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spicyspiders · 11 months

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I admire you so much, you literally make the best smut😭😭😭

Could you make a miguel o' hara x bottom male reader smut. Where miguel likes reader but has never been able to act on his urges until, the other Spider-Man start to flirt and be more friendly with him. So on the mission to save the Multiverse Miguel Pulls reader a abetting building or Warehouse and fucks him. With some degrading, dummification, and biting.

I have other requests for call of duty but couldn't help but write this. I'm so excited for the new movie and to see Miguel on screen. There isn't any topping or bottoming, but it's implied that Miguel will be the top when they actually have sex. Warnings for rimming, intercrural sex, and Miguel bites the reader until he bleeds. Even though I changed a few things, I hope you still like it.

You let out a loud bark of a laugh at what Ben had just said, not realizing how loud it truly was until you looked over and saw Miguel glaring at the two of you.

“Sorry,” you said, quickly trying to hide the smile that accompanied the laugh. When you looked back over at Ben, you let out a snicker.

Miguel growled and stepped into your personal space, “enough! Put your mask back on, we’ve got a mission to finish,” he waits until you give a tense nod before he goes back to where he was at the edge of the roof.

“Yours is still off and plus, it’s easier for me to see without it on,” you grumbled, pulling the mask back on.

“If you weren’t playing around with him all the time,” Miguel gestures angrily at Ben, “you could have fixed it!”

Ben tried to calm the other man, but his attempt was in vain. He tried placing a hand on his shoulder, but Miguel knocked it away, “we’re going to finish up and then we’ll get back and fix the lenses in his mask,” Ben said. His words made Miguel’s shoulders look a little less tense, but then he went and messed it up again, “we don’t want them to hear,” Ben nodded down to the ground where the group of men you were tailing were gathered.

His final sentence only made Miguel angrier, his shoulders going tense again, “and whose fault would that be?” He asked furiously.

You flinched at his rough tone, trying to pull yourself in and make yourself smaller so he would stop looking at you with such anger. You glanced over at Ben, seeing that his body language looked similar to yours.

When you looked back over to Miguel, you could see that his expression had softened. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, his fangs peeking out from his top lip, but they quickly went away as his mouth closed.

Miguel turned to face the men down on the ground, leaving you to look at the broad expanse of his back. You wanted to reach out like Ben did to try and comfort him, but instead kept your arms at your sides.

The men you were trailing were on the move again, “let’s go,” Ben said softly, spurring you into movement.

The rest of the mission surprisingly went off without a hitch. Afterward, when you were about to leave the warehouse where you had apprehended the group of men, a hand on your arm stopped you.

“We need to talk,” Miguel said. It was just the two of you, Ben had left with one of the officers to go back to their station and answer questions.

Miguel pulled his mask off and held it tightly in one hand. The last cop car was leaving but was still close enough to cast a red glow through a window and onto his face, making his eyes look even brighter. He started talking only once you had taken your mask off like he did.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he tore his eyes away from yours and let out a breath. When his eyes met yours again, they looked sad, “I scared you,” he finished softly.

“You’re our leader, aren’t you supposed to be kind of scary?” You smiled softly at him, but he still looked at you with the same expression. You tried reaching out, but Miguel walked away.

You followed after him, stopping beside him when he leaned up against one of the tables that littered the warehouse. A short time ago, the table had stacks of papers of various plans, schematics, and other blueprints the men you stopped were going to carry out. Now it lay bare.

Miguel tossed his mask up onto the table before gripping the edge with both hands, “it drives me out of my mind,” he said, keeping his eyes on the table.

“What does?” You placed your mask down and laid your empty hand on top of his. “Don’t break the table, they might need it for evidence,” you try and joke, but Miguel ignores it.

“You with him. The way you laugh and how your face lights up,” he spits.

“Ben?”

At the sound of his name, Miguel finally looks up, fixing his heated gaze on you, “you’re all over each other.”

You shake your head and can’t help but let out a laugh that doesn’t help in wiping the look from Miguel’s eye, “he’s my friend Miguel. Besides, you make me laugh all the time.”

Your words do cause him to relax a little, and his hands loosen from the table, making it easier to run your thumb along his knuckles. You only wish your hands weren’t in your suits and you were able to feel his skin. The warmth you could feel through the suit, you decided, would be enough.

“Like when?”

“When we’re training and you knock Ben on his ass,” you answer, watching in satisfaction as one corner of his mouth goes up.

Miguel steps closer to where he can box you in against the table, nearly chest to chest, “I don’t know if I can make you laugh in the way that he does, but-”

You press your lips to his, catching him by surprise, but he is quick to respond. You pull back from the soft kiss with a smile, “you already do,” you raise a hand to cup his cheek, “you don’t need to be like Ben. I like you grumpy.”

The smile that your kiss brought to Miguel’s lips was quickly gone, only proving your point further, “I am not grumpy,” he said and turned his head so he could nip at one of your fingers.

“What are you then?” You pulled your hand away, giggling when Miguel chased after with his sharp teeth.

“Smart.”

“Smart? What am I then?”

“You’re mine,” he growled and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was rougher than the first and left you with little pricks of pain where Miguel’s fangs grazed your lip. “He wouldn’t fuck you like I’m about to. I know that for a fact,” he whispers into your ear before kissing down the column of your neck.

“Show me,” you breathe, both groaning when you grind your hips together.

“You doubt me? I thought you would be smarter than that,” Miguel almost sounds disappointed, but when he presses his mischievous smile into your neck, you think otherwise. He opens his mouth just enough for his fangs to graze the skin, the delicate flesh rising after his teeth make their way across.

You let out a whimper when his warm tongue laves over the marks. His tongue licks all the way up, not stopping until his lips press to yours and his tongue dips inside. When your tongues meet, you can taste traces of sweat and something darker. Something that is all Miguel.

It’s Miguel’s turn to grind your hips together when the kiss is over, and the moans you both let out echo through the warehouse. He brings your lips together again and again and again, only stopping for mere moments in between to suck in harsh breaths of air.

It only takes a few minutes of that until you’re both fully hard in your suits. “Do you have lube?” You ask, gasping around the words when Miguel brings your hips together again.

“No. Do you?” Miguel’s head thunks onto your shoulder when you shake your head, “fuck.”

“Fuck,” you repeat, “we could just-” you try to bring your hips together again, but Miguel flips you around.

“I can get you wet enough for my cock,” he says into your ear.

Through the tight grip he has on your waist with his clawed hands, you push your ass back when he grinds forward, the hot line of his cock right against your ass. At least from how it felt, Miguel’s cock was big, but you knew either way that you still needed lube.

“I don’t think-”

“Let me try,” he grinds forward again, “please?” He begs. You’ve never heard Miguel beg before, but you learned quickly how warm it made you feel.

That single word from Miguel is how you find yourself moments later bent over the table with your suit’s pants down around your ankles and a tongue licking around your hole. You knew his spit wasn’t going to be enough, but Miguel sure had a lot of enthusiasm.

When Miguel goes from long flicks of his tongue around your hole to instead press the wet muscle inside, you bury a hand in his dark hair to try and get his tongue deeper. You let out a moan and turn your face to press your sweaty cheek into the cool metal of the table.

You tighten your grip when Miguel pulls his tongue out and let out a noise of protest. You feel your knees threaten to buckle when Miguel’s fangs meet the flesh of your ass cheeks. He bites down harder than he had on your neck, and nearly breaks the skin, but stops just before it happens.

He gives the same treatment to the other one. The first brought tears to your eyes and when he moved on the second, they spilled over. The hot tears falling down your face feel just as hot as his tongue as he runs it over the marks he left.

The skin he marks burns, even after he runs his tongue over it soothingly. The pain of it is overtaken by pleasure as Miguel continues to ruin you with his lips, teeth, and tongue. Your eyes fly open and more tears leak out when he pulls back and spreads your ass cheeks so he can spit onto your hole.

Miguel had made sure to fold his claws in, not wanting the sharp instruments to risk cutting you, but you can still feel light pricks as he squeezes the globes of your ass. He chases after the spit as it runs down your taint and nearly hits your balls. After dragging it back up, he goes back down to suck at your balls, licking over the delicate skin when he sucks each of them into his mouth.

Your cock aches in the open air of the warehouse, no doubt dripping a pool of precome onto the floor. You want to reach down and wrap a hand around it, but you’re eager to see what Miguel does next and want to instead focus on that.

Your ass and the back of your legs go cold when Miguel pulls away. You lift yourself on your shaky arms so you can crane your head back and watch him. His eyes lock onto yours as he undoes his pants so his cock can spring free.

His cock is a mouthwatering sight that demands your eyes go down to it. The head of his thick cock, like yours, is a wet sticky mess that leaks down onto Miguel’s fingers when he wraps his hand around the base.

“Bring your legs together, as tight as your can,” Miguel says, his voice rough and raspy. “Good boy,” he rewards you with a soft kiss to the back of your neck when you comply. He guides his cock into the tight channel you’ve created with your thighs.

Miguel wastes no time in thrusting into the tight space, his precome slicking up his path. He pants hotly into your ear, his hands gripping your hips tight enough that you know will leave bruises. His hard cock occasionally brushes yours or rubs against your balls, sending flashes of pleasure through your body on each pass.

“I’m going to fuck you stupid when we get home and make you forget all about Ben,” he whispers darkly into your ear.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder when he takes one of his hands from your hips and wraps it around your cock. He jerks you off in time with his thrusts and it doesn’t take long for you to spill across his fingers and the table below with a loud moan.

When Miguel comes, he bites into the skin of your neck, this time breaking the skin. He moves quickly to wrap his arm around your chest as pain blood out around the wound his teeth make. He holds you securely to his body and licks up the blood that seeps out when his teeth pull away.

Your healing factor makes it so by the time you both are done cleaning up, your wounds have all almost healed.

“Can you walk?”

You scoff at Miguel in disbelief, “yes I can fucking walk,” you say, angrily pulling the rest of your suit back on.

Miguel leaves you with a smirk before he puts his mask back on, “I’ll ask you again later,” he says before walking out of the warehouse and zipping into the air on a web.

“Look who's got jokes now!” You yell after him and shoot out your web to follow him.

Sometime later when you’re back home in Miguel’s bed you ask: “you aren’t going to kick him out are you?” You ask, looking up at him as you lay against his chest. You hadn’t been fucked stupid, instead deciding on another night when there was less excitement of another mission.

Miguel runs a finger across where he had bitten you. Though it had healed, he remembered exactly where he left his mark. “If he doesn’t stop looking at you like that I will,” he murmurs darkly.

“Like what?”

“You really aren’t that smart,” Miguel says fondly before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Miguel lets out a yelp when you pinch one of his nipples harshly in retaliation.

#x male reader #x male reader smut #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara x male reader smut #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara

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thetriumphantpanda · 9 months

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sharing is caring | joel & tommy miller

Summary | If there was one thing no-one really prepared you for when you got pregnant, it was the increase in your sex drive. Six months in and you're more frustrated than ever that something just isn't scratching the itch. You know exactly how to fix it, turns out Tommy does too - if only you'd asked about this three months ago.

Warnings | Pregnancy sex, descriptions of a pregnant body, oral sex (f receiving), masterbation (m), Unprotected PiV sex (Even if you're pregnant, STDs exist folks), creampie, Tommy getting cucked because he loves it more than anything, Joel just being.... Joel.

Word Count | 2.9k

Authors Note | You didn't think Joel was just going to disappear did you? Of course he wasn't. I know that pregnancy sex and this whole trope isn't for everyone, but I hope that I've managed to do it in a way that is still sexy and hot and has you all still loving our little threesome! Big disclaimer that I've never been pregnant, so the accuracy of this might be.... off, please forgive me. We've got one more part after this and I still cannot believe how many of you are still here for this little story. I appreciate all the love you've given me on this so far and I just hope you love the way this ends (When I share it with you), as much as I do! As always, if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or popping into my ask with some love. If you'd like to support me by leaving a tip, you can do so here on my Ko-Fi (But as I always say, no pressure!)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Fuck, Tommy, holy shit.”

Your head is thrown back on the pillow as your hips rock to meet his, your hand working hard to try and bring yourself as close to the edge as Tommy is right now. It’s been six months of a sex drive that’s been through the roof and six months of nothing working to satisfy that. Tommy had always been diligent lover, right from the very beginning, you’d always been satisfied, but there was something that just wasn’t working, and it had all begun when your stomach had started to swell.

It had nothing to do with hating your body – if anything, seeing what it was doing, carrying a creating an entire other human, made you love it even more – you could spend hours running your hands over the swell of your stomach, even when your child would kick or move about and your skin would contort in ways you didn’t know possible, all you could do was watch in awe. No, it had nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact you were craving something, someone, you probably shouldn’t.

In the past month, though it killed you to admit it, you’d started faking your orgasms. Something you’d never had to do in your time with Tommy, but that was probably easier than coming clean about the fact that you wanted Joel. No. You needed him. The combination of these two men, in your mind, was the only thing you could think that would help – the eyes of your love on you as his brother fucked you into another dimension. But how the fuck do you even ask for that?

When all is said and done that evening, and Tommy is softly snoring behind you with his hands resting on your belly, you run through every possible way that you might ask him if he’ll let Joel join you again. It had been incredibly normal between the three of you – you’d fallen back into the relationships you’d had before this whole thing started – Joel seemingly nothing but the loving brother-in-law he’d always been, and two brothers who certainly hadn’t been sharing you between themselves. It was a relief, that you could all go back to your old roles, but you knew Joel wanted more. Every time you’d see him, you’d watch his eyes on your swelling stomach, eyes that would darken when they met your own, with nothing but wanting for you. You knew he would do anything for you, you just had to ask.

“Can I ask you something?” You pluck up the courage one evening when Tommy is massaging your ankles to try and get the swelling to subside.

“Course you can.” He comments, his eyes never leaving the sports coverage on the TV in front of him.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” You’re biting at the corner of one of your nails, worried that you might just be about to ruin everything good you’ve ever had.

You watch, puzzled, as a smirk appears on Tommy’s face, his hands still working to relieve the aches at your ankles, “What the hell are you smirking for?” You ask.

“Just think I know what you’re gonna ask for, is all.”

“Go on then, smartass,” You offer, “What am I going to ask for?”

“You want Joel, right?”

What the fuck? How the fuck did he know? Your shock and surprise that he knew exactly what was on your mind must show on your face because he’s chuckling.

“You’re not mad?” You ask.

“No sugar, I am not mad,” He smiles, “He did a big thing for us,” He pauses to put a hand on your belly, “I’d be dumb as rocks to think that after all this there wasn’t some kind of connection between you both and that’s okay,” He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your lips, “I know you love me, but if you need him to help then all you had to do was ask.”

"I just feel guilty," You admit, "That we're doing this together," You rest a hand on your tummy where a foot has just kicked, "And I can't stop thinking about how good it feels when you're both there."

"You don't have to feel guilty," He reassures, "He's as much involved as you or I sugar, and it's okay to ask for what you want, I promise."

“I still want you to be there,” You speak softly, taking hold of his hand, “And you’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, sweetheart,” He smiles, and you can tell it’s genuine, “Leave it with me and I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

It doesn’t take long for Tommy to make good on his promise. Within the week, you’re led on your bed, trying to relieve the ache in your back for a little bit, when that familiar of knocks at the door rings through the house. You stay horizontal for a while, mind thinking back to all the times you’d done this before. This time you know it has nothing to do with being a means to an end, and everything about you being able to enjoy yourself, and that’s thrilling more than anything else.

You push yourself up on your hands, leaning back on them slightly, when you can hear Tommy and Joel coming up the stairs. You’re dressed in your usual silk robe. The burgeoning bump in front of you means even if you tie it, it doesn’t fit properly anymore, so you’ve got the most unsexy pair of underwear on, the only stuff that fits right now, but when Joel makes his way through your bedroom door, left open this time, it doesn’t matter, he’s looking at you like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

Tommy is behind him, walking over to take his place on the chair in the corner, leaving you and Joel to have a moment to yourself, for now. Joel leans down and presses his usual chaste kiss to your cheek, pulling back to look down at you, looming over you as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb, just like he had the first night you’d been together.

“You frustrated, darlin’ girl?” He asks, letting a smirk fall across his lips, “Thought you didn’t need me anymore, didn’t you?” You vehemently shake your head, no, you knew you needed him, and if you’d known Tommy would let you, you’d have asked months ago, “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I think together we can make you feel good.” He tilts his head to Tommy, sat behind you, but for once, your eyes are only on Joel.

You reach your own hand up to cup his face, letting your fingers trace along the rough hair on his jaw, you want to tell him you’ve missed him, because you have, but instead you just settle for trying to finally get what you want.

