bi-yearning-02

[bi-yearning-02]

i really love the idea of Kate Bishop x spidergirl reader. like. reader is Peter Parker's older twenty-something sister who got roped into being spider-sibs when that spider bit them both. she's absolutely burnt tf out between day jobs, night school and now superhero-ing, and the one thing that keeps her semi-grounded is Kate, the dorky archer she has a gigantic crush on. Kate visits her one night. knocks on her window, pizza in hand, only to find reader in tears at her desk from frustration and exhaustion. hurt/comfort, they confess their feelings. + maybe Peter and May being embarrassing and nosy 😭 if you do write this, thank you and take your time, i know you're busy <33

Title: Eyes on Me, Spidergirl.

Ship: Spidergirl!Reader x Kate Bishop

Warnings: Mentions of Stalking (not like that), Slight alcohol abuse, mother-figure death, grief, mentions of death and hospitals, slight sexual content & horrible grammar. I don't proofread.

Everything Taglist :)- @thinking1bee

[A/n: Alright, I have to admit, I didn't stick with the prompt 100% but the gist is there. Thank you so much for this request! I got carried away, but I'm so glad that I did and I hope that I lived up to expectations.]

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The woman lingered at the frays of a growing crowd. Her face was obscured by a hood, but the sharp curve of her jaw was impossible to mistake. She’d been to crime scenes before. Slightly withdrawn from the rest of the curious hoard of civilians unable to look away. Her hands were shoved into her pockets, her shoulders slumped. But her head was tilted slightly to the side. Mystified instead of horrified. Even if you hadn’t sensed the danger that was associated with her, you could see it. 

She tightened her stance and you knew she felt your eyes on her. This was the third scene within the month that the both of you found yourselves at, and while her eyes scanned the rooftops as if knowing you were there, she hadn’t spotted you. Regardless, she shifted the stack of her shoulders and turned away from the officers struggling to rip webbing away from the large man you’d pinned with little to no issue. 

You tracked her retreating form through the darkness as she slipped into an alleyway, keeping her head dipped low. She walked two more blocks, sticking to the less conspicuous path with no fear showing in her form. Once you were confident that you had a comfortable spot to drop down, to get a better look, you did exactly that. 

This wasn’t your first self-recon experience, but you felt something stir in the pit of your stomach when she stopped in her tracks. You were quiet, nearly silent. It was apart of your charm, yet somehow, she’d heard you land. She glanced over her shoulder, drawing in a sticky breath that reeks of city scents. While your gut feeling roiled against the back of your mind, it wasn’t as loud. 

“You’re not Spiderman.” 

Her voice was rasped, soft, but it still had the desired effect of making you freeze entirely. She turned to face you, the gibbous moon catching the side of her profile in a glowing hue. She pushed her hood away, perhaps expecting you to gasp in shock, or at least recognize her. You did neither. 

It was impossible not to see her beauty, she carried it like a well sharpened sword. Raven hair was falling clumsily from her ponytail. Her stare was a startling shade of grey, ghostly on all accounts. She was lithe, she was equipped with corded muscle and a stance that didn’t betray her fear, if she had any. 

The girl had about an inch on you if she was slouching, and she certainly was not. In all your years, no one had ever willingly stepped closer to you, but she did just that. Any remaining signals that were meant to fire off in your brain were silenced by her sheer proximity, by the scent of pine and lemon lingering against her skin. 

“No, I’m not.” You finally willed yourself to speak. It came out flatter than you’d like. No intimidation laced between words. “You’ve been following me. Why?” 

“Started noticing that he was using different webbing tactics. People were more damaged at the end of a fight. Reckless, if you ask me.” 

“I didn’t ask you. What are you some Spiderman groupie? Certainly know enough about his fighting style. His patterns.” 

She smiled, something stunning and dangerous. “No. I mean, I guess, something like that. Forgive a girl for tailing you out of curiosity? Seems like Spidey has met his match.” 

She had no idea. You wore a similar suit, but dark enough to help you blend into the architecture instead of standing out like the red and blue that he wore. Black and silver, iridescent in the light if you ever allowed yourself to get that far. It wasn’t often that you did. You’d been so cooped up in your motel room that the sharp chirp of sirens pounded against your temple. And the one thing you did have in common with Spiderman was your inability to sit still. 

“I didn’t know there was more than one.” She gave you a smile that was nothing short of lopsided and slightly goofy. If she was attempting to lower your defenses, it was working. “That’s sick.” 

“There isn’t. Just him.” 

“Mm, I’m looking at you right now and you look like Spider-man.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying? Because I’d be happy to take up the mantle.” 

She shrugged half-heartedly. “My roommates and my mother have dibs on that when she’s not rotting in a prison cell.” The girl frowned, your own head tilting to the side. “Right, total overshare. I’ll see you around then, not spiderman.” 

“You won’t!” 

You called after her, though it was pointless, really. Something about having the last word with this charming, beautifully awkward stranger seemed like a priority at the moment. She seemed to sense it too, giving you a raise of the hand, but keeping silent, all the same.

You’d checked and double checked the address that he’d given you over the phone. When you were a college student in the city, you lived in a studio that had a shower curtain around the toilet and a shared sink with the kitchen. There wasn’t much of a kitchen, actually. A toaster oven and half a foot of counter space. But you got to live alone and you developed a routine that worked for you. You were hardly within the four walls anyway. 

This wasn’t just a step up from your squabble, this was a whole staircase of amenities like a doorman, and a breakfast bar in the lobby. He’d told you to go to the penthouse suite, gave  you a specific code to the elevator that would take you there. The elevator smelled like freshly picked lavender and it was lined with reflective surfaces. You tightened your hold on the duffel bag you carried, trying to ignore the light brown bruising against your cheekbone from the night before. 

You were hopelessly out of place, but not more out of place than you were in the motel. 

Half-expecting the elevator doors to open into a corridor (like most elevators do), you forced yourself to loosen the protective slouch of your shoulders, took a deep breath of overly-floral air, and exited into the lobby area for an apartment that clearly had two floors. There were windows facing the city, large and stretching from floor to ceiling. The light that illuminated the massive space gave you a view of dark cherry wood and stainless steel. 

You tensed when you heard the sound of nails clicking against the floor. The pace barely gave you enough time to lower yourself down to one knee. You accommodated a large ball of golden fluff that assaulted you with a rough pink tongue. Any remaining worry drained out as you carded your fingers through fur, taking note of this one-eyed beast that wasn’t so beastly at all. 

Another dog peaked around the corner, something bigger, with more hair, if that was even possible. It blinked at you wearily, but not afraid. If anything, she looked as if she was annoyed with the other dog’s antics. She was, after-all, much more refined than other dogs. That much was clear. 

“y/n/n, is that you?” 

His voice drifted from somewhere far away, perhaps across the expanse of the penthouse, but he was closing distance fast, so you stood from your crouch, attempted to brush off some fur. Hearing his voice after so long filled you with an unmatched warmth that you didn’t realize you were missing until he launched himself into your arms. 

“I missed you so much.” Peter's voice was muffled by the fabric of your shirt. He was shorter than you, younger too. He buried himself in the small of your neck like he did when you were kids and seeking warmth in one another. There was something desperate about his hold that made you hug him tighter. “You have no idea. You smell like dog.” 

You laughed genuinely at this “And you have dogs, what am I supposed to do? Not give them attention.” 

He stepped back and you instantly missed the warmth, but his hand quickly found your shoulder. Peter looked like you would vanish the second he stopped touching you. “They’re my roommates. The food motivated one is Lucky, the standoffish one is Fanny. Give her time and she’ll be all over you.” 

Peter barely took a breath before picking the bag off the floor and hurrying into the bulk of the apartment. He talked a mile a minute, just like always. It was never hard for you to follow his ramblings, his theories, his joys in life, however sparse. He mentioned a guest room, another unfathomable thing in your mind. You politely let him prattle on as your hand dropped to Lucky's head and scratched behind his ear. 

“Seriously, y/n, I know this is hard. But I’m glad you’re here. In the city, I mean. I’ve missed my sister.” he frowned “Like there’s this… this hole in my chest that I’m meant to fill ever since… I’m sure you get it. You must. It feels a little less empty now that you’re here.” 

You nodded, swallowed around the stone forming in your throat. “I get that, Pete. I don’t think things will ever be the same. Running was easier. Is easier, I guess. But I missed you too. We’ll work through this together like we’ve worked through everything else in life.” 

The weight was unspoken, and stayed that way. The fact that after your Aunt May had died, you’d taken off in the middle of the night with a note and a few changes of clothes. When he was crumpled and down, and you were much of the same, you found solace in turning your back, convinced you could heal alone better than you’d ever been able to heal with him. It was unfair, but you blamed Peter, even though the situation was out of his control. Even though you were both still kids. 

He had opened the door to a room that smelled as honey-sweet as the elevator and the lobby before that. It was nice, filled with light, the bed impeccably made. The type of mattress that could swallow you whole if you let it. Your bones ached to the point of surrender. But none of that mattered. 

You pulled Peter back into your arms by the lapels of his flannel. He instantly folded against you again and the two of you ignored the small whine that Lucky released. Small protests that you’d make up for later when your brother wasn’t so willing to let you hug him like this. 

The dog eventually gave up when the sound of the elevator opening again caught his attention. You pulled apart, squeezed his shoulder again and tried to forget that you were the reason Peter’s eyes were so damp in the first place. He shakily breathed in, used the base of his palm to wipe away the shed tears. 

“No, that is not for you.” There was shuffling in the foyer, paper bags crinkling as they changed from one hand to another. “Your mother has taught you bad manners.” 

“I have not. I can’t deny those eyes. Look at him.” 

“He only has one, Kate Bishop, you should be able to resist it.” 

Peter was wound up. You’d grown up with him and knew that his cheeks took on a certain red tint when he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. You frowned instantly, dropping your voice to a whisper. “Your roommates do know I’m here, right?” he gave you a trepid smile, your voice becoming more frantic. “They know you have a sister, right?” 

You smacked him in the arm with a valiant effort of force just as the owners of the voices rounded the corner. They noticed you right away. Of course they did, you were a stranger standing in their hallway with your bumbling mess of a sibling who had crossed one hue of red into another. 

What dried your mouth out, truly sucked all the moisture away, was the taller of the two. She wasn’t just familiar, she was recognizable. She was the girl that had tailed you for the last week. The one you’d cornered in the alleyway, and she happened to be your brother's roommate and not a spiderman groupie. 

While the other woman was smaller compared to her counterpart, she looked lean. She tracked you with the stealth of someone who did it for a living. Her muscles tensed and her jaw set. Her blonde hair was cut to her shoulders, naturally fluffy and effortless. Her eyes were nothing but a warning masked in brilliant green. 

Her accent was sharp, unrelenting “Who are you?” 

“Okay, alright, take the hostility down a notch.” Peter laughed nervously at her tone, trying to negate his own nervousness. Stll, his voice came out timidly. “This is my older sister. She’s going to be in town for a bit and I offered her the guest room until her place is ready.” 

“Y/n Parker.” you reached a hand out to shake her own. She eyed it, but didn’t make a move to slot her palm into your own. “Okay, um, hi, you’re intense.” 

“You get used to it. Don’t let Yelena scare you off, she’s really a big teddy bear.”  

Your eyes naturally moved to the owner of the voice. Yelena had huffed at the implication and scooped the other grocery bag from the woman’s arm before heading in the direction of what you assumed was a kitchen. It was hard for you to speak around the drool that filled your mouth, so you swallowed it instead, willing yourself to shake her hand. It was warm and calloused in all the right places to accommodate a sport you couldn’t quite pin down. 

“I’m Kate. Stay as long as you’d like. Though, don’t expect to get out of any grilling. Pete barely talks about his family. I want to know what he was like as a baby.” 

“Not a chance in hell, Bishop.” 

“Oh, I have pictures in my wallet” You beamed, her hand was still clasped with your own, feeling so natural that neither of you seemed to notice. “He was the definition of any little brother. Annoying.” 

The way you said the word seemed to spark familiarity in her. You were withdrawing your hand with a nervous laugh. If Kate noticed anything out of the ordinary, she didn’t mention it.

Peter clapped you on the shoulder, gave you his goofy grin that shined just like your fathers. Each time he beamed, it pulled your heart in two different directions. One of astute affection and one of desired sorrow. He left you alone to unpack, to close your eyes for a moment before Yelena evidently poisoned whatever food she was making for dinner.

Sleep still clung to you when there was a soft knock at the door. If your stomach didn’t clench at the savory scent wafting from the kitchen, you would have turned over and let exhaustion take you once more. But, you were starved half to death and it did admittedly smell amazing.

Instead of your brother, you were met with Kate.

