of the situation “go get checked out by the doctor. Now”

You felt helpless and you knew you were no longer in control of your emotions. You needed to leave even if your heart wanted to stay with Lia.

The Swiss had no option other than to watch you walk away. She wanted to go after you but your words are loud in her head. She knew it was best for her to go see the team doctor.

As she walked back into the facility, Lia tried to make sense of your reaction. Never had she seen you react like that and even though she saw it first hand she could believe it herself.

“Did you enjoy your date?” Beth teases.

“It wasn’t a date. I just wanted some alone time with Y/N” Lia corrects the blonde forward.

“Isn’t that the definition of a date?” Jen adds.

“It doesn’t matter now. She ran off and left me by the flower beds”

This made no sense to anyone at the table especially the two blondes who you play with on the national team with.

“What happened?” Leah asks.

“We went for a walk and ended up in the gardens. I was nervous, she picked up on it and I thought she was going to ask me about it but then there was a bee and she freaked out. I think she was having a panic attack and it only got worse when it stung me”

“You got stung by a bee while Y/N was next to you?” Beth asked. She made eye contact with Leah who nodded her head, the defender would go check on you whilst Beth made sure the Lia was ok.

Leah stood in front of your door taking a couple of seconds to figure out how to handle the situation. She remembers the moment you showed up on her doorstep and went on to tell her that you had just experienced the worst day of your life.

She used her room key given that you were sharing for the trip and the sight she is met with isn’t one she could prepare for. You are laid on your bed in a fetus position. Your eyes are dry but the puffiness in your face told Leah that you had been crying.

“Y/N” she speaks in a hushed tone.

“Lia’s going to die, isn’t she?”

To anyone outside your immediate family that which included a handful of your England team mates, they would have called you dramatic. Leah was one of the select few which understand why your mind went to worse case scenario.

“She’s fine”

“I thought my dad was fine next thing I know I had these two fingers on his neck trying to find a pulse” you hold up middle and index finger.

“Y/N what happened to your dad was devastating. Nobody knew he was allergic”

“And you don’t know that Lia isn’t. I was the reason my dad died and now I’m going to be the reason she dies”

“It’s wasn’t your fault” Leah sit nexts to you on the bed “As for Lia, she is ok. She came back in to us and was going to see the doctor. Something that I’m guessing was your idea”

You nod your head. Your worrying stopped for a mere second knowing that Lia had listened to you and was hopefully getting the help she needed.

“Y/N you like Lia and have done for a while. You told her to go see the doctor but didn’t go with her, why?”

“I didn’t want to see her in pain”

“She isn’t in pain. Come with me and I’ll show you. We don’t have to talk to anyone but you need to see with your own eyes that she is ok”

Reluctantly, you agree and follow Leah through the halls of the HQ. Each step you take feels heavier than the last because in your mind you have seen how this story ends and you don’t want to see it, not again. So you took your time, you pretended to check in every room that you passed even though the blonde beside you knew exactly where the Swiss was.

Turns out Lia was in the exact same position as when Leah left her only now she has a white patch where the bee had stung her and she had some company. Out of the players one stood out to you; Caitlin.

You and Leah stood at the entry way. Just as Leah was about to walk towards the table you pulled her back.

“What? She’s fine, look” Leah tried to pull you towards your team mates despite her prior statement about not talking to anyone.

“She’s fine — with Caitlin” you could see Lia was ok but you couldn’t bring your self to watch her interact with the Aussie even if they were no longer together.

Knowing that Lia wasn’t going to face the same fate as your father lifted the crushing weight off your chest. You walked with no destination in mind. You didn’t want to go back to your room so you settle on a sun lounger by the pool. A staff member asking if you want to play the next movie the team had lined up and you saw no reason not to; a movie by the pool didn’t sound too bad.

Pitch perfect played but whilst your eyes were glued to the project screen, your mind felt like it was a million miles away. That is until you see a shadow cast over the lounger you were sitting on.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Lia asks.

You had chose a double lounger so you didn’t have an excuse not let her.

“Ok” your voice is quiet and although you don’t turn to face her, you do pat the side next to you.

The two of you watch the movie. The only sound to be heard is when you both laugh at the same part.

“Are you really ok?” You ask, still with your eyes on the screen.

“I am. Thank you for making me getting checked out, I wish you would have come with me”

When you turn you see that Lia is already looking in your direction.

“I — I”

“You were mad at me” Lia thinks she is finishing your sentence and but you been mad at her wasn’t the issue.

“I was scared” you take a pause because you know the only way for Lia to understand your reaction is for you to explain why seeing her get stung by a bee worried you so much “My dad was stung by a bee”

“And he was ok” Lia said, always the optimist.

“He went into anaphylactic shock. I didn’t know what to do and by the time I did it was too late. He died in the botanical gardens near my house”

“Y/N I didn’t know. Is that why you panicked? Because you thought the same thing that happened to your dad was going to happen to me?”

You can only nod. The admission itself brings back the worry that you had only just managed to settle.

In a similar way to how she did in the gardens, Lia reaches for your hand and places it over the patch. She pulls it a little so that you weight shift and your head in now resting on her shoulder.

“I’m ok. I went to the doctor, he asked me a couple of questions, cleaned the sting and gave me the all clear”

Silence yet again becomes the third wheel to the movie night you are Lia are accidentally having.

“I don’t want to lose you. It’s already happened once and now I’m just getting you back” you admit.

“Y/N I’m not going anywhere. There’s a reason why I wanted to take a walk with you, why I wanted to spend time with you and only you”

“Because you want us to be friends, like we were before”

“I never wanted us to be friends. Life got in the way and I spent too much time loving the wrong person when I knew she wasn’t the one I wanted to be with”

You knew what she was insinuating, the context wasn’t hard to decrypt.

“Am I that one?” You needed to hear her say it so that you knew this moment wasn’t a dream.

“You are but I know now more than ever that your heart is still healing so we’ll go at your pace”

How do you reply to that without opening an emotional can of worms? After thinking for a few seconds you decide not to say anything at all. Instead you turn deeper into her so that your head is resting on her chest, close enough so that you can hear her heart beat, her healthy heart beat.

#lia walti x reader #Lia Walti imagine #Lia Walti one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #swisswnt x reader #swisswnt one shot #swisswnt imagine #arsenal wfc x reader #Arsenal wfc one shot #Arsenal wfc imagine

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solarissun · 1 month

Text

We are never, ever getting back together.

afab!reader x aged up Clapton Davis

Summary: You moved houses and jobs just to get away from Mike after he abandoned you and your 6-year relationship. But, one day he shows up in the vacant apartment next to yours. You quickly make it your mission to make every night a living hell for him with the (unknowing) help of your old high school fling.

WC: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lover, afab reader, p in v, fingering, hair pulling, porn with plot, no use of y/n, hard dom, unprotected (wrap it please), angst, exes, daydreamed violence, aged up character

A/N: I’ve never posted my writing before due to being insecure, but now that I discovered this fandom on Tumblr, I decided to suck it up and see where it goes! I’m sorry if this is bad, I wrote it at 3 am two nights in a row. I just had to write something before I forgot all my ideas. Enjoy!

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You hated him. You hated him so fucking much. All you wanted to do was watch him wear your hands around his neck like a necklace. And there he was, standing outside the vacant apartment beside yours, cardboard boxes surrounding him.

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You're running late to work, having slept through your alarm. You quickly hop out of bed, jump into the shower, and throw on whatever clean enough clothes are on your laundry pile.

As you run out your door, you pause, noticing the piles of boxes lining up the wall of the apartment next to yours. You smile, waiting for whoever it is to walk out. You honestly didn’t mind your previous neighbors. By all means, they weren’t the friendliest of people. They’d bang on your walls if you even played your music one digit too loud.

So, honestly, you couldn’t help but admit you were pretty happy when they moved out. As you eye the boxes that take up half the hall, you feel yourself getting excited.

After a few moments, you see him.

Your heart drops, and you feel your whole life falling apart in just one second. He turns to look at you, your eyes locked on each other. Both of you pause, not a word leaving your mouths.

Almost exactly 2 and a half years ago, the love of your life, the man you pictured spending the rest of your days with, left. He didn’t warn you, he didn’t even call. You came home, and all of his and his sister's belongings were completely cleared out of your apartment, gone without a trace. All he left you was a text. A single text.

“I found someone new, I’m sorry. I truly wish you the best. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”

After a few months of rotting in your bed with mascara-stained pillows and tear-soaked bed sheets, you got tired of wasting away. You moved away to a new, cheaper apartment, not warning anyone of your departure. You wanted a fresh start. A new job, a new home. A new you. All you craved was a way to forget the past, and you were so close.

Except after 2 years, the past was standing in front of you, only a few feet away. Anger bubbles within you, the deep cuts he left when he abandoned you all of those years ago tearing open and filling with nothing but pure, burning hatred.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You say, his face twisting.. into god knows what. You want to ask him so many questions. You want to get on your knees and beg him to tell you why he did what he did. At the same time, you want to sock him in his mouth. Instead of doing either, you turn on your heel, walking away as fast as you possibly can.

He doesn’t call after you, he doesn’t chase you. Instead, you hear the faint click of a door shutting behind you. Your anger turns to anguish as you hurry down the hallway, trying desperately to put as much distance between him and you before breaking down. You find a maintenance closet, slam it behind you, and sink to the floor. You sob until your throat is destroyed and your eyes are dry.

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All you can think about while you work is him. Are you grading your students' homework? Mike. You’re yelling at your class for being too Rowdy? Mike. He lives in your head the entire day, and no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is the look on his face when he saw you just a few hours ago.

The school day is finally over, but you dread going home. You wish you could curl up under your desk and live there for the next few decades. But you can’t, so you suck it up and drive back to your apartment.

You get to your door, fumbling with your keys as you quickly try and escape the hallway. You hear the door next to yours click open. You rest your head against your door in defeat. He walks by you quickly, not even glancing towards you. You clench your fists, swinging your door open as soon as you unlock it, slamming it so hard behind you the frame shakes.

You want to cry, just like you did before. But no tears spill. Your eyes don’t even water. All you feel is rage.

You decide right then and there, you're going to make him suffer for what he did to you. Besides, maybe if you truly make him miserable he’ll move back to wherever the hell he came from.

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Later that night, you start plotting different ways you can get him to pack up his shit and run away with his tail between his legs. You think of hundreds of possibilities ranging from glitter bombs in his mail to… Clapton. You shake the thought out of your head immediately. You can’t do that to him. He’d probably be down for anything, to be honest.

Despite that, you tuck the idea into the back of your head, writing it off as a last resort. You want to start with more petty things before immediately jumping to the most extreme idea your mind can muster.

You quickly form a short list in your head, smiling as you daydream the look on Mike's face as you go through each scenario. Around midnight, after you finish coming up with every possible insane revenge plot you can think of, you crawl into bed.