“You gonna spend all night looking at me?” You ask coyly, “Or are you going to eat my pussy?”

“You drive a hard bargain.” He smirks, dropping to his knees, pulling at your ankles so you’re siting over the end of the bed, his hands coming to undo the tie of your robe, slipping it off to reveal your naked upper half to him.

“Look what we did, pretty girl,” Joel whispers, big palms running over the swell of your stomach, “Look what we made together.”

You’re overcome with emotion, tears pricking at your eyes, as his gentle hands trace the bump, mouth trailing just behind his hands as he worships his work, worships what he’s made you. As his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear and pull them down, you feel the bed dip behind you. Tommy settles himself against your back, letting his legs rest on either side of your own, his lips starting to trail down your neck and across your shoulder as Joel spreads your legs.

You can feel the breath from Joel’s mouth across the skin of your pussy, your hips bucking to try and meet his mouth. He brings your legs to rest over his broad shoulders, widening your spread legs before his mouth is on you. He’s doing what he always does, using his tongue to lap up at your slick hole first, and he’s groaning whilst he does it. He hasn’t had the taste of you on his mouth for six months, and even he’s surprised with how much he’s missed it. You lean yourself fully back into Tommy’s chest, as his hands come to cup the weight of your tits. They’re sensitive and sore, and he knows to be gentle, but he’s running his thumbs over your peaked nipples just enough that the pleasure outweighs the slight pain you feel.

It's all inconsequential anyway once Joel trails his tongue up through your folds and over your clit. It’s like the trail of his tongue sets you on fire, lighting every single part of you alight as he touches you. You’re squirming against the pleasure of Tommy’s fingers at your chest, so much so that Joel has to grip the meat of your thighs to keep you steady as he trails the tip of his tongue over your clit in slow, languid movements, working you up slowly this time.

With Tommy’s lips at your neck and his hands on your tits, and the slow but firm work of Joel’s tongue on your clit, you’re reaching your peak before you really know it’s happening. You can feel your thighs begin to shake and the way you’re grinding yourself into Joel’s face to chase the feeling of his mouth, you know you’re not going to last much longer. You reach down and run your fingers through his hair, anchoring his face to your aching cunt.

“You gonna come for us baby?” Tommy breathes into your ear, “Go on, let go for us, I know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” You breathe out with every breath you exhale, “I’m- oh my god-”

It hits you like a fucking freight train. Six months of pent-up tension released all at once as you actually scream Joel’s name out into the room. You can feel Tommy’s erection behind you, pressing into your lower back as you arch up into Joel’s mouth, his tongue working you through the aftershocks.

He pulls his face away from your pussy, rubbing the slick onto your thigh as he presses soft kisses to the delicate skin there whilst you try and fill your lungs with air, trying not to cry at the relief you finally feel after all this time.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it, pretty girl?” He speaks from between your thighs, finally pulling back enough that you can see those big, brown eyes, “Just needed a little extra help, didn’t you?” You’re too blissed out to care much right now at his teasing tone because he’s right. You did just need a little extra help.

“You want him to fuck you, sugar?” Tommy asks into your ear.

Joel stands, hands poised at his shirt buttons, waiting for your permission. You look him straight in the eye, legs spread, your wet cunt on full display for him, “I’d be disappointed if he didn’t.”

Joel is slipping of his shirt in seconds, belt and jeans soon following. You can already see the bulge in the front of his underwear as Tommy moves from behind you. You move to grip his arm to get him to stay.

“I’ll be right over here,” He soothes, pointing to the chair, “Just enjoy yourself, okay?”

You turn your attention back to Joel, who is palming his cock through the thin material of his boxers, watching you as you shuffle back onto the bed.

“What works for you, pretty girl?” He asks, letting his underwear drop to the floor as he crawls onto the mattress with you, “What makes you feel good?”

He looms over you, settled between your thighs as he kisses at your neck. He wants you to be comfortable. He knows the positions you both favoured before are a dream now – there’s no way he would want to fold you in half, your legs on his shoulders, like he used to. You bring a hand to his chest, letting your fingers spread through the patchy hair that sits there.

“Let me ride you?” You ask, almost shyly.

“Whatever you want, babygirl.”

Joel stretches out on the mattress and helps you to straddle his waist, holding your hands as you flounder a little to mount his body. He keeps you steady as you reach between the two of you to grab his cock, lining yourself up ready to sink down onto him.

“I knew you’d be fuckin’ beautiful like this,” He groans as you slide down onto his cock, wet heat enveloping him as his hands rest on your stomach as you start grinding onto him, “Look at you,” He coos, “Puttin’ on a show for your man over there.”

When you turn your head Tommy is exactly how he usually is, filthy grin plastered on his face, fisting his cock as he watches you take your pleasure from his brother. It makes you feel powerful as you rock your hips, feeling Joel’s cock work inside your pussy as he watches you.

“It’s a fuckin’ great show too.” Tommy groans as he works himself in his hand.

You bring your attention back to Joel, palms placed on his chest as you start fucking yourself on him. His hands are on your hips, but instead of the bruising grip they used to hold you in, now he’s softer, gentler with you as he guides your hips in movements that have you both moaning each other’s names.

“Feels so good Joel,” You choke out, leaning as far forward as you can with your pregnant belly, trailing kisses along his jaw, “Missed this.”

When you finally lean back, hands on Joel’s knee’s which he’s brought up to rest behind you, feet planted on the bed so he can finally start thrusting up into your aching cunt, you know it won’t be long until you’re seeing stars again. Joel brings his hand to your pussy, thumb rubbing tight circles across your clit.

“Missed you too, pretty girl,” He groans, hips faltering as he thrusts up into you, he’s close too, “Missed feeling this pretty pussy clench around me when you’re gonna come for me.”

“Don’t stop,” You breathe, “I’m so fucking close Joel.”

He does exactly what you ask, keeps a steady rhythm of thrusts into your pussy, his hand working at your clit. You take a moment to look at Tommy, who gives you a wink as you watch him, eyes on him as he comes, covering his lower belly and his hand with his spend as he continues to watch you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” Joel growls, bringing your attention back down to him, “Come for me.”

You can feel the walls of your tight heat fluttering around his cock as you start to come around him. You hold yourself up with your hands on his knees as your vision blurs and pleasure spools its way across your body. You’re crying out his name as you feel him still inside you, the warmth of his spend seeping into you as he groans your name. Filling you right to the brim like he’d always done before, gripping your hips to keep you in place as your walls continued to flutter around him through your aftershocks.

Once he’s sure you’re both finished, Joel helps you to lie down on the bed, pulling you off him and settling you on your back. You can hear Tommy at the other side of the room, doing his jeans up before he’s padding out of the room and down the stairs.

“Are you alright?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear as he lets himself take a moment alone with you, hand resting on your stomach as the baby inside you wriggles around.

“I’m fine,” You sigh, turning to look at him, he’s so close, his hand warm and protective on your swollen belly, “Thank you.”

“None of that, pretty girl,” He can see the tears forming in your eyes, he takes your chin in his fingers, tilting your face just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips, “No more tears.”

You bring your hand to his face, pulling him back down for another kiss, soft and over far too quickly, pulling away just as Tommy starts back up the stairs. By the time he’s in the room with a glass of water and the tablets you were taking to keep your heartburn at bay, Joel is already pulling on his clothes. You’re standing up, aiming to pick your robe up from the floor, but Joel beats you to it – handing you the silk material before bending to pick up his shirt.

When he’s dressed, it’s the same as always, you both press kisses to each other’s cheeks and say goodbye. Tommy walks him downstairs, and you can hear them talking a little as you head to the bathroom. If there’s one thing you weren’t risking, it was a UTI whilst pregnant. As you’re washing your hands you can hear the front door close, and the sound of Tommy’s footsteps back on the stairs.

You meet him outside the bedroom door, shedding his clothes as you do the same. It takes you a while to find a position you’re comfortable enough in to consider sleeping – led on your back with Tommy’s hand firmly on your stomach as is had been since the very beginning, his head on the pillow next to yours.

“Thank you,” You say into the darkness, “For trusting us.”

Tommy takes a moment before he replies, “I know he makes you happy,” He kisses your cheek, “All I ever want is for you to be happy.”

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joeys-babe · 17 days

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Joey B Blurbs: Boyfriend

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Summary: You prank Joe by calling him your boyfriend instead of your husband.

Warnings: Unserious/funny, pranks!

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Imagine Universe: Into the Mystic

A/N: Part 2 of blurb night!

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April 4, 2024

I was cuddled up on the couch, relaxed by the rain hitting the roof, and the twins played in their playroom while I watched TV.

Joe had left early this morning to go workout, and his mood seemed positive since he was able to start throwing again recently. His happy demeanor was infectious because I couldn't be more prouder of him than I was now. He rehabbed like a man on a mission, and he was now seeing benefits from it.

I was still lying in bed when he gave me a quick peck before leaving. Joe then said bye to my bump, and he was off to the gym.

Since then, I have gotten the boys ready for the day, fixed breakfast, did some quick cleaning around the house, made some lunch, and talked to Robin over the phone about Joe’s injury status.

I caught a whiff of Joe’s scent off of the sweatshirt of his that I had on.

A pang of sadness crept up in my mind when I realized just how much I hated being away from Joe.

I always hated being away from Joe for extended periods, but pregnancy hadn't made that any better.

Before I get could too lost in my thoughts, my phone started vibrating on the coffee table.

My heart warmed when I picked up the phone and saw it was Joe calling.

“Hey, babe.” - you

“Hey, Mama. I'm almost home.” - Joe

“Okay… good.” - you

“Good? Everything okay?” - Joe

“Yeah, I just miss you a lot.” - you

“I only went to go work out, baby.” - Joe laughed

“I know, but I don't like being away from you. Neither does your daughter.” - you

Joe felt his heart flutter at that, his daughter. He was so ready to be a girl dad.

“I’ll cuddle with you both when I get home.” - Joe

“Sounds perfect. I'll see you soon, Daddy.” - you

There’s a few seconds of silence until Joe clears his throat and speaks up. I hadn't ever called Joe that, but I still didn't mean it sexually.

“What did you call me?” - Joe

“Daddy, you know, because we were talking about the baby and you're her daddy.” - you

Joe cleared his throat yet again, and when he began talking, I didn't miss how his voice had dropped an octave.

“Oh. I thought you meant it in another way. You've just never called me that unless you were referring to me for the twins.” - Joe

“You liked it, didn't you?” - you

The grin in my voice was evident, and Joe’s dirty chuckle sent a sizzle of heat down my spine.

“Yeah. I’ll admit that I did. Damn, your hormones have been raging lately.” - Joe

“You don't help, Mr. Sexy.” - you

“And you are testing my control, Mrs. Sexy.” - Joe

We continued going back and forth till Joe announced that he was turning onto our road. After quick I love you’s we hung up.

——

A minute later, Joe walked into the house with a big grin on his face.

“There’s my girl.” - Joe

“Hey, Joey.” - you

Joe went to climb onto the couch next to me, but I quickly stopped him.

“What?” - Joe

“Did you shower at the gym?” - you

“Yes, ma’am.” - Joe

“Okay, continue.” - you

He laughed before plopping down next to me and propping his feet up on the ottoman. I cuddled into Joe’s chest, and he snaked one of his hands under his my sweatshirt to put a big hand on my bump.

“Where are the boys?” - Joe

“They’ve been playing in the playroom. I just checked on them, and they were playing with their Hot Wheels.” - you

“Imma be right back.” - Joe

Joe pressed a kiss to my temple before getting up and heading to the boys' playroom.

A smile found its way onto my face when I heard Tyson and Miles cheering for their dad’s arrival home.

Joe would be gone for a few more minutes, and during that period, I realized Joe was due for another prank…

——

It was later that evening. Miles and Tyson were asleep, and I was in the kitchen, cleaning the rest of the kitchen up from dinner.

Joe was laying on the couch, waiting for me to come cuddle with him when I was done. Let the prank begin.

“Baby, come here.” - you

I heard the floorboards creak and soon, Joe’s tall frame was making an appearance beside me.

“What’s up?” - Joe

Setting my phone up on the counter, Joe side-eyed me when he saw that TikTok was pulled up.

“Why are you videoing?” - Joe

“It’s just an easy TikTok trend.” - you

“K.” - Joe mumbled

I clicked play on the video and Joe instinctively moved closer to me to where his body was pressed against mine.

“Hey, loves! There's a trend going around where you ask your boyfriend to touch his favorite parts of you, so I'm gonna do it with mine.” - you smiled

When I stepped to face Joe, he had a playful smile on his face and an eyebrow raised.

“What?” - you laughed

“I’m not your boyfriend.” - Joe

“Huh?” - you

“You called me your boyfriend. I'm not your boyfriend.” - Joe

I stared at him, trying to act dumbfounded, so Joe forged ahead.

“If I remember correctly, I put a pretty hefty ring on your finger and said vows to you in front of a hundred people. I haven't been just your boyfriend since January 30th, 2021. So… if you have a boyfriend, it isn't me, gotta be another man.” - Joe

“Joe…” - you laughed

“So who's your boyfriend?” - Joe

“I don't have one, it was a prank.” - you

“Yeah, that's what I thought, wifey.” - Joe grinned

“Calm down, hubby.” - you

————————————————————————-

Authors note: Next fic at 7:45

Request for this fic;

#joe burrow #bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joey b #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fan fic

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daycourtofficial · 7 months

Text

We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball

Summary: Nesta and Azriel are suspicious of you and Cassian spending so much time together.

It was unusual for Nesta to speak individually to Azriel. This might be the first time she’s ever sought him out to have a discussion, and frankly, it slightly terrified him.

She approached him, and after looking around for wandering ears, deeming it safe to speak, she asked “have you noticed something different between our mates?”

Azriel blinked. He had no idea what he expected Nesta to talk to him about, but it certainly wasn’t about you and Cassian.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” she huffs, clearly annoyed he doesn’t see what she does.

“We all spend an absurd amount of time together, Nesta,” he replies.

She rolls her eyes, “why she wants to be with you is beyond me, you insufferable bat. Okay, fine, maybe I’m making it up. Next time we’re all together at Rita’s, just pay attention to them.”

And so he did. He noticed you and Cassian conspiring over something, he just wasn’t sure what. You didn’t spend the whole time with Cassian, just whenever Azriel went to get you more drinks, you’d immediately start speaking to Cass and your conversation would conveniently end when Azriel returned.

He didn’t think anything nefarious was going on. You two had been mates for ages, before Cassian ever even met Nesta. You and Cassian had a friendship best described as siblings - honestly seeing his brother love you so much warmed his heart.

So he wasn’t worried you were doing anything scandalous with Cassian, but he knew when you were conspiring, and oh were you conspiring.

The next time Azriel gets up for drinks, he stops by Nesta and tells her, “they’re up to something. Let’s find out what.”

It didn’t take long for them to catch a hint that you and Cassian had plans. Two nights later, Cassian told Nesta that he had to drop his leathers off to get patched, and you told Azriel you were going to a cobbler to have your shoes fixed.

Nesta and Azriel met in the hallway after their respective mates had left. “She told me she had a cobbler to visit - at 9 PM.” Azriel knew you were much better at crafting lies than that - he likes to think you have a hard time lying to him. And you do.

“He muttered something about getting his leathers repatched.” Nesta scowled.

Azriel just stared at her, honestly shocked at this mission they’re embarking on.

A few minutes of silence pass. Nesta feels compelled to break it, unsure of what they’re waiting for, before a few shadows come back and dance slowly around Azriel’s ears.

“They’re on the roof.”

“Okay, put your hand here. Do it like this. No, you have to put your hips into it. OW! That was my foot!”

Azriel and Nesta crept up to the door to the rooftop - a flat area designed to entertain guests and occasionally watch Starfall. Hardly anyone used the rooftop during the year, especially not during the winter when it’s freezing up there.

Nesta and Azriel can hear you way before they see the two of you, sharing a quizical look when they hear you muttering explitives about your foot.

“Can you see anything?” Nesta whispers.

“No, we can peak around the corner though,” Azriel replies, starting to crouch to peer around the corner.

He and Nesta peer around the corner at the same time, the sight being even more surprising than if their mates were cheating on them.

“Are they..?” Nesta asks.

“Dancing.” Azriel says.

“She’s dancing, he’s doing… something. But it’s not dancing.”

They continue to watch the two of you for a while, amazed at your patience with teaching Cassian how to dance. You’re being exceptionally kind and patient with him, taking time to help him practice, despite the pleas from your toes to have him stop.

“She’s teaching him to dance, he’s never been good at formal dancing,” Azriel whispers to Nesta, an idea of why you’d be doing this forming in his mind.