She looked sheepish, standing in her own home. There was a pink dusting to her cheeks that made the stormy look in her eyes stand out. “Hello. Hi. Um, dinner.”

“Thank you, Kate.”  

“Yelena is convinced that you’re here to murder us. She… she had a rough go of it and when Peter doesn’t mention something like this after two years of living together it makes people nervous. It makes her nervous, really. I think you’re… I think she just wants to know that you’re genuine. That you won’t hurt him.”

She squeezed herself, arms draped across her midsection. She looked small and soft in a cardigan. She gave you a gentle smile, turned to move back to the kitchen. You tightened your grip on the edge of the door until the wood dug into your fingers.

“Kate?” The way she turned reminded you of the night before. She didn’t have her hood on, didn’t have strands of hair clouding her vision. She was open. “I can’t promise that. I never meant to hurt him the first time. It wasn’t intentional. It’s never intentional.”

Kate lifted her chin in a nod “The good thing about Peter Parker is his ability to forgive. He won’t forget, you know he won’t. But he’ll forgive. He already has.”

An arrow made a clean-cut wound that split right through the center of it’s target. It was an archaic weapon, but it was more dexterous than a gun. Part of you was impressed. Despite the arrow that was lodged in your hand, you were impressed.

“Ow! Why?” You glanced frantically up at the perpetrator. “Why would you do that?”

Nothing else intelligible was making it past your lips right now. Not when Kate Bishop looked like that. God, it made sense that Peter wouldn’t live with normal civilians, but you hadn’t expected one of his roommates to shoot you through the hand in the middle of the night.

The novelty mug in your hand had shattered on the floor, scattering the shards of glass and the water that you were so eager to gulp down and Kate fucking Bishop was aiming a perfectly nocked arrow at your shoulder. Somehow, you knew she wasn’t going to actually shoot. But, then again she shot you in the middle of her kitchen.

It had been a little over two weeks since you started to crash in your little brothers guest room. You realized that he simply resided here, in Kate’s penthouse, and that made you feel a little less guilty about only pitching in for obnoxiously expensive bagels.

You’d grown too complacent, too reckless. Instead of walking straight to your room and stripping yourself of your suit, you’d simply pulled your mask off and greedily got as much water in your system as you could before an arrow had pinned you to the drywall.

“Oh my god.” Kate lowered the tip of the arrow. “Oh my fucking god, I shot Peter’s sister.”

“Can you help Peter’s sister get the arrow out of her hand, please!” Your voice cracked at the end. She looked at you like her brain was buffering. “KATE.”

She sidled up next to you, setting the bow on the kitchen island, letting the arrow in her hand drop altogether. You hoped the wasn’t loud enough to stir the other occupants in the house, but Yelena stirred at the sight of dust. She’d stopped nailing you with glowering looks, and this would break that progress, you were sure.

“Ah, okay, we can… I’ll go slow.”

“Just rip it out, Bishop.” You gritted. “Like a Band-Aid. I’d do it myself, but I will pass out. Shit, I’m going to pass out.”  

The two of you started to talk louder and louder over one another in a frantic bid to calm down. She was attempting to soothe, and you were attempting to push her hard enough to rip the arrow she shot out of the tendons in your hand.

Yelena padded quietly into to the kitchen, deftly avoided the glass on the floor, and ripped the arrow from your hand with a sickening crunch. You hissed through your teeth, instantly cradling your hand to your stomach. Kate turned positively green, moaning because she couldn’t find any of the words that were swimming through her mind.

“It is the middle of the night. I am trying to sleep.” Yelena sleepily mumbled, dropping the bloodied arrow onto the counter. “Go to bed.”

“Okay, yeah. Bed.” Kate blinked at the blonde “You don’t see the suit? I’m the only one seeing the suit?”

“I see it. For a CEO, you are very slow at putting pieces together. The Parkers have their faults, but they’re damn good heroes.”

“Was that a compliment?” You squeaked out.

“Bed. Now.”

She turned on her heel and stalked off to her room, the door slamming enough to wake the dead, but not your brother. He could sleep through anything, and just this once, you were grateful. Despite yourself, you shot a glare at Kate and ran your hand under the tap until the coolness soothed the incessant sting. When the water ran pink, you flicked it off and glanced at her with something calmer. Something less masked by the darkness of your suit.

“You’re a,” You clenched your jaw, swallowed “You’re a stalker.”

“No, no. Not a stalker. Just a concerned vigilante with a police scanner. Y/n, if someone with the exact same powers as you showed up in the city and started lightly maiming people, wouldn’t you be just a little suspicious? I was worried for Peter. That’s all.”

“Lightly maim is a stretch, Kate. I just have a heavier hand than him. Not as much patience for people who don’t deserve it. Webbing a dude to the wall for a time-out doesn’t make me a bad person. Shooting someone in the hand with an arrow…”

“Yeah, well, I can shoot somewhere else. Perfectly. With my eyes closed.”

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” Your shoulder was aligned with hers, so much so you could scent her shampoo. You held the arrow out. Kate’s eyes flickered down lower than your eyes, gently took the item offered. “I suggest you do the same if you value your life.”

Peter dropped the box with a clumsy thump. It sounded like something shattered and shook within the confines of the cardboard. You winced, but didn’t say a word, too entrapped by your new apartment. It was an escape from the guest room that never lost it’s oceanic smell. While thankful for the place to crash, it was much better having your own space and pulling your stuff out of storage.

He brushed the dust from his hands, put them on his hips and gave you a goofy smile. You popped the cap off a beer and handed it to him. “What? Really? You’re not baiting me?”

“It’s a thank you for helping me move all my shit. Besides, May gave me my first drink at your age. Figured I’d pass on the tradition.”

There was a dull buzz of despair that often drowned out your pseudo-mothers death. Along with the despair came another wave of stronger, thicker, stuff that reminded you of the sharp taste of cough syrup. You washed it down with a burning swallow of the cheapest brew you could find.

Peter snorted into his own bottle, froth spilling past his nose and trickling down his chin. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’ll put some hair on your chest.” You gave him a shove, speaking around the mouth of the bottle. “Seriously though, thank you. You’re welcome here at any point. Especially if Yelena gets too scary or if Kate get’s too much like Kate. I mean it. Moving back home wasn’t just for me.”

The limited alcohol on a half-empty stomach made him bold.

“Does that mean you’d be willing to go on patrol together again?”

“No, not yet.” You frowned unintentionally. “I’m not ready.”

Peter nodded and swallowed another gulp, not wincing this time. The context was there. You weren’t ready to see him suited up. It was the same suit that was stained with your aunt’s blood. You couldn’t bear to think of how he held her and the anger that flared up when he got one final moment with her to say goodbye. It was selfish. You knew it was. But, why not you? Why couldn’t you grip onto her one more time?

He nodded, “Okay. Let me know when you are. We could be a dynamic duo again.” He nudged his shoulder against your own.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy the person I’ll be out there. I’m not gentle anymore Pete. There’s nothing heroic about what I do. I’m not some perfect role model that will leave criminals on a platter for law enforcement. I do what needs to be done.”

You didn’t tell him that you had moved to another city so you could take out your anger on entities that didn’t regard you as someone to be admired. You didn’t tell him that you put a guy in the hospital when you hit him once, felt a little better, and kept hitting him until the hauled him off to a hospital. You didn’t tell him that he died later that night, or that you snuck into the morgue and the only thing you felt when you looked at his lifeless body was more anger.

“That’s alright. You’re my sister, and I love you, and that’ll never change.”

“Thanks, Pete. I love you too.”

The two of you finished your drinks side by side. Wordlessly, before he left for the night with a tight hug and a nervous smile that seemed to be his default. Your room was nothing but a mattress on the floor right now, no sheets and a duvet that you were sprawled across. Your bones hurt too much to put together a bedframe, and you had a nice view of the city below.

Aunt May didn’t have much, but she did have enough to provide both you and Peter with a nest egg. She owned the house downtown and it went for a lot of money to a group of developers that were frothing at the mouth for it. Despite your exhaustion, your mind was running ridiculously fast. You weren’t quite able to fall asleep right now.

So, you padded back into the kitchen and pulled out the only thing in your freezer. A clear bottle of vodka that was frosted enough to feel good as it went down. Two shots later and you were pleasantly warm enough to forget the glazed look in the mans eyes as you slammed your fist into his jaw until it was a bloodied pulp.

When there was a soft knock at the door, you ignored it, figured it was the lingering memory of bones breaking under your hand. But when it sounded again, you blinked lazily at the door and pulled it open without any regard for your personal safety. Too buzzed, too exhausted, to care.

The groan only escaped you when you saw who was on the other side.

“Oh my god, you are a stalker.”

“This is a nice place.” She shouldered her way through, took a look at all the boxes and the one bottle of open vodka on the table. “This will sound like I’m being a stalker, but I saw you through the window. You looked sad.”

“You were watching me through the window?”

“Not on purpose. I was doing recon for a mission that required surveillance in the area and you were just there. I told you it was going to sound creepy. I’m not creepy.”

“You sort of are.”

“And you’re sort of drunk.”

“Why are you here, Kate?”

It was her turn to groan, to cross the room and pour a swallow of alcohol into her mouth. To her credit, she didn’t’ wince. Her eyes didn’t water. You supposed that was an added benefit of living with an ex-assassin from Russia that you were still convinced didn’t like you very much.

She looked beautiful in her tactical suit, a deep black that hugged her curves. Her hair was down today, flowing over her shoulders and obscuring the wounded deer look in her eyes. She set the bottle down and moved her stance, staring at you long enough to make you squirm.

“You don’t like me very much. I know that.” You opened your mouth to deny the fact, but she held up her finger, leveling you with a dark stare that made something stir in your stomach. “I’ve got to finish this before I lose my nerve. You’re intimidating. And you don’t like me very much. Which is a damn problem because I like you. You’re stubborn and stupid, and there’s something in there that just pulls me in.”

Now that you had a lull of silence, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Your mouth was incredibly dry, and your stomach was burning from the alcohol and the cold pizza you devoured.

“But you… You don’t pay attention to me unless I shoot you in the fucking hand, or follow you to crime scenes, not because I’m worried about the way you handle things. But because I’m intrigued by you. I can’t stop being intrigued by you. You’re Peter’s stupid older sister that makes me feel like I’m in high school again.”

She looked up at you. Unwittingly, you’d closed the distance. Again, her scent tickled your throat. It felt like it was choking you and that you would let it. She was rambling, and the second the heat of your body slotted against her own, she snapped her jaw shut and stopped vomiting out words.

“I was a nerd in high school.” You were close enough to nudge the tip of your nose against her own. “The biggest dork. I was the photographer for the school paper, and the president of the AV club. God, and I can’t forget the trip to Osborn industries where a toxic spider bit me and rode my lapels all the way home, just to bite Peter. You wouldn’t talk to me in high school.”

“Wanna bet?” Kate exhaled a huff of a laugh, warm against your lips. “President of the debate club, first chair in orchestra, and the team captain for the archery and fencing team.”

“Oh, so you were a jock?”

“The dorkiest version of a jock you can be. But you’re right, I probably wouldn’t talk to you in high school. I didn’t talk to anyone except for my dog, and he wasn’t the best listener.”

You laughed, something raspy and borderline desperate. You wanted to feel her, to live her as an experience. This woman, this entity in your life that had been a side-step from your brother. This archer that was clumsy and had shot you through the hand, albeit perfectly.

She was stupidly attractive, and you were stupidly wrapping your arm around her and pulling her as close as possible before slotting your lips together. Kate kissed you back hungrily. Her tongue licked into your mouth. She tasted of something citrus and vodka. Her hands strung hands desperately through your hair. Your teeth clacked together. It was a animalistic type of kiss. One that you’d unwittingly been waiting for.

“Bed,” Kate growled into your mouth. “Bedroom, now.”

Kate didn’t have to tell you twice. You pulled her into your arms, hauling her up by the thighs and walking her backwards in the direction of the room. She let out an “oof” when her shoulder clipped the doorframe. “Sorry, sorry. New house.”

Her lips moved to your jawline, to your throat, as she nipped and licked at the skin there. She was making your mind hazy, making you feel so fuzzy that all you could think about was Kate Bishop. All you could live, breathe, and feel, was Kate fucking Bishop.

She was kissing you with fervor, even as you lowered her to the mattress on the floor. “I have a bedframe, I do.”

“Are you saying this so you can secure me to it later or are you really that concerned about your décor right now? Because if you are, I’m not doing my job right.” She frowned up at you, digging her nails into the back of your neck. “I bet your webbing is soft enough.”

You moaned into her shoulder. “You’re killing me, Kate. Stop talking.”

She grinned. “Make me.”