After tucking yourself in, you Bluetooth your phone to a speaker, turning it up. You play the most infuriating, mind-numbing song you can think of. It starts blasting out, the speaker shaking on your bedside table. You sigh, sinking into your pillow as you hear Mike’s old bed springs creak through the wall.

You sit there for what feels like hours, the same song looping repeatedly. He doesn't knock on the door. You don't even hear him speak, let alone breathe through the wall. You groan, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you realize it might be pointless.

Despite your failure on the first night, you continue to blast the same song night after night, all with the same result. After almost 3 nights of getting only a few hours of sleep, you give up. You have to step up your game if you want to get results.

A few weeks pass without you tormenting him. You want to make him feel safe. You want to make him feel like you realized it was all a waste of time. Well, you also waited a few weeks since that's how long it took for the prank package you ordered to come. Sure, the package was a bit pricey, but you decided it was worth it either way. As soon as the post office stops by your apartment, you snatch up the box, almost ripping it out of the poor mailman's hands.

You quickly customize it so Mike believes not only is it his mail, but that some random man from Florida sent it. At first, you had thought to sneak into his apartment and throw glitter over everything, just like you'd do back in high school. But, you need to be careful about how you go about this. Unless you want a lawsuit to land in your lap, you need at least some amount of deniability

After deciding it's perfect, you leave it directly in front of his door. He might think the placement of the box is a tad suspicious, but you rationalize it by telling yourself he’ll feel so special he’ll open it on the spot.

After a few hours, Mike comes home from what you assume is work. A part of you wonders why in the world he works on the weekends as well. You forget about the thought quickly as you flip open your phone, watching through the camera that comes with the box. You watch in anticipation as you hear the sound of tape tearing off of the cardboard. Your smile widens as you see Mike's face appear in the frame, peeking into the box.

After a few heartbeats green, blue, and pink glitter explodes directly into his face. He yelps, dropping the box immediately. As soon as the box thunks against the door, more glitter explodes out, covering his entire living room. You hear him groan through the wall, grumbling about how petty and childish you are.

You’re laughing way too hard to even care he knew it was you. Tears start streaming down your face, and you clutch your stomach as you try to breathe. You finally got him. You feel on top of the world as you look at the camera through blurry eyes. All you see is a beet-red Mike decked out in sparkles. You start laughing even harder as he flips off the camera before stomping on it, destroying the feed.

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Despite how his misery made you feel at first, you start to get a little less happy as the days pass by. He hasn’t talked to you about it and he hasn’t told anyone what went down, not even the landlord. A fraction of you begins to feel a little worried he might be planning. As you ponder the thought, you hear a knock on your door.

You creep over to the peephole, seeing no one standing at your door. You crack it open, worried Mike might be standing outside, waiting to ambush you. Instead of Mike standing around the corner with an airsoft gun, there's an Amazon package.

You smile, realizing exactly what it is. You ordered soundproof headphones so you could sleep while also torturing Mike. You quickly take it to your kitchen, tearing it open without a second thought.

What. The. Fuck.

Glitter sprays everywhere. Directly into your eyes, all over your dining table, all over the countertops. It even reaches the sink. You scream as you try and claw the glitter away from your face. As you stumble towards the sink, glitter continues to coat your entire kitchen.

This means war.

You immediately flip open your phone, not even bothering to clean the mass of glitter that’s coating your kitchen. You text the one person you know would do anything for you.

“I need you, Clapton.”

He found someone new? Well, so did you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to make sure he fucking knows.

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During your high school years, you and Mike became inseparable. It was the two of you against the world... Until Clapton Davis came along. The three of you became the best of friends. You always knew Mike was jealous of Clapton and how much he captured your attention. Despite how you felt towards him while you were younger, you chose Mike. And he threw it all away for some random bitch.

So, now you’re choosing Clapton.

A month ago, you two decided to reconnect and reminisce about old times. You had him over a few times just to watch a few movies, but the most you’ve done is kiss. Every time he’d come over, you knew he wanted more. And he was getting exactly that.

You lay in bed, waiting for just the right time. Around 2 am, you smile to yourself as you faintly hear Mike shuffle into bed and sigh as he sinks into it. Thank god for the paper-thin walls. You reach over to your bedside table, squinting into the light. You flip to Clapton's contact and text, “Do you think you could come over right now?” You had originally told him to come over the next night, but it had to be at an ungodly hour, or it wouldn't be as satisfying. Almost immediately He texts you back, “Are you okay?”

“I just need to see you sooner.” He immediately texts back a thumbs up, and after a little over 10 minutes you hear a knock at your door. You unzip your hoodie, quickly making your way to the front of your apartment. You open the door and there he is. He clearly had just woken up, wearing a tank top and grey checkered pajama pants. A fraction of you feel bad for calling him over like this, but you push it aside and remember who’s sleeping just on the other side of your bedroom wall.

He raises his eyebrow, unsure of how to ask why you ‘needed him.’ You don’t give any explanation before you throw yourself at him. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. He sucks in a breath, clearly confused. That confusion vanishes when you press yourself against him, pulling his waist against yours.

He wraps his arms around your waist, walking you into your apartment. He walks you backward, your back hitting the kitchen counter. You whimper as you feel him hoist your thigh up, holding it as his hip. Suddenly, he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him, your eyebrow furrowed. You sigh as you see him looking at your kitchen in utter confusion. “What in God's name happened?”

The kitchen is still completely decked out in glitter. The moonlight slithers its way through the window, illuminating the sparkles, making it look like a thousand stars splattered against the walls. You laugh a little, brushing it off. “Nothing Important.” He seems like he wants to say more, but as you grind your hips against his, he immediately forgets it. He groans, bending down to press his lips against your neck.

You tangle your hands through his hair as you feel his lips brush your neck. He starts sucking the skin below your pulse, making you whine into his ear. You gasp as you feel his teeth meet the plush skin, nipping at the sore spot. You slowly start grinding against him harder as his tongue swipes across the already numb skin. He groans against your neck, his breath hot against it.

His fingers slowly brush down your body, leaving goosebumps erupting on every inch he touches. His hand reaches your waistband, fiddling with the elastic. You whine against his shoulder as his fingers dip lower, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. You slowly grind your hips against his finger, desperate for more friction. He picks you up by your thighs, his fingers digging into the skin. You wrap your legs tight around his waist, holding onto his neck. He quickly carries you to your bedroom, throwing you down as he reaches your bed. He lays you down, sliding next to you.

He presses his lips against yours again, this time wasting no time to dip his fingers into your panties, not even bothering to remove them. He drags his digits through your folds, circling your clit. “Shit, you’re already so wet.” He gasps out. His middle finger teases your entrance before slowly sliding in. He slowly pumps in and out of you, curling his fingers on the spongy parts inside of you, hitting all the right spots.

“You like that?” He asks, and you nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. You feel him add another finger and your walls clench around him. “Fuck!” You cry out, frantically grinding against the palm of his hand begging for more.

He adds a third finger, and you see stars. He pumps faster and faster, bringing you dangerously close to the edge. You just barely overplay your volume, remembering Mike. As soon as your legs begin to shake, he removes his fingers, ruining your orgasm and leaving you feeling empty. Your eyes flutter open and you stare at him, whimpering.

He slowly puts the fingers that were just inside you in his mouth, cleaning them off. You bite your lip as he blinks at you through his long eyelashes, savoring the taste. He smiles down at you once he’s done, sliding your zip-up off your shoulders. He slowly undresses you, a pile of clothes beginning to form on the floor. He leaves you in nothing but your panties. His breath hitches in his throat as he studies every curve of your body.

You do the same to him, helping him pull his shirt off his head. Your hands quickly fly down to his jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down to his ankles. His tight grey boxers leave little to the imagination as you see the outline of his hard-on, begging to be free. You do exactly that, pulling them off of him. His dick springs free, hitting his stomach.

Your eyes trail along every vein and detail, taking him in. He’s average, but somewhat girthy. The tip is hard and red, already leaking with pre-cum, slowly dripping down his shaft. You reach out, your thumb collecting it. You stare into his eyes as you suck it off of the pad, a bittersweet taste spreading across your tongue. As soon as your thumb pops out of your mouth, he grips onto your hips, pulling him on top of you. He slides your panties to the side and you moan feeling the cold air hit you. He slides his tip through your folds, collecting the wetness.

You slowly sink down onto him, gasping as his tip enters you. He grips your waist harder, holding you down. “You can take it.” He moans out. He slowly pushes himself in a little more, and you swear you hear him whimper. You cry out, laying down on his chest. “Shit!” He goes inch by inch, and you groan louder and louder as he fills you out.

He pushes in, faster this time, and you finally feel his hips meet yours. “You’re such- Shit! You’re such a good girl.” Suddenly, he grabs you harder by the waist, flipping you over. You gasp as your bare stomach meets the rough sheets of the bed. He grabs your hair, pulling you against his chest, somehow hitting so deep you see white.

You moan out his name louder and louder as each thrust inside of you quickens. He shoves you back down against the bed, thrusting so hard the headboard begins to slam against the wall. You smile into the sheets realizing the torture Mike must be going through right now. “You’re taking me so well…” He grumbles out, pushing deeper into you.

The smile is immediately wiped off your face as he moves one hand away from your hair and slithers it down to your clit. He rubs circles on it with 2 fingers. You grip your fingers into the bed sheets, screaming into the mattress. Your vision starts getting blurry as the knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter. Pure euphoria tears through you as his fingers quicken as well as his hips.

“I’m close-“ He groans out as your walls clench around him. He rubs faster and faster circles on your clit and your legs start to shake uncontrollably. You scream louder and louder, and your walls start to spasm. Quickly you hurdle over the finish line, coming all over his dick. You feel tears running down your cheeks as you feel him release inside of you, his hips stuttering.

You call out his name one last time before he pulls out of you, lying down next to you. He looks over at you, tears spilling down your face and your fingers still bunched up in the bedsheets. He laughs as you give him a shaky smile.

“I’ve imagined that since grade 12..” He whispers out. He reaches towards you, brushing your hair that’s plastered to your face with sweat. “Me too..” You smile, moving forward to press your lips against his. He kisses you back, pulling you on top of him. He smiles up at you, his face flushed.

“Round two?”

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Your eyes flutter open, the warm sun creeping through the blinds, bathing your room in a warm orange glow. You slowly reach next to you, feeling the muscles on Clapton's back. He stirs, turning onto his back. His eyes slowly open, and he slowly looks over at you. He stretches up, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I better go…” You get up as well, turning and placing your feet on the cold wood floors. You gather up his and your clothes from last night, handing them to him. After you're both dressed, you lead him to your front door. He opens it and steps out into the hallway, starting towards the elevator.

As soon as you hear Mike's door click open, you quickly grab Clapton's wrist, pulling him back towards you. You get on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. He grabs your waist, pulling you against him. He slips his tongue in your mouth, his hand untangling your hair. After a few seconds, you pull away, resting your forehead on his.