“Cassian wants to know how to dance?” Nesta asks, confusion evident across her face. Azriel turns to look at her, amusement across his face, “Why do you think he’d want to learn to dance when he’s never been interested in doing more than dancing at Rita’s before?”

Realization dawns across her face, “he wants to dance with me.” She says quietly. She continues to stare at her mate, in awe of how incredibly sweet this gesture is, and a little upset that he went to you to teach him how to dance instead of her.

“Okay, I’m calling it. I’ve spun you around enough tonight. I want to go to bed.”

Cassian’s voice breaks Nesta train of thought. She grabs Azriel’s arm, almost making him fall over with how hard she’s trying to get them to move. “We need to go - he’d be devastated if we ruined his surprise.”

Nesta and Azriel hurry down the stairs, back down to the hallway where they met each other thirty minutes earlier.

“So, Nesta,” Azriel says, very amused at his brother’s surprise, “how do you feel about their little secret?”

Nesta sighs and says quietly, “that I have an incredibly thoughtful mate and I almost ruined his surprise due to some jealousy.”

“Good,” Azriel replies, “and that I have an incredibly kind mate who loves the two of you greatly.”

Azriel left Nesta to consider that, and when you returned to your shared room smelling briefly of Cassian, he chuckled to himself and offered to rub your feet while you two take a bath.

Azriel waits until Starfall, when Cassian takes Nesta on the dance floor for a while, looking pretty decent, to tell you, “hmm, someone looks like he’s finally figured out how to dance.”

Your eyes snap to his face, “He must have had a wonderful teacher.” Azriel’s mischievous smile tells you that he knows just who Cassian’s teacher was.

“I wonder if his teacher’s available to show me some moves,” he says, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer.

“I heard she’s booked for months. She’s very hard to get in to see,” you reply, placing your hand on his jaw.

“You think she’d make a special exception for me?” He says, giving you an incredibly pitiful look.

“I think I can get her to pencil you in,” you reply, grabbing his face and kissing him.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel #azriel fanfic #don’t mind me #just wanting to be besties with Cassian #unfortunately #not much azriel/you but I thought this was an adorable idea

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silv3rswirls · 1 month

Text

Hound

Summary: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end?

Warnings: serial killer/yandere jk, kidnapping, stalking, references to death, suggestive scenes, delusions, religious themes/trauma, minor description of sick/rotting bodies/animals, murder, reader goes on a weird little adventure with killer jk?? She dies at the end

Note: idk I kind of lost the original plot of this one and this is what it turned out to be. Please mind the warnings and as always, hope ya’ll like it. ALSO, I didn't have it in me to edit this, so mind that. I might come back to this

There’s something in the corner; watching. It’s been there so long, you couldn’t remember when it invited itself in. It’s starving and sickly, black fur clinging to bones and eyes droopy and white. You stopped feeding it a long time ago, but still, it lingers. In every facet of your life, it lingers. You’ve lived like this for so many years, have you always lived like this?

What time was it?

Your eyes shifted from their fixed position on the wall to the clock, passing over the thin, gold cross mounted just beside it. Your eyes strained to read it against your bedroom's dark wood panels and dim, ugly yellow light. Whatever time it was, you knew it was time to get out of bed and start dinner before your husband got home from work. You make your way to the kitchen, the house dims now that the sun has set. You avoid flicking many lights on, it’ll save money your husband insisted. You hated fumbling around a dark house but had given up arguing with him a long time ago.

You peek through the sheer curtains, the sink running and steaming water burning your hands as you finish that morning's dishes. It was dark, and windy as the tree in your front yard shook and branches brushed against the roof. It was the cusp of winter, very cold but snow hadn’t started to fall yet. The neighborhood was quiet, street lamps harsh against the dark backdrop of houses. You stare hard outside, it's there. Standing there, watching you. That sick dog, with hackles raised and tongue hanging from its mouth.

The curtains fall back into place as you turn the water off and dry your hands. You pass the phone, that’s been ringing for the past five minutes. You don’t answer because it's just your parents again, all they wanted was to guilt you into going to church with them on Sunday morning. They went every day, once upon a time you had gone as well, but now you could only stand to give them Sundays. Last week you had pretended to be sick to get out of it, your husband went along and you were sure he spent most of the day badmouthing and complaining about you not coming.

The last time you found yourself in a church you were standing at an altar listening to a man feed the room empty vows. You stood stiff, draped in satin, with eyes downcast. This is what everyone wanted; this is what you wanted. What a waste, as he fumbled the paper with his crudely written vows. What a waste of a man who couldn’t memorize a few short promises. What a waste of a man who couldn’t stand there and pretend to be in love with you, to dare to call himself righteous, the perfect match to keep their daughter in line with a faith you had stopped believing years ago.

You didn’t want to get married. You had stopped liking the fantasy of having a husband years ago, and around the same time, you began to feel a sour taste over your parents' religion. What happened to you? What happened to our beautiful girl? They would ask, more so plead with you for answers. Truthfully, you had stopped believing in god. It was restricting; days to weeks to months to years. It was always the same. The same scripture, the same ravings of the pastor that drove such fear of doing anything wrong into you, leaving holes in your body that oozed with guilt and shame; you didn’t know why.

You had begged god to save you, even after all the terrible things he must’ve seen you do. Still, on the morning of your wedding and every day after that, you begged. Knelt until your knees were raw and aching, your hands clasped so tight until your nails pricked your aching skin and drew blood. You begged, for something, anything, you weren’t even sure what anymore. But nothing ever changed. When would god find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

That night you refused to go inside, letting your feet go numb buried in snow in the backyard. Looking into the treeline, you’d rather be fed by the creatures lurking there than by some angry boy playing dog inside. You wanted to hurt him, for him to feel how you had the past year. He didn’t think you could, but you wanted to show him you would.

But when you looked down at your trembling hands, stiff and half frozen from the cold, you knew there was no way you could show him. How you felt and how you acted were two different things; forever separate as much as you wanted them to be the same. You could talk a big game, think about how so badly you wanted to hurt him, and that was all. It had to keep being enough.

Something in you wanted more, so much more. You could rest because of it. You had stopped fighting your parents now, you were hoping things could change. Maybe you’d find peace again, though you weren’t sure how. You grew weary, tired of hating god and resenting your parents. You wanted so badly to be separate from it all. To no longer have a feeling of guilt hounding you. To no longer hate the church and everyone in it, the teachings and echoes of preaching lingering in your mind. The years you lost there; lost to fear and manipulation. How you hadn’t been able to enjoy a single thing in your adolescence. How after your first kiss you had gone home and sobbed until throwing up. As you were on your knees cleaning it up, trying to hush your cries to not wake your parents, you closed your eyes and pleaded between gasps and hiccups for god not to hate you. How you trembled and sat there until your skin was rubbed raw against the carpet,

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and looking around the dark living room from the kitchen. You felt like you could see it; that creature lying on the sofa staring at you. Mouth parted, teeth pointed, its soul-bearing into your own. You turned away with the familiar feeling of guilt washing over your body. Your gaze rested on the floor, but the faint outline of shoes made your brow furrow; your husband wasn’t due home for another hour. Very slowly you pick your gaze up to see the man standing in the hall. Faint light from the open backdoor pooled in behind him. You stared at the young man longer than probably should have. Maybe you should've screamed sooner and ran before he got that close to you but you had frozen in place.

Break-ins didn’t happen around your neighborhood, let alone kidnappings.

What horrible luck that you’d be the first?

What had you done? What had you done to deserve this?

He carried you out of your house, but still, you couldn’t bring it in you to scream for help. You wondered deep down if anyone would help you. He puts you in the back of his car and drives, the windows down and bitter cold pouring in. You’re lying in the backseat, wrists bound tight. He’d been eerily silent through this whole ordeal.

“How come you haven’t begged me not to kill you yet?” He asked, looking back at you. His voice came jumbling from his mouth fast, a bit irritated. Like he had been frustrated with your lack of struggle.

“Were you going to kill me?” Your skin crawls with goosebumps from the cold.

He pauses and stares at you, “Do you want me to kill you?” He turns back to watch the road, neither of you answering his question. A long stretch of silence follows, he doesn’t look at you again, not even a glance from the mirror. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’m going to give you what you want, and then I’m going to kill you.”

You’re throat dries and your face pales. “You don’t know what I want.” Watching you? You felt an uneasiness come over you as you thought back to what you had done the past few weeks. Nothing to be honest. You had barely left the house. You imagined him peeking through windows, hiding in the yard, and watching you collect groceries and throw the trash away. Had he been in your house before? You look at him, he didn’t seem familiar at all. You’d never seen him around before.

He dragged you from the car, you didn’t struggle but you remained limp, dead weight for him as he covered your eyes and drug you inside. When inside you feel his boot on you, pressing into your shoulder. Pressing into you, your eyes trail over the shine of leather and then up to him. He was standing above you. Taller, stronger, better than you; that's what he wanted right? You’d stare at him, was this what you wanted?

The house was messy, recently abandoned you assumed. It was clear he had been holding up here for a while. He shoved you on the ground, circling around you as you looked up at him. “What are you going to do?” You ask.

“Gonna kill you.” He admitted earnestly. “I know you, I’ve been watching you for a long time- really, I’m just helping you.”

Was he your savior? Was he doing you a favor? Would he do to you what you had never been brave enough to do yourself? Is this what you truly were? An animal built to serve? To be depraved, to crawl across glass and pour blood for someone like him?

“But I…I don’t want to die.” He gives you this pitiful look; his lips pout and his eyes soften for a moment. As if telling you you didn’t know what you were talking about, and how pitiful it was you couldn’t accept it. “What’s your name?” You ask, feeling silly for being hopeful you might be able to get any information out of him. “Jungkook.” You lower your head, wondering if trying to collect any information for authorities was even worth it. Everything about this man was intimidating. He was larger and stronger, it didn’t matter if you fought or not he could drag you around like a ragdoll all he wanted.

Jungkook gets up and walks around the living room, rummaging through piles of what you assumed were his things. “I’ve been watching you for over a year now.” He admits, “Since you went on vacation for your friend's birthday. You were so drunk at that bar, I was going to kill you then, but something told me not to.” He turns back to you with a small bound notebook in hand. “So I followed you back here and got to know you more. Imagine my shock when I realized you were getting married. Was that trip your last night of freedom, is that why you got so messy?” You stare up at him, unsure of what to say. Yes, it was your last night. You came home and your parents pushed you into marriage sooner because of it. He hands you to the notebook, urging you to open it. “I’ve been watching you since. Your life turned out to be so interesting, I couldn’t just kill you after everything.”

You flip through the pages slowly. Pictures of you and your family. Pictures of you at the altar. Scribbled paragraphs about things he heard others say about you, quotes of things you were sure you had said. Notes and bullet points of every piece of information he got. “So, what do you want to do first?”

“Can I take a bath?” You ask, mind going a bit blank and voice flat as you set the notebook down and try to take it all in.

He let you. The water was hot and steaming when he pushed you in and closed the door. No windows, no way to get out. You settle into the water, the sweat from stress and anxiety washing off as you try and fail to relax. Could you be forgiven for things not of your control? You sink further into the water. You could hear him outside in the hall pacing. His steps were heavy and loud, ringing in your ears as you stared up at the night, fluorescent bathroom light. They did this to you, they all did this to you. Why were you being punished? Why had Jungkook laid eyes on the most pitiful woman in town and decided it was to be her? You thought about your wedding day, and your husband back home. Maybe if you had just settled, stayed with them, and did your duty as a wife Jungkook wouldn’t have stumbled into your life. Yes. you should have wanted less, you decide. Because it seems Jungkook was ready to give it all to you.

You raise your hands out of the water, the deep imprints of the zip ties he had kept you bound with were still there. Angry and a pale red color. The bathwater around you, swirling unpleasantly around you. The hot, humid air inside the bathroom, the hum of the lights, and the moths flying around them.

You felt rotten like your teeth were falling out, hanging just barely to your gums. Truly, you felt disgusting.

Jungkook is in the hall waiting when you finally get out. You looked up at him and saw nothing. No starving dog trying to pretend. No confusion, or games, or lies. He knew what he wanted to be and he was exactly that. He wasn’t lying, pretending, or trying to make you believe his actions were right. He said it outright; he wanted to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“I want my wedding dress” you slowly say.

“You don’t like the one you wore at your wedding, you cried the day you tried it on.” Jungkook glances at you, watching you silently agree with him.

“So you won't get it for me?”

“Don’t you want more?” He asks, “I’ll get you a new dress, whatever one you want.”

Jungkook stares at you the same way the beast that lingered in the corners of your house did. An eager stare, unrelenting, you couldn’t move out of its sight. “I just want that dress.” You repeat, clasping your hands together and pursing your lips, “You said I could have whatever I wanted…”

A smile stretched his lips, “I’ll get it for you.”

You lay down on the floor of the backseat of the car. Your hands are zip-tied again, and you can’t see Jungkook from your position. What an odd turn of events to say the least…you had fully expected to die the moment he dragged you out of the car and into that house, but now you could see faint glimpses of familiar landmarks leading to your neighborhood from what you can make out from the window. You think about the day of your wedding, and the events that even led up to your parents making a match for you and pushing for it so hard. Despite how vocal you had been about your unhappiness with everything about your childhood, how much you never wanted to step food into their church again; they held a firm belief that you’d come crawling back. If they shamed and argued and pushed enough you’d come back.

For as much hate you felt, twice the amount of guilt weighed you down. After a while, it all became so hopeless. It was exhausting. It made you sick, you couldn’t do anything without guilt nipping your heels, chasing you down until you drowned in it. You couldn’t live, so you came home. Let them talk you into marriage because it would fix everything, they insisted. You just needed a husband, the stability of it, someone to care about other than yourself. Have a few kids and you’ll start walking the right path again.

You waited, but it never came. You never felt better about any of your choices. Deep down you had known you wouldn’t, but you had spent so much of your life blind. Going back to it didn’t help, it wasn’t even familiar anymore. Nothing ever changed. When will God find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

You weren’t even sure why you wanted that stupid dress. You weren’t sure if you cared what happened to you, or feared what Jungkook was going to do. Maybe it is comforting, in a weird way. No one paid attention to you, no one bothered with you. They wouldn’t until you changed, and deep down you didn’t want to change. But outside of your life now you had no idea what you would do. You never had higher dreams than staying local and marrying within your church growing up. You didn’t even attend college. You never aspired for more, now it felt like it was too late. Jungkook was talking to you from the driver's seat but you couldn’t hear him. Too enveloped in your head to focus on him, he was spouting things he had found about you the last year or so. How he’d never felt a need to stalk the people went after before, let alone this in depth. It was “life-altering” and you were going to be special to him.

The car stops and you feel a weight on your body; the canine-like creature is standing over you. Paws pressing to your stomach and legs, its breath hot, its ears perked up as Jungkook gets out of the car. You feel an immense guilt weighted on you and you consider stopping Jungkook and telling him to just leave and kill you.

You didn’t want this. You did want this. You weren’t sure. Your husband was home, he wasn’t going to just let Jungkook in to take what he wanted.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity until he came back, opening the back door and pulling you out of the car. It’s still dark out, chilly, and unmoving as he hooks his arms under yours and drags you back inside. He sits you down in the entryway and locks the door. You look around. “Where’s-”

“Don’t worry about him.” Jungkook shows your husband's wedding band now on his hand. “Come one” he scoffs, “you knew what I was going to do.”

You stare at him, glance and the very faint outline of the body on your kitchen floor. Had you known? You feel a bit sick, deep down you had hoped for it. He leaves you there to find the wedding dress. Jungkook smiles at you one more time before going towards the back bedroom.

When Jungkook saw you, he had every intention of following you out of that bar to kill you. It was his typical hunting ground. Every few months when the desire struck him again he would wait patiently for the right girl to cross his path. You were hard to ignore that night; annoying, he had half a mind to kill you just to shut you up. But when he followed you outside, watching you slump against the wall and fiddle with your phone he took a moment to watch. Turning away and nursing a cigarette on the opposite side of the entryway.

The way you sniffled and cried on the phone with your mom, asking if there was any other way than to get married. You were too drunk to give him a coherent story of what you were going through, but apparently, you just hated the dress and the groom so much. He crept closer as you hung up, making some lighthearted comment about how rough you looked, and offered you a cigarette.

You talked a bit more about your ass of a fiance and how you felt like you had no other options anymore. He asked where you were from and you told him. He left you there once your friend found you and would see you again a month later. He’d been crammed in his car for days, a map of the town and surrounding forests resting on his steering wheel as he scribbled out the last few leads he had gotten on where exactly you lived. he looked up and there you were, walking with a group of older women into a boutique down the street, exiting with a pretty wrapped box a bit later. He followed you home, and everywhere after that. Watched you walk down the aisle, the wedding open to all members of the church, and allowing him to walk right in. he watched you go home and cry in the backyard, watched you talk your dress off through the window, watched your husband fuck you for the first time. He watched you sit restless every day after that.