[bi-yearning-02]

Sharing is caring

Summary: Natasha doesn't like to share.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

A/N: Thank you to @jujuu23 for reading this before I posted :)

Natasha wanted to have a good day.

But then recruits were stupid, Steve was being annoying about paperwork. And now, this.

Her favorite mug. Gone.

“Did you do this?” is the first thing she says to Sam as he enters the kitchen.

“No, I like the idea of keeping all my fingers”

And precisely then, you walk in.

Newest addition to the team, top of your SHIELD class, expert in weapons, languages and the most delicious desserts. Steve had to enforce a rigurous meal plan when even Bucky gained a good five pounds.

Natasha likes your easy smile, beautiful eyes, and those full lips that can be both alluring and mysterious.

That perfect mouth that is now sipping from none other than Natasha’s mug.

Sam crosses his arms, expecting the Russian to say something. But she stays glued to her spot.

As you enter the room, you feel two sets of eyes on you. The attention makes you falter, but you push through. There’s no place for shyness when you’re an Avenger.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Real nice” Sam says, and you nod, considering if it’s a good idea to address Natasha directly. You still haven’t quiet figured her out. 

“Do I have something on my face? You’re staring”

“No” Natasha rushes to say, before Sam can tell you that you’re holding her mug, the one that made her rip Barnes’ arm off when she saw him using it.  

“You sure? Dirt? Chocolate?”

“Your face is perfect” she hurries to say, and Sam has to cough to hide his laughter 

“Smooth, Romanoff”

“Ok, then. I made coffee and added a little nutmeg. Wanna try it?”

You offer her your mug and she takes it, smiling. 

“This is really good!”

“Finish it. I have to train. I don’t mind sharing” you wink at her, and Natasha has to keep from smiling. She doesn’t like new people knowing she can go soft.

“Can I have some?” Sam steps in.

“No” Natasha cuts him off and you laugh, waving goodbye. 

—

Heroes can save the day, but forget to bring out an extra chair when doing mission debriefings. 

This is the first time the entire team has been on a mission together since you joined, and now the conference room is crowded. There’s no place to sit, except for a small sofa in the back of the room.

That’s where Natasha usually sits, because it gives her a view of everyone. She can read their expressions, guess what they think, take that information to asses what needs to be refined in their team dynamic. 

Right now, though, she’s one of the last people in. The minute she looks at her spot, she sees you, leaning against the sofa, your hand discreetly holding your side.

“Rookie, you’re in Red’s spot” Tony says, walkign right after Natasha. 

She shoots him a murderous glare, but all you do is laugh, trying to stand up without anyone noticing you’re injured.

But Natasha notices.

“We can both sit here” she rushes to say, and you nod, knowing your voice would be strained if you thanked her out loud.

Mission debriefing goes by in a blur, your breathing heavy. 

Natasha is ready to tell Steve to can it, but Tony steps in, and everyone leaves the room.

Everyone except you. 

Natasha can’t leave either, worried about your condition.

“It’s nothing major” you say, knowing why she’s still sitting next to you.

“What is?” she tries to play dumb, but that makes you laugh. You wince after a second, though. “You should go to the Medbay”

“Cracked ribs, that’s all. The doctors won’t be able to fix that either way” you smile at her, but make no effort to move. Natasha stays put too, and you know she’s patient enough to wait it out. “Fine. I’m going”

You expect Natasha to leave for her room once you promise to get checked out. But instead, she follows you.

“Just in case you need something”

The doctors confirm what you already know. Rest, painkillers, no training for a couple of days. What you had missed were a couple of cuts, since you didn’t even change out of your suit until now. A nurse cleans them up and patches you up, but you’re left in nothing but a tank top and your tactical pants. 

Why is the Medbay so damn cold?

When you open the door, Natasha is already waiting, a hoodie in her hands.

“I’ve told them to fix the damn AC a thousand times” is all she says, and you smile, grateful. You struggle when you have to slide the hoodie down your body, and Natasha’s hands are quick to pull the fabric down gently.

“Thank you, Nat”

“Come on, you need your rest” 

Walking back to the living quarters, you can’t help but wonder if she’s being nice out of pity or something else. Whatever it is, you just hope she doesn’t see you as the rookie that screws up during their first group mission.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything” 

You nod, waiting until she walks into her own room to get inside.

The first thing you do in the privacy of your room is enjoy the fact her hoodie is soft, and smells just like Natasha.

You might not give it back to her.

—

Tony’s idea of a party is shut down the next morning. You can guess that Steve is aware of your injuries, as the doctors are required to submit a report.

Still, Stark insists on some team bonding activity and by a miracle, Natasha gets him to agree to movie night.

That’s how you end up in the entertainment room. There’s popcorn, soda, pizza and chocolate. 

Once again, and unbenknowst to you, you end up sitting on the couch Natasha takes up for herself.

“Hey” she walks up to you, vaguely aware that the rest of the team is waiting to see if Natasha asks you to move. “Mind if we share?”

“Not at all!” you say, moving to the side so she can sit. It’s hard to pretend you’re not excited about Natasha’s request. 

Considering she’s always keeping her distance, sharing the couch during movie night seems like a big deal.

“Everyone settled?” Tony asks, his gaze lingering on you two. Natasha glares, so he turns around and starts the movie.

After a couple of minutes, you reach forward to open the pack of M&M’s that no one seems to want. You can’t help the laugh when Natasha reaches for them at the same time.

“We can share these too” you say, handing them to her.

Natasha is trying to pay attention to the movie, but you’re shifting in the couch, sometimes your knee brushing against hers. 

“You’re not eating the green ones” she notices, leaning close to you to not interrupt the movie.

“Oh, shit” you laugh, somehow sensing that Natasha wants to know why. “My brother and I would agree to leave those for last, and then split them. Stupid”

“Wouldn’t want to mess with tradition” she says, separating them. You watch her, holding back a smile.

—

“Y/N’s all packed up and ready to go, right?” Steve says, reading over a file. 

“Yeah, she walked by like five minutes ago. Medics gave clearance” Sam says. “It’s just a recon mission, either way”

They’re going back to reviewing the team’s schedule when Natasha sprints past them.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Sam says, hoping there’s no threat to deal with. Steve is about to walk out as well, when he hears Natasha’s words.

“I’m going with Y/N! How could you be so irresponsible to send her away when she just recovered?”

Captain Rogers decides to hide behind the door, Natasha’s anger making him feel small.

“Alright, have a good one” Sam gives her a thumb up, and the redhead just rolls her eyes. He sighs, going back inside.

Steve stays silent for a second.

“The safe house only has one bed” he says, considering if it’s worth telling Natasha that. "Should we tell her?"

“No, thank you”

—

Recon missions suck. 

There, you said it. Unfortunately, those are the most frequent ones for you, as the newest member of the team and being practically unknown to the general population.

You’re walking to your car, hoping the mission can be done quickly. It’s a day and a half and being alone makes it specially boring. As soon as you open the driver’s door, you find Natasha sitting, smiling up at you.

“Jeez! What are you doing here?”

“Backup. Cap asked me to come last minute” 

“Oh” you get quiet, nodding.

Natasha tries to stay neutral when she notices how your face falls. Did she read into the situation? A part of her thought you liked being around her.

Either way, she can’t back out now. Once you’re settled in the car, Natasha drives out of the Compound, to the small office you’re meant to infiltrate.

“Is… did…?” you mumble a couple of times. Natasha keeps a poker face, waiting for you to speak again. With a sigh, you finally let it out. “Did Steve send you to babysit me? He thinks I screwed up because I got injured, doesn’t he?”

“No, it’s nothing like that” Natasha says, mentally kicking herself for rushing to join you. She didn’t even consider your feelings, too eager to spend time together. “I just didn’t like the idea of you going alone”

“Oh” you say again, this time blushing. Natasha can sense something shifts from your tone alone, so she turns to look at you. Your eyes meet hers and you smile. “Yeah, I was actually thinking how boring it was going to be. So, I’m glad you tagged along” 

“I’m glad too” she says, trying not to smile.

“Let’s see if you keep saying that after I put on my roadtrip playlist”

“Bring it”

Natasha tries to enjoy the songs, though she’ll never tell you that pop music isn’t really her thing. What she does enjoy are the gummies you offer. In your words, road snacks are key to the trip.

As you park close to the safe house, you leave your bag in the living room and then go down to around the corner, checking you have everything you need in your jacket pockets. 

“Wanna go over the plan?” Natasha says, trying to keep calm. It’s just a recon mission. You’ll be fine.

“Bug the conference room for the meeting happening tomorrow. Hack into Russo’s computer and download everything. In and out, easy peasy” 

Natasha nods, and you wink at her.

“If I finish in under 10 minutes you buy me dinner”

“Deal” Natasha says, and she wishes she could tell you she’ll buy you dinner no matter what happens.

You finally go, walking up to the building, strolling casually. As you’re about to reach the doors, a man leaves the office and you snatch his ID to get past the gates.

That’s the easy part. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of people in the hallways still, and the office you’re supposed to infiltrate is at the end of the long corridor.

The conference room should be close to the elevator, so you decide to take a look around. As you approach, you hear voices inside.

It will be difficult to bug a room with other people in it.

Looking around, aware that you’ll be suspicious if you just stand there, you think of a way out.

And then you spot the distraction you need.

Well, whatever it takes to get the mission done.

—

Natasha finds a cafeteria that is across the office, and she gets to sit by the window, looking out as you skilfully snatch the ID from someone who’s leaving.

Standard time for a mission like that should be under fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, the man whose ID you stole is coming back exactly five minutes later. 

Natasha’s not sure if he forgot something, or if he noticed he was missing his ID and decided to return for it. The fact of the matter is that if someone notices you used it to get inside, you’ll be in trouble.

She suddenly wishes you had a comm with you so she could help out. Hell, if the man keeps talking to security, Natasha will find a way to make a scene and distract them long enough to get you out.

Just as she’s about to stand up, one of the cleaning staff walks out and hands over the ID. Did you notice what happened and dropped it? Were you still inside? You didn’t need the ID to exit the building, but still.

The man takes his ID, and walks back inside. 

It’s been nine minutes. Natasha will give you five more before she intervenes.

She’s so focused on looking out the window that she misses the moment you step inside the restaurant, and sit in front of her.

“What…? “ the redhead does a doble take, and you take great pride in that.

“Janitor’s closet, grabbed one of their uniforms. Nobody questions cleaning staff”

You pass her the USB, smiling at her shocked expression.

“And you gave him back his ID, as if you weren’t the one who took it”

“All under ten minutes. You know what that means?”

“Of course. Let’s check the menu” Natasha says, smiling at you.

After ordering a couple of cheeseburgers, you read over the desserts.

“We could share a brownie” you say, holding back a smile. You’ve noticed Natasha has a sweet tooth, and is less than inclined to share her food, especially if it’s a dessert.

“Sure” she says after a beat, and you clear your throat, speaking after the waitress leaves.

“You know, I can handle rejection”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m the youngest of three. I’m used to people telling me to leave their things alone” you say, smiling at her. “If I’m bothering you…”

“I don’t mind sharing” she cuts you off, her shoulders tense. It’s a bit uncomfortable for her to be vulnerable like this. “Not when I’m sharing with you” 

“Oh” you blush, biting your lip. The way her words affect you make Natasha regain some of her confidence. 

“How come you didn’t want to do a recon?”

“I don’t know. I like group missions. Or at least going with someone else. Like I said, I have siblings and I guess being around the team makes me feel like at home”

“Well, I like them because I can take a break from everyone. But that’s just because I’ve been dealing with those boys for years now” she laughs.

“Yeah, I get it. It can feel like a frat house sometimes. Let’s have girls night, no boys allowed” you joke, but perk up a second later. “Wait! That actually sounds fun. Oh my Gosh, we could go to the movies, or a museum, or dinner…”

“Sounds like a date to me” Natasha interrupts your rambling, pleased when you play with your hands.

“Yeah. That could be a date” 

Once the food arrives, you eat and chat. Natasha does agree to sharing dessert, which makes your heart melt a little at the gesture.

The last part of the mission is supposed to happen tomorrow, when a couple of shady businessmen meet at the building you infiltrated. All you have to do is sit and take pictures of whoever walks in, so intelligence can run background checks.

After dinner, you head back to the small apartment. For the first time since you arrived, you walk past the entrance to check the space.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks when you come back, fiddling with your hands.

“There’s only one bed”

“Oh”

“You can totally take it, the couch looks fine…”

“No, you’re still recovering, I’ll sleep on the couch”

Natasha and you speak over the other for a few minutes until your voices die down and you stare at each other.

“We could share?” you suggest.

“Ok” Natasha nods, trying to pretend it’s not a big deal.