“I’ll see you around?” He says, smiling. “Of course.” You grin, pecking his cheek. He unwraps himself from you, turns around, and walks away. He doesn’t even seem to notice his old best friend who is standing just a few feet away, watching.

Once Clapton’s out of sight, you turn to look at Mike. Oh, he looks absolutely wrecked. His curls are a tangled mess and the bags under his eyes are even deeper than you’ve ever seen them. He has the same look on his face you’ve seen him have when men would flirt with you on your dates. But, he also just looks.. sad. You expect him to turn back into his apartment and walk away but he speaks instead.

“The glitter wasn’t enough for you, huh?” You scoff, anger filling inside you at his audacity. “A girl can’t have fun?” He raises an eyebrow at you and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “You think I don’t know how purposeful that was? Do you have any respect for others?” You laugh, right in his face. His mouth twists into a nasty scowl, his stupid smirk wiping immediately off his face.

“Mike, I lost every bit of decency I had towards you when you abandoned me for some..” You don’t finish the sentence, instead letting his mind fill in the blank. He doesn’t look angry, he just looks disappointed. He looked at you like that when you were still together.

You’ve always hated that look.

He opens his mouth and closes it, clearly wanting to say something important but deciding against it. He shakes his head and turns back into his apartment, closing the door behind him softly.

You do the same, opening your door and sliding down with your back against it. You pull your knees up to your chest, rubbing the bruises on your sides that Clapton left. You rest your head on your knees and sigh.

“God, what am I doing?”

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

#smut #mike schmidt #jhutch #fanfic #enemies to lovers #clapton davis #clapton x reader #clapton smut #mike schimdt x reader #josh hutcherson x reader #clapton davis smut #light angst

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superhaught · 1 month

Text

To Be Another Notch... (Chapter Two)

Pairing: Leighton Murray x Reader

Warnings: sick reader, reference to the chapter 1 smut

Word Count: 1100, Part 2/?

Part 1

Just a little follow up to "To Be Another Notch in Your Bedpost." Might keep it going, might not. I don't really have any specific ideas for where this one could go, though!

Also, Anonymous Asked: All I can think about now is like what if Leighton x reader are snowed in at Essex and the reader is deliriously ill and Leighton goes into protector mode and her roommates don’t know how to react since they’ve never seen this side of her with anyone before

I don't know if I did a super excellent job addressing this ask but I hope y'all like it! I'm in a bit of a writer's block rn so I'm doing me best. <3

Reader wakes up very sick and Leighton takes care of her. (Reader is explicitly she/her in this one).

You had slept over with Leighton after your night together. You awoke, bundled warmly in her deluxe comforter.

Well, technically, you didn’t wake up of your own accord. Leighton jostled you in an attempt to wake you and it wasn’t until she had to begin shouting your name that you actually came to. And furthermore, you weren’t exactly comfortably warm. You felt freezing cold but your skin was covered in sweat and you were approaching a fever of 102 degrees Fahrenheit.

To make matters even worse, Essex had been the victim of a massive snowstorm overnight. Leighton had only been trying to gently wake you to let you know that classes had been canceled and you were welcome to stay, but then she felt how your skin was burning.

You opened your eyes blearily and were met with Leighton’s panicked expression and the back of her hand pressed against your forehead.

“Oh my god, you’re burning up.”

“What? Like the Jonas Brothers?”

“Jesus Christ, no! Not like the Jonas Brothers! You have a fever.”

“Ohhh… that makes more sense.” You coughed painfully and Leighton quickly handed you a bottle of water from her mini fridge.

“I will be right back, Stay. Here.” Leighton ordered before rushing out of the room.

You let your head collapse into the pillow and you were asleep again before you even knew it. An unknown amount of time later, Leighton came back into the room wearing a N95 mask, which she removed once the door was closed. Her arms were full of cold and flu supplies that she certainly could not have gone out and purchased due to the storm.

Leighton sat everything down next to the bed and started going through the pile, setting a fresh box of tissues with lotion next to you along with a bottle of electrolyte drink. Then, she sifted through the variety of medications and ultimately decided that just some straight up tylenol and cough medicine would be best.

Leighton was waking you up again and she helped you sit up while you took the medicines and drank a bunch of the electrolyte solution.

“Kimberly’s mom sent her all of this medicine and first aid stuff, it was honestly really impressive. My mom just sent me a Louis Vuitton weekender bag.”

You chuckled lightly, even though it hurt a little to do so, then spoke in a scratchy voice, “both things have their uses.”

Leighton felt your forehead again and then made you lie back down, “I’m quarantining you in here for now, at least until the storm clears. I’ll take care of you here.”

“You’re gonna get sick…” you pointed out.

“Then, you’ll take care of me.”

You furrowed your brows, “well, of course I will, but are you sure? I can just go home,” you made an attempt to sit up but Leighton pushed you right back down.

“Absolutely not. You’re in no state to walk across campus even if it wasn’t a blizzard outside. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

“But I don’t-”

“Shut up, would you? You’re making me tired just looking at you,” she teased.

Leighton surprised you, then. She was no longer feeling the fever on your forehead for sheer monitoring purposes, but just softly caressing her thumb over your skin and wiping your sweaty hair aside as she did so. It was comforting.

You smiled, “you’re really sweet, thank you.”

Leighton leaned down and kissed your forehead gently and stayed by your side until you were too tired to keep your eyes open any longer and you fell asleep again.

Leighton put her mask back on to protect her roommates from your germs as best as she could then went out into the main area of the suite to let you sleep in peace.

Leighton sat down on the plaid couch in their common room and exhaled a deep breath. She had never really seen herself as a caretaker type, but for some reason, it had come naturally to her when she saw how sick you were.

Bela decided to go hang out in Jocelyn’s room to gossip the snow day away (with the help of cinnamon whiskey and apple cider… but mostly cinnamon whiskey), while Kimberly and Whitney hunkered down in their room.

Leighton scrolled mindlessly through her phone when Whitney came out to grab some food from the shared fridge.

“How’s your guest doing?” Whitney asked.

“Okay, I think.” Leighton answered simply.

“Is this someone we’ve met before?”

“No,” Leighton said, “she’s new as of last night…”

“Wow. You must be really into her, then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you let her sleep over and now you’re taking care of her while she’s sick? The Leighton Murray of a few weeks ago would never, storm or no storm…” Whitney smiled at the blonde and sat down on the couch opposite her.

Leighton’s cheeks flushed, “I don’t know… she’s cute. Really cute. And being around her has been really easy so far. Plus…”

Whitney raised an eyebrow, “plus…?”

Leighton rolled her eyes and then lowered her voice to a near-whisper, “Plus… she made me come like four times last night… maybe more. I honestly lost count.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“I know.”

“That’s just not fair.”

Leighton smirked and shrugged.

“So you’re taking care of her because the sex was amazing?” Whitney clarified.

“No, not just that. Maybe I do really like her. But like…” Leighton groaned, “I’m so fucking stressed about Tatum and Alicia still… Do I really want to jump right into another relationship?”

Now, Whitney shrugged, “do what makes your heart happy, Leight. If you like her, I say go for it. You never know when someone might be your person.”

Leighton looked over her shoulder at her bedroom door, “huh… yeah, maybe you’re right. I’m gonna go check on her.”

Leighton stood up and Whitney smiled, “I also think you should do whatever you can to bring this nurturing side of you out more often. It’s nice.”

Leighton flashed a glare in Whitney’s direction, “yeah yeah, whatever.”

The blonde slipped back into her room and took a moment to watch you before she climbed into the bed beside you and draped her arm over you.

You were fast asleep and didn’t feel her join you in the bed, but you unconsciously shifted and hugged her arms close to you.

Snow continued to drench the campus and it seemed to muffle all sound.

Leighton fell asleep holding you, lulled only by the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

#leighton murray #leighton x reader #leighton murray x reader #tslocg #the sex lives of college girls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #anonymous request #renee rapp

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dev1lm4n · 11 months

Text

untold

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x brothel worker!reader

summary: fragments of memories during your gradual (and rather horrendous) infatuation towards your number one frequenter, joel miller.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: explicit (18+) mdni, oral f receiving, sorta dark undertones but honestly joel's a sweetheart

notes: do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it! don't be shy to hit my ask box as well ;)

Love is stupid.

It’s lawless and frankly, holds no value in the realm you’re familiar with. Love could only exist in a world of unsullied brilliance, orderly conversations, washed hands, clean clothes, and good manners. Untarnished by the hands of the wicked, of the seven deadly sins; where birds sing out morning hymns and festive lights strung out wintry nights. Only then can love flourish. To think that such an innocent tenderness could exist within your barely nine feet by six room would be utterly idiotic.

“You gotta pack the cigs first.”

“Huh?”

“God, you’re helpless.”

You didn’t even realize he’s tucked in a crisp stick on the very corner of your lips. His brown eyes gentle on yours as he flicked his lighter on, effectively igniting the tobacco-filled end in a slow drawl. Inside Boston’s most popular brothel after the end of government and the start of flesh-eating monsters, it was never brighter than the gathering gloom of dusk. Even at midday. It was always bleak. The bed was a plank of wood on legs, thin quilts and a ragged blanket hardly helping you through winter. But with him, it’s always a warm furnace.

His rough fingers were quick to snatch the worn-out box of Marlboro from your loose grip. Exquisitely, he proved his familiarity with the product by ‘packing’ the filter against his palm. You weren’t sure what the action provoked, but it still had you looking up at him with stars in your eyes - twinkling fondly as if he’d just pulled out a magical rabbit out of a top hat. He looked down at you with such reverence, a little too much respect for the common whore you were, though you undeniably basked in it like fresh summer air.

Joel Miller was your light at the end of the alley. Your beacon of hope.

“Breathe, girl.”

He chuckled oh so lovingly.

“You’re strugglin’ like a damn rookie. Come on, girl. I know you got this,” he spurred on like a goddamn sports coach.

Ungracefully, you retched on the new stench entering your airway. The taste proved to be unsuited to yours as it left some sort of disgusting filament sheet over your taste buds, yet you struggled to keep it on the edge of your lips.

Whatever Joel gifted you needed to be preserved or consumed in the finest way possible; it was a rule consistent to every paying patron you’ve dealt with, though it’s a compulsory need to be met when it comes to him. He was so engrossed in the entire fiasco playing out that he failed to give you the next crucial step to smoking a cigarette - to inhale.

“It tastes like shit, Joel. This is worse than Johnny’s battery acid cum.”

“Yeah? What ‘bout mine?”

Without giving you a much needed warning, Joel let his fingers tentatively slide along your neck. He was moving with such expertise, as if he knew exactly where the windpipe is, where you’ve been struggling terribly to inhale. He dragged his forefinger down a straight line before finally cupping the base of your neck in a firm grip. Commonly, when a customer manages to get you in a situation that’s prone to escalate dangerously, you’d be quick to retaliate. With him, it was.. different. You felt at ease, even when he’s practically in the position to strangle you.

“You taste good.”