Jungkook found your dress backed away in that same ornate gift box on the top shelf of your closet. He smiled and smoothed a hand over the box. All he knew was that he wanted you, wanted to make you happy, and then he wanted to kill you. Put you out of your misery. You’d be better off, he told himself. Clearly, you needed to be saved, so he’d kill for a better reason this time.

You were crying when he came back. Looking up at him with red, water eyes and pressing your lips together to try and keep quiet. Jungkook set the box beside you, kneeling in front of you and tilting his head. But all you can see before you is that beast, sitting with flattened ears and tongue hanging from between rotting teeth. Staring at you with those eyes, like they were reflecting everything upsetting right back to you.

“All this guilt, there’s no use feeling it.”

“I can’t help it.” You choke out. “I can’t stop it, I see it- feel it everywhere.” You rubbed your eyes, looking at Jungkook and trying to stop your trembling bottom lip.

“Crying won’t won’t make things different. Just because you’re guilty won’t make this better. Your guilt won’t purify you.” He clicks his tongue, reaching to push your hair out of your face. “You wanted me to kill your husband, and that’s okay.”

“Thank god, the psycho thinks everything is alright. How comforting.” You weep.

“Stop holding back, come on. You want things to change, doesn’t matter how they change right? You hated him, I heard you say it myself so many times. Say it.”

“I wanted him to die.” You admit quietly. Something in you wanted this to happen. Asking Jungkook to come back here, a part of you knew the possibility. “It’s just not fair. It's not fair. I’ve done nothing but what I’m supposed to do. My whole life, I’ve been trying so hard my whole life to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t understand. Everything was supposed to be better, but I hated him. I hated him so much. Then you got here and I…I just wanted to feel all the pain that he’s caused, but I can’t even stomach it. I wanna be cruel, don’t I deserve to? I can’t stop crying though.”

Jungkook coos, pulling you into the chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s why I’m here, I want you to let go, want you to just do what you want. I watch you every day. You’re so miserable, it’s so weird. I felt bad for you.” Jungkook muses, “I’m here for you now baby, we only have a few hours left though.”

“Can I put the dress on?” Your voice was low and tired. Jungkook nodded, shifting over to take the box's lid off and peel back the tissue paper wrapped around your wedding dress. He takes it out, unraveling it carefully as you watch.

Your wedding had been a disaster. You cried through most of it, though no one seemed to care at the time. Your late husband was glad just to have a woman to take home. He wasn’t romantic at all, nothing about him attracted you to him. He was one of the slimier men you had come across in your time in the congregation. He interpreted things how he wanted to, and often reminded you of all the things in your life you had done wrong and had yet to be forgiven for. This was the man your parents hoped to whip you back into shape. It worked in a sense, you supposed. You had been forced to settle. Your hate faded each dull day that passed, you grew weary and unhappier.

The dress was modest. Long-sleeved, high neckline, mane with heavy ugly satin. You put it on there in the hall, feeling too numb to worry about any shame you had in front of Jungkook anymore. He zipped it up for you. Jungkook was kneeling, fixing the skirt, and letting it fluff out. He smooths it down and looks up at you. Despite the heavy eyes and tear-stricken face he smiled, “You look pretty.”

No one told you that on your wedding day, no one told you that the day your mother chose the dress for you. You smiled, feeling a small ounce of joy for the first time tonight. “What do you want to do now?”

You ignore his question, “Is that why you’re doing all of this, are you obsessed with me or something?”

“I guess in some sick way I am.” He wanted to kill you, but at the same time, you were the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time. Something about the repressed guilt and how you teetered on the edge of breaking completely just got him he supposed. “I watched you the night of your wedding, you were so perfect. Everything was perfect until he came in.” He scowls at the thought, “It’s a shame.”

“Do you want to…” you trailed off, your voice a bit nervous.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch, he's playing with the trim of your skirt. “I do” he murmured, “I’ve thought about you every night since I met you” He raves, “you’re the only one- why? Why do you make me so crazy?” He asks, brushing off any answer you try to give him. “Want you, need you” He breathed, the fabric of your wedding dress bunching up as he pulled at it.

“I can’t-” you grabbed at his hands. You could feel it, the guilt creeping in. Your eyes land on your wedding ring. Torn with morbid want and a last shred of gut-wrenching guilt, you looked into his eyes. Tempting dark pools stare back at you he grabs at your hand. “We’ve come so far already, don’t stop now. Besides” he makes it a point to flash your late husband's wedding band. “I’m your husband now.” you flush, the words twisting in your ears are wrong; everything about tonight was wrong. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“I know you think I’m attractive” he pushes through the layers of the dress, his hands cold as he rests them on your thighs. “It’s so wrong of you baby” he purrs, “you know I’m gonna kill you, but you want me don’t you?”

“I know” you whimper, chest heaving as you watch him. His fingers trace against your skin, his hand moving between your legs.

“When’s the last time your husband touched you?” He asks, “This is what you want, right? You want someone to want you?”

Your fingers twist in his hair, gripping tight as if you were about to fall. Your legs trembled under the weight of guilt and need over what was happening. He was right though, it had been a long time since you felt wanted at all. The moment you had sex the first time those years ago, you knew no one would want you. Not in the church, not here. Impure, a whore. Your mother had even said it when you sobbed and told her.

Your back arches, your thighs tremble, and you let your grip on his hair loosen. You fear toppling over, your breathing a bit ragged. You felt his lips trace your inner thigh, leaving half-hearted kisses and sinking his teeth into your skin.

“You look so pretty in your dress.” Jungkook reappears, kneeling before you a minute longer. Fixing the skirt of the dress, smoothing the fabric down then reaching for your hand. He traces the wedding ring a few times.

“Where do you want me to do it?” Jungkook’s question falls on deaf ears. You’re sitting in the passenger side of his car, still wearing a dress and still trying to steady your pounding heart.

Where did you want to die?

Did you want to die?

You were scared of living as much as dying; but was there anything left for you anyways?

Jungkook you supposed, there was a weird want for him. Maybe it was messed up, he was into you. He took all this time to watch you and wanted you to be happy before you died. You weren’t sure if you were happy.

Before you got out of high school the town church moved to a new building. A bigger, newer, and nicer one. The old one was small, typical of what you would imagine a small, secluded town’s church would look like. He took you there, unprompted. It was fitting maybe. You walked in front of him and listened to Jungkook load the gun and mutter under his breath. Once inside you stand in place, waiting for him to turn and shoot. You look around the familiar space, your stomach turning, memories of the past playing in your mind.

The cross mounted above you is entrancing, draped in sheer black fabric, and its shadowy outline is stark against the moon's light. Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook, who seems to have caught onto your staring and also happens to stand before you draped in the moonlight.

Your last moments would be here. Everything around you felt distorted, and unreal as you looked around another time.

Staining his hands red and tearing into something clean was all he was. All he wanted. You were both ugly in a sense, he was just more open about it. You look up at him. It’s scary now. You had known what was going to happen from the moment he took you. You knew. You knew he wouldn’t give you a happy ending, only give you a temporary release from everything. He killed your husband, it made you happy. He let you prance around in a wedding dress and pretend one last time you could do it all again. He played well with you, you had been able to push aside the dark truth of your situation for a time. But now he was standing before you, reveling in some kind of glory of it all. Did glory taste different to him? You couldn’t imagine- but was letting him kill that man no different than this? In a way, you had killed your husband, was this all some kind of long, drawn-out punishment for that? For lifelong confusion and defiance?

You hoped someone would find you when you were. Find your carcass and see, understand that you had been, still were, always being ripped open. Torn to pieces and dragged to muddy waters, you hoped they’d know you hadn’t been scared, maybe even welcomed it. Let them know this was love; in some twisted way. Love from Jungkook, or god sending him your way. You stopped believing in god a long time ago, grappled with it for so long, but you hoped he had loved you; at least once. Make the struggle worth it, prove you wrong. Or maybe it was love from yourself for closing your eyes and accepting it.

Please, let this be love. Let your body be stained with love for once.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

#bts x reader #bts imagine #yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook imagine

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iceandpeaches · 2 months

Text

mess it up; luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x ares kid!reader

a/n: i didn’t want to make the stereotypical ares kid… inspired by the mess it up

luke had no idea how your relationship had took a turn for the worse. luke was doing all he could to save your relationship, but it seemed like you didn’t care. every time he tried fixing things, you’d dismiss his requests and struggle out of his grip. it’s not like you were miserable, he’s seen you laugh and smile amongst your siblings. why were you shutting him out? what was he doing wrong? why was he the exception? luke had had enough of it, but he loved you. he wanted to only love you, you were his achilles heel. he didn’t know what he’d do without you.

he finally brought himself to confess how he felt. he knocked at the door of the ares cabin, revealing one of your siblings behind it. you heard your name being called, so you made your way to the entrance.

“luke! uh, can i help you?”

“y/n. we need to talk.”

there were ‘oooh’s heard all over the interior of the cabin, which caused luke’s insecurity to sky rocket. did every single of her siblings know about this? he hated himself for even showing up at your cabin to come find you. he heard you click your tongue, a habit of yours when you were annoyed. he let his chest rise and fall deeply, gathering his thoughts so he’d be able to confront you. you sat by the lake, luke fidgeting with the gravel that surrounded you both.

“how can i fix us?”

“fix.. us?”

“our relationship, y/n. why aren’t you talking to me? why do you make it seem like i don’t exist? why do you laugh with others and not with me? what’s so sickening about me that you hate so much?”

“stop messing things up, luke.”

your tone sent shivers down luke’s spine, his eyes welled up with tears. he chewed on the inside of his lip, desperately wondering why you were treating you this way. did he not deserve you? was he the problem?

“mess things up?”

‘“you’re too.. clingy. you do too much. everytime you come too close, you just mess things up. it’s embarrassing. you look for me everywhere, even after i told you i wanted to keep things secret. you’re out of line.”

“for calling you? asking you how you’ve been? i ask because i actually love you, y/n.”

“luke, no.”

“y/n..”

he gently reaches out for your arm, you moving yours away. you got up from where you were seated, starting to walk away hearing him plead for you to stay. he wanted answers, he wanted to know what in tartarus he was doing wrong.

“no luke.”

”let me back in, y/n. please take me back. i can make it better, i promise.”

“and what.. break every habit?”

luke was getting frustrated and anxious, watching as you quickened your pace to get away from him. after he finally caught up to you he grabbed your arm, you forcefully pulling off from him.

“get away from me! we’re done.”

you yelled, towering over luke who had just landed back first into the gravel. his hands stung, maybe due to the fact the gravel scraped his palms. campers around them watched as the golden boy of camp sat in the gravel looking distraught, with the angry ares girl dominating over him. it was embarrassing for him, more embarrassing for you.

you stormed off, knocking in everyone in your way. your temper was through the roof, your fists clenched due to the rage that filled your body. a common trait for ares kids.

luke was left sitting in the gravel, his eyes filled with tears. there was no use in trying anymore. everytime he had claimed to be alright, he was lying. how could he think that all he gave would’ve been enough for you? because in the end, everytime he got close, he just messed things up.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan angst #charlie bushnell #peach's fics

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azrielslightintheshadows · 5 months

Text

Princess

Azriel x f!Reader.

One of the series I’m currently working on. Enjoy!

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse, trauma and death.

Masterlist.

Princess Masterlist.

Chapter 4

Now you know. The shadows whispered in your ear and disappeared.

You didn’t know why they showed you this, it felt like invading Azriel’s privacy. Your heart broke as the image of the boy resurfaced, so young and thin. You shook your head and walked to the bathroom to wash yourself, the house had already changed the sheets.

After fixing yourself as much as you could you walked to the dining room and found Cassian, Nesta and Azriel there, they all looked at you when you entered, and Cassian smiled.

“Good morning” he said and turned back to his food.

“Good morning” you smiled and took a seat next to Azriel. You didn’t know why but you felt the need to be close to him, you couldn’t remember what happened last night, the only memory you had was walking into a bar and then Azriel placing you on the bed and leaving. Maybe it was the nightmare that made you feel this way. Azriel was surprised too yet he didn’t say anything nor moved away.

A plate of food appeared in front of you and you started eating.

“So y/n would you like to join us for training?” Nesta asked and you almost gasped, you didn’t expect her to be nice to you.

“I don’t want to be a burden, I have never fought in my life… I will just hold you back” you replied, your voice soft. Nesta snorted and shook her head.

“Nonsense, I hadn’t fought a day in my life when I started training too. At least come and watch and then you can make your decision” she shrugged.

“Okay” you nodded.

You glanced at Azriel who had an approving look on his face and instantly you felt proud of yourself.

After breakfast you went into your room and Nesta followed you. “Listen… I don’t really like you, we’ve all been through a lot and your appearance here is mocking us. You will never be able to understand the sacrifices we made and our trauma but as a female its my duty to help you become strong, confident and independent. Take the opportunity, you won’t regret it.”

You didn’t know how to feel about her statement, you admired her. Most females on your circle tried to destroy the others, it was one of the most successful ways to eliminate the threat and get married first. Nesta could see the gears in your head turning and that was enough for her, so she continued. “Lets find some proper clothes for training.”

She opened your closet and snorted when she saw the pink dress you wore the first day. “You should burn that thing, it’s hideous” she made a gagging noise and continued her search. You frowned and your mind went back to the day you bought it. That dress saved your life and even though it was ugly, it grounded you, it is the only thing that reminds you the past.

“I think these are okay” she said and threw a pair of leggings and a top on your bed. “Get dressed and come find us at the roof” and with that she left.

You picked the clothes and tried them on. The top reached your belly button and you felt exposed, your whole silhouette was on display, and you blushed as you saw yourself. Come on, everyone here wears this type of clothes. You can do this. You told yourself and with a deep shaky breath you left the room, hurrying off to the roof.

Cassian, Nesta, Azriel and two females were already there. The females had formed a line and Cassian stood in front of them, demonstrating some moves and then watching them repeat them, correcting them when needed. Azriel was behind the females correcting their stance and sometimes kicking their legs, making them lose balance.

“You should always be aware of your surroundings. Get up and correct your stance. Now.” He barked and moved to the next one.

Everything looked scary and painful, making you shiver. You gathered all your courage and walked outside, taking a seat on the bench in front of them.

“Hello y/n” Cassian smiled and moved to the side so you could see better. You waved at him, and your eyes fell on Azriel. He stood frozen behind the line, his eyes scanning your body. He licked his bottom lip and turned his attention to the females.

Your face burned and you made a mental note to dress like that more often. Then you frowned. He hates you and you should hate him too for the way he is treating you. Stop this. You reprimanded yourself and focused on the females.

They were moving with such grace, you felt like you were watching a choreography, their braids flowing around with every move they made, their muscles flexing their faces turning cold and then soft with a smile as Cassian shouted praises. You felt hypnotized and wondered if you could ever look this elegant with sweat running down your body. You thought about the females you used to admire, all living inside their pink bubble, only caring about their looks and lifestyle. The most successful female of your village had locked her sister in a cell when one lord visited their small cottage, so she didn’t have to compete. She managed to wed him but at a great cost. Her younger sister was afraid of the dark, when she threw her into the cell, she went mad and started banging her body on the wall, she cracked her skull and died. The older sister didn’t even cry and she pushed the funeral a few weeks later so she could prepare her wedding. Her sister’s body rotted in that cell, and she didn’t even care.

You glanced at the females here, they looked elegant and strong and successful. They didn’t care about males, they only cared about themselves. The looks they sent you filled with hope and encouragement in addition to what Nesta said earlier made your heart swell. They didn’t see each other as competition. No. They cared about other females, they wanted to help. You could fit here. These were the females you should admire, the females you could have as your role models and the thought made you smile, determination filling your body and making your blood boil. You got up and hurried off to your room, you opened the closet and picked the pink dress. You walked back outside and stared at Nesta. She stared back a smirk appearing on her face as she hurried off and came back outside with a candle in her hand. She offered it to you, and you threw the dress on the ground, lighting it up on fire and watching it burn. Nesta looked at you with pride and she clapped.

“Welcome to the real world princess” she smiled.

You glanced around and noticed the other females, they were clapping too, Cassian let out a low whistle and Azriel grinned. Your heart melted and you let out a giggle, your eyes filling with tears as you whispered, “Thank you”.

You weren’t thanking them for their applause, you were thanking them for supporting you, for opening your eyes and showing you that its okay to be strong and independent. And as you stood on that roof, proud of yourself and ready to take the wheel of your life, your gaze fell onto Azriel, and the bond snapped.