But when you change into an oversized t-shirt (no shorts because you truly thought you’d be alone here), and lie down in the small bed, your heart is practically beating out of your chest. 

“You ok?” Natasha says, trying not to move.

You give up with a sigh, turning on your side and moving closer, until you’re inches apart.

“Just need to sleep on my side. And I usually hug a pillow. Don’t ask me why, I just do”

“Well… here” Natasha moves even closer, taking your arm. She places it around her waist, and pulls you closer. Your breath hitches for a second, but Natasha smiles reassuringly. “Is this better?”

“Yes”

As a matter of fact, it’s the best sleep either one of you has gotten in years.

—

You’re not in the mood for parties.

But that’s never stopped Tony before.

After waking up cuddling Natasha, (and barely completing the mission because you didn’t want to leave bed) you were eager to ask her out, or have her ask you out. Whichever was fine by you.

But as soon as you parked the car, Cap was waiting with a frown and a big file.

“We leave in an hour” he said, only to Natasha.

Apparently, this was going to be a very demanding mission, and Cap didn’t want you pushing yourself.

So, Natasha, Sam and Steve had been gone for a few days now.

Tony was mildly disappointed, but this was Pepper’s birthday party and he wasn’t about to call it off for a few working Avengers.

Still, you try to cheer up and put on a good face, mainly for Pepper. You’re not sure she really wanted this big of a party, but she seems happy enough.

Most of the people attending are from Stark Industries, so you try to blend in and speak to some of them.

“Hey, do you work in legal?” a young blonde asks when you go get another drink.

“Oh, no, definitely not”

“Thought I knew you. I’m in HR”

“Fun” you say, but the tone you use makes her laugh. Before you can do anything, she changes seats and moves closer to you.

“I’m Sasha”

Reluctantly, you give your name. Even after the bartender hands over another glass of Chardonnay, Sasha keeps talking to you, though she doesn’t really care if you work at Stark Industries or not. After your third glass of wine, you begin to relax, and say a couple of jokes that make her laugh a little too loud.

She’s definitely flirting.

“Wanna take this conversation somewhere else?” she asks and you look around.

“I think I need some air…”

“We could…”

But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence, because Natasha is by your side in an instant. Little drops of water wet your shoulder as she approaches you, having rushed from the shower to see you.

“Hey, detka. Having fun without me?”

“You’re home!” you shout, excited at seeing her again.

“I am. Come on, let’s go to the balcony” she says, taking your hand. You’re halfway there when you remember Sasha, and try to turn back to say goodbye.

“I don’t want to be rude”

“And I said I like to share with you, not share you” 

“Oh” you blush at that, and stay silent as Natasha drags you out of the party. 

“Was that too much?” she asks when you finally get to the balcony.

“No. I just drank too fast and I’m happy to see you” you say, your hands going around her shoulders. 

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Natasha holds your waist and pulls you closer to her.

“I’m happy to see you too” she leans her forehead against yours. “And about that date…”

“Yeah, I’m up for it” you confirm with a nod. Your faces are inches apart, and Natasha  can tell you’re sneaking small glances at her lips.

“As for other stuff…” 

“Mhm” you hum, aware that she’s leaning forward. You let her lips meet yours, and the kiss is short but tender. “Will this date have more of these?”

“Hell, yeah” she nods, making you laugh.

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Can’t wait” she nods, kissing you again.

Unfortunately, you’re interrupted by Sam, who is sporting a shit eating grin.

“Anything you two wanna share with the team?”

“No” you answer at the same time.

Some things, are meant to stay between you two. 

[bi-yearning-02]

hiiii! i loved reading “somethin’ stupid”, and I wanted to make a request for it. Not sure if it’s discontinued or not, but what abt reader when everything has healed and them being super insecure of their scars. Maybe getting bullied or harassed for them? And Wednesday comforting them, even though it’s not her thing + reassurance that she’ll always love them, no matter what. Ty for listening to my rant. :)

somethin’ stupid [iii]

“the time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and oh, the night so blue”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: wednesday reminds you she loves you with an unending passion, even with the scars that you now wear for her.

warnings: mentions of bullying, body insecurities, percy hynes white the rat man himself existing, explicit words ig? if you can't handle cuss words idk what to tell you

word count: 3.9k

A/N: timeline a bit altered, there's about a week left before you return home for the summer, and xavier gives her the phone with this week left. thoughts are in red. i don’t usually accept requests from people but this was just too adorable to pass up, especially with the new season starting production. it kind of got away from me, in terms of length, but it was fun to write. next out will hopefully be the lottie matthews fic that i’ve been talking up

===+++===

===+++===

Scars were remarkable things. The way they stretched along the skin of your arms and right up almost to the tips of your fingers, or branched along the bridge of your nose and twisted along your jaw, it was as if a tree of your life was etched fundamentally into you, and Wednesday was transfixed.

It didn’t matter how many times she traced her fingers over the paths— two fingers, gentle, watching your nose twitch with every curve— she still thought they were, that you were breathtaking to look at.

“Wednesday, that tickles,” you hummed softly, eyes still closed. She frowned, tugging her hands away abruptly and raising her eyebrows at you.

“I was unaware you were awake," she said.

You lifted one eye open, smiling when you saw her, and though she would have still rather died than admit it, the gesture held a great, mystical power over her.

The skylight overhead leaked morning light into the room, flushing itself against the walls and beaming gently down, over your cheeks. It felt nice everywhere except for the new slashes that were still healing, and you rolled over, away from her to sit up on the edge of your bed and get out of the uncomfortable heat that pressed on those delicate places.

"How did you get in?" you asked, stretching out your arms and wincing a bit at the uncomfortable tightness. "You weren't here when I went to bed."

She watched you go, leaning back on the scratchy, woollen armchair next to your bed and shoving the stack of comic books already there to the side. “Your roof has a window, and I’m a very good climber. You should lock that, by the way.”

You turned to her and raised your eyebrows, looking miffed, but disgustingly adorable. “You could’ve just texted me, you know. I would’ve let you use the door.”

“And use that phone Xavier gave me? Believe me, I’d rather not,” she rolled her eyes with disgust, thinking about the interaction and how it took up time of her life that she'd never get back.

“You’d better, actually,” you said, turning to her with a smile and then wandering over to the set of drawers in the corner, clothes thrown all over the floor. Your whole room in general was a mess, largely from the bottles of medication and knocked over piles of books and things. It had been a rather stressful endeavour to get you up the stairs and comfortably inside, when you were still in your casts and there wasn’t an elevator.

“Why?” Wednesday challenged, watching you. She herself was already in her uniform, but she watched as you moved in your white pyjama t-shirt, the fresh scars almost dancing with your arms as they moved while you walked.

You grabbed a white button down out from the top one, shaking it a bit to get out a few wrinkles. “Because you’re sure as hell texting with me over summer break.” You shrugged, taking the shirt with you and walking behind the dividing screen you had next to your wardrobe. “That was nice of him to do for you, actually.” Your shirt went flying over the divider, landing on the ground.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. “You’re too kind to him. The snivelling rat only gave it to me so I would feel obligated to text him.” She could hear you rustling around behind the screen, messing about with your clothes. “Besides, why use the phone when I can visit you in person? Are you so braindead you need to rely on your phone for communication?”

The small noises stopped abruptly, and when you didn’t reply to that for a minute, Wednesday furrowed her eyebrows, standing up in her heavy boots that thudded against the creaky old wood of your floor. “What is it?” she asked, stepping forward towards the screen. You had made a fool of her with how much you made her worry, but she still desperately needed to know what was going on inside your head. She needed to be sure that you were okay.

She expected to see you have tripped maybe, or you had somehow collapsed into a pile of clothes and drifted back off to sleep, but the reality was a bit more mollifying. You were on the other side, just standing there with your button down shirt open in front of the mirror. You didn't say anything for a while, staring into it with a frown.

The scars over your stomach were perhaps the deepest, with raw, pinkish impressions still pressed into them and greenish-yellow bruises around the edges that were still straggling to heal up. The lines criss-crossed over your skin and up your chest, ending at the peaks of your shoulders that the white button down draped over. “They look bad on me,” you said, quietly.

She didn't particularly know what to say, watching your eyes continue to stare with a rigid dislike back at yourself. To get her to comfortably lean on you had been quite the effort, and now that you were officially together she was still becoming used to saying she loved you or kissing your skin whenever she so felt like it.

“They look like scars,” Wednesday replied. “The bruising will heal and the redness will fade, and-”

“But they won’t go away.” You said it with a flat disappointment. Wednesday blinked, confused by how you spoke of them. Were you unaware just how magnificent they looked upon you? The thought was vexing, and Wednesday was unsure what it was she could say to ease your mind, so she chose to say nothing at all.

You did the buttons up quickly, tugging on the collar to stand as tall as possible. It covered most of the scarring, but one could still see wisps of hurt skin on your hands and cuts across your face and jaw— Wednesday liked that one especially. You didn't seem to like any of them.

"We're going to be late to breakfast," she said, leaning with her arms crossed against the wardrobe. You shrugged again, going to grab your trousers.

"Go without me."

This caused her great pause. You were never one to miss breakfast. It was probably one of the most consistent ways someone could find you if they needed to. "It's your first day back," she argued. "And you're still recovering."

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you messed with the button of your pants, and it relaxed her a little bit, if the Addams could. "I'll survive without breakfast for a day, Wednesday. I need to get ready for class."

She narrowed her eyes at you. "Then I can survive without breakfast, too." You straightened up, sending her a look as you buttoned your trousers. You entirely knew the game that she was playing. The game she was winning, too.

"You can go without me."

"But I won't," she replied. You narrowed your eyes, grabbing some socks.

"Fine."

She glared right back, but not in an angry way. Just to let you know she was serious. "Fine." You rolled your eyes, stalking over, now that you were clothed and planting a gentle kiss on her lips. She leaned into it, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. Her thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin there.

"You win," you conceded, pulling away and looking down at her with a smile.

"I always do," she said, looking up at you with a shine in her dark eyes.

===+++===

I guess (Y/n) is back.

Oh my god, the rumours were true.

Jeeeesus Christ, that kid's face.

The thoughts flitted past you like passing trains as you walked to the quad, loud and unfiltered noise in the back of your mind that acted as a constant reminder of the new skin you wore. You wore them for her, the short girl walking next to you, but even with her right by your side, it was like she was a million miles away.

That must've hurt, holy hell.

They stared, the people you passed, watching you with a weird half-shock, half-pity, their thoughts running wild. The worst ones imagined the scenario for themselves, and within their heads you saw a dozen different replays in different ways of you getting absolutely torn apart.

How are you still alive???

Fucking jumpscare...

That was about all it took before you shut off your noise completely. Maybe for once, it was better not to know what other people were thinking. You sent a glance to Wednesday, who was walking next to you with her eyes facing ahead. When you felt the people still staring, you frowned, bumping her with your hand. You needed her to hold it very, very badly.

But she sent you a look, shaking her head once as if to say 'not here.' You knew Wednesday didn't like PDA of any sort. She still struggled sometimes to wrap her arms around your shoulders or pull you in by your waist. It wasn't natural, but you still couldn't help feeling a little bit disappointed. The imaginary distance between you both widened, right then, and other kids' staring felt amplified by ten.

Suddenly, a colourful blur came bounding across the quad and right down the hall, straight for you. "Enid— Enid, wait—" Enid tackled you in a tight hug, squeezing you against her with an unrestrained excitement and trying to shake you like a rag doll, it felt like.

"Oh my god! You're back! Oh. My. God!" She screamed, beaming from ear to ear, pulling away to look at you for a second before going right back to hugging you tightly.

You grit your teeth from the discomfort of pressure being placed on the delicate skin, but made no move to pull away, and instead did your best to smile through it. A hug felt nice. It was the warmth you needed in a place that was being so cold to you at the moment. Enid didn't care what marks you had.

"Enid, down," Wednesday said firmly, watching the exchange and carefully monitoring your expression. She had caught your grimace, sending you a wary look and crossing her arms, subtly trying to make sure you were okay. You sent her a quick nod, and Enid gently pulled away.

"Sorry," she said, wincing at realising her mistake. The expression only lasted a second though, before she was right back to smiling at you. "Wait, we're scar buddies!"

You laughed. It had been the first time you felt good about them since finding Wednesday tracing them while you slept. "We definitely are."

Enid's were a bit more healed than yours, blending better into the skin than those that protruded from the bridge of your nose and sloped down into your cheek. You saw yours and thought 'ugly'; you saw Enid's and thought nothing. But you would take it either way.

The girl grabbed your arm, tugging you harshly forwards and dragging you towards your usual table. "You have to see Yoko. Her and Divina were worried sick about you." You sent Wednesday back a look as Enid dragged you, and she shrugged, watching you go, not that she'd be able to do much to stop her.