You grinned sheepishly. Joel’s eyes traveled from where red consumed the wilted edge of your cigarette to your heaving chest. Still bare with prominent buds making their grand appearances, though the sweat from your previous endeavors had finally dried down into a light sheen. You’re undeniably angelic in the midst of all the monstrosity occurring all around him, in a way that cleared his mind and freed him of his terrors, and it sparked a feeling of guilt deep within him. You didn’t deserve this. Any of this.

“Another go at it then?”

“Joel!”

It was the fourteenth of February.

Not until Joel Miller came prancing around with a fucking bouquet.

Valentine’s day used to be a big deal around Boston. You could still conjure up images of the old world; a symphony of vibrant colors. Streets were adorned with heart-shaped decorations and shops showcased a dazzling array of chocolates, obnoxious bouquets, and greeting cards. The smell of cocoa and vanilla was still vivid, embedded in the back of your head even after years of being exposed to the reeking stench of sex and sweat. Working in a brothel, you learned to exploit people’s needs for romance and affection, even so, no madman has ever gone out of their way to put some thought into romancing a whore.

“Mmph.. oh.. right- right there.”

“Please, Jo- Joel. My clit. It’s right- please, no.”

Your eyes fleeted down towards where he’s located - right between your trembling thighs. He nestled his tongue towards where your natural heat is radiating from, effectively lapping up every spurt of wetness that managed to escape from your twitching hole. His tall nose constantly nudged at your bundle of nerves, each time causing your back to arch and your pelvis angled directly to where his sloppy muscle is located. You’ve told him your worries; that you were a hooker for fuckssake, you fuck guys for a living and that’d instantly make you deem unworthy of being eaten out.

Joel didn’t care one bit. Not when you’re making such sweet noises at his ministrations.

“Gotta be patient, pretty girl.”

He’s making a show out of it and it drove you insane. You averted your gaze away from him, head lolling to the side to meet his handmade bouquet propped up loosely on the small bedside table. They were fresh, some open and others in bud; you’re a little bummed you’d never get to see the ones in bud flourish as your little room was equal to a jail cell, lacking natural light. A prudent shade of pink caressed each petal, yet the kind of color that feels confident, proud to bring a newfound radiance to the shabby furniture.

The flowers felt like a mockery, a tongue stuck out to your face, everybody knew he was a madman for bringing you such gestures.

“Pay attention.”

He demanded, a carnal need for more laced in every syllable that dribbled off his lips. Joel’s eyes stuck to yours and in that moment of truth, you’re both spellbound under each other’s magic. Times like these made your brain race into untouched territory; of whether he loved you beyond the messy sheets and hushed whispers, of whether you’d escape the brothel and strive for your own. He was quick to ground you as he caressed the sides of your vulva with his ring and pointer fingers, tickled the needy hole with his middle, and pressed his thumb along each and every groove as he sought for where you ached the most.

A gentle lick upwards initiated a sharp jolt that could only be described as electrical. He pressed the end of his tongue flat against it again, then twirled gentle circles around it, and all you could do was twist the worn bedsheets in a messy crumple, splay your legs out more, and submit to his wishes. This was your gateway to heaven. He brought you the only kind of heaven you’d beg on your knees for - not the ones of unadulterated truth and clarity, but the one that’s true to the shrill, sullen, and violent world you’re living in.

It was beautiful. A moment you’d like to snap and pin with a red magnet to the refrigerator door, but it’s fleeting nonetheless.

Fuck Joel Miller and the way he’s making you feel.

“Don’t stop. Please.. please.. oh, please.”

You pleaded with all your heart, body, and soul. Nirvana was near; you could see your salvation in front of your two frantic eyes, presented among the stars scattered everytime you closed your eyes, but he cut his little performance short.

“Not yet, sweet girl.”

“You’re just my kind of man.”

Stuffed inside a dimly lit alley, amid the patronizing starlight and the warm milky glow of the moon, you leaned idly against a chipped cobblestone wall. Your figure was clad in a worn-out dress, edges tattered and stitches pulled from extended use, that hinted at both vulnerability and resilience. The night air carried a symphony of whispered conversations, muffled laughter, and faint clinking of glasses from underground taverns. It was humiliating the way your hopeful eyes met fleeting glances of passerby, assessing each one for a spark of interest, but this was your way of living. Your way to survive.

A tug on your rod, a salt and pepper man approached you with hesitant steps. You recognized the look in his old wearied eyes easily: curiosity and guilt.

“You really are. I’m really good, you know, Cherie.”

With practiced ease, you mustered a welcoming smile and gestured him to come closer in a way that made it seem like you’re withholding the world’s biggest secret. You had a certain charm when it came to attracting patrons, choreographed mannerisms that portrayed you in the sweetest manner possible. A small shy shrug here and a gentle tug of your lacy sweetheart neckline, you became a femme fatale. A true enchantress on the prowl.

It’s one of those nights where you’re eager to make a score. Joel Miller, your number one frequenter and main source of income hadn’t popped his nose in for a whole week, and despite your thriving loyalty to him, you’d rather stash up on credits than starve. The need didn’t necessarily sweep off the guilt. You felt wrong for scouting strangers from the street to offer your services, to cater to their curiosity and help them crush the weight of societal expectations, to return their diminished ego. It felt like you’re betraying him. Another stupid thought of yours that hit the curb as soon as the older man caressed your side, his grimy fingers dirtying the pure cotton.

You felt disgusted, but really, it’s just like every other day.

“Everybody says I’m pretty.. and all the other men like me.”

He’s falling. You could watch the exact moment in real time as he weighed out his options, making peace with his moral compass.

“Don’t you like me?”

“How much-”

Bingo! Bells dinged above your head. Jackpot.

“She’s mine for the night.”

What you saw first was his thick finger, dug upon the male’s shabby shirt, forceful enough that the fabric underneath crinkled in an uncomfortable manner. Dirt underneath his nails, fingertips coarse from all the physical work he’s exerted, and everlasting scabs decorating the ends of his knuckles. You knew who it was before he brought his face to light - onyx orbs oozing off disdain as he peered from your potential patron’s shoulder. Joel could kill a man from how tightly he’s eyeing you, up and down, side to side as if trying to reason with your misdemeanor.

You watched as your ‘Cherie’ scurried off into the dark, a slow whistle drawed out of your jutted lips.

It was pissing you off. His fucking audacity.

“I’m not yours for the night,” you chimed stubbornly.

“Yeah?” Joel closed any visible gap between the two of you, trapping you between the chilly wall and his heaving chest. Your eyebrows knitted with jeering derision and in return, he scooped up every last flaky ration card from his pocket and stuffed it in your balled hand. “Now you’re mine.”

“You’re always mine. Morning, day, and night. Fuckin’ remember that in your pretty little head,” his voice taunted each and every part of you as his scruff made sweet contact with your helix. You shuddered, rocked with adrenaline. “Can you do that for me, girl?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this from?”

You sat by Joel’s relaxed knees, prim behavior with your calves tucked underneath your thighs. Gentle eyes illuminated by the gentle sway of brilliant gold. By the flickering yellow the room is dark, the shapes of the furniture distinguishable but the colors were so muted that they are almost gray. It was a different kind of night; there was a prominent uneasiness in the way he’s studying you, the lines he’s provided as guidance slowly blurring away with each and every flicker of amber. He’s never done this before. Laying loose in front of you, letting you unbutton his flannel, having you set the pace - you weren’t sure what he’s trying to convey with the sudden acceptance.

Joel is a man of closed doors, and so the prospect of seeing what’s behind thrilled you.

You looked up at him. Eyes interlocked in some kind of mutual understanding as your hand extended, cold fingers ghosting over his bare skin, and only when he gave you a hesitant nod did you let it crane down. He jolted ever so slightly, a twitch in his hooded eyes. Your thumb ran over the expanse of his lightened scar. It felt odd. Not in a weird way - just in a different, intriguing way. In a way that kept you tuned to the intimate aspect of the exchange.

The most you’ve seen from him was his pelvis bone, the thick of his unshaven bush, and his cock. He’s always made sure it’s all about you, despite being the one paying. And you respected that, all the time. Though it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t want to tear at his clothes, tug at his remaining buttons, unbuckle his belt with both hands to see all of him.

You refrained nonetheless. It looked like it was taking all of him to be this open, you wouldn’t want to scare him off with your rashness.

“Got bitten by a very scary zombie.”

He lied, adorably, was he trying to make you smile?

“Joel.”

He’d die happy at the sight of you right now.

“I thought we’re tryin’ to make this fun?”

“Fun, sure. Not absurd!”

“Okay, okay, it’s uh.. I wasn’t careful with a knife.”

You hummed softly. Not entirely sure if it was more so a mundane kitchen injury or a mugged-in-the-street injury. Your eyes traced the contours of his chest, a canvas sculpted with strength and tenderness. With sweet delicateness, your fingers continued their journey; gliding ever so softly over his warm, smooth skin up to where his gallbladder is supposed to be. Speckles of gray and black coarse hair trickled over your adventure. Each sensation rippled through your fingertips, awakening your senses to the subtle textures. Every stroke was a personal exploration, an expression of gratitude. This was where you found your solace.

“This one?”

“A trip over to Vermont gone wrong.”

“Drugs?”

He hesitated. A beat of silence from the two of you emphasized the noises from beyond your thin walls: a myriad of moans, foul words, and skin slapping.

“Somethin’ like that.”

And so, your voyage proceeded, each movement a testament to the admiration you held towards him. You wondered if he felt the same way. If he’s ever thought of the fruitless hopes you held towards him. If he’d ever longed for your existence the way you did everytime he missed his scheduled visits. You need him in the most desperate way possible, beyond the way he buried himself inside you, beyond the amount his physical existence could give. Lost in your own thoughts, you let your fingers lower.

Lower.. lower.. and lower until it rested over his clothed cock.

“And what’s this from?”

“You.”

Joel Miller has an odd habit.

Every girl in your brothel knew that he’s a peculiar one; no man has ever been this dedicated to a hooker before, to the extent where you’ve had some curious questions, wondering if he’s proposed to you or do something of the sort. Men are greedy pigs who could only take and take, every whore has established that, so the sight of his reverence astonished them. He’s too good to be true. A once-in-a-lifetime abnormality. What they’ve yet to discover was of his equally peculiar habit.

Joel loved leaving a small reminder of him everytime he’s forced to leave in weird hours of the night. A small, brightly colored post-it that’s frequently left with a stack of ration cards - always insanely over the common charge - and a trinket of some sort if you’re lucky. What he wrote consisted of a broad variety. An extension of his intrinsic need to capture and remember fleeting thoughts, to show his deep fondness of you, to let you feel the parts he’s too afraid to reveal. You’ve always chalked it up to sympathy. A poor whorehouse girl like you needed pitying and he’s doing that to fix his torn morals.

You’d rather die than commit to the thought of him being in love with you.

He couldn’t possibly be. He’s him and you’re you, the two of you have established that.