Your smile turned into a frown and your whole body shuddered. No, no, no. I just decided to take control of my life, I can’t be bound to a male. You thought and stared at him wide-eyed. Azriel noticed your expression and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” Nesta asked.

“Yes, just lost in the emotion.” You smiled.

“Okay I think we had enough for today. Tomorrow we will start our training at the same time, I’m guessing you will be joining us y/n” Cassian boomed. You nodded and smiled.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You were in your room, trying to do the moves you saw them doing earlier, you wanted to be prepared for training tomorrow. You were interrupted by a knock on your door, you could feel Azriel through the bond, so you stayed silent hoping he would go away.

“I know you’re in there” he shouted. You sat on your bed without replying. One of his shadows slithered down the door and shoot up, turning the lock and opening the door. You cursed under your breath and got up.

Azriel strolled into the room with a soft expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, everything is fine” you replied. “Fine my ass” he snarled “you felt it snap”.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you whispered taking a step back. The cold expression returned on his face as he growled;

“Fine, its better this way. The Cauldron was wrong, I can’t have a weak female in my life. I showed you the city like Rhysand asked now don’t fucking come near me again unless its during training” the way his tone changed when he said training made shivers run down your spine. His voice was filled with painful promises and as he left your room you couldn’t help but notice the sadistic grin that appeared on his face.

Your heart skipped a beat and fear mixed with excitement filled your senses, the sting of his words long forgotten as you thought about training with him. You wouldn't let him treat you like that again, if you could manage that then you could do everything. I'm going to blow your mind shadowsinger. You thought and smirked.

I hope you enjoy this part, from now on the series will focus on female power so if you are here just for romance you shouldn't waste your time on this.

@glitterypirateduck , @zara-aliza08 , @mika-no-sekai-blog , @purpleshoelaces , @act1839 , @fasoaurore , @pinksmellslikelove , @bunnyredgirl , @lectoracronica , @tuggboatfishin , @sunnysideup000 , @blessthepizzaman , @universevsd , @raisinggray , @ssmay123 , @kalulakunundrum , @justasillylittlegoofyguy , @tsunami-of-tears , @just-a-social-casualty-1 , @thelov3lybookworm

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heliads · 10 months

Text

Ink Stains

Moving from Amity to Dauntless was quite the lifestyle change. Still, nothing rocks your boat more than meeting Eric Coulter for the first time, especially when he seems to like you more than he should.

masterlist

Creativity does not flourish much in Dauntless, nor art for that matter. It is strange, then, that you, so fully borne of both, would choose this bloody faction as opposed to any other. Your birth faction, Amity, is better suited to your temperament and interests, but you had hardly realized that when you underwent the Choosing Ceremony. All of us must leave our homes when we grow up, and only very few can return.

Dauntless seemed like the furthest place you could run, so of course that was the one you chose. You missed it later, only after loathing it, blaming it for your troubles, and finally admitting that it might have been a good home to you, but only after far too long.

Sometimes, you think that’s why the city decided to force its inhabitants to choose their home faction when they’re so young. At that age, all you want to do is escape, so you pick something strange and foreign, a faction that your family would hate so you could fight back against them. When the dust clears and you realize that the past was not so terrible after all, you are in the middle of a strange place with no way of returning, so you have no choice but to fight to stay there.

It would instill a truly fascinating sense of dedication in its transfers, to say the least. Or perhaps no one is like that at all, and it is just that you have made a mistake with no way to fix it. Maybe you should have stayed in Amity after all, been content with familiar nothingness and learned to fake your smiles at least as well as your mother, or save your anger for when no one can see it, like your father.

You don’t think you were meant for Amity, though, not really. It vexed you to no end, the simplicity of it all. You did enjoy the painting, the artists that sprung up in every corner, common as dandelions, but that wasn’t the end of it. The rules were chafing yet vague, the expectations ever-changing. It should have come as no surprise that you would leave.

Besides, you did well in Dauntless initiation, to the great surprise of just about everyone there. They saw your brightly colored clothes when you leapt from the roof, but soon enough you blended in with the lot of them and people would double take when you told them you hadn’t been born in Dauntless proper. The thought that you could be from Amity of all places was insane, and had it not been for the fact that you still remember the waving gold of the fields, the high flying birds that soared above your head, you would have believed it as little as your new friends.

Despite your best attempts to immediately separate yourself from your former faction, you couldn’t shake the memories completely. That’s why you didn’t shoot for one of the top jobs or security positions. Those were snapped up by the really good kids, the ones who aren’t just not carefree but genuinely heartless.

You ended up taking a position among the ranks of tattoo artists and quickly soared to the top. Amity had taught you clarity and control in your art, and soon you were known for your original designs. More often than not, Dauntless looking for a new pattern would ask you to draw something directly as opposed to just using one of the countless templates already printed out.

It gives them a sense of originality, for one thing. No one tattoo is ever the same when it comes to your works. It saves members of the faction from the embarrassing experience of showing off a new tattoo just to see the guy across from you roll up his sleeve to reveal the exact same thing.

Soon enough, your name has spread far and wide across Dauntless, and you get more and more customers by the day. That’s how you know that you ended up choosing the right faction and way of life after all, and it’s also how you meet Eric Coulter for the first time.

Eric is somewhat of a mixed bag. He only graduated from initiation a year or so before you, so he didn’t lead your training when you first joined the faction. You’ve heard he’s a total killer, both in the fighting ring and at every other moment of the day, so you were more than a little uneasy when he first darkened the door of your shop.

You’re not really sure what you expected when he showed up in the beginning. That he’d yell at you, maybe, like you’d heard in whispers. Apparently he’d go off on anyone if he felt the need– someone taking the wrong water glass in the mess hall, or an idiot trainee who didn’t get ready in time– or he could have just been there to complain about some failed regulation you didn’t know about.

Instead, he was nice, actually, which was somehow even more unsettling than if he’d just been the harsh training leader he is to everyone else. He’d spent a lot of time admiring your works, even offering up a rare compliment here and there. At last, he’d decided on an initial design, and taken a seat on your chair.

Most clients talk at least a little while you’re tattooing them. New initiates usually rattle off their difficulties, grateful for an ear that won’t judge them or try to use their weaknesses to gain a position or two in the rankings. Experienced Dauntless sometimes swap gossip or discuss various pieces of information they’ve heard from contacts in other factions. Others just stay silent the whole time, thinking through ideas they’ll barely even hint at to you.

One of your friends has tattooed Eric before, and they told you he’d been absolutely icy the whole appointment, hardly even saying a word except to point out which tattoo he wanted. Maybe he’d just had a bad day then, because you and Eric actually end up talking the entire time.

He complains about the initiates being unable to so much as tie their shoes without needing his directions, and laughs when you counter his stories with what you’ve seen outside of the scheduled training hours. Eric asks you about how you started tattooing and seems genuinely stunned that you grew up in Amity.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” he tells you over the hum of the tattoo needle, “you’re, like, normal.”

You laugh at that. “The Amity are normal, Coulter.”

He narrows his eyes. “They’re weird. Happy-go-lucky strangers. Not you, though,” he adds quickly, “you’re tough. A real Dauntless.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take offense if you insult the Amity,” you grin, “I left for a reason, believe me on that.”

Eric frowns. “What was the reason, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You sigh, staring at the design you’re working through for a moment before getting up the strength to continue. “I clashed with the higher-ups a lot. If you weren’t totally happy and living life all the time, you felt like you were disappointing them. Everyone there claims that they’re only ever nice to them, but the faction leaders told me I was a screwup more times than I could count. Even my own parents.”

When you risk a glance up, you notice that Eric’s expression has twisted down into something colder, something almost like rage. “They were wrong. They shouldn’t have said that.”

“I know,” you laugh to yourself, “I did well in initiation, obviously they should have guessed that.”

After a while, Eric is convinced to laugh a little alongside you, but the anger doesn’t erase itself from his features for some time. “Yes,” he mumbles almost to himself, “they should have.”

The rest of the session passes without incident. The next day, you find yourself waiting at your empty station. He was supposed to come back to finish the piece, but he’s a few minutes late, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s on purpose, that you said or did something to chase him off. It could be nothing, of course, but you never know.

He ends up hurrying in soon enough, the slightly quickened beat of his walk the only sign that something is on his mind. You look up when he arrives, allowing yourself a small smile. He did come back, then. You were not too much.

“Glad to see you,” you say, “I was worried I scared you off with my inherent Amity-ness. I’ve heard it’s bad for Dauntless. Ruins the whole stoic demeanor if we smile too much.”

His lips twitch upwards briefly, but whatever had been bothering him before tamps that forbidden emotion down soon enough. “No, not your fault in the slightest. Some initiate was using the wrong kind of gun during today’s drills, nearly put another kid’s eye out. I don’t even know where he got the thing, but it happened anyway.”

“Ah,” you say with a knowing look, “Initiates.”

“Always initiates,” Eric grumbles, but he allows his smile to stick this time, and you think that maybe he isn’t as bad as the rumors allow.

The rest of the session is just as good, if not better. Eric is kind to you, says things that grow increasingly apparent to be jokes. It’s funny, you’d always heard that he was this terribly cold guy, but everyone else must have gotten him at a bad time. Either that, or that’s the Amity in you seeing the best of everyone. Still, you’re certain that his good attitude whenever you’re around isn’t faked. It can’t be.

There’s silence from him for a while. You don’t take it personally, or you shouldn’t, anyway– Eric’s a busy guy, you know that from his words alone if not from always seeing him rush around the compound. He’s a Dauntless leader, he’s not going to be hanging around a tattoo shop unless he’s actively getting new ink.

Then, about a week or so later, he comes back in. Busies himself with looking at the patterns for a while even though you both know he’s not going to get something anyone else could have. This time, he talks to you, asks what you wish you got to draw more often. When you answer, he has you put that in his latest design. It makes your stomach tie itself in tight knots, more intense than even when you’d thrown yourself off the roof on your first day on Dauntless earth.

Confusingly, Eric stops you when you’re about halfway through, says that’s all the time he’s got and that he’d like to continue tomorrow, if that’s alright with you. You ask him if he minds having an incomplete tattoo on his arm and he just laughs, tells you he’ll pull his sleeves down or something. It’s a terrible excuse, but it’s what he wants and so that must be what you want, too. It’s good business. You can tell yourself that when you’re lying awake at night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Eric comes in almost every day, demanding increasing progress on his tattoos. You don’t know why he insists on doing them piecewise– it’s not pain tolerance, he’s got more of that than anyone around and it’s not like Dauntless Leader Eric Coulter would ever admit to something pathetic like pain. It must be something else, then. It must be.

The tattoos spiral and change as they spread across his skin. They’re a mess, to be honest, no cohesive pattern, like he’s picking the templates with his eyes closed and only the goal of covering as much flesh as possible.

You tell him his tattoo sleeves aren’t as coherent as they could be; he laughs, asks you to use your Amity artistry to make some sense of them. He seems unruffled by your accusations of poor taste. Later that same day, Eric punches someone’s nose in because some drunk fellow stumbling out of a party made the mistake of questioning the inked patterns. The idiot said the same things you did, more or less. One of you received a rare smile, the other, a broken bone. It makes no sense.

At some point, he’s going to run out of skin to tattoo. You warn him of this and he grins, flashing dagger-sharp teeth at you. Says that’s why he’s asking you to go so slowly with it. Inch by inch, he cedes control to you. You want to question what that means, but some part of you is scared to ask, scared that he’ll change his mind and leave, or worse, ask someone else to do it.

The last day comes, and this time you know it’ll be the end with certainty. Eric asks you to ink his throat in thick stripes, almost like you can see the angles of his spine through the skin. You sit there, trying to focus on your needle, finishing the design, instead of anything foolish like his head in your hands, his eyes resting quietly on you. He can’t talk while you’re working on his neck like this, but the weight of his gaze says enough anyway.

You finish the last stroke and allow yourself to sit there for one final moment, waiting for it all to be over. Your fingers rest on the smooth expanse of his cheekbone, and Eric raises his hand to cover yours.

“Well,” you say at last, trying to keep your voice light, “it’s been an honor to tattoo you, Eric.”

He smiles. The brief, unwelcome thought that this might be the last time you see him do that flashes through your head, and you banish it just as quickly. That’s not something you want to think about right now, if ever.

“I’d say I’m the one who’s been honored,” he returns, “you’ve got the best work in the faction and everyone knows it.”

You feel some small surge of pride in your chest when he says it, hot and bright like the Dauntless flames. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me in a different way,” he offers, “Drinks tomorrow night, maybe? On me?”

You smile back at him. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” he grins, standing so he can look down at you. “I’ll pick you up then. It’ll be fun. Maybe you can teach me some of that Amity optimism.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. It would suit him, you think, smiling more, trusting you so he can let down his guard. Looking at him, at how his eyes brighten when he laughs, you think it already does.

divergent tag list: @dindjarinneedsahug, @poisonmenegan, @ozyynka, @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alex-1967s-blog

#eric coulter #eric coulter imagines #eric coulter x reader #eric coulter oneshot #divergent #divergent imagines #divergent x reader #divergent oneshot #divergent eric #divergent eric imagines #divergent eric x reader #divergent eric oneshot

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yellowflowerbub · 10 months

Text

small business

꒷︶ ̇ ̟ ෆ ‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿ ෆ ̟ ̇ ︶꒷

summary. you and gojo run the snacks stand for your class together

wordcount. 1k

pairing(s). teen!gojo satoru x reader

tag(s). friendly banter, gender neutral reader

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The school festival is busy. Students scurry through the building and the outskirts of the premises like rodents, every inch of the school from closet to hallway is drenched in the stench of school spirit. Silence is something you won’t hear until you return home as the whole of the student body fills the air with inaudible conversation.

The room you inhabit has little to no decoration, in comparison to the rooms adjacent to your own, the classroom is wholly bare. The stand you’ve thrown together consists of brands of sweets organized at random. In front of the table is a sign that reads, “Candy 400 Yen Each”. Running the stand and sitting behind the table along with you is Gojo Satoru. He doesn’t appear to be any more elated to run the stand than you are.

“Can’t we just pack up?” Gojo groans, he’s been steadily complaining for the better of an hour. It’s almost admirable how someone can remain this verbally annoyed for this long.

“No, we haven’t gotten anywhere near our class’ goal.” You reiterate while recounting how much you’ve earned as of now. 1,600 yen. 19,400 yen to go.

He whines, leaning back in his chair, “But we’re nowhere near getting to our class goal!”

“I just said that.”

“How can they expect us to get that much money in a day from these kids? Everyone keeps walking past our room ‘cause it looks like there’s no one in here.” He twists around in his chair restlessly, kicking up his legs over the armrest and planting them back onto the floor, folding his legs under one another before pulling his knees up to his chest.

“That’s a great idea, Gojo. You should go out and tell people that there actually is a stand in this room.” You suggest, pushing on his shoulder as you do.

His glasses plummet to the tip of his nose as he jerks out of his seat, “I can’t do that! They’d just walk past me. I’d rather jump off the roof than have an underclassman ignore me and chase after them. God that sounds humiliating.”

You don’t bother responding to him. At some point amongst the nagging, a student wanders through the door. Gojos eyes shoot to the student then to you.

“Hi, we’re selling sweets for our school's fundraiser. Everything we’ve got is on this table.” You gesture to the array of candy.

The student looks nervous, almost unreasonably nervous for the circumstances. They feel around in their pants pockets and pull a few coins from one of the back ones. “Can I buy two chocolates?” They ask holding up the coins in one hand and a two in the other.

“Sure, that’s 800 yen. You can drop it in that jar to your right.”

They hum, grabbing the candy and flipping the coins in their respected place.

Gojo looks antsy. The tips of his thin fingers drum on his thigh and his poor posture, fixed eyes, and chattering teeth make him look predatory. Too bad this energy is directed toward the kid who looked like they’d shit themselves before they came in.

“Why stop at two pieces of chocolate? We have too much shit to only grab one thing.” He speaks like a salesman, a stark change in tone from the groaning and whining senior he made himself out to be a moment ago.

“Oh,” They sound startled, “Well, I’m just not that.. hungry.”

“Bullshit,” They jump, “I know an exhausted student when I see one.” He does not.

“Really, I promise I’m not tired at all.” They stammer yet Gojo persists.

“Look at those bags under your eyes, you must not have had any sleep last night. Boy have I got just the thing you need.” At this point, you’re sure this is the cap on how much money you’ll be making today.

“If I put more money in, will you let me leave?’

“Yes.”

Without another word the student drops the rest of what remained in their hand straight into the donation jar and leaves as quickly as they’d come. You resist a strong urge to drag your hands down your face.