By the time she had comfortably strolled over to the table, Enid had already dragged you into a seat, and was brightly recounting everything you had missed. Wednesday had already done so, when you were still in the hospital recovering, but you let her continue to talk. It felt nice. Like everything was back to normal for once. She slid down next to you, not saying anything.

Divina and Yoko were being nice about your scars. They kept on trying to brush past it, like nothing was wrong, but you knew when they looked at your face, it was the first thing to catch their eyes every time.

"Are you excited to be back?" Yoko asked from behind her sunglasses, leaning against Divina's shoulders.

"Making up the homework I missed out on? Super thrilled," you said dryly, putting your elbows on the table and leaning on them as you partook in the conversation.

"Well, everyone's missed you," said Divina, trying to smile, but her eyes shifted down quickly, to look at your hands and the cuts upon them before back up to you. "We're all happy you're okay."

You sent her what was supposed to be a smile, but by the look Wednesday shot at you, it probably looked a bit more like a grimace. Could you even call this 'okay?' This wasn't being okay. Being okay would've meant you looked the same as you did before, and that wouldn't happen. It had been permanently taken from you.

"So what are you all doing, for summer?" you threw out the question, more as a way to change the subject, and it was successful. Enid lit up like a Christmas tree, super excited to share about a trip she was taking to see her extended family. It wasn't that you didn't care, but you stopped for a moment, realising this was the happiest you had been in a while. At a table with your friends, and Wednesday next to you. Of course, that was when it was immediately ruined.

From behind Enid, you could see Xavier spot Wednesday and similarly light up, bounding over with a smile.

"And then we're going to the beach with my baby little cousins, and—"

"Wednesday!" he called out to her, interrupting Enid and looking across the table at the girl. Her hand crept up to your knee, placing itself firmly, in a way that told you she was dreading his presence. He looked around at you all, spotting you and failing to hide his disappointment at your return. Xavier quickly glanced back to Wednesday. "Did you get my text?" He asked, smiling again.

Wednesday stared back, unimpressed. "I did. I ignored it."

"Oh," his face dropped. "Well, I wanted to ask if you would tutor me on botany."

She blinked. "There's a week left of school."

"I know," Xavier shrugged. "But we have that end of year quiz on Wednesday."

"I would rather watch Legally Blonde." You had to stop yourself from laughing at that one. You had been the one to show that to her, and she spent the entire duration looking horrified.

"We could do that, then," he offered, and you suddenly realised you had been too nice to him in terms of pursuing Wednesday. Most people knew by now, that you two were officially together, not that it had been much of a secret, even when you were just hooking up. It was rather insane for his pursuit to continue, when you were right there.

"Xavier, I think me and Wednesday are busy, for at least the next couple days," you said, trying to let him down easy. He sent you a glare, before looking back at Wednesday like she would have a different response. She stared back, maintaining her deadpan expression, but squeezing your knee softly as if to say 'thank you.'

He frowned. "Fine. See you in fencing, (Y/n)." You smiled back at him, figuring maybe things were good now. Wednesday sent you a wary glance.

God, you couldn't have been more wrong.

===+++===

Wednesday Addams stormed through the halls of Nevermore with a fire under her feet and a rage in her heart. She pushed through the groups of people, storming up the stairs and down the corridors like she was about to explode. And she truly was.

When she arrived at your door, she was knocking heavily, small fist pounding on the wood with fury.

"(Y/n). Open the door."

No response. It was just about as quiet as it had been that morning, when she had caught you staring at yourself. It filled her with an unmatched worry, sending her back to the night when she had seen those red and blue police lights and thought she had lost you forever. "Open the door." She demanded again, pressing her ear up to it.

"Go away, Wednesday," you said from the other side. It was muffled, but she could still make out the pain in your voice.

"(Y/n), let me in. Now." It was practically a plea at that point, and she cursed you for bringing her to this place of utter weakness for you. "Either you let me in yourself, or I let myself in," Wednesday said, firmly speaking to you with her head against the door. She needed to know you were okay. It came first, right before the rage she felt for Xavier, and she so needed to know that you were still there— still hers to keep.

You didn't say anything though, choosing to continue to stay quiet in your room. Wednesday sighed, grabbing a hairpin from her pocket and reaching for the lock.

She got the door open in less than thirty seconds out of habit, pushing it open gently and letting herself in before she rushed over to you. You didn't even look at her, instead continuing to stare out the window and the sunny day, clouds floating by as if nothing were different. It felt out of place, now.

The part of your face away from the window was covered by the dark of your room. You hadn't even bothered to turn the lights on, sitting in the dark. She used to like the dark, but it felt out of place for you to be hiding in it.

"Look at me," Wednesday said, standing in front of your armchair. Her hand went to your chin, gently tilting your face up. There was a bandage right there, on your forehead, over what could only be a giant cut.

"Who told you what happened?" you asked quietly, your eyes a bit misty. You weren't a usual crier, and it made her uneasy to see just how much of an effect his actions had had on you.

"Yoko. It's about the only time that idiotic phone came in handy. I came as soon as I heard. He's not supposed to start mach when you're not wearing your helmets. Mark my words, I'll curse him until the end of time." It didn't seem to comfort you like it usually did, the pain in your eyes only worsening.

"Do you know what he said, when he cut me?"

She blinked in confusion. "He said 'Frankenstein, I'll give you one to match the others'," you finished, looking her in the eyes for the first time since she had entered the room.

"He's an asshole, I told you," she said, trying to stop you, but you jerked away from her touch for the first time.

"It's not just him. Wends, I see it all the time." Your voice broke a little bit, and you stopped to swallow before continuing. It hurt her heart, as if she was being left to die again in that crypt. "In people's heads, from their mouths, in the mirror. It replays like a fucking movie. I keep seeing myself almost die, and I'm starting to think it would've been better if I had."

No. That was enough. She firmly grabbed your chin again, eyes glinting with violence at the offensive proposition. "Never say that sentence ever again, or else."

"He's got a point though, doesn't he?" you said it slowly, your scarred hand reaching out to her arm and wrapping around her wrist. She flinched at the contact but did not pull away. "I'll never be the same 'me' as I was before. There's something— I'm wrong. And you know it, too. That's why you won't touch me when others are around. It's not me."

Wednesday stared at you for a long moment, as you began to cry. Then her hands went to your cheeks again, just as they had earlier, gently cupping your face in her hands, as if you were the world, because you were. You were her world. "You're an idiot. It appears I've failed to make myself clear."

"What do you mean?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Your simple mind fails to realise why I'm even here," she said, and then she leaned forward, clambering up into your lap and resting her forehead on yours. Wednesday had become accustomed to, and rather fond of, making a home there. She was far from the greatest at expressions, but she wanted to make you realise the obvious and that was more than enough motivation to try. "I'm here because I burn for you, down to my core and back up again."

"But I'm not me, not with these—" But you were interrupted by her hand, sliding up to cover your mouth.

"Hush, idiot. You are the same you as before, and I wouldn't stop loving you for anything. I have loved you for all you were before and all you are now. I would have loved you if the damage was worse, and I would still yearn for you if you had died. It makes no difference, (Y/n), you fool. You're still you, and you're still as... captivating as the first time I saw you and wanted you in my possession."

Her hand came to your cheek again, stroking gently the skin there and feeling all the ridges under her thumb. "You've placed a cruel curse on me, as if you don't already know yourself. I am indefinitely, irrevocably yours. My refusal to touch you in public is a personal discomfort, but one I'll...overcome, if it means that much to you. Even if I am not touching you, you must assume I want to, because I do."

She brushed a stray tear away, wiping it on your jacket, and your hands came up to wrap around her waist, tugging her against you like you were afraid she would melt through your fingers. "Are you aware of how I was almost killed, in the crypt, when fighting Crackstone?"

You shook your head. "You don't like to talk about it," you mumbled, burying your head in her chest. Her hands went to your hair, lightly scratching at your scalp.

"It was an...incredibly confusing dilemma. I used to patiently await death. My family and I hold it with a special regard. But as I was dying, I only felt lonely. Do you know why?"

You frowned against her, shaking your head again. Wednesday scoffed. "The obvious answer is you. It would be leaving without you. And as obnoxious as it is, I don't want to. Today, tomorrow, forever; I want to do it with you."

You sat there for a moment, thinking to yourself, and then you nodded. It was slow, but it was there, and when Wednesday felt it, she sat back to look you in the eyes. "Are we clear?" She demanded. If you said no, she would only double down. But instead, you nodded again, looking up at her. She held your heart in her hands.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

You leaned forward, kissing her with the most passion you ever had, and Wednesday only returned it, cupping your neck and leaning into you. She would crawl into your skin, if she could. She'd build a little birdhouse in your soul, if she could find a way. You pulled away again, after a long minute, nodding again. "Okay. Same."

She blinked. "Same? I spill my heart to you and you respond with 'ditto'?" You laughed and she rolled her eyes, attempting to get off your lap. But your arms came up, entrapping her there and holding her close.

"You've put it perfectly. I want you forever, too." And so she melted into your embrace again, hand going to your scars to trace them and you nuzzling into her hand. It was a while, before either of you spoke.

"We have to get him back, forever, this time," Wednesday said, cold and calculating.

"Agreed."

About two days later, you watched in absolute delight as Xavier ran down the hall in his bathroom towel, a poisonous snake trailing behind him and half of his head shaved completely bald. Call it an ode of Wednesday's love.

===+++===

this was fun! i'm unsure of where to, if i do at all, take somethin' stupid from here. this won't be the only wednesday fic, so unless you all have more ideas, this may be it for this series. anyways, cheers!

[bi-yearning-02]

when you love it

Summary: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it - Caitlyn Siehl

Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, suggestive themes, blood mention, hurt no comfort (hopeful ending), extreme guilt Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

Your fangs caught on your lip as you did your best not to smile. With the slightest turn of your body, you patted your client on the shoulder and congratulated him for getting off on murder. He was guilty as sin. You could practically smell the tainted blood coursing through his veins. It was abysmal; he was a horror to work with. Doubtless he would be murdered before he even left the courthouse.

His money was still just as good as anyone else’s.

The judge continued his usual spiel, the one you personally had heard many times over. Something about understanding the severity of the charges, how one must persevere to become more, to prevent such a situation from occurring again. She was getting much more emotional about the speech, putting more of a motherly spin on it. It was a lovely touch.

It wouldn’t work. But it was lovely.

“Don’t get yourself in too much trouble,” you said once the judge was finished and you could shake your client’s hand.

His smile was sinister. “I’ll be calling on you again.”

You made sure to show your fangs in your own smile. “I’ll be expecting it.”

The man gave you the creeps, more so than most of the clients you represented. Which was precisely why you allowed your shadow to escort him out of the courthouse to the freedom he had unjustly earned. You watched as he left with a smile that betrayed your actual thoughts.

If he called again, your rates would double.

“You did your job masterfully.”

You turned around, watching people continue to mill out of the courtroom. No one was facing you, not even the usual suspects. Even your best friend Detective Faus had already left. There was no one left to talk or discuss the events of the case. A pity.

Maybe it had been another hallucination; they were more frequent this time of year. Sounds of blood spilling, pouring down your throat like the first drink at the bar. The door opening, muffled words, wood splintering. The sounds made themselves known in your mind, drowning out everything else around you.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

No. No, that was no hallucination. You looked down to see a young man no older than 20 - though his spectacular mustache looked a bit old for him - standing beside you. It was no wonder you hadn’t noticed him, he was rather short. With a stunning crop of slicked back raven black hair, he reminded you of someone. Someone you did your best to forget.

“Thank you, mister…,” your voice trailed off.

“Pubert Addams,” he said with a charming smile as he held out his hand toward you. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

A wet gasp-

-a snarl-

-relief-

-pain-

“-A pleasure, Mr. Addams,” you said, grasping his hand as gently as you possibly could. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

“I believe you knew my sister and her wife in college, did you not?” He asked as he let go of your hand.

A breathy moan-

-airy laughter-

-a warm sigh-

“-Quite a long time ago,” you said, “but yes.”

“Yes, I knew it was you,” he said with a smile that was far too familiar. Eerily so. “Are you free for a short while?” He asked. “I have a proposition for you.”

You sighed and shifted the weight to your good leg. It left an ache that rarely eased, though certainly not for lack of trying. Thanks to the glasses, you were confident your distrust was hidden. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the young Addams boy; he seemed decent enough. You had worked with enough sleazy people to know who to trust and who to be wary of.

There was just the little problem of not wanting anything to do with an Addams.

Though, you supposed you could give the boy the benefit of the doubt. After all, what would it hurt? If he was anything like Wednesday - and it was beyond clear he was - he would love the danger. The thrill of propositioning you would far outweigh the danger of having you near. A brave boy.