Out of the many he’s left in your shoebox-sized room, the first one will always be the most memorable one. You remembered that it was in the peak of summer, heat almost seared your skin off your bones as a group of cicadas screamed their hearts out. The establishment is finally quiet at four in the morning. Most guests have finally stopped their endeavors and spent the night holding their pretty whores or leaving satisfied, and so you finally have the time to yourself. To relish in the satisfying silence. You lit a new candle and saddled it in its special nook - a spot on your bedside table that’s garnished with remnants of wax.

Your eyes met your pay. A good stack that was equal to three days worth of food and a place in the brothel.

Satiated, you reach over to make a proper count. That was when you discovered the vibrant yellow square, greeting you with a mystifying aura. Scribbled with a smudged wet ink, you predicted he used some kind of ballpoint pen to write the remark. Your first thought was of how corny it is. A snort uncontrollably left your lips as you observed the object closely. Never in a million years would you expect a brothel visitor to leave behind a hearty “Thank you for being here tonight” note.

You used to consider them strange, but over time you found yourself looking forward to the trivial gesture.

“Stay safe” was a quick and easy one.

“You reminded me that life is full of surprises” bore through your heart even when it made you cringe.

“Smile for me, pretty girl” had you by the throat.

“Can’t wait to fuck you good” elicited warmth between your thighs.

“I’m gonna miss you” made you long for him.

This morning was the same as every day. You rose from your slumber at exactly four in the morning, grumbled at the sharp sensation down your bad back, pulled your sheets at every edge, lit a lone candle, only then could you finally relish in the daunting silence. It was so quiet you could hear every beat of your heart, every time you inhaled coldness and exhaled warmth, every time your heart squeezed at the fact that he’s not here. Just like every other day, Joel Miller left you alone. In the dark.

Your line of vision moved from where your legs were planted on the freezing wooden board, to the very top of your bedside table. This was where he first broke the sacred routine, because there wasn’t a thing on top of the rotten wood. Your pay’s not there and moreover, his post-it notes were nowhere to be seen; it’s humiliating to admit you’re a lot more concerned about the latter.

Colors drained from your face. The pink from being so deeply enamored with his gentle affection, the red from being wrapped up in a lustful haze over him, the blue from being left in the dark when he knew just how much you despised it - each and every last emotion mingled into a puzzled mess. In frantic panic, you kneeled onto your knees to try and see if it dropped down underneath, but nothing met your hand other than a glob of dust and hair. Your hope slowly began to dwindle, tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of being swindled. He wouldn’t do that, would he? That was until you made the decision to pull at your drawers with a sharp tug.

What you saw was even more baffling.

Your tongue went dry.

There were stacks upon stacks of ration cards. Every single color available at your disposal: grass green, tan, olive, and faded salmon. You’ve never seen that many officially-issued ration cards in one place before. It exceeded the amount held by soldiers when giving out pay, exceeded the best tip you’ve received in the whole year you’ve worked, exceeded foolish dreams you’ve had of it. You let your fingers run through each fold, instinctually counting the number in each band when you knew for a fact that it’s much more than you’ll ever need. There’s a catch to this.

You continued to rummage through your drawer, searching for his note, anything that might give you a clue to what the sudden influx of pay may signify. What met your fingers next was something blunt. Hard, stiff, and cold so it must be a metal of some sort. You took hold of what you could only assume to be the handle. Lo and behold, you’ve just discovered a revolver, it’s metal surface tarnished with age. Your heart raced as you gingerly picked up the weapon, the weight of it unfamiliar and dangerous. Joel has always hated when you interfere with his world, of guns and drugs, of robbery and murders, so what’s with the change of heart?

Beneath where the revolver was hiding was the item you’re looking for.

His note.

“I’m heading West. Tommy needs me.”

He’s not coming back. He doesn’t have to say it word for word.

“Ration cards will last you three months at best.”

Droplets of salty tears started dirtying your cheek as you clutched onto the note. Your heart shattered with each and every word, his instructions painfully etched deep in your wounded soul. You need him, you breathe him.

“Gun’s loaded. Use it to keep you safe.”

The words on the paper, though seemingly innocent and void of any emotions, held a sanction of finality.

“Leave the brothel. Find some place safe.”

Time seemed to stand still as you retreated further into yourself. This was your way out, yet it stung like shards of glass.

“I lo-”

Your eyes glazed upon the tear on the very edge of his note. A sign of cowardice. You knew what he meant to say, you knew what he tore off the page better than anyone else.

Fuck Joel Miller and the way he made you feel.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #tlou imagine #tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us #the last of us imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller angst

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awearywritersworld · 1 year

Text

A misunderstanding makes you feel insecure.

Haikyu x Reader w/c: 1.4k // 1.1k warnings: just a lil angst, but fluffy endings. a/n: back on my haikyu bullshit bc life is tough rn and i needed something pure and wholesome. post!timeskip, hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader characters: Tsukishima Kei // Kuroo Tetsuro

masterlist

Tsukishima Kei

When Tsukishima first met you in university, he had taken notice of you, though you didn’t really start talking until you were paired for a research assignment. While he was just a tad nervous when you invited him to your apartment to work on it, he didn’t mind as you lived nearby.

An observant person, Tsukishima soon took note of your little quirks, many of which he silently regards as endearing. Your eyes would widen, sparkling with interest as you stumbled upon new articles and discoveries during your research. You always brewed a fresh pot of tea and grabbed something extra at the bakery when you knew he was coming over.

When he told you he plays volleyball for the Sendai Frogs, he was taken aback by how interested you seemed. He informed you about his position and that he started playing because of his older brother. Pink dusted his cheeks when you asked if you could attend his next match, which he agreed to. During the match, a few of his teammates gave him nudges and sly smirks. "You just seem really into the game today, Tsukishima-kun."

Your friendship persisted even after your project had been turned in, and while Tsukki was surprised, he also found that he was relieved. He enjoyed your company, after all. The thought of parting ways with you made his heart skip a beat like some lovesick teenager.

Toward the end of the semester, you're approaching the lecture hall you share with Tsukishima when you spot him talking to one of your classmates, a girl. The sight makes your stomach flip and you freeze, watching their interaction from afar.

"I just wanted to give you this, Tsukishima-kun," she begins nervously, handing him a box of sweets wrapped in pink paper.

"Oh, thanks." His tone is unexpressive as ever.

"You play volleyball, right? Maybe I could come to watch you sometime!"

She's barely finished speaking before he responds, "sorry, but I don't really like having people come to my games. You know, focus and all..."

He trails off and she tries her best to recover. "O-Okay! No problem! I'll see you around."

She scurries away and you can just barely hear him grumble something about annoying admirers and wanting to be left alone. You realize you stopped breathing at some point and all you can think while you harshly exhale is 'oh, god.'

Over the past few months, you had certainly developed a crush on Tsukishima. You feel awful about having gone to quite a few of his games when, evidently, he must have found it irritating. You're staring into nothing with wide eyes when you hear your name being called.

Your head snaps in the direction it came from and your gaze meets Tsukishima's as he approaches you. He greets you as he usually does and you stutter out a reply. Walking into the classroom together, he's squinting at you out of the corner of his eye. It's clear to him that something is up.

"You okay?" he asks as you both slide into your usual seat beside one another.

"Of course!"

That's how the next few days pass--- he knows something is wrong and you pretend that everything is fine. You're quieter than usual and you haven't invited him to hang out at all. Since you're typically the one to take initiative, Tsukishima is left feeling a little lost.

When you don't come to his next game, he finally decides he's going to have to figure out how to resolve whatever is going on. It's already dark outside by the time the team finishes, but he still heads in the direction of your apartment.

With each step, he wracks his mind trying to figure out what the hell he's even going to even say. Did he do something wrong? Have you grown tired of him and his cynicism?

Standing in front of your apartment door, it occurs to him that you might not even be home. He knocks apprehensively and the door swings open a few moments later.

"Tsukki!" you squeak out.

You're in your pajamas, a sight he's never seen before, and it makes his mind go blank. He tries desperately to keep his eyes from trailing down to your thin top and flannel shorts.

"Can I come in?" he finally asks.

"S-sure!" you step aside. "I'll go get some tea started."

He can't help but smile as you hurry off, thinking you might be the cutest person he's ever met. Instead of making his way to the couch, he leans against the doorframe to the kitchen. "Do you need a hand?"

"That's alright, it'll just be a few minutes," you say, reaching up to a high shelf for a tin of tea leaves.

He's behind you in an instant, his body pressed to your back as he grabs the one he knows is your favorite. "This one, right?"

"Yeah, thanks!"

Shocked your voice doesn't betray you, your heart is now hammering in your chest with impossible force. He's still close behind you as he sets it down on the counter. Scratching the back of his neck nervously, he takes a step back.

Once you finish filling the kettle, he speaks up. "Is it okay if I ask you something?"

Setting it down on the stove and turning on the burner, you turn to give him your full attention. "Always."

The way you look up at him expectantly makes him swallow and clear his throat. "I was wondering if everything is okay?"

"What do you mean, Tsukki?"

"Um, you just haven't seemed like yourself the past few days."

He hopes his vague answer is enough, but you tilt your head to the side. "How so?"

If he didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to torture him.

"Well, you've been less talkative," he nearly winces at how pitiful he sounds. "And then when you didn't come to my game tonight..."

He can't think of what else to say, cursing the way his cheeks heat up. You hardly notice though, too caught up in your own embarrassment and avoiding his eye.

"Oh, that!" you laugh nervously. "You see, I may have... overheard you talking to our one classmates the other day..."

The look on his face tells you he has no idea what you're referring to.

"She gave you a gift a-and asked to come to see you play, but you told her you didn't like when people came to your games." You're talking very quickly by this point. "I-I didn't want to annoy you-"

Tsukishima's eyes nearly pop out of his head in disbelief and he starts to laugh at the situation, but you think he's laughing at you. At first, he fails to notice that tears have begun to slip down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry Tsukki," you apologize, lip quivering.

That gets his attention right away, a look of horror taking over his features.

"No, no, no! I wasn't- I didn't mean to laugh!" His words are jumbled and he tries his best to slow them. "It's just that you're not people, you're... you."

"Oh," you say while wiping at your eyes, not quite yet processing the meaning behind his words.

You still seem so sad and it tugs at Tsukishima's chest, making him panic.

"I like you!" he blurts out and your watery eyes dart up toward his face. "I'm sorry, I thought I was more obvious about it than I was. I-I missed seeing you in the stands tonight and talking to you in class and coming over afterward and-"

He keeps rambling on and you think it might be the longest you'd ever heard the usually very matter-of-fact man speak for. He only stops when you start to giggle, your hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide it.

The kettle suddenly whistles, breaking any sort of tension that might have lingered between the two of you. You swiftly remove it from the heat before turning back to him.

"I like you, too, Tsukki."