“Dude.”

“Yup?”

“You’re so oblivious it’s infuriating.”

Gojo scoffs, “I am not! You’re too much of a pushover to see when a customer needs to be pushed a bit.”

“‘Pushed a bit’ is an extreme understatement. You nearly made that kid shit themself.” You outstretched to tip the donation jar toward yourself, “Speaking of shit, stop swearing while we’ve got customers.”

His countenance twists into one of genuine confusion, it hadn’t wrapped around his diminutive mind how he could come off as pushy. In his eyes, some people, especially those younger than himself, needed a little push, “Really?”

“Yes.” You deadpan.

Despite his idiocy, Gojo is immensely intelligent in reading people. Of course you probably wouldn’t be making any more money if word gets out that some asshole is berating underclassmen for the few bucks they’d brought to spend however, that kid was loaded.

“Holy- that kid had 8,000 yen on them! We’re close to being done with this now!”

You could see Gojo being physically inflated with pride. With his pointer finger he nudges his shades further up the bridge of his nose, “See?”

You continue to count the money once more.

“I’m like, the best at reading people.” He boasts, “If it were just you here, you would’ve let everyone waltz out that door without asking them for anything else. I’m just too good. Maybe I should look into sales.” It looks like he'll burst if he pumps his pride any further. You might not be able to drag him down to earth, he’ll continue to drift away until his ego is out of plebeian reach.

“Do you think I’d look good as a car salesman? Hm~?”

“Absolutely not, stick to sorcery.” He deflates.

“Damn! You’re so ruthless. I’ve got some feeling in my heart!”

“Unfortunately, most of it is complete and utter idiocy.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

a/n: in honor of the new jjk season coming out

Feedback and Reblogs are Appreciated!

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #teen gojo #teen gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo saturo

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misguidedasgardian · 8 months

Text

Blurred Lines / Prologue

MASTERLIST

Summary: Your separation with Harwin wasn’t easy, specially with his oldest son hanging around your home

Warnings: Cursing, cheating, adultery, talks about body shaming, talks about postpartum depression, therapy, Harwin is a c*nt, for reals, like, sorry, I love him, sorry sorry, misogynistic beliefs, body shaming, again, Harwin is not a good person on this…

Wordcount: X K

Notes: Uff this is a tough one, I never thought I’d write something like this, it quite evolved from Jace’s darkish spicy one shot with Alicent, so it wasn’t really a surprise that it evolved into this actually, jeje well, have fun, and i think that in the future I’ll write the other one too, “the boy next door” muahaha

“She is 21 Harwin! what the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“It just happened!”, Jace looked up, almost rolling his eyes at the back of his skull

“She is the same age as your oldest child!”, you whined

“I never meant for it to get this far..”

“It’s been happening for three months, Harwin!”, your broken voice made him shiver as he played with a rubber ball against the wall of his room

“We haven’t had sex in forever”, he heard his father said

“Because you…”, he raised his head off of his pillow, wanting to heard what she was supposed to say, but he didn’t hear anything else, “I can’t do this”, Jace smiled wickedly

He knew it was a matter of time before his father screwed up the best thing that ever happened to him, well, after he and his brothers

“What do you mean?”, he asked

“I think you should leave”, you whined

“The boys are sleeping in here”, he said

“Tomorrow they go back to Rhaenyra’s, sleep on the couch”, your voice sounded so broken, the only thing he wanted to do was hug you tightly against his chest

“We can work through this”, he said, so faintly Jace almost missed it

“No we can’t”

“Think of Aerea, she is only two”

“I wish you had thought of her when you were having an affair with your secretary, of all people Harwin, like, really? that cliché?”

“She was there, when you wouldn’t…”, you said nothing, and Jace, even through the wall of his room, could feel the tension rising in the living room, just next door

You were discussing in shushes, but he could still hear you clearly, and smiled about it

“Say something”

“What would you like me to say?”

“Yell at me, throw something at my head… something…”, he said

“Your sons and our daughter are sleeping under this roof”, you sounded devastated, but he couldn’t hear tears and sobs, and that made it worse

“We can work through this”, he repeated

“No we can’t”, you said back

“We can go to therapy”, he continued

“Harwin, when I was diagnosed with postpartum depression, you wouldn’t go with me”, Jace opened his eyes widely, “In my worst days, you weren’t there in that sofa with me, but now you are willing to go to fix your own fuck up?”

“Please, it will be different this time”, he whispered

“Don’t touch me”, and then is when Jace got ready to pounce, if his father didn’t relent, he didn't know what was happening, but if he heard you asking him to release you one more time, he was going to jump his own father

“Please, my love”

“You disgust me Harwin, even thinking about touching you makes my skin crawl”

“I’m still me, I’m the same person you married”, he said

“That man died when you told me you didn’t want to touch me five months after Aerea was born, when you confessed, while drunk, that you couldn’t stand looking at my stretch marks, that my postpartum body disgusted you”

“I didn’t mean any of those things”

“But you did Harwin, you never fucked me again, not for the lack of trying, it was humiliating”... there was an awful silence, in which, Jace couldn’t believe how the fucking planets were aligning for him, “so exactly what is it that you want to salvage? your second failed marriage? too much humiliation for you?”

“No… I love you”, he heard him say, “I realize now I need help, professional help, let’s get therapy…”

“I don’t want to fight anymore Harwin”, you whispered, Jace had to stuck his head to the wall

“Good, me neither”, he said, relieved

“No, I don’t want to fight anymore, for us”

“You don’t want to fight for us?”, he asked back

“No”, Jace could laugh in relief, as his hopes and dreams were suddenly materializing

While your world was crashing down around you

The worst part? as you admitted you didn’t want to forgive him, that you didn’t want to “work” in fixing something you didn't even break yourself, you saw in your soon to be x-husband, the pain and heartbreak

Harwin had always been so easy to read, his eyes said it all, not that his mouth didn’t. If he was happy you could tell, in the way he talked, and moved, if he had a rough day at work (which he hadn't in the last couple of months), you would have known before he even opened the door, only the slam on his own car door would tell you in what mood he was in, even as he opened the door and stepped in to the house.

And now? he looked completely devastated, as you told him you didn’t want to forgive him, that you didn't want to “work things out”

“You are going to throw it all away?”, he asked

“You did Harwin, when you started to fuck your 21 year-old secretary, of all people”, you whined, “like, really? she could be your daughter”

“I did it because… I was stressed, she was there, we haven’t been… intimate, since a long time”, you where whispering now, your temper had subsided, and it was true, you had your daughter, and Harwin’s kids from his first marriage sleeping in your home, you couldn’t wake them

“How do you expect me to be intimate with you Harwin?”, you asked, eyes filling with tears of anger and humiliation, “after what you said to me that night?”

“I was drunk”

“Even if you were, actions speak louder than words don’t they? you were the one who rejected me at every turn for the past year, only started fucking me again when you started doing your secretary, its disgusting”

Your eyes traveled to the papers you had printed, that harlot had the audacity of emailing you texts and conversations between them.

The fact is, that you had grown apart from your husband after Aerea was born, you got into a deep postpartum depression, you didn’t want to leave the house, you had to admit, you let yourself go, and Harwin wasn’t there, he didn’t even believed in therapy, and wouldn’t go with you as much as you had implored him to.

But you found comfort in your daughter, and when she started growing into a beautiful, kind, smart, calm little girl, you wanted to think you flourish again, you began cooking for yourself and Harwin, no more takeout, you stopped wearing sweats, you started moving move, your body slowly coming back to where it was, but it hasn't yet, you had made your peace, he hadn't

Aerea was the perfect little girl, and that did wonders for your deep doubts and PPD.

“Please”, he whispered, grabbing your upper arms, “I can change… I would do anything for you”

“Then give me time”, you begged him, “please, move out, I can’t even dared to look at you right now”, you whispered, releasing myself from his grasp

“I have the kids a week on and off, where am I going to go?”, he said then

“Well, I’ll go, I’ll take Aerea and go to my godmother’s”, you offered, and now he looked panicked

“No, is alright, the kids leave tomorrow, how a week to start sounds?”, he asked, and you barely nodded

“Sleep on the couch”, you asked, “and tell that fucking tart that if she ever contacts me again I will ran her over with my car”

“She and I are not talking anymore”, he said

“Oh good”, you whispered sarcastically

“Please, my love”, he begged again, “I cannot afford to lose you, or Aerea”

“You already lost me Harwin”, you said, not dared to look at him in those eyes that even now could melt you, “And Aerea, well… you won’t, she is a daddy’s girl trough and trough”, there was no smiles, no nothing you couldn’t even look at him in the face

It hurts too damned much

He was your husband, you married when you were 25 and he was 36, now, four years later and a two-year old, it had faded pretty quickly

You were destroyed over this.

You met him, coincidentally, when you started an internship in the company Harwin worked at, you were not his secretary, you were an intern and he was just an executive, he was way older, handsome, so sweet, nice, in a lumberjack kind of way, he was divorced and had three children, little guys who you adored with all your life, well, at least Luke and JOffrey who ere really young when you married Harwin.

When you got married he insisted you stayed home because he wanted more children, and you obliged, you haven't worked since then, your life revolved around him, your home, and specially your child

But that wasn’t enough for Harwin.

You slept alone, when Aerea woke in the middle of the night, you went and grabbed her, Harwin slept sloppily in the small bed in her room, didn’t even wake, and you brought her to sleep with you, she was calmed almost immediately.

The next day you held her in your arms as you got up and went to make breakfast, Jacaerys, Harwin’s oldest child, he was pushing 21 right now, was behind the kitchen island, making scrambled eggs, he had woken up before you apparently

“Good morning”, he purred

“Good morning Jacey”, you greeted with smile, Aerea threw her chubby arms at him and he smiled warmly, taking his baby sister in his arms

“Good mornin’ mama”, he greeted, you thought he was sweet, he obviously was talking to Aerea, who cling onto him like a Koala

“How do you like your eggs?”, he asked

“Surprise me, I’ll put on some toast and coffee, and juice for Aerea and Joffrey”

“Already got it”, he said, with his head signaling at the table, you smiled

“You are too kind Jace”

It was summer, he was on vacations, and he joined his brothers who were still underage on visiting Harwin every other week, Harwin got a big house for all of you to fit in, and Harwin’s sons were just so kind, it was sweet having them around

If only you knew what Jace was only thinking that this was going to be his life in a couple of years, of course the baby that he was going to hold was going to be his, and Aerea would be sitting on the table by herself, eating the pancakes his stepdaddy was going to make for her.

You missed the smug look Jace gave Harwin over the table, as you didn’t even look at him, this was going to be the last family breakfast in a long time…

You also missed the way Jace looked at you and then at his father, he was the only one who knew besides you both, that it was Harwin’s last day with you as well

“Thank you for everything (y/n)” said Luke sweetly as you said your goodbyes at the door

“You are most welcome sweet Luke, thank YOU for coming”, you kissed him on the cheek and hugged him, you were going to miss him, and Joffrey, who was ten and clinged into you, you kissed the top of his head too

“bye Aerea”, he then kissed his sister on the cheek and then ran back to his car, only Jace was left, he leaned in and kissed you on the cheek, you turned your face for accident, and his lips landed way close to the corner of your lips, but it was probably a mistake

“See you next week”, he said with a shy smile

“See you”, you whispered and smiled, you didn’t have the nerve to tell him that probably you were not going to see him again…

Aerea waved her hands saying goodbye as the car drove away, you wiped the bitter tears that fell down your cheeks, your chest hurt, your heart breaking, Harwin had sneaked a bag, so he was not coming back, and neither were the boys next week…

Or that is what you thought…

#misguidedblurred #jacaerys x oc #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys strong #prince jacaerys #jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys

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sturniololoco · 4 months

Text

Stressed

M. Sturniolo x fem reader

Requested: Nope

Warnings: none. Pure fluff

Note: this is not my first time writing, but it is my first time posting. SO BE NICE! ❤️

Y/N’s POV

It’s been a long week. My stress levels have been through the roof since Monday morning. I’ve been having to work double shifts due to people slacking off, and on top of all that I had to do all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry for three people, NOT including myself.

I live with the Sturniolo triplets, which is one of my many blessings. But sometimes living with three boys can be a lot to handle, especially when they’re busy all week with filming and photo shoots.

But it was finally Friday, and I can now take my time to relax and watch a movie with the boys.

Only that was NOT the case

Friday meant pizza, and pizza meant movie, and movie meant fighting over couch spots, blankets, pillows, and etc. All of these things led to on stop bickering and a constant headache.

“Chris! What the fuck is wrong with you that was my seat!” Nick yelled at the youngest triplet, who had the biggest smirk on his face.

“I don’t see your name on it.” Chris retorted, stuffing a handful of Nicks popcorn into his mouth.

That set Nick off.

Nick and Chris were now girl fighting; smacking the others faces and pulling each others hair, while, as usual, being extremely loud.

“I cant fucking do this anymore” I numbed under my breath, tears threatening to leaf all due to my horrible headache. I divided it was best to call it a night and head up to my room.

Matt’s POV

I was sitting on the corner sot on our couch, waiting for Y/N to come and join us so I could press play on the movie. But then all hell broke loose over a spot on the couch and now Nick and Chris were having at it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Y/N walking to the stairs, looking like shes about to cry.

A pang of guilt hits me like a train.

I know shes had a very stressful week at work, and my brothers and I were not helping.

“HEY! Would you two shut the fuck up!”

My two brothers stop dead in their tracks and look at me, shocked that I raised my voice so loud. Chris opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off.

“Did you two not see how upset and stressed Y/N was?!? Did you even notice she left because of you?”

Chris closed his mouth and gave a guilty look. Nick looked at the ground to avoid my stare.

“You two better fix your fucking act by the time I get back. I’m going to check on Y/N.” I announce, leaving them where they stand.

I head to the kitchen, grab the bottle of Tylenol and bottle of water, and then make my way up stairs.

Y/N’s POV

I soon as I turned my lights on and shut the door behind me, Immediately burst into tears. I walk across the room and collapsed on my bead, sobbing into my pillow.

After about 5 minuets, my breathing slowed down and the tears turned into rain rarer than a river. As soon as I sit up I hear a soft knock on my door.

“Come I-In” I say, mentally cursing that the crack in my voice. The door is softly pushed open, revealing Matt, holding a bottle of Tylenol and some water.

“Hey baby,” he says, walking over and putting the medicine and water on my nightstand. He sits down next to me and runs a slow hand through my hair.

I hum and lean into him, the motion soothing my headache. He lets out a light chuckle and pulls me closer to him.

He gently lies back on the bed with me lying on top of him, my face in the crook of his neck.

“Why don’t you get some sleep baby, you look exhausted.” He murmurs softly in my ear while he plants a soft kiss to the top of my head. My eyes were already half way closed.

“Don’t leave me. I want you.” I mumbled, afraid he might leave in the middle of the night.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m not going anywhere”

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo

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alexawynters · 5 months

Text

Scarlet Whispers - pt 2

Gif not mine

A/N: Not sure about the formatting, copy and paste didn't quite work out as planned. Title subject to change, not sure how I feel about it. This is my first published fic here so pls be gentle. Also I'm terrible at summaries.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Master list here

You miss your stop.

Not only do you miss your stop, but you end up all the way at the bus depot before the driver notices you passed out in one of the seats. The driver, a kindly older gentleman, offers to give you a lift home since it is the end of his shift anyway. He takes pity on you, perhaps due to your tired and sad appearance. Interestingly, no one seems to notice the red wisps behind his eyes.

You appreciate his kindness, but you are anxious about returning home. A quick look at your phone reveals that it is well past 6 PM and you have missed multiple calls and texts from both of your parents. This is not going to end well. In simple terms, you are fucked. Fortunately, the man doesn't seem to notice your restlessness as your leg bounces nervously as he gets closer to your home.

As you exit the vehicle, you politely thank him and offer to pay for the gas, but the man refuses. His accent changes slightly as he says, "anything to help." You shrug it off, as it is not your concern where people are from. Your focus is on more pressing matters. After closing the door, you square your shoulders and mentally prepare for the absolute shit show awaiting you as soon as you step through the front door.

It shouldn’t surprise you that your father’s booming voice is the first to be heard. “Where were you?”

You start with the truth. “Dad I’m sorry, I was on the bus after my exam, I fell asleep with my headphones-”

”I don’t want your excuses! While you live here under our roof, you will show us some respect, you will follow our rules! You had chores to do today, why didn’t you do them?”

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. You hate being interrupted, and you hate being asked questions when they clearly don’t want the answers. Besides, you are in your twenties, not a child. “As I was saying, I-”

This time your mother interrupts. “Don’t speak to your father like that. He asked you a question, we expect you to answer it!.”