Just like his older sister.

“I suppose I have time,” you finally said with a toothy grin. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, I’m not old enough to drink,” he said quickly as he fell into step beside you. Exactly like his sister.

“A coffee then,” you amended.

He had no objections.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked out of the courtroom with you. The stench of rancid blood filled your senses before you saw the commotion outside. Your client’s body lay sprawled along the steps, his blood flowing from the tips of his fingers; no one dared try to stop the bleeding. At the bottom, the police were shoving the victim’s brother into their cruiser.

“An eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,” Mr. Addams said with a shake of his head.

You didn’t dare hide your smile. “A beautiful sentiment.” You continued to walk past the scene, not looking back to see if Mr. Addams was following.

His footsteps quickened their pace to match yours before he stood beside you once again. It was a short, silent walk to the little cafe you had started to call your own. The barista was a wonderful young girl; she had easily fallen victim to the vampire charm you did your best not to throw around. Though you were a little less careful nowadays, but that was your little secret.

“What can I get for you, sugar?” The young waitress asked once you sat down. She, too, had fallen victim to your supernatural charm.

“A quad?” You asked once Mr. Addams sat across from you at the little table in the corner.

“Heavens no,” he said with his own charming smile, “I’ll take a mocha, thank you.”

“An espresso, darling,” you said with a smile at the waitress.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll have it for you in a moment.”

You tried not to mention your surprise at the young Addams going against what his older sister had made seem like tradition. Or perhaps she had changed over the years; it was a possibility she had come to enjoy the sweeter things in life. After all, Enid certainly did, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She always had been a lovestruck fool for Enid.

So were you.

You promptly ignored the thought.

“What is your proposition, Mr. Addams?” You asked as you continued to wait for your drinks.

“Ah, of course,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I would like to invite you to a soiree we happen to be hosting.”

“I’m nothing but a stranger to you,” you said simply. “What about me warrants an invitation?”

“My sister and her wife still talk of you,” he said. “Incessantly.” His smile was gentle; genuine. “I believe inviting you would make them happy.”

You didn’t grace that thought with a reply. If they still talked of you, that was their issue. Wednesday was certainly psychotic enough to desire your presence. Enid, also, could certainly be delusional enough. Seeing you again should bring them no sense of joy or peace; if anything, it should cause nightmares.

It didn’t matter that you often found yourself thinking of them in return. When you talked with clients who had a penchant for breaking the law, much like Wednesday. Committing their crimes guiltlessly for one reason or another. There was a difference in that Wednesday always had a good reason - even when you tried to make her believe she didn’t - but that could be easily overlooked when her cold brown eyes appeared in your mind.

And Enid was often seen in the young intern at your firm. Possessing a giddiness that was so often lost in people. Her colourful nails that you had been unable to forbid were like a flash of the past. The only difference was those nails were typing away at a computer instead of leaving scratches along your back. It was difficult, on occasion, to differentiate the two.

The waitress set the drinks on the table, giving you a wink and smile in the process. You smiled back, showcasing your fangs as she turned and walked back to the counter. If Mr. Addams hadn’t accompanied you, you would have flirted with the woman. Flashed a bit of cash, invited her home for a quick drink of your own before sending her back on her way.

You stirred your espresso for no good reason. At least it gave you time to think of your answer. Mr. Addams was gracious enough not to push. A wonderful change of pace from Wednesday, who would push until she regretted it. Which she had. Oh, she had, and you had all suffered for it.

There was no way you could tell Mr. Addams why you wanted to decline his invitation. If you even so much as hinted at the carnage you had caused, there was a high probability he would not only rescind his offer, but paint you as the monster you had already claimed for yourself. With good reason, of course, you hadn’t earned the title by sitting around.

On the other hand, just the mere thought of seeing Enid and Wednesday made your dead heart feel alive again. You had done your best to fill your nights with women. One after the other, never keeping them long enough to even learn their names. Each a new attempt to forget the two women who had taken your heart all those years ago. They never filled the hole; if anything, they made it bigger.

Perhaps…

“When is this little soiree of yours taking place?” You asked with a sigh, finally looking up from your espresso.

Now that smile was identical to his sister’s.

“I’ll fetch you the invitation.”

—---

You stood on the balcony of your apartment. Smoke curled around your fingers as the cigarette rested between them. The heat from the lit end was almost unbearable on your skin; it was a welcome feeling. City lights twinkled around you, creating constellations yet unnamed by the human race. Perhaps one day they would be prominent enough to fit in with the constellations of old.

It was the night before the soiree at the Addams residence. You had done your best to remain in control of your emotions the days leading up to it. Hell, you had even gone so far as to hire a few women just a few hours earlier to keep your thirst in check. You would rather receive a stake to the heart than risk another incident like the one that had created this situation in the first place.

And yet, even with all your preparations, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had carved a home into the center of your chest.

The balcony door slid open.

“You coming back, baby?” The woman asked.

It was a shame you didn’t remember her name.

“Come on, baby,” she said, and you felt warm arms wrap around your waist. “I know you want another drink.”

You did. God you did. Just the thought of another drink left your throat searing. You tried to swallow, but all it did was burn like liquid fire trickling down your throat. With a sigh, you lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. If you were going to be in pain, you may as well finish off your cigarette.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you said with an exhale that left smoke falling from your lips.

The warmth left your waist as she went back inside, and you heard her talking to… the… other woman. God, you really needed to learn the names of the people you drank from. If anything, it was the least you could do; it was polite. But you didn’t particularly care. All you knew was they weren’t Enid, and they weren’t Wednesday.

You were pathetic.

You took one more drag of your cigarette, feeling the heat burn the skin on your knuckles. The thick smoke left the taste of ash on your tongue and did nothing to ease the scorching pain in your throat. You dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it with your heel. You hissed when it singed your heel; you had forgotten you were barefoot.

If you had possessed any sort of soul, you would have felt guilt. There was something tugging on your invisible heart strings, begging you to care about the women you were surrounding yourself with. No, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t something tugging at your heart strings; it was two voices that had haunted you for years.

They single handedly ruined your night. With no shame and no clue that they had even done so, they had ruined it. The women around you weren’t the right women. Their skin was soft, but it wasn’t the same. Their freckles were in the wrong spots, and their nails and hair were the wrong colour. Each and every moan was the wrong tone, and these women just weren’t right.

It was a struggle, but by the time the night was over, you had more than gotten your fill. There was no possible way you would still be thirsty by the time you made it to the Addams residence. Though that didn’t stop you from grabbing a blood bag from the fridge and tucking it into your pocket before you left your apartment.

You stopped by the mirror in your hall to make sure you looked alright. It was custom made to not contain any silver, allowing you to see at least a semblance of your reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was like looking at someone through water. A little blurry, slightly distorted, but you could tell it was a person.

Your eyes were drawn to the dark scars that weren’t entirely hidden by your shirt collar. The majority of the scars were hidden, but not those. They were a stark contrast on your neck; a stark reminder of your monstrosity. Subconsciously, you lifted your hand to run your fingers over the taut flesh. They still ached.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

You recoiled as if burned. Out of all the times you could have that memory, this wasn’t the optimal day. It didn’t require any consideration before you walked back to the fridge and grabbed a second bag, placing it right beside the first within your jacket. You had one shot; you weren't going to blow it.

It was a beautiful day outside as you approached the Addams mansion. The sky was overcast, almost allowing you to take your glasses off. Not that you would have, but it would have been a nice option to have. Large groups of people made their way up the steps and into the mansion. It truly was a stunning building; you had missed it.

You fell into the back of a group, ensuring you were silent and could walk in unnoticed. Yes, of course someone would notice eventually, but you wanted a chance to settle back into the excessively large house. The smell of the slightly-rotting wood was enough to ease your racing pulse. It smelled like home.

While everyone continued to slowly make their way into the ballroom, you went the opposite direction. Your hand trailed against the walls, maneuvering around each and every item that was hanging. The paintings and knick knacks and more recent looking photos. Some were new, or at least newer than you. They certainly hadn’t been hanging on the wall the last time you had visited.

The idle chatter of the crowd started to fade the further you went.The hallway turned into a slightly larger room filled with framed photos and awards. You let your fingers hover over the nameplates on the awards. Spelling Bee, First Place. A smile tugged at your lips as you moved on. Silver, Figure Skating. Down and down the line, you looked at award after award. There were names underneath, but you didn’t waste your time looking at them.

After the awards were the photos. You picked up the first one with gentle hands; a wedding photo deserved care. It was no surprise to see Wednesday in black and Enid in something so bright it was almost blinding. The image alone had your chest aching. They looked rather happy.

Their happiness didn’t distract you from the scars down the side of Enid’s face. The ones that traveled from the corner of her eyes to her jaw. Based on the colour in the photo, they were freshly healed. You couldn’t see Wednesday’s; she had a black lace wrapped around her wrist. From the look of Enid’s, you could imagine.

You set the frame back down on the table and stepped back. The curiosity had disappeared, quickly replaced with something heavy. With a tight chest, you backed out of the room and made your way to the ballroom with everyone else. The slight limp in your step worsened. A sigh fell from your lips as you had to lean against the wall and reach down to tighten the brace. Your jaw clenched almost painfully as the brace became insufferably tight around your leg, but at least it gave you the ability to stand on your own once again.

Until you were nearly knocked over by children running down the hall.

“Excuse me!” One of them called back. A chorus of the same words were quick to follow as the other children ran after the first.

“Behave!” You froze. “And don’t push people!”

“Yes ma’am!” The children shouted.

If you had known you would have such a visceral reaction just to her voice, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation. You had no idea your body itself would react to her voice. If you could sweat, you would have been. Your fingers twitched. Don’t turn, your mind told you. Begged, even. Desperate, feral, pathetic.

“Cara mia.” You forced yourself to take a step. “You forgot your shawl upstairs.”

Don’t turn around, your mind said. It was frantic. You forced another step. And another. Each one heavier than the last, as if your body was fighting with your mind. You truly were a fool to accept the invitation, and there wasn’t even a word to describe yourself for actually daring to appear. Stupid. That was the best word.

“Are you a vampire?”

You sighed and took a moment to calm your emotions before looking down. One of the children that had been running around was now standing beside you, looking up at you with bright eyes and a cocked head. It reminded you of- no, you wouldn’t think of that. You turned to face the child and shifted your weight to rest on your good leg.

“I am,” you said with a singular nod of your head. “And you are?”

“Oh,” they said with a smile. A large, wolfish smile. “I’m an Addams.”

You were thankful they couldn’t see your eyes. “Charmed.”

Of course they were an Addams. How could you ever think differently? The Addamses were magnets for trouble, and you didn’t have to know the child to deduct that they were, in fact, trouble. You turned away from them and looked back out into the ballroom.

“My mothers have a picture of you on their nightstand,” the child continued.

You wished they would leave.

“But you have scars, and the person in their picture doesn’t.”

You would have no shame in killing a child.

“My momma has scars too.” It would be simple. “They almost match yours.”

“Don’t harass the guests, dear.” 

Or perhaps you would simply kill yourself. It would certainly be less painful than whatever was about to happen. You could hear the echo of your dead heart beating loudly in your ears. Perhaps if you refused to turn around, she would continue walking. Walk right past you and into the crowd, leaving you behind as you so very much deserved.

But she didn’t continue walking as you desperately wished she would. She didn’t move out into the crowd, saying her greetings to the others as was customary. You could barely hear her footsteps at all above the incessant noise that you were wishing would get louder. Drown out all the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside you.

“We weren’t sure you would come.”

You still refused to turn around. Even when you felt her sidle up next to you, her arm brushing lightly against yours. Oh, her warmth was glorious. You had forgotten just how lovely it was to feel her warming you up. To bring life to your soul in a way that only she was capable of. No amount of women in your bed had ever held a candle to her warmth.

“You look good.” Her voice was impossibly soft against the rising chaos of the soiree.

Growls and screaming echoed in your mind’s ear as you finally made the brave - or stupid - decision to turn your head. If you had thought your anxiety was bad before, you would have been impressed with your anxiety at that moment. The first thing your eyes took notice of were the healed, lightly coloured scars on her jaw.

The scars you had caused.

“You look healthy,” Enid said with a soft smile.

She looked so very grown. That childish glint in her eyes was still present, but she held herself with far more respect. The insecurity had long faded away, much like the scars that continued down her neck. The child was right; you almost matched.

“I fed before arriving,” you said. Your words felt like ash in your mouth. “No need for history to repeat itself.”

“We have more in the kitchen,” she said quickly. “If you need it.”

You opened your coat to show the two bags in the pocket. “I came prepared, thank you.”