He breathes a sigh of relief, eyes flicking between each of your own. His honesty just moments ago has him surprised and while he'd usually be uncomfortable in a situation like this, oddly enough, he's not.

There's a ghost of a smile adorning his face and he spends a second just looking at you. 'You're... you,' he considers his words from earlier and knows that this is what he meant. You're different from most people. You make him feel at ease.

"You should call me Kei," he states simply, before moving to prepare the tea just the way he knows you like it.

Kuroo Tetsuro

One afternoon, Kuroo stopped by the coffee shop across from his office building downtown. Pulling the door open, he caught the reflection of a person around his age in the glass. As he moved so that he could hold it open for you, you thanked him with a small smile.

You caught his attention, dressed for some seemingly important job, your hair just a touch messy, but in a way that looked good. While you waited in line, he asked you about your day and his charming small talk left you a blushing mess.

You were in front of him in line, but once you finished telling the barista what you wanted, he stepped up to add his own drink to the order. "On me, of course."

Two years later, you're living together in a cozy apartment and you couldn't be happier. Kuroo is everything you could ever ask for--- charismatic, reliable, thoughtful. It was even his idea that the two of you go out for dinner after work every Thursday.

So when that day of the week finally rolls around, you finish your tasks for the day and head over to his nearby office to meet up. You get off the elevator on his floor and make your way down the hallway, noticing his door is open a few inches. You stop once you hear voices inside.

“Isn’t it hard having a partner, though? I mean, always having someone around, not being able to relax and do your own thing.”

The voice is unfamiliar and your head tilts to the side as you listen.

Your boyfriend chuckles, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “I suppose they can be a lot sometimes.”

Inwardly, Kuroo reflects on your late-night bouts of energy when he’s half asleep, your ramblings about the newest show you’ve been watching (he truly does try his hardest to keep up), your habit of constantly asking him for reassurance even though you’re so far out of his league it’s unreal.

You can’t see the fond smile that bashfully plays on his lips or hear the thoughts running through his mind. Left with just his words alone, you deflate as you’re overcome by embarrassment. 'Well, he's not wrong,' you think.

“Then what’s the point?” the other person wonders.

You can’t bear to hear Kuroo's answer, so you move away from the door and attempt to swallow the lump in your throat. The fact that you’re about to burst into tears at his work, of all places, is probably why he thinks the way he does. A humorless laugh passes your lips as you berate yourself. You dip into the bathroom and force yourself to take a few deep breaths before anyone can see you.

If only you had waited a few moments longer, you would have heard Kuroo's response. "I figured out pretty quickly they could be a handful sometimes, but it's part of what made me love them, you know?"

"No, gross. Don't go all sappy on me, senpai," the young intern rolls his eyes.

It just makes Kuroo laugh, "you asked! Now get out of my office and go tell them you'd love to get dinner with them tonight."

The intern grumbles as he leaves, but Kuroo doesn't miss the grin tugging at his lips. "After you finish your work for the day, of course," the older man hollers from his seat.

Finally having composed yourself, you exit the bathroom, passing the intern and greeting him politely.

You knock once you reach the door to Kuroo's office and his eyes light up, "hey, sweetheart!"

His tie has already been loosened for the evening and his hair is a bit disheveled.

"Hey, Tetsu," you say sheepishly. Even now, he still makes your stomach flutter.

"I just need a few minutes to finish this up," he informs.

"Sure, take your time!"

You try your best to make your voice sound bright and move to take a seat on the couch that's tucked against the wall. Kuroo returns his attention to the computer, but he quickly realizes you're quiet. Weirdly quiet. He peeks over at you and you're just sitting there on your phone with a blank expression.

The soft clicking of his keyboard stops. He says your name and you hum in acknowledgment. "What's on your mind?"

You glance over to find that he's looking at you, his body leaning over his desk in your direction. The expression he wears is a gentle one. His obvious concern and the fact he's already picked up on your vexation are enough to arouse the emotions you'd hopelessly tried to bury earlier. In an attempt to hide your tears, you avert your eyes. The action immediately has Kuroo rising from his seat.

"Hey, hey, hey," he frets, sitting beside you and putting a hand on your knee. "Look at me, what happened?"

The sight of you like this makes his heart squeeze tightly in his chest and when you finally turn to him, his eyes are burning with worry.

"It's nothing, it's dumb," you dismiss, waving your hand.

"Sweetheart, don't say that. Something's got you all worked up." He brushes your hair behind your ear. "Talk to me."

"I-I'm sorry" you choke out.

"There's no reason to be-"

"I know I can be a lot sometimes," you add, wiping at your nose with your sleeve.

Realization and guilt descend upon him in tandem. "You heard-"

"Only some of it!" you clarify before he finishes, "I-I didn't mean to listen in on you, I just-"

He boops your nose, making your words stop in your throat. "You just didn't stay and listen to the part where I told him you it's what makes me love you so much."

He's got a little grin on his face, refraining (with some difficulty) from calling you a dork.

"You said that?"

He hums, "of course I did."

A moment passes and he can sense you're still feeling unsure of yourself, so he continues. "I can be passive and a bit... emotionally closed off at times. It makes me admire how expressive you are and how strongly you react to things, both good and bad."

Touched by his words, you feel all your anxiety ebb away, replaced by a warm feeling in the center of your chest. "Then you'll be happy to know that is perhaps the sweetest thing anyone has ever said and it makes my heart want to explode."

"Ah, see! There it is!" he beams and stands up, offering you his hand.

Once you rise to your feet, he places a kiss firmly on your temple.

"Alright, the rest of this can wait," he decides as he grabs his bag, turns off his computer, and slips his fingers through your own. "I'm all yours."

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yorshie · 5 months

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Hiii, I love your work! What do you think the turtles would think/feel/react if they notized, after years of relationship with a human (and everything is still going really well) , the lair is full of things for taking care of one, for example lotions, creams, hairbrushes, makeup, etc. Kind of like a realization😂

I don't really mind if it's with poly or separated.

Thank you so much for your amazing writings

Hello! I'm glad you're enjoying my stories so far!

I touched on this a bit in the ask How the Turtles Handle Romance, in Mikey's section, but you certainly don't have to twist my arm too much to get me to write more oblivious light bulb moments for these sweet turtles! I went with each turtle having a separate realization, though you are more than welcome to imagine it's a poly relationship and they're just having private epiphanies. (though I will admit that is a lot of hairbrushes to just leave lying around)

Bayverse TMNT x GNreader (kinda Fem? Idk everyone has hairbrushes, right?), SFW, turtles are 24-25

tag list: @jackalope-in-a-storm @tmnt-tychou @justalotoffanfiction ..... if i left you out I'm sorry burnt out kinda threw my tag list outa wack so just let me know if you wanna be tagged in general or if it was just that story in particular

Raphael

Another week gone by, and once again Raph set aside the time to clean up his room. He put all the clothes in the hamper, pulled the sheets off the bed and stretched fresh ones over the plush mattress. He straitened up all the knicknacks along his shelves and made sure his mini fridge was stocked with the sodas you both favored and the little ice creams you liked to eat at night.

He did laundry, grumbling at the monotony of the task. He folded his clothes neatly though, setting aside your smaller shorts and underthings whenever he found them. He added another large shirt to your pile, knowing that even if it started off as his you'd be eyeing it as a sleep shirt the moment you opened his drawer tomorrow night...

He eyed the pile, before clearing out one of the top drawers in his long dresser and setting them inside. When he scooped up your hair brush and lotion bottle, he added them to the drawer, but the three books that he found tucked under the edge of his bed went in a neat stack on top of the dresser next to his comics.

He paused, folding the blanket you liked to cuddle with, before dropping it to rest on top of the knitted red one at the foot of his bed. Picked up your fuzzy socks and tucked them next to his in the box by the door where you'd see them.

Finally done, Raph surveyed the space, eyeing the way your items had their proper place in his room, before a soft smile broke out across his face. He'd have to ask, but knowing you, you'd probably only giggle and say "about time, Red." but- he'd ask, and that was the most important part.

Leonardo

Leo sat his hamper on the end of his bed, slowly gathering the pre-folded items inside, tucking each in their rightful place, until he was left with the significantly smaller articles at the bottom that you had left in his space over the course of the last couple of months.

He gave a soft little smile, an idea sparking, and he went to his dresser, adding the brush and hair clips you'd left last week to the basket. He snagged the hoodie that swamped you next, something he hadn't been able to work over his shell the last couple of years but you'd savored the softened fabric as a barrier against the chill when sleeping over, and folded it carefully to hide your underthings underneath.

He nodded, satisfied, turning and straightening the little bits in his room that had gotten moved over the course of the day. He found another pair of your socks under his bed, and, after a careful sniff, he tucked them into each other and tossed them into the basket. At the bookshelf he eyed the couple of books he needed to return to you, and wondered if he could get you to lend him the current book you were reading when you were done. He wound the cords you both used to charge your phones up into neat little circles, pausing once more when his knuckle brushed the book he had just been thinking about where it sat innocently on his bedside table.

Leo tilted his head, looked over his shoulder at the basket, and after a bare moment's hesitation he moved to look down at all the little items stacked and folded neatly inside.

He'd have to talk to you, properly, but for now he returned the books to the dresser and set your hair brush and clips carefully on top of his dresser where you could easily find them. Your clothes, he cleared out what used to be his secret snack drawer, mentally thinking he'd have to ask Donnie to order a mini fridge for himself as he tucked your clothes neatly inside, silently happy that your belongings had found space so easily in his room.

Donatello

Donnie flopped on his bed, finally, burrowing into the latent warmth you'd left in his sheets and sighing dreamily. He'd clean later, maybe, but now he just wanted to crash for a few hours so he'd be functioning when you came to visit in the evening.

Though, trying to drift off, something poked him uncomfortably in the shin. With a grumble he contorted, pushing the item up with his knee and grabbing it. Fingers running along the edge, he realized it was a hair brush, and brought it up to quint at before he realized it was yours. With a shrug, he set it on his cramped bedside table, almost knocking over your lotion and the little lamp you had added to have a little more reading light last month. He caught the object at the last minute, setting it on the floor to avoid an accident before winding his long arms underneath the extra pillows you'd decorated his bed with over the months.

It was so soft, now with all the extra blankets and small comforts, smelling of you and it caused a small churr to float from his chest. Donnie knew he'd be curled up in your arms tonight, but right now, surrounded by your scent, he could almost imagine your body pressed up against his side. It was a feeling he never took for granted, tallied in a mental calendar exactly how often he got to indulge in the sensation. Tonight, for sure, and at least three times next week....

His eyes opened slowly, squinting, calculating. He... could change that, if he really wanted. Surely enough time had past in the relationship. He set his chin on top of his fist still buried underneath the pillow, eyes glancing over to fixate on the small bundle of comfy clothes you left on top of his dresser. Mentally, he calculated his timetable, moving virtual chess pieces around until the plan started to line up to his satisfaction.