You grit your teeth. “I fell asleep on the bus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Always with the excuses this one.” Your father laments. “Do you think your future employer is going to care about any of that? No. He’s just going to want to know why you weren’t there.”

It takes every ounce of your sanity to not snap that your answer is the reason WHY you weren’t there, and not simply an excuse. Instead you hold your tongue. They aren’t here to listen, they don’t care. They just want to yell at you, and for you to be sorry.

“I tell you, with behavior like that it’s any wonder at all you’d even be able to keep a job. They would probably fire you on the spot, and then you would be right back on our doorstep, our problem once again to pick up the pieces.”

It’s all hypothetical of course - you’ve never been late to any of your classes, but you have not yet had a job, you weren’t allowed to. You are sure you wouldn’t be late to it though if you were to treat it like your classes. You know you can’t tell your parents this however. Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with.

“Yes Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Saying sorry simply doesn't cut it! Sorry doesn’t fix the problem that you caused, so tell me, how are you going to make the problem right?” he demands. A vein throbs in his forehead. Absently you think about how he knows he should watch his blood pressure, but that would require him to watch his temper. Y/D/N could never.

You know what he is looking for, he wants you to do your chores now, but it’s after 8PM and your exam is at 8AM. If you do your chores now, that leaves you little time for last minute studying, eating, bathing, sleeping, and then catching the bus back to the university. Helplessly, you look to your mother for help.

“Don’t look at me, this is your mess you’ve created. If you had just done what you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If you had just been good, you could be doing whatever it is you do with your free time right now.”

It had always annoyed you greatly that your parents were unaware of your academic achievements. While it's true that you didn't have the best grades as a child, once you entered university and chose a major, you became a straight-A student, even going so far as to make the President’s list the last three years in a row. However, in their eyes, you would always be the little underachiever they had to take care of.

Tears well up in your eyes. This situation wasn't fair. It was an accident. You had fully intended to come home and do your chores, but you couldn’t have known you would sleep through your alarm on the bus. You had been so incredibly exhausted that you experienced a vivid nightmare whilst awake. You were aware that you needed more sleep, but your degree was your only way out of this miserable place. You couldn't risk losing it all just because you missed a few hours of sleep now and then.

“Please?” You beg. You didn’t have anything else to argue in your defense. “I’ll leave my headphones in my bag this time, I’ll set multiple alarms, I won’t sleep, just please let me go study!”

Your parents look at each other, having silent communication. Seeming to come to an agreement, your mother speaks first. “Y/N we’re sorry it has to be this way, but you have already proven on multiple occasions that we can’t trust you to do the right thing. Tonight, you are going to do your chores even if it takes you all night to do it. Besides, we all know you’re not studying up there. For all we know you’re just up there masturbating in the window or something.”

Being stabbed in the chest would have been less painful. You don't understand why you're caught off guard; it's not like your mother hasn't said off the wall shit like this in the past. It's almost as if she thrives on finding the most hurtful and outrageous statements to throw in your face, as if you deserved them. As if you had ever done any of the things she accused you of. Like you were some sort of deviant, when all you wanted was simply the right to exist.

“What the actual fuck, Mom?!” you scream, having finally had enough. Both of your parents look taken aback. Rare is it for you to raise your voice at them, even more so to curse at them. “I know you’ve been pretty checked out of my life for a while now, but I’ve had a 4.0 GPA for the last three years. I don’t know where you got that… comment… from, but I can assure you that all I want to do is go to my room and study.”

“Now listen here young lady,” begins your father.

"No, YOU listen, Father," your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were right about one thing, and that is I am a gods damned adult. I take my studies seriously, and while it may come as a surprise to you since neither of you have paid any actual attention to my life since I turned 18, though it could be argued you really stopped paying attention earlier except for when I was being an inconvenience, but I am actually a great student. This is my last semester before graduating with honors and again, a 4.0 GPA, and I will have my choice of job opportunities. I will leave this place, and you miserable old bats will have no one to be your punching bag anymore. Then maybe just maybe you can finally take a look at the flaws and fix what's wrong with your own marriage, instead of trying to break ME!”

Your chest heaved. It felt good to speak your truth, but as the silence grew, you began to realize that you might have made a mistake.

Your father has finally gotten out of his chair, looming over you. A resounding slap echoes across the room as your father backhanded you, knocking you to the floor. “You ungrateful, miserable little bitch! I don’t know what lies those ‘professors’ at the university have been filling your head with, but you have no future, and you are lucky your mother and I care enough to let you live under our roof! And so long as you do, you will obey our rules, and show us the respect we deserve!”

Fearful, you scramble back to the wall and attempt to push yourself to your feet. “If that’s the price of living here, then I will happily live in the University’s library. One week, that’s all I need!” You step forward to make your escape from this house, but this time your mother shoves you, and once again you find yourself on your knees.

You raise your hands in self-defense, but your mother sneers, "Do it, Y/N, hit me, and you'll be out on your ass faster than you can blink!" Crying, you lower your hands and prepare to allow her to strike you.

The lights went out all at once, and everyone froze. Has the power gone out? It couldn’t have, you could still hear the hum of the AC unit. So what was wrong with the lights?

The lights turn back on as suddenly as they had gone out, and all three of you look around in confusion. However, despite the lights returning, the room appears darker, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The shadows cast a looming presence over all of you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your home, which you have lived in for around twenty ish years, suddenly feels foreboding, and you wonder if it's too late to flee. It almost resembles one of the nightmares you have been experiencing recently.

Red mist fills the room, a dreadfully sinister voice speaks. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

All three of you turn to the source of the sound - the corner of the room, as a red and black leather-clad boot, attached to black leather pants, steps through a portal and into the room. The Scarlet Witch follows, radiating her full glory. She warns, "If you wish to keep your body parts intact, you will never lay a finger on Y/N ever again."

You’re pretty sure your eyebrows have never been closer to meeting your hairline before and yet here we are. You don’t know who this unfamiliar lady is, nor how she seems to know you but God damned if that outfit doesn’t look as if it has been painted onto her. You blush at your sinful thoughts. Now is not the time, and you’re pretty sure you’re having a stroke of some sort. If nothing else, however, you are grateful for the reprieve from your beating.

Meanwhile, your parents had never taken well to being told what to do, by anyone, they certainly weren’t going to now by this costumed stranger. Your mother bristles. “Who is this Y/N? Another one of your little whores?” Completely disregarding the fact that you have never in fact had a partner in your entire life, and you don’t know whether to be pleased that she seems to think you’re capable of having a sex life or affronted that she thinks you’re some type of floozy. Your mother’s words, not yours.

“What? No, I-” You look helplessly from the floor between your parents and this woman you now recognize as the one from your visions, and the same one from your hallucination this morning. Is she here to help, or to hurt you? She has been your savior and aggressor in both; there’s no telling which she has chosen for now. Glancing between them, you are unsure how to de-escalate this situation. There is no way to convince your parents, for their own safety, that this woman is powerful and not to be trifled with. Nothing you could say, they would believe, and you were pretty sure this woman would kill your parents without a second thought if they didn’t tread carefully.

Seeming to sense your struggle, the woman speaks up in your stead. “As I’ve said, you would do well to keep your hands to yourself. I am here to take Y/N with me, and you will not stand in my way. This is your only warning, which I am giving to you out of consideration for Y/N.”

She reaches down for your hand to help you back up. Hesitantly, you take it, ignoring the shock that runs throughout your body, and begin questioning your entire reality. Take you with her? Who even is she? Where exactly is she going to be taking you? You had questions, and you would like some answers, but if you didn’t get your parents to stand down, you were pretty sure she would follow through on her threat. Sure, your parents were trash, but they were all you had. You loved them, and you were certain that, in their own warped way, they loved you, too.

She helps you up and proceeds to give you a thorough once-over, carefully inspecting your injuries. Her intense scrutiny makes you blush. Meanwhile, your parents remain silent, their thinly veiled anger evident as they observe your interaction. How dare this woman speak to them in such a manner? Thankfully, they wisely choose to keep quiet. Perhaps they also sense the dangerous aura emanating from this woman, perceiving her as a true threat. Then again, it could be due to the fact that she just stepped through a literal portal conjured out of thin air moments ago. Maybe they had been paying attention, but even you are unsure of what is real anymore.

Still holding your hand, the Scarlet Witch leads you back towards the portal she arrived through. "Come, Y/N, we have much to discuss." At this point, all you could do was helplessly trail after, hoping you weren't going from bad to worse. At least by leaving, your parents would be out of danger. As for yourself, well... It was clear that the Scarlet Witch wanted something from you. Hopefully, whatever that was would be sufficient to ensure your survival. Perhaps even enough to negotiate with.

At the last possible moment, your mother chooses, whether out of genuine love and concern for your well-being, or fear at the loss of her control over you, to reach out to take you from this bizarre woman. “Mother, no!”

Y/M/N finds herself promptly flung onto the wall behind her, and stuck there, unable to move. You aren’t sure who exactly screamed but you’re pretty sure it was every member of your family. The Scarlet Witch hadn’t even turned to look, the only indication she had even been involved is the raised hand, opposite the one holding yours, with dark, ink-stained fingertips, bent at slightly odd angles.

“Stop, please! Let her go, she won’t do it again, please! I'm sorry, please!”

Unsure of why you are begging for this woman’s life when she has spent the entirety of yours making sure you were miserable. Still, your heart lurched at the thought of anything happening to your mother. You didn’t like her, and if you never saw her again, that was probably for the best, but you certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

The Witch took a deep breath, seemingly to calm herself, before turning to face you.

In the softest voice you had ever heard she whispers “Detka, I-.” She opens and closes her mouth a few times, deciding what to say. To your absolute mortification and delight, she leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, and promises “I will let them live, but I must say my piece.”

You nod, completely dumbstruck at everything happening in this moment. What. The. Fuck.

Y/M/N, still pinned to the wall, whimpers and struggles to move but is clearly unable to. The Scarlet Witch turns from you to face your parents. Another wave of her hand, and your mother slumps to the floor, alarmed, but otherwise unharmed. It is clear whatever the witch did, both she and your father are now restrained.

Footsteps approach the pair, and the lights in the house flickered ominously. Despite your mother being nearly 40 years older than her (or so you assumed, as you had no idea of this woman's age), the power emanating from her exuded confident malevolence. She showed no fear towards them, and for once, although ashamed to admit it, you were glad to see that they were afraid of someone else.

Though she was only about 5'6", the woman knelt before your parents, her voice filled with menacing intent. "I know everything you have ever done, everything you ever could do, and everything you ever will do. I know what you are guilty of. I know what you deserve, and I can assure you that it is not mercy. I will spare your lives and leave you unharmed due to the kindness of your daughter, the daughter you’ve abused for decades." As her head tilts, you can't help but feel that she becomes even more dangerous. "But if you ever try to take her from me again, I will seek retribution on her behalf, and I promise you it will be the most excruciating agony you have ever experienced. Do we understand each other?"

You squirm uncomfortably. This should not be doing things to you, but then again, no one had ever stood up for you. Ever. Gods you needed therapy. It’s fine. Little boxes, and this was for a little box for later.

The witch stood up and once again took your hand, leading you through the portal and leaving your parents behind. Perhaps for good, you weren’t entirely sure, and you suddenly realized you didn’t care. Anywhere was better than here; even if this woman was dangerous, at least for the moment, she seemed to care about you, and that was enough for you to follow her to the ends of the earth.

Again, therapy…

The pair arrive at a massive stone temple, which you would later learn is called Mount Wundagore, the Scarlet Witch's temple. It is built into a massive, rugged mountain with steep cliffs, situated above dense forests and enveloped in mist. The mountain exudes an air of mystique and possesses an eerie atmosphere. Scattered across its walls are depictions of the woman in front of you, accompanied by various runes whose significance you suppose hint at a potentially supernatural importance.

The Scarlet Witch does not make much of an effort for introductions, nor explanations, simply heads towards the entrance to her temple.

“What is this place?” you ask, hints of awe and fear in your voice

“Our home.”

Your brain stutters. “I’m sorry, what now?”

“Detka, do not pretend you did not hear me, I don’t enjoy repeating myself. This is our home.” Her accent sounds vaguely Eastern European, and becomes more pronounced the more irritated she is. You wonder when she started trying to hide it.

Your mind balks at the idea of this being your new home, it couldn’t be less foreboding. “Uhhh… this.. is a giant stone temple in BFE nowhere, with ice, snow, and-”

Movement startles you out of your reverie. Beings made entirely out of stone shift from foot to foot, as if adjusting their stance. Their eyes have the same red glow as the woman who leads you now.

“Are those rock trolls??” The stone guardians loom threatening, but make no move to engage, they await their Queen’s orders. “Right. Rock trolls. Why is this our home? WHERE is our home? And,” you spin, taking the aesthetic of the temple in, trying not to have an anxiety attack. “What do you mean -our- home? Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

You can’t tell if the faint twitch of the other woman’s lips is in amusement or annoyance at your ramblings, but in your defense, she had let you speak uninterrupted. You were known for getting entire paragraphs out if left unsupervised - it was a talent and a curse. Personally you felt she should be grateful you weren’t jumping down her throat, you didn’t know anyone else who would be taking this half as calmly as you were. Then again, you were still waiting on your Hogwarts acceptance letter at 25.

“My name is..” she hesitated. “Wanda. I am.. I was an Avenger.”

You looked on blankly, hoping she would elaborate. The fuck was an “Avenger”?

"In my universe," (you filed away the fact that she implied the existence of a multiverse for later, as it was a problem for another time) "the Avengers are superheroes. Well, that's what we called ourselves - Earth's Mightiest Heroes. A bit arrogant, if you ask me. We dealt with threats that the military and ordinary people couldn't handle. We were the last line of defense. We saved the world countless times, but at a great cost of lives. We were vain, thinking we were above it all because we believed we were acting for the greater good. But try explaining that to those who were lost as collateral damage.

I digress. We.. were considered to be heroes. There were several of us, we were a team. A family. We lived together, fought together. Died together. Until we didn’t.”

Wanda explains the dynamics of the Avengers team, including how she and her brother Pietro joined. She mentions Pietro's death in the battle against Ultron, as well as the events leading up to and the battle against Thanos. She also covers the events of the “Blip”, and what happened afterward. However, she conveniently chooses to omit the events of Westview, as she didn't want you to know about that just yet.

“That’s.. wow. Wanda, that's a lot. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen your powers myself, I wouldn’t believe you. But all of that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. You mentioned your universe as being so fantastical, why would you come here? And what do you want with me? If you’re a hero, why are you here in what totally looks like a villain’s lair and not with your other superhero buddies?” You neglect to mention the unease creeping up your spine.

This is fine. Everything is fine. Right? Right.

A look of utter despair crosses the witches face as she locks eyes with you before glancing away.

“I mentioned my team before, but I didn’t mention you.”

“…” You slow blink. This was not how you thought your day was going to go, and honestly, you were already getting a bit of a headache. Could she be less cryptic because that would be great. More details, fewer questions. Maybe another nap.

"Y/N, where I am from, you were also an Avenger. You had joined the team before Pietro and I, and were one of the few who made us feel welcome. Despite the fact that we had previously been enemies, you didn't treat us as ticking time bombs. Instead, you welcomed us with open arms. Your go-to tactics were kindness and understanding, which made it hard not to want to get to know you. When Pietro died, you were the only one who checked on me and cared. You taught me that grief is just love persevering. You became my closest friend, and over time, I couldn't help when those feelings began growing into something more.”

You swallow uncomfortably. It sounds like Wanda is telling you that in this other universe you both were an item. It’s not that you wouldn’t be honored to be with such an attractive woman, but it feels weird knowing that that was a different version of you. Someone with superpowers, someone likely more confident by the sounds of it. This feels almost as if you are intruding on something you shouldn’t, yet Wanda is the one telling you this; if it weren’t okay for you to know, she surely wouldn’t be sharing. You don’t really know what to make of this; if she has feelings for this other you, why is she here with this version of you?

“In the battle against Thanos, we learned that the source of your powers was an infinity stone embedded in your skull courtesy of H.Y.D.R.A. experiments, which altered your genetic DNA. Thanos had also learned you possessed this Mind Stone and sought to take it from you by force.”

Anguish on her features, the witch turns to you. “You were going to die, Y/N. We tried, I tried, so hard to protect you, to keep you away from him but at every turn he found you. If he had gotten the Mind Stone, he would have been able to enact his plan to rid the universe of half of all life. You told me.” She hiccups.