She smiled a closed mouth smile and nodded before looking back out at the ballroom. That heavy feeling settled in your chest once again. After so many years, that was all you had to say to her? That you had fed already? Of course, that was probably the one thing she wanted to hear after so long. You were a fool. A damned fool.

“I hope the kids weren’t bothering you,” Enid said. “They get excited when we host gatherings.”

“They seem decent,” you said. Decent?? That’s the best you can come up with? “That one-” you pointed to the one with the bright eyes “-is rather talkative.”

Enid giggled, and for a moment, you felt young again. “Willa says she gets it from me.”

Willa. You could have laughed if it didn’t hurt so bad. Wednesday had always attempted to claim she hated it. Yet it never stopped the lightest blush on her cheeks when you or Enid would use the unassuming nickname. When was the last time you had even heard it?

Come on, Willa, put it down, I’m being serious.

You turned your body ever so slightly. You didn’t want Enid to see the scars creeping down your neck. Her hand brushed against yours. It was shameful how quickly you pulled your hand back, shoving it into your pocket. No good could come from her feeling the shake of your hand, or the scars that hid below the cloth of your clothes.

“Oh, there she is,” Enid said, this time reaching out to grab your arm a little harder than she probably meant to. “Stay right here, I’ll bring her over!”

The moment she left your side, the cold started to crawl back over your skin. It sunk into every vessel, every inch of your body, both inside and out. Attending the soiree was a mistake. A mistake that you couldn’t take back. Just like that night. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. You could leave before they came back and continue your miserable existence as you had been.

But then you saw them together, hand in hand. It was an unexpected thing to see Wednesday practically smiling at Enid. In public, that was. You couldn’t recall a single time she had smiled at anything in public. Yet there she was, walking closer and showing some semblance of physical affection in public. It was stunning. Your heart was almost beating.

Until your eyes landed on all the black lace that you knew covered scars no one could comprehend.

“I told you I saw them,” you heard Enid say as they both approached where you were frozen in place. “And I was right.”

Wednesday looked up at you with those stunning brown eyes. “So you were.”

Your fingers twitched in your pocket. Now that she was so close, you could smell her blood flowing through her veins. No matter how much you swallowed, you couldn’t ease the burn that was rising up your throat. You clenched your jaw tight, ignoring the sting of your fang piercing your lip.

Wednesday!

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? “Hello Wednesday, I’m sorry for nearly draining you while you attempted to prove I wasn’t a monster.” Or even to Enid. “I apologise for trying to kill you when you stopped me from killing our girlfriend.” There was nothing you could say, to either of them, to justify what you had done. What you couldn’t forget.

“I told them you had their picture,” the previous child said as they approached along with the rest of the herd.

For the first time, you were thankful for children.

“So you told our secrets?” Wednesday asked. “You know what happens to those who tell our secrets.”

The old Wednesday would have sounded more intimidating and borderline threatening. Yet, even as her words said one thing, the soft look on her face said another. The children all smiled and tried to hide their laughter as they continued to look up at her.

“You’d better run,” Enid whispered.

Each of the children shared a look before running off, laughter following in their wake. It was almost… cute? Adorable, even? God, you needed to escape this place, you were almost turning soft. You needed to get back to your murderers and criminals, this was turning pathetic.

“As intimidating as ever, my love,” Enid said as she leaned down and placed a soft chaste kiss on Wednesday’s cheek.

It made you sick. The burn in your throat spread, turning into a searing pain in your chest and stomach. All that was left was the tingling in your fingers and legs and you were finished. You wished the inferno would swallow you whole, reducing you to nothing more than ash and bone.

“You seem pale,” Wednesday said.

It seemed you wouldn’t combust soon enough.

“I only arrived out of courtesy,” you said as you stood taller. “Now that I have said my hellos, I must say my goodbyes.”

You tried to act like the looks on Enid’s and Wednesday’s faces didn’t kill you inside. It was like a silver stake to the heart, spreading its carnage down every muscle fiber and blood vessel. After all these years, you had managed to hurt them again within only a few moments. And you didn’t even possess the decency to apologise for the first sleight against them.

“Do you have to?” Enid asked. “You could stay.” Her eyes fell. “We could talk.”

“Did Enid tell you we have more blood in the fridge?” Wednesday asked.

She circled her fingers around her lace-covered wrist.

“I don’t do house calls,” you said. You could hear Wednesday’s pulse over the crowd. “Especially with those I cannot pay penance to.”

And yet, you didn’t make a single move. Against your better wishes, your feet stayed glued to the floor. Each beat of Wednesday’s heart was enough to have your mouth salivating, yet you couldn’t leave. A memory popped into your head of Enid almost seeming disappointed that her blood wasn’t appetising to you. It was a fond memory, one you replayed often enough for it to seem like a core memory of your relationship.

“You could stay,” Enid said.

“We can go somewhere quieter,” Wednesday continued.

You didn’t want to go somewhere quiet, you wanted to go home. You internally scoffed at the word; you didn’t live in a home. It was just a building, with four walls and a new blood bag or two every night. You barely lived in it, instead opting to spend all your time in your office where nothing could remind you of the two women standing in front of you.

They were your home.

“Please?” Enid asked softly. Almost too softly. Even with your enhanced hearing you could barely discern the words over the jazz band that had started playing.

You sighed. Would it truly hurt to spend a few moments with them? To give you some semblance of normalcy that only they could provide? After all, you could see the muscles underneath Enid’s skin. If you truly lost control, surely she could stop you. She had stopped you before.

The scars reminded you of it every day.

“Very well,” you said with a slight nod.

Enid was the one to reach out and grab your hand, pulling it out of its pocket and linking her fingers with yours. Her nails dug into the back of your hand, drawing out a sting that was a welcome distraction. The ache in your throat was ever present as Wednesday walked right beside you while Enid led you out of the ballroom.

The hustle and bustle of the ballroom slowly faded into oblivion as you were led down the corridors of the Addams mansion. You could recall memories from each room you passed. Each with their own story to tell. Stories of stolen kisses, scandalous rendezvous, silent moments with the women you loved, but together and separate.

When Enid stopped in the kitchen, you would have laughed had it been under any other circumstance. It was clear they had the same thoughts on their minds when Enid sat you down and Wednesday retrieved a blood bag from the fridge. She placed it between you and her when she sat opposite you at the table.

How comical.

They both stared at you with unwavering gazes. What was going through their minds, you wondered. Were they feeling the same way you had? Broken, anxious about fucking up, convinced you had blown your chance? Or perhaps they were waiting for you to break and recreate what had happened on that fated night all those years ago.

You sighed when you deduced they wouldn’t speak first.

“You both look well,” you said in a croaky voice that, if they were wise, was indicative of the state of your instincts. Think of something else to say. “Are all those children yours?”

Think of something less ridiculous.

“Yes they are,” Wednesday said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was almost condescending; you loved it.

“Pubert said you’re a lawyer?” Enid asked.

“Defence attorney,” you said with a nod, “yes.”

“Is it, ah, fun?” She asked.

You sighed. If the entire night was going to go along those lines - awkward and uncomfortable, tip toeing around every word - you would rather leave. Not a single positive thing could come from such a conversation. It was talking for talking sake. You all hated small talk, that was something that you knew had never changed, yet there you were, struggling to find any sort of conversation.

“It’s acceptable,” you said before placing both palms on the table. “I believe I really should be getting on.”

You attempted to push yourself up from the seat. Attempted being the key word. It wasn’t often your bad knee would buckle when standing; usually reserved for long nights in your office where you had barely managed to take bathroom breaks. Yet when you pushed yourself up, you felt the strain in your knee. It was a familiar feeling, that weakness before a painful tightness that so often forced you back into your seat.

And it did. Your grip on the table meant nothing as your knee shook for a nanosecond before giving out underneath you. Thankfully the gasp never actually left your lips. You could taste the copper in your mouth as you bit your tongue in an effort to stay silent. In the end, your entire leg trembled.

Enid and Wednesday stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back and watching your every move. You wished they would come to you; you were glad they didn’t. The looks on their faces was terrifying enough. Identical looks to the ones they had had that night.

“Wednesday, put it down,” you said when she refused to remove the knife from her hand.

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

She had barely broken the skin before the scent hit you. It had been months since you had fed, and she had broken the floodgates. Everything about her disappeared except for the small drop of blood pooling at the bottom of her hand.

You didn’t feel yourself practically jumping toward her. You didn’t hear her gasp when you ripped the knife from her hand. You didn’t see the look on her face as you licked up the blood on her palm, or when you moved up her hand to bite the pulse point on her wrist.

But you tasted the nectar that flowed through her veins. You felt the strong pulse beneath your lips. You felt the scorching hot blood falling down your chin before you simply couldn’t keep up with the flow. Something vaguely pushed against your neck, but it was little more than a nuisance. All you knew was the blood in your mouth and the warmth on your lips.

Vaguely, you heard something. A scream, a growl, something breaking, you couldn’t tell the difference. It was nothing compared to the relief you were getting. How could you care about something in the outside world when you had such a delicious-

-something solid slammed into your body. The skin underneath your lips vanished, replaced by the cold air around you. When your body stopped rolling, you could feel the aches already starting to form. It didn’t matter. You zeroed in on Wednesday’s wrist again.

You were met with what felt like a truck slamming into your leg. Bones cracked, stretching the tendons and muscles with the new direction they were facing. It wouldn’t hold any weight when you tried to stand up. No matter; that was why you had two legs.

Something large and furry stepped in between you and Wednesday. Nothing about it was familiar in that moment. Instinct told you it was nothing but an obstacle in the way of your feed. It charged, and you swiped. Your fingers clipped something even as you felt its claws rake across your skin.

You tried to stand. Something sharp crossed your chest; the air was cold on your skin. When you stood up again, it was met with similar results. The third attempt got you closer to Wednesday. When something sharp clasped around your shoulder and threw you back to the ground, you stilled.

That hot blood you had gorged yourself on started to feel hot on your neck. Not in it, on it. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. Your hand lifted to the side of your neck. Your fingers pushed past the skin and then-exposed muscle.

As you pushed harder on the wounds, doing your best to staunch the flow of blood, the world started to come back to you. Blackness peeled back from your vision. The blurry world started to come into focus along with the sounds that you could finally discern as gasps and growls.

So did the pain.

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded in places.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

You released the pressure from your neck and felt the blood continue to fall.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Something wet fell down your cheeks.

“I know,” Wednesday answered just as softly. It was humiliating.

It was lovely.

“Please stay,” Enid said. You looked down to see her reach her hand across the table.

You shouldn’t. You had nearly killed them, had gone into a frenzy that you hadn’t experienced ever again. What if it happened again with them? After all those years, you still loved them. You would never admit to anyone, but you kept their photos on your desk at work. You couldn’t risk hurting them again. Couldn’t risk killing them. You were a monster, and that fact alone was never going to change.

They looked at you expectantly.

For when is a monster not a monster?

You reached forward and placed your hand on top of Enid’s.

Oh, when you love it.

[bi-yearning-02]

I just wanted to start off with saying how much I love your writing !! you do such a great job with showing what's happening and I'm never confused on what's happening or who's talking (I have the second issue often lol) anyways if you do requests I do have one !! Y/N transfers to Nevermore because of bullies and at some point comes in some sort of physical contact with Wednesday where she gets a vision of you being bullied. Wednesday becomes kinda protective over you the way she is with Eugene and Pugsley, but Y/N's relationship with Wednesday developes into something more. sorry for such a long message and again loving what you're doing !!

thank you for your kind words and of course!

protected

wednesday addams x !witch!fem!reader

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The swirling shadows of Nevermore Academy were a far cry from your previous school, where you had endured the relentless torment of bullies. You had hoped that the new environment would be a sanctuary, a place where you could finally breathe and be yourself. But the anxiety that gripped your chest told you that change didn’t come without its challenges.

As you walked through the stone archways of the academy, you took in the gothic architecture that surrounded you—towering spires, iron chandeliers, and dark wood accents. The students that roamed the halls were unlike any you’d encountered before, with their eclectic styles and unapologetic personalities. For the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. But that flicker quickly dimmed when you heard the whispers.

“Look at her,” one girl sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “Another weirdo trying to fit in.”

You kept your head down, trying to ignore the cruel laughter that followed you as you made your way to your first class. You had thought you left the bullying behind, but the stares and whispered comments followed you like a shadow.

The first week passed in a blur of classes and isolation. You kept to yourself, determined not to give anyone a reason to target you further. That resolve was put to the test during lunch one day. As you sat at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, trying to enjoy your meal in peace, you felt a sharp shove from behind.

“Oops! Didn’t see you there, loser!” a girl with vibrant purple hair sneered as she walked past, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself. The laughter from her group echoed in your ears as they made their way to the main table, where the more popular students gathered.

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks, and you tried to clean yourself up with a napkin, your hands trembling. You hated feeling weak, hated that they still had power over you. Just as you thought you’d disappear into the floor, a shadow fell over you.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Did you spill your drink? Or are you just that clumsy?” The voice was low and smooth, tinged with an unsettling calmness that sent a chill down your spine. You looked up to see Wednesday Addams standing there, her expression unreadable.

You blinked, startled by her sudden presence. “I—um, it was an accident,” you managed to stammer, avoiding her piercing gaze.

“Accidents happen, but that wasn’t an accident. It was intentional,” she said, her dark eyes narrowing. You couldn’t tell if she was angry or simply observing.

“I can handle it,” you replied, the instinct to defend yourself kicking in despite your embarrassment.

“Clearly,” she said dryly, and you could almost hear the sarcasm in her tone. “Are you always this brave, or is it just for show?”

“Whatever,” you muttered, your face hot. You hated that she saw you like this—weak and embarrassed.

“Don’t bother. They’re not worth your time,” she replied, her voice steady. She touched your shoulder and for a moment, went still. As if nothing happened, with a swift motion, she turned to leave, her raven-black hair swaying behind her as she walked away.

The next incident came unexpectedly. You were in the library, trying to focus on your studies when you overheard the same group of girls from lunch laughing and whispering nearby. You tried to block them out, but their words cut through the air like daggers.

“Have you seen her? She thinks she’s so special just because she’s here,” one girl said.

“Yeah, as if we need more freaks around here,” another chimed in.

You clenched your fists, your heart racing as you felt the familiar wave of panic wash over you. Why did they have to make everything so difficult? Just as you were about to storm out of the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You turned to see Wednesday standing beside you, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “Stay,” she commanded softly, her voice laced with an urgency that surprised you.

“What?” you asked, bewildered.

“Stay. I want to see how they handle this,” she said, glancing toward the group with a predatory gaze. You hesitated but nodded, curiosity getting the better of you.

As you watched, Wednesday approached the girls, her presence commanding their attention. “Why don’t you say that to her face?” she asked, her tone calm yet filled with an underlying menace.

The girls froze, the laughter dying on their lips. They exchanged nervous glances, the bravado fading as they met Wednesday’s unwavering gaze.

“Uh, we were just joking,” one girl stammered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Jokes aren’t meant to hurt,” Wednesday replied, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “If you have something to say, be brave enough to say it to her.”

You felt your heart race as the girls shifted uneasily, their earlier confidence shattered under Wednesday’s intense scrutiny. They muttered something unintelligible before quickly gathering their things and leaving the library.

You turned to Wednesday, astonished. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, I did,” she replied, her expression softening slightly. “You shouldn’t have to tolerate their cruelty.”

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

As the days passed, you noticed a shift in Wednesday’s behavior toward you. It was subtle but undeniable. She began to appear at random moments—sitting nearby in classes, leaning against the wall while you walked to lunch, or simply observing from a distance. At first, you found it unnerving. Why was she watching you? Did she pity you, or was she just curious?

But as the bullying incidents continued, you found solace in her presence. Wednesday’s protective nature began to emerge, mirroring the way she defended her friends, like Eugene and Pugsley. It made you feel… safe. You still faced harassment, but it was less frequent, and you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find a place at Nevermore.

The third incident happened in the hallway. You were on your way to class when you overheard a group of students mocking you again. “Look at her, always alone. What a loser,” one of them laughed.

You took a deep breath, preparing to ignore them, but suddenly, a figure stepped in front of you. It was Wednesday, her dark dress billowing slightly as she stood her ground, her eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked, her voice low, but the intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.

The students faltered, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. “We were just—” one of them started, but Wednesday interrupted.

“Just what? Making fun of someone who’s already struggling? How brave of you,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

With that, she turned to you, her eyes softening for the first time. “Ignore them. They’re insignificant.”

You blinked, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in her fierce protection. It was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time, and it made your heart swell.

“Thank you,” you managed to whisper, and for a moment, you thought you saw the corner of Wednesday’s mouth twitch in a ghost of a smile.

The more time you spent together, the more your feelings began to shift. There was something intoxicating about Wednesday—the way she moved, the way she spoke with such conviction and intelligence. You found yourself looking forward to her presence, her shadow becoming a constant comfort amidst the chaos of Nevermore.

One day, while working on a school project in the library, you accidentally brushed your fingers against hers while reaching for a book. The contact was electric, sending a jolt of warmth through your body. You froze, meeting her gaze, your heart racing as you realized how close you had become.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Are you afraid of me?”

You shook your head, the words tumbling out before you could think. “No. I’m… intrigued. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

She seemed to consider your words, her dark eyes searching yours. “I suppose I’m not.”

With a sudden confidence, you leaned closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Why do you protect me?”

“Because you’re worth protecting,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words hung in the air like a spell.

The moment stretched between you, filled with unspoken emotions and possibilities. You wanted to reach out, to close the distance, but the moment was fragile.

“Do you want to be friends?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

“Friends,” Wednesday repeated, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered the term. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

As the weeks turned into months, your bond with Wednesday deepened. You shared secrets in the dark corners of the library, and her dry humor slowly chipped away at the walls you had built around your heart. There were moments when her fingers would brush against yours, lingering just a heartbeat longer, and you felt a thrill that was both exciting and terrifying.

But as your friendship grew, so did your feelings. You found yourself daydreaming about her—wondering what it would be like to hold her hand, to share whispered secrets late at night. You caught her watching you more often, and each time your eyes met, it felt like a silent understanding passed between you.

One afternoon, you found yourselves alone in the courtyard, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. You were sitting on a bench, reading, when Wednesday approached, her expression thoughtful.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her tone serious. “I need to talk to you.”

You looked up, meeting her intense gaze. “What is it?”

“Do you believe in destiny?” she asked, her voice almost hesitant.

You frowned, taken aback by her sudden vulnerability. “I suppose… it depends on what you mean.”

“I believe that certain people are meant to cross paths,” she continued, her dark eyes searching yours. “And I believe that you were meant to be here.”

Your heart raced as her words sank in. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, taking a deep breath, “that I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about you. You’re… different. You make me feel things I don’t understand.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you processed her words. “I feel the same way, Wednesday.”

She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. “Then let’s stop pretending. We can be more than friends, if you want.”

You nodded, unable to speak as you felt tears prick your eyes. In that moment, you realized how far you had come. You had gone from being a scared girl, bullied and alone, to standing here with someone who saw you for who you truly were.

And then she was there, her lips brushing against yours—a soft, tentative kiss that quickly turned into something more passionate. You melted against her, wrapping your arms around her waist as you kissed her back, your heart soaring with a mixture of joy and relief.

When you pulled away, both of you breathless, Wednesday looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “This changes everything,” she said, her voice low and serious.

“Yes,” you agreed, smiling through your tears. “For the better.”

And as you stood there together, the shadows of Nevermore seemed a little less daunting, the future a little more promising. In Wednesday’s presence, you felt like you could finally be yourself, free from the burdens of the past. You were no longer alone, and that made all the difference.

[bi-yearning-02]

Paper Love

Pairing: Princess! Natasha Romanoff x Knight! Reader

Summary: Falling for a princess was never the in your plans… ➥ Fluff & Slight Angst

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Homophobia | 2.1K

Translation: My peerless paramour (my sweetheart), hale be thou (be healthy), Beauteous (beautiful), My sweeting (my sweet one)

AC: Please forgive my poor attempt to make this feel as medieval as possible lmao. 

"My peerless paramour, I awaiten for thee moment I see your beauteous self. I long to see your smile in person. I keep your portrait with me always. 

Hale be thou, my peerless paramour.

~ Y/n of Zeus"

The princess smiled at your short but sweet letter, oh how she was excited to finally meet the one person who understood her the most. The one to make her smile and forget about her husband who cared no more for her. You were to marry the great Arthur of Maelstrom, a Kingdom that was a 9-day horseback ride from Zeus. Your father, the King was excited to throw the Kingdom the celebration that his youngest child was to wed. To say he had a soft spot for you was an understatement. When you said you wanted to be a Knight and follow in your father's footsteps before becoming King, your mother forbidden the dream and demanded you acted like a lady as that was what you were, a lady.

But your father somehow, without your understanding was able to convince your mother that in his Kingdom his children were to be as they wished. He didn't think you'd become a well skilled Knight like himself for you were a lady and it was very unusual for a lady to be doing activates that only men did. "See me in my chambers after breakfast my sweeting for I have a gift for you" your father nodded as you took your seat at the large dining table for breakfast. 

The princess of Aksumite was said to be the most beautiful princess anybody had laid eyes on, and you longed to know her. Sending her a letter over a year ago, not expecting to hear a reply, you soon found the both of you had more in common than you could imagine. She too wanted to be a Knight, but her father would never allow it and she would follow in the footsteps of the Queen, her mother. Letters were sent back and forth once a week, keeping them as short and sweet as possible when your love started to bloom through the paper of words. If anybody found out about this affair, it was certain that the two of you would pay the price in death for such sinful love. 

"Are you ready, Princess?" The voice of her husband made the hairs on the back of her neck stand tall, "Yes, my love. We shall aboard the carriage" she smiled with warmth before she followed closely behind him out to the main gates of the Kingdom. She wore her best dress and her golden hair styled to perfection; she was sure to make the best impression for when she laid eyes on you for the first time. 

As requested, you met your father in his chambers. He welcomed you with a smile as he sipped his drink. "My child, my youngest" he turned to you, "Today you will be the one to take over the Kingdom" he spoke to your shock. "Don't look at me like that. Your sister has her own duties within her Kingdom. All this was meant to be yours. Arthur as agreed to move into the castle after the wedding, here you will raise your children to be next in line for the title" he explains more as his words run wildly through your mind.

"B-but father – "

"You will do this my child. You will be wed and live out your days here" he cut you off earning himself a light nod from yourself. It was never of any use to fight with him. "Now, I want to give you something very important to me. I trust you will look after it" he says before walking towards his weapon rack. Even as a child, you always admired the weapons he kept on display in his chambers, never being allowed to touch them almost drove you insane. He gently grabs one of his swords and turns to face you. 

"This was given to me by my father, and I want you to have it. You have proven to be a great Knight my sweeting" he smiles softly as you take the sword from his hands with pride. "T-thank you father! I will cherish this as if it is my child" you can't hide the smile tugging at your lips. "You have made me very proud; I hope when the time comes you can pass this down to your son" he sips his drink once more, "now, we must get ready. Your soon to be husband is set to arrive shortly"

--2 days later--

The party was to be expected, a great turn out. Kings and Queens, Princesses and Princes from other Kingdoms coming together to celebrate the news of your wedding which is to be held in 4 days' time. Your eyes scanned the room for the Princess whose portrait followed you everywhere since the day it arrived, a small travel sized painting of the princess you longed to meet. 

"You look lost" a voice made your heart race as you slowly turned to face the woman with green eyes and long golden hair, "Princess" you smiled softly, "you are more beauteous than I could ever image" you added making the young girl blush instantly. "We must not do this here" she mumbled as a guest walked by you both. "You have come alone?" You asked to keep from anybody over hearing. "No, I have come with my parents, sister and the man I am to wed" she replied, her eyes dropping at the mention of her soon to be husband. "You must be thirsty after such a ride, can I get you something to drink?" You asked, the princess nodded with a smile you could look at forever. 

"Follow me, stay close" you returned the smile before leading her out of the party. "Where are you taking me?" She chuckled lightly, "I want to take you somewhere, a short horse ride, I will have you back before anybody notices our absence" you replied as you approached the stable. Your father's sword sat peacefully on your hip as you got up on your horse before lending the lady a helping hand. There was little conversation as you rode to your favorite place to be in peace, a short ride down the stream of the river and up the hillside to a large tree that's branches hung low to provide privacy. 

"My lady" you smiled as you held your hand out to help her off the back of your horse, "please, call me Natasha" she replied as she got back on her feet. "Well, Natasha. It's finally nice to know the name that belongs to a beautiful soul", the woman blushed once more, "you are too kind. I have waited so long to meet you, to see you for myself. You are beautiful, I have never seen anybody like it" she smiled as she walked slowly besides you. Your cheeks beamed with a redness only she could give. "Is it true that your father allows you to be a Knight?" She asked.

"Yes. He is not long other Kings. He does not have a son, nobody to hand his wisdom too and I for one, do not like dressing up in big dresses as you are" 

"I wish my father would listen to me, just once. I wish to know the secrets of a swords, the stories of a Knight and the adventures it takes. I don't like being locked up in a castle all the time, I want to see the land, the people!" She went