Smiling, just a touch, he closed his eyes once more, pulling the pillow closer to his beak and inhaling deeply. Tonight, he'd broach the subject, and if he was lucky he'd wake up with you against him every morning.

Michelangelo

Mikey often just assumed you knew where everything you left at the Lair ended up. When you came in, usually asking after a certain hairband or a particular sketchbook, he'd just smile and give you the same answer every time, a variation of: "it's in my room, sweetness, in it's spot."

He took pride in the fact that your belongings melded with his. He loved leaving little doodles slipped in between the pages of your books before setting them next to the stacks of comics he kept on his shelves. Never failed to wind your hair bobs back onto the handle of your brush whenever he came across them in the bathroom or in the living room before tucking it into the drawer he'd set aside for your use the first time he managed to invite you over to spend the night.

And on the rare days Mikey woke up alone, with only a pillow to cuddle and whisper good morning too, he would remind himself that he really needed to talk to you about making things permanent. Making things with him permanent. He had no doubt you'd say yes, but the nerves of actually asking never failed to send butterflies tickling the inside of his plastron.

He could do this though, he could ask you this simple question. He pepped talked himself through folding laundry, moving on autopilot to toss your folded clothes in the correct drawers next to his own. He gave himself a strict talking to about staying on point while fishing out loose pillows from underneath his bed and making sure all blankets were accounted for if not perfectly folded. He even straightened up the game area, dusted off the cases you'd gotten him over time and the game console you'd gifted him for his 'mutation day'...

He paused, giddy, holding one of the custom orange controllers, laughing at himself as he set the device back on its charging station. He was being silly, he knew. Of course you'd say yes.

#my writing requests #tmnt bayverse #bayverse leonardo #bayverse raphael #bayverse donatello #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse mikey x reader #bayverse donnie x reader

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ficsbb · 2 months

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Hello lovely!! Could you write something about John Wick with a really girly/hyperfeminine reader? I think he would love someone who’s just a total softy and a ray of sunshine. The type to always have flowers around, read fluffy romance books, and has a 10 step skincare routine. I think john would totally spoil her too 🤭🤭 maybe there’s a little bit of an age gap and she loves to tease him about being an old man 😅 idk I just want this man to have a sweet little starburst of a person to treat him right ❤️❤️ illysm 🥰😘

Thank you for the prompt!!! I hope it's to your liking, and I'm sorry it took so long 🫣🌺

》 Pairing: John Wick x Fem!Reader

John is skilled in many things, most being steering clear of big crowds and handling insanely dangerous weapons, but trying to handle two mugs of hot coffee while shooing the pup away is becoming... a task. He climbs the stairs and makes it to your shared room. The door is open slightly, and he catches you sitting in front of your vanity. Small vials, dried florals, makeup palettes littered all over. He doesn't know what half of it is, but he knows it smells like vanilla and lavender. It smells like you. Your eyes catch his, and he smiles as you bubble over with giggles, "Hey, you. Let me help." John nods and leans down to kiss the tip of your nose. "Watch me put on my makeup?" He smiles and says, "Of course."

He watches as you mingle with his acquaintances, your laugh infectious and distinctive. He notices how the younger men look you over and a small spark of jealousy gnaws at him, but he knows it's ridiculous. "Are you alright?" John is startled by your voice and nods quickly, "I'm alright, yeah." You know he isn't, so you grab his hand and lead him outside for some fresh air. "What's wrong?" You ask and watch him look at his hands, avoiding your eyes. You don't push. Rather, let the sound of the wind and low voices of people passing by fill the air until he speaks up. "Are you sure you're okay with me?" He asks, and the question confuses you, "I'm- I- look at these grays." John is taken back when you laugh out loud, uncontrollably. "John," you start, bringing your hands to his face, "your grays don't bother me one bit. I love you, silly." You reach up to peck his nose. He shakes his head and pulls you in for a languid kiss. "Now let's get back so I can show you off." You watch his back straighten, and he follows you inside.

You wake up the next morning to the smell of breakfast. It makes your stomach grumble embarrassingly loud. You find yourself out of bed, rinsed, and ready to head downstairs. "Good morning, pretty girl." John's voice is raspy and still full of sleep. He sets your food in front of you and watches as you take the first bite. "I have something for you." He reaches into his jacket pocket, draped over a kitchen chair, and places a small rectangular box on the counter. Your eyes light up, excited. "What's the special occasion?" He cocks his head to the side, "Since when do I need an occasion to spoil you with gifts?" You don't argue with that and open the box. A beautiful gold anklet with charms is settled into the velvet interior. "John, oh my goodness.." He smiles wide, delighted to see that you like it so much. "Let me." He takes it and kneels down in front of you, propping your foot on his knee to clasp the anklet on. "It fits perfectly, thank you!" You feel flushed when he kisses your foot. "So beautiful." He rises and kisses your lips, leaving you in a daze. "John, you really spoil me." "Not enough." He says and kisses you again.

A full day of shopping usually consists of John watching you pick out pretty things and ask him if he likes it for the bathroom, bedroom, on your body etc. It makes his heart swell. Bags full of fresh new linen and candles, both of your favorite snacks and foods are littered in the trunk of the car by early evening. After settling down, John coming down to the living room, he sees you sitting on the couch. Your legs are tucked up under you with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a mug of something warm in your hands; the steam obviously tickling your nose as you bring it up to your face to take a sip. "May I join you?" You nod and make room. The volume of the television is set low and it starts to lull John to sleep, but before his eyes completely close, he looks over at you. Your eyes set on the rom-com and your hand intertwined with his. "You okay?" You ask him, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. John sighs and closes his eyes, "Yes. Perfectly okay here with you."

#reader insert #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves #reader x character #fem!reader #answered 💌

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rafetopia · 6 months

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐲

- 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

pairing: virgin!pope heyward x virgin!fem!reader

genre: soft smut and lots of fluff

words: ~3.8k

warnings: outdoor sex (on a roof), protected sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, loss of virginity, mentions of food and alcohol

summary: a date night on the roof and a love confession lead to your first night with your boyfriend

It was a beautiful Saturday night, the sky was clear making all the beautiful stars visible to those who wished to look at them. There was a fresh breeze dancing through the late summer air. It was a quiet night, scattered seagulls were singing in the distance, mixed with the sound waves crashing softly onto the shore.

You were sitting on the roof of “Heyward’s Seafood”, together with Pope, your boyfriend. The two of you had only started dating recently, which added to the slight nervousness you were feeling in your stomach. This obviously wasn’t your first date and yet, something felt different tonight. He was going all out since his parents weren't home tonight. It was their 21st anniversary and like every single year before, Heyward took his wife out for dinner and dancing. Pope had been in charge of closing the store and as soon as he was done, he had invited you to date night on the shop's roof. He knew how much you loved watching the stars at night, it had been your favorite thing to do since you were a little girl.

He had spread out blankets and even made you pasta, your favorite food. Well, all he had to do was cook pasta, roast pine nuts, drown them in pesto, and put some parmesan cheese on top and it still took the best of him. But even after almost dropping the pesto and burning the pine nuts, he still managed to make everything look and taste just as you loved it the most (minus the over-salted penne but you let that one slide because it’s Pope). He even got you that cheap wine you were always dragging around with you when you were hanging out with him and his friends because you knew all they were drinking was beer. JJ used to laugh at you for that, but after multiple smacks to his head by not only Pope but also Sarah, he quickly learned to shut up about your drinking preferences. Pope also knew what a sweet tooth you had, which was why he knew he couldn't miss dessert. He had stored some ice cream in the freezer box, which he had hurled up the tiny ladder. He almost have fallen back down if it wasn't for JJ, who had helped him prepare everything last minute.

“How does it taste? And be honest please, I can handle it.” He asked, his left eyebrow rising as he looked at you with hopeful eyes.

You took a second to finish chewing and swallowing but you didn’t need long to think of an answer. “It’s perfect, baby. I love how you made the pine nuts extra roasty.” You smiled genuinely, but Pope seemed to capture your response more critically than you intended.

“I burned them, didn’t I?” He said, all excitement leaving his voice. “I’m so sorry, I knew I should have made new ones…”

“No, no!” You exclaimed as you stuffed the last few noodles into your mouth. “I said they’re perfect, Pope and you know, I never lie.” You smiled, while you tried to chew your food down as fast as possible. “They are way better than when my dad does them.” You added, before taking the empty plate out of his hands and crawling onto his lab.

“I guess that does mean something, considering your dad is a chef at the country club.” He smiled, almost believing you.

“See.” You giggled, as you softly wiped away the stain of red pesto left on his upper lip. “He always takes them out of the pan way too early, you can barely taste that they are supposed to be roasted.”

For normal people, that would have been a lie, because no one on that island was able to cook as well as your dad did, but for your taste buds, they were always way too mild.

He smiled at your statement, even though he knew he kinda fucked up a little bit. But to his advantage, your mind didn’t stay long with the pasta because as soon as you saw the box, something else crossed your mind immediately.

“Baby, what’s in there?” Your eyes lit up as you saw the smile crawling over his lips, knowing exactly what that meant. He knew how much you loved Ice Cream and since everything was (almost) perfect tonight, you knew what must be in there.

You knew you were right when he opened the box and pulled out a box of ice cream and two spoons. “You know I set all this up, so we could watch the stars together and now you’re sitting with your back to them.” He chuckled, softly as he guided a spoon full of Ice cream to your mouth.

“First of all, I can see them behind you, and second of all, you are way prettier than the stars.”

He tried to hide a smile but he was so flustered, it was hard for him. He loved receiving compliments from you but still, he wasn’t very used to them. You loved seeing him like this, you loved getting his cheeks all hot and flustered, it made you giggle and sent even more butterflies through your core.

You took a sip of your wine, that he had even filled into a wine glass. You didn't even know he knew what a wine glass looked like and he probably didn’t and just took the weirdest looking glass in the cabinet but you were still surprised. You were even more surprised that he decided to drink wine with you tonight, knowing he would get teased endlessly for it if his friends saw him. You appreciated what he did for you tonight, so much that you couldn't keep your eyes off him. He always looked pretty but tonight it was different. He was dressed in a black shirt and some black basketball shorts, a look he knew was killing you. You were obsessed with him dressed all in black and you knew exactly that was why he chose this particular outfit tonight.

The two of you kept rambling on about whatever came to your mind while slowly but surely emptying that box of Ice Cream. Well, in the end, it was you who ate most of it, since Pope was the one who did most of the talking. You couldn’t help but smile at every single thing he said, no matter how boring you would normally think the topics were. After a while he stopped talking, as he looked at your smiling face, wondering what it could be that amused you so much.

“What’s so funny?” He asked. You noticed how unsure he got, a normal thing for him when he caught himself talking without a break. “Am I talking too much? I’m talking too much…”

“No, no!” You chuckled, giving him a reassuring smile. “You know I could listen to you for hours.”

You looked down into the no empty Ice Cream box, the feeling of guilt rushing over your face, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I mostly got this for you.” He smiled softly, knowing you would feel bad anyway. “Really baby, you know I don't even like strawberries that much.”