“Y-you told me it was okay, that you forgive me. That I needed to.. that I needed to destroy the stone to save the universe. I didn’t want to. I would have given anything else but that. But you held my hand and told me you forgave me, that you only felt me. Then Thanos came, and we were out of time. I was the only one with the power to do it because its magic was so similar to my own. I placed my hand to your head and I-.” She is unable to continue, breaking off into sobs.

Oh. So she had to sacrifice you to save the universe. Well. You agree with the alternate you, you didn’t blame her, and you would definitely forgive her. Awkwardly you try to find some way to comfort her. While obviously you were not the same person she had loved and lost, and you knew from your own experiences with loss that sometimes words just couldn’t cut it. Instead, you shuffle forward, making sure you were heard in case she wanted to refuse you, and pullher in for a hug.

Wanda tenses in your embrace, as if she can’t decide if she wants to sink into it or send you flying. “The worst part,” she continues, “was that it meant nothing.”

If you were a dog your head tilt might have been cute.

“In the end, Thanos was still able to get the Mind Stone, and you were still dead, by MY hand, and it all meant NOTHING!” Wanda wrenches herself from your grasp, looking positively unhinged. You probably should have been scared. You weren’t. Her wrath did… things… to you. Therapy…

“All because Strange saw supposedly every possible future and CHOSE to let you die to save everyone else. As if there was no other possible outcome!”

Oh, that... that makes more sense. The other you was still dead, and Wanda was definitely suffering from PTSD from her involvement in it. Her little stunt with your parents was probably her way of trying to save you or bring you back to life. But in your universe, there weren't any superheroes, magic, or Thanos to protect you from (that you were aware of at any rate). So what was Wanda doing? This wouldn't bring her version of you back to life. You may have looked and sounded alike, and you might have made similar decisions, but you simply weren't the same person. The lack of the same life experiences meant that you had different personalities, despite having a similar genetic build.

“So we saved the world, and I left to live in exile. After the funeral, Clint handed me your belongings, and in them was a letter. A deed to a plot of land you had purchased in our names where we were going to build a house. I think it was supposed to be a surprise after we defeated Thanos. We had never lost before, not since Pietro - I don’t think it occurred to us that we could. So I drove out to see and.. Y/N I was still so new to my powers. They were still mostly subconscious. I was grieving and... it would be easier if I show you. May I?”

“May you.. what?”

A subtle smile appears on the witches' face at your ignorance. You are tempted to mention how beautiful she looks with that smile. Shaking off the thought, you ponder if she can read your mind, as her smile becomes knowing and a slight blush colors her cheeks. Ink-stained fingers reach towards your temple, but she hesitates, waiting for your consent, and your heart fills with warmth. You nod once, despite not really understanding.

Her charcoal-colored fingers, cold to the touch, make contact with your temple. Just as you're about to complain about the lack of warning, you're abruptly transported into a completely different world, surpassing the immersive experience of any 3D movie you've ever seen. You not only hear and see everything in every direction, but you can also feel and smell it all. It feels as if you are truly present in that moment. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that you are witnessing someone else's memories, to be precise, Wanda's memories.

She starts her memory with the unexploded bomb created by Tony Stark, which sat in the middle of the rubble of the Maximoff residence. In that chaotic scene, there were two children, the twins, hiding in fear under a bed. However, before you could offer any comfort, the scene shifted. The twins had been taken to HYDRA, where they were subjected to brutal experiments. Witnessing their suffering broke your heart, and despite your best efforts, you were unable to interact with your surroundings, although you desperately tried. Repeatedly you threw yourself against the walls of the cells in which the twins were held, hoping to free them from their hellish situation. You observed the twins' powers first emergence: Pietro's as he attempted to reach his sister's side, and Wanda's as she tried to defend Pietro from the scientists.

Scene after scene, each one as traumatic, if not more so, than the last, depicting all the events from Ultron and beyond. And then there's you. Except, it's not really you. You've certainly never possessed the power of teleportation, nor have you ever been so self-assured. This must be Wanda's universe's version of you. With bright eyes and a warm demeanor, you appear as a beacon of light in Wanda's otherwise bleak life. You observe as the version of you in this universe warmly welcomes the twins to the team, a stark contrast as to how the rest of the team treats the newcomers ranging from suspicious to openly hostile.

It’s surreal, watching yourself from outside your own body, knowing this version isn’t really you, but still no less real of a person. Wanda’s memories begin focusing less on missions and more on interpersonal relationships. Specifically, the one developing between yourself and Wanda. It’s intimate and you feel like an intruder watching this unfold. Sadly, as you grow closer, Wanda loses the only other connection she has - Pietro is hit by stray bullets while saving children. A true hero, and there was nothing anyone on the team could do to prevent it. You watch in horror both for the loss of Pietro as a friend, as well as knowing the absolute devastation this will cause your beloved Witch.

You can tell at this point that that’s what she was to you. It hasn't been long, but that bond has clearly already been sealed; you can see the signs in both your alternate self and Wanda. You would have to be blind not to. The loss of her brother does terrible things to Wanda and it’s all your other self can do to try to keep her afloat. “What is grief but love persevering?”

The scene shifts again. Time has clearly passed, and Wanda appears to have healed to some extent. She and the team have become much more cohesive, which delights both versions of you. Your relationship has definitely progressed, if the blush currently gracing your face, extending to your ears, is any indication. You feel the remnants of the emotions from your alternate self. They are not yours, but neither are they entirely unfamiliar. It makes for a disconcerting sensation to say the least. You don’t know Wanda like that, even though this version of you does. You wish you could view these memories dispassionately, free from your alternate self’s emotions that are bleeding through, but you suspect that’s not possible. Once again you try to reassure yourself that you are not the same person, no matter the genetic makeup.

Jarring you from your reverie, next you find yourself in another battle, and this one is massive. There are more superheroes here than you have ever seen before, either in Wanda's memories or in films. This must be the fight against Thanos she had told you about. Dread settles in your stomach like a stone, and for a moment, you contemplate what it will be like to witness your own death.

Traumatizing, for sure, though not for the reasons you had expected. While you are unable to interact with your environment, you are able to freely move about. Instead of looking at the memory entirely from Wanda’s perspective, you move to stand beside yourself. Wanda stands before you, ethereal, magnificent, yet utterly devastated. She knows what she has to do and pleads with you not to make her. It is unjust for a woman so powerful to suffer such loss, and still you implore her to sacrifice your life, her happiness, for the sake of the rest of the universe. It is unfair. It is cruel. You know it, but you ask anyway.

She never could tell you “no.”

You know the moment this universe's version of you had died when you witness the sheer devastation on Wanda's face. Most people would probably look away, but you couldn't. For some unknown reason, you feel compelled to witness this moment in all its horrifying detail, if only to gain a true understanding of the witch and the immense pain she has endured. There were surely few things more intimate than allowing someone to share their own memories, and here Wanda was, granting you unrestricted access to hers. The least you could do was accept this gift she was offering, no matter how painful it might be.

The images that follow blur together, evoking your personal experiences with grief and a sense of detachment from the world. The funeral is somber, one and all everyone dressed in black and grey. Wanda is present only in body, and you can’t blame her. Clint, the archer, hands her your belongings, including the letter she had mentioned. It unnerves you how detached Wanda appears to be at this moment, despite being surrounded by friends and colleagues. You worry about what lies ahead for her. So much loss in such a short time, it didn’t take a psychiatrist to know this would surely take a toll on her. You prayed that her friends came to check on her, but you had a feeling either they didn’t, or in her grief, she refused them entry.

Colors blend into one another and fade out. You find yourself standing on a plot of land in a town called Eastview, crouching next to Wanda as she collapses to her knees. Her body is wracked with anguished sobs as she finally allows herself to grieve. You wish you could interact with this memory, to hold her and alleviate some of her pain, even if only for a moment. Instead, you sit with her, sharing in her pain as she releases it all into the world. Wanda allows herself to experience her grief in its entirety, no longer burying her feelings beneath a veneer of numbness. Colors leech from the world around her, turning it greyscale. You're pretty certain that even at their strongest, the average person's manifestation of grief isn't supposed to do that, but then again, the average person isn't the Scarlet Witch. Briefly, you wonder what consequences this will have on her world. Your head feels fuzzy, and as your vision fades to black, you suppose you are about to find out.

You regain consciousness and find yourself in a world entirely devoid of color. Disoriented, you blink as the details of your surroundings slowly come into focus. In front of you stands... well... yourself. Or rather, an alternate version of you who appears to be from the 1950s, slightly older but still alive. Seated beside 1950’s you is Wanda, also monochrome and dressed in 1950s attire. Blearily, you rub your eyes. It has been a long day, and you are extremely tired, unsure if this is just an incredibly vivid hallucination or if you have actually passed out somewhere.

Alternate you asks Wanda a question, to which you aren’t listening, and she replies with a quip - you still aren’t listening, wondering where you are and why everything is in greyscale. What catches you off-guard though, is the surround sound laugh track that‘s garnered in response. It’s galling to admit but you jump, startled, and look around. There’s no one else in the house besides yourself, the alternate version of you, and Wanda. Where did that come from?

Alternate you replies to Wanda, and again with the laugh track. This time you are not as startled, but no less unsettled. What fresh hell is this? Could this be Wanda’s doing? It doesn’t seem like you can ask her though, as you’re just a passive observer in this strange situation. The last thing you remember, Wanda was grieving in Eastview at the plot of land which alternate you had purchased to start your life together after retiring from being superheroes. Strange grey wiggly woos (as you were starting to refer to her magic) were emanating from the witch, quite different from the familiar scarlet color you had grown accustomed to.

Perhaps this was her doing, if only subconsciously. You tried to recall, didn’t Wanda mention something about her powers being new to her and mostly unintentional? This could be what she had been referring to. Apprehension made a home in your chest as you found yourself dreading whatever was about to unfold before you. Oh no, Wanda, what did you do?

It doesn’t take long after observing the hijinks and mishaps, for you to realize that Wanda's grief had manifested through her powers. She had transformed the town of Eastview into Westview, resembling a 1950s-style sitcom town. Wanda, along with an alternate version of yourself (if you were truly still alive - that part you hadn't figured out yet), and the entire town were trapped. While it may have started unintentionally, Wanda became aware of it and began actively using her powers to maintain her idyllic town, keeping it isolated from the outside world and preventing the townspeople from leaving. In her grief, Wanda was essentially playing house, holding everyone hostage. However, despite her powers growing stronger, it was clear that the people living there were suffering. If you could even consider their existence as living.

There were even two boys - twins, just like Wanda was a twin. Your heart broke, knowing this could not possibly end well. While technically not "real" and not even "yours" at that, watching these boys be born, live, and grow caused you to cultivate a love for them almost as if they were your own. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest; you didn't want to see how this plays out, but you didn't have a choice.

Despite the dysfunction in your parents, you had always wanted a family of your own. An attempt to break the cycle and bring new life - happy and healthy - into this world. You wanted to raise your kids with the love and care you had never experienced yourself.

You understood the motivations of the witch, but that didn't justify her morally questionable choices. Once again, you are condemned to remain on the sidelines, unable to take any action to resolve the situation. You are forced to witness this charade unfold, hoping and praying that it would end well for everyone involved, yet knowing that it would not. How could it possibly?

Despite your bias, after witnessing everything Wanda had endured, you found yourself wishing for the best outcome for her, in particular. Among all the people you could think of, she deserved a break from the misery that had plagued her life until now.

Eventually, it all came to a head when another witch named Agatha Harkness had infiltrated the town with a book called the Darkhold, attempting to convince Wanda to join her and increase their powers. If Wanda refused, the witch planned to take Wanda's powers for herself. Something about a prophecy regarding a Scarlet Witch.

Meanwhile, the alternate version of you had become self-aware of the true nature of Westview. This version of you pleaded with Wanda to prioritize the wellbeing of others over her own happiness, once again. They urged Wanda to defeat Agatha and free the townspeople, even if it meant losing her spouse and children. It was an impossible choice, and you questioned whether you could have mustered the courage to make the same decision in Wanda’s position.

Wanda defeated Agatha, not that you ever doubted her for a moment. She said goodbye to you, again, and then to her boys, and released her spell. The town was free, but her family.. was gone. Wanda was once again on her own.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you awaken from the memories. It feels like it’s been ages, but from what you can tell, it must only have been minutes since Wanda first began sharing her memories with you. “Oh.”

Cringe. You wish you could have said something, anything more eloquent. Unfortunately, you feel as though you've just been hit by a Mack truck and could nap for a week. It doesn’t help that you were still feeling the effects of lack of sleep for the last couple of weeks.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t feel so good, is it okay if I lay down somewhere…?” A quick glance around the temple makes you second guess the question you were about to ask. Stone floors did not make a good bed.

With a tone much softer than she had been using, she replied. "Of course, Detka, you only need to ask."

An elegant wave of her slender fingers and gone is the stone temple, replaced by a cozy bedroom. At a cursory glance, you can tell it is a sanctuary of comfort and tranquility, featuring a plush, inviting bed. The room is adorned with personal touches, such as framed photographs of you and Wanda, and artwork that is somehow absolutely your aesthetic. Shelves display a carefully chosen selection of your favorite books, each waiting to be explored. These items add character and give the space a feeling that is unique to you, even though you have never set foot in this place before.

“Come,” A glimpse of Wanda and you are surprised to discover instead of her red and black uniform, she is now garbed in an oversized sweater and some cotton sweatpants.

“You have been holding space for others for so long, it is time you took some well-deserved rest. You work much too hard.”

“Uh s-sure.” About to make a comment that perhaps you should also change, but looking down to find that you are wearing your favorite worn Legolas shirt and some pajama shorts.

“Right. Rest.” Part of you wants to ask when you can return to your home so you can finish studying for your exams, but based on previous conversation, context clues tell you that’s the least of your concerns right now, and Wanda probably wouldn’t be too pleased with that topic of discussion right now.

Wanda takes your hand, leading you to the bed and it takes your overworked brain far longer than you care to admit to realize that she means for you both to share it. Your brain short-circuits at all the factors at play here: Knowing that you yourself are touch-starved; this absolute enchantress of a woman dated an alternate universe’s version of you, even going so far as basically playing housewife and mother of your children, and here she was asking you to share a bed. Sure, she wasn’t asking you to sleep with her, but she was still asking you to share a bed next to her and what if you accidentally spooned her in your sleep, and what if-

”You’re thinking too loudly, malysh.”

“What? You can- you’re a mind reader?!” you panic, backpedaling mentally, praying to every deity that existed that you hadn’t had any unsavory thoughts in her presence, and nearly fainting as you recalled that you in fact, had some rather explicit thoughts from the moment you first saw her.. The mortification alone was enough to put you into an early grave. You weren’t sure how you had missed that during everything she had shown you, but you reasoned you were probably more focused on the physical manifestations of her powers.

"Relax, Y/N. I don't intentionally read minds, at least not anymore. Sometimes, surface thoughts are so loud that I can't help but hear them. Like right now, you're practically yelling them at me," she said, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

Unfortunately, while you were no longer freaking out about having accidentally offended the witch, you were now spiraling down a different path. You were agonizing over the pain you had, and likely were still causing her by thinking so loudly. If you remembered any media involving mind reading, the person with the ability usually suffered greatly at the hands of others unintentionally. Naturally, the average person didn't know how to shield their thoughts, and you were afraid that you might be giving her a migraine. To the woman who had only tried to bring you to a safe place and offer you shelter.

You began to hyperventilate.

Wanda could see that you were spiraling, even without being a mind reader. It was written clearly on your face. However, being able to hear your thoughts helped her identify the source of your anxiety, and she berated herself for not considering that earlier. This version of you lacked confidence, and it was now Wanda's responsibility to help rebuild it. At least, according to her.

"Your parents really did a number on you, didn't they, detka?"

Cool hands gently held your cheeks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Suddenly, Wanda invades your personal space, and the scent of vanilla fills your nostrils, momentarily distracting you from what was happening.

"We're just going to take a nap, okay Y/N? You don't have to worry about anything. I'm not bothered by any of those thoughts you have." A leering grin unfurls across her face.

“If anything I’m quite flattered by them.” She winks.

Heat flashes across your body, and you can’t tell if you were embarrassed, aroused, or both. Unfortunately, you knew your thoughts were likely betraying you. Gods, if only the floor could just open up right now and swallow you into the abyss. Yes, that would be fantastic.

"However, there is time enough for such things later. It's been years, Y/N, and I've just got you back. Nap with me, please?" The witch's eyes gaze longingly into yours, and well, when she looks at you like that, how could you say "no"?

She leads you to the bed and, with the practiced ease of her time in Westview, pulls you into her embrace as the little spoon. Earlier, you had been worried about accidentally touching her inappropriately or having a dirty dream. Now though, with her arms wrapped so protectively around you, sleep claims you almost instantaneously.

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