“True.” You chuckled, as leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

He quickly retorted the kiss, putting the empty box away, before placing his hands on your waist. The kiss started slow and sweet but quickly turned more passionate as you felt the wine circulating through your veins, giving you the courage to let your hand travel down to his pants, where your hand started massaging his growing bulge. Quiet moans escaped his lips, as your hand slipped into his pants, and quickly the two of you noticed that night, might be night where you went all the way to the end. When you started dating, you quickly found out and neither of you was very experienced in that matter, which made you decide to wait a little bit. There had been many times where you thought this was the night but you always ended up stopping before the actual act. This time felt different though. His hands had wandered under your dress by now, where he quickly noticed the lack of fabric that came with you only wearing a lace thong.

You smirked as you felt his dick twitching under your touch, combined with the sweet moans escaping his beautiful lips. His hands were now wandering up to your tits, where he once again was met with the lack of fabric. You heard a quiet “damn” escaping his lips, as his thumbs traced over your nipples. You let your head fall back as his lips traveled over your neck, kissing every single inch of your skin. You tried to control your moans but the sensation from his thumbs on your nipples and his tongue on your neck was too much for you to stay quiet.

“Baby…” You whispered, your hands finding their way back inside his pants.

“I know.” He mumbled between his kisses, before turning his attention back to your mouth.

Before he could do anything, you had pushed your tongue inside him, not caring to wait for him to take the lead. You gently slid under his pants, so you were holding his hard dick in your hands. You slowly let your hand wander up and down, while your thumb brushed over his tip. You knew how much he loved it when you did that, his twitching erection being the proof. His right hand was now sliding down to your thong, where he laid his finger on your soaking, but still covered clit. This wasn't the first time he made you wet like that but it was the first time you thought it might lead to more. You needed more of him and as if he could read your thoughts, he gently pushed the fabric to the side, before placing his finger back on your clit.

The sudden feeling of direct skin contact, made you moan out loud even louder. He noticed how needy you grew, so you let his fingers trace over your entrance, causing you to look at him with pleading eyes.

“Can I…?” He asked carefully, not being sure if he was going too fast.

“Please.” You whispered, nodding in support of your answer.

He was so gentle as he let his fingers slide inside you. You were already soaking wet but he was so scared of hurting you that he took them back out just to spit on them. You didn’t expect him to do something like that but it only made you want him more. He gently pushed them back inside, causing you to gasp out in pleasure. You shot him an assuring smile before leaning back in for a kiss. You let your hand slide up and down his length while he pushed his fingers back and forth into your core. He started slow but soon began to match your movements, which made it very hard for you to concentrate.

“Pope…” You whispered, “I… I love you.”

He stopped and looked at you, eyes widened in surprise and you were just as surprised as he was. “I…” You stumbled, but he placed his index finger under your chin and guided it up, so you’d look him in the eyes.

“I love you too.” He smiled. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you moved here.”

“But Pope, that was in third grade.” You chuckled, now your eyes were filled with surprise.

“I know.”

This was enough to send you over the edge. You smashed your lips back into his, without leaving him any room to breathe. After what felt like hours, you stopped. “I’m ready. Need to feel you inside me.” You whispered.

He stopped his movements as the excitement rushed all over him. “You sure?”

"Absolutely." You smiled, “If you are.”

“100%!” He exclaimed. “But I don’t… JJ gave me one but It’s downstairs… I think.” He mumbled, earning nothing but a smile from you.

You leaned in for a kiss and whispered: “Pocket inside my bag.”

Pope internally smiled at the way you were always prepared for everything. It was one of the reasons he was so in love with you. He gently pulled your dress over your head, leaving you all exposed in front of him. He took a second to admire your beauty before you pulled off his shirt. You too, needed a second to take him in. It wasn't that you hadn't seen him like this before, you did countless times at the beach but you fell in love with him all over again every time.

“God you’re so pretty.” You mumbled, leaving him all shy and flustered.

“I believe that’s my line, baby.”

“But you’re pretty too.” You giggled.

He smiled and pulled you in for a kiss, while his hands wandered from your waist down to your ass. Your hands were placed on his soft-toned chest, feeling his muscles playing beneath his skin. You were still sitting on top of him, so he signaled you to get up, for him to be able to pull off his pants. Once they were off, he told you to lie down and climbed on top of you. You pulled him in for more kisses, while his hand wandered down to your thong. He easily let his fingers slide under the fabric, his touch sending goosebumps all over your skin. He let his thumb dance over your clit, while his index finger slid inside. You let out a loud moan, leaving a smirk all over his face. It quickly turned into an expression of slight embarrassment, as he remembered where the two of you were at.

"What's wrong?” You asked slightly confused.

“Nothing baby, it's just… what if anyone hears us?”

“Then let them hear us.” You giggled, “But I can try to be more quiet if you want.”

“You know what? No.” He grinned, the thought of other people hearing how good he made you feel suddenly turned him on more than he thought.

And he did make you feel very, very good. The thought of actually being vulnerable like that for someone had always freaked you out a little bit but with him it was different. He made you nervous but not in a bad way. You were nervous indeed, but it was more exciting than anything else.

The deeper his fingers dug inside you, the more you wanted him. Your left hand was placed on his shoulder, while your right one was looking for your bag. You grabbed it and pulled out a tiny colorful package.

“Are you ready?” You asked, earning a nod from your boyfriend.

“Are you?”

“Hmm… I think so?” You answered, more unsure than sure.

“I uhmm… I can…” He stuttered, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

With that, he went down but not without covering your body in kisses, causing you to giggle at the sensation. The moment his tongue met your folds, your giggle turned into moans. You had never felt this way before, as he had never used his tongue on you before. He struggled at first, not really knowing what to do but the louder your moans got, the more confident he became. Pope had always been a quick learner so it didn't take long until he had figured it out. He twisted his tongue inside, hitting exactly where you needed him to hit. He even added his thumb to your clit for support- causing you to see stars even though you had closed your eyes.

You felt something in you tighten, it was unfamiliar but it felt so good and it got only stronger the faster and more eager he got. Before you knew it, your high rushed over you, causing you to almost scream his name into the night. Your angled legs slid down next to his, as you desperately tried to contain your voice. Your hands that were tangled in his hair cramped together, sending a slight pain through his head but in this moment, Pope would’ve rather died than stopping you in any way. He looked up at you, trying to get a quick glance at you since he had never seen a girl orgasm before, at least not outside of the internet and most definitely not caused by himself. He was so amazed by your beauty, that he didn’t realize he was still staring once you opened your eyes again.

“What?” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “Did you just watch me? Oh my god, how embarrassing.” You mumbled as you felt your cheeks turning all hot.

“You are so damn beautiful, you have no idea.” He said, his fingers softly caressing over your thighs. “This was the hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“Then you really should look into the mirror more often, pretty boy.” You grinned, before signaling him to come closer and kiss you. You tasted yourself on his lips and to your surprise, it was better than you had always imagined. “I think now I'm ready.” You giggled, as you let your hand travel down to his underwear.

You let your hand slide under the fabric, where you quickly felt him harden under your touch. You handed him the condom and he removed his boxers. You were sitting next to him, preparing the extra blanket he had brought, while he tried to roll over the condom, struggling.

“Here, let me help you.” You said, as you led your hand slide over his length, up and down until he was more than ready. Pope’s mind had already drifted back to pleasure land, but you were able to roll it over with ease. You laid yourself back on the blanket, as he crawled on top of you. You swung the other blanket over him, which earned you an appreciative “thank you” from your boyfriend. You spread your legs as he was looking to push it in but you both soon found out that it was actually way easier if you guided him.

The moment he slid inside you, you both let out a moan, almost synchronized. It did hurt a little bit though, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asked, his voice filled with concern. “We can stop if it hurts, I’ll stop.”

“No.” You whispered, “It does hurt a little bit but I’m sure it will stop soon. You did good preparation work.” You smirked, causing him to smile himself.

“If you want me to stop, just say it okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You smiled, before pulling him in for a soft kiss.

He slowly continued his movements, careful not to hurt you. He enjoyed every second of it but couldn't get the thought out of his head that it might not feel the same for you. He got convinced quickly though, when your hands traveled down his back, nails digging deep into his skin, so deep that he was sure it would be visible tomorrow morning.

“Just like that, baby.” You moaned out, “You can even go faster if you want, it doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes baby, please.”

With that, he sped up his pace, still careful but faster than before. He was close to you, legs angled and face over yours, because there wasn't a second where he didn’t want to look into your eyes. He leaned in for a kiss, which you retorted quickly, while you wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing the blanket off him in the process. You would’ve been sorry but you needed him to be as close as possible to you and judging by the sweat on his skin, he didn’t seem to mind much. With your newfound position, you were able to push him even deeper into you, a fact both of you welcomed very much. As his movements got faster, your moans got louder and he soon realized that he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Your nails dug deeper into his skin and he wanted to hold out longer for you but it grew harder and harder for him to do so. Especially as soon as you moved your lips to his neck, which almost sent him over the edge.

“Faster baby, can you go faster?” You moaned out, to which he sped up his movements.

“Fuck…” He whispered, and soon after, his orgasm washed over him.

He sounded so beautiful, as he moaned into your ear, so loudly, that you were sure someone must've heard the two of you. As soon as he felt like himself again, he collapsed on top of you. He wrapped his arms around your body, and laid his head on your chest, perfect for you to straddle his head. You loved tracing your fingers through his locks, and he did as well since it always helped him calm down. You were somehow able to grab the blanket that you had lost earlier, so you covered the two of you with it. Your fingers went back to straddling his head, and before you knew it your eyes fell shut. You both were tired, so tired that you were pretty sure you both fell asleep for a few minutes. As soon as your eyes were met with the beautiful night sky once again, you tried to wake up your sleepy boyfriend.

“Pope baby, wake up.”

“Hmm, too comfy.” He mumbled, and you were pretty sure he fell back asleep right after.

“Baby, you are still wearing the condom, we need to get cleaned up.” You chuckled, as you tried to keep yourself awake. “I don't want it to get lost in me.” You added, as you once again tried to shake him awake, less gently this time.

“Hmm, am wake.” He mumbled as he lifted his head.

“Careful, baby.”

He carefully sat himself up and pulled out of you. To your surprise, everything went over smoothly and you were able to get up without leaving behind a mess. He wrapped it up in some tissue and the two of you got dressed.

“I’m pretty sure my parents are back by now.” He said as you gathered all the things he brought on the roof.

“If so, they probably heard us. And if that’s the case I’ll never be able to look them in the eyes ever again.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yep.”

You were lucky, Heward's truck wasn’t there yet when they climbed down the roof. The two of you put everything away. When you fell into bed a few minutes later, he pulled his arm around you so you could snuggle your head onto his body. You both fell asleep within seconds but more connected and in love with each other, than ever before.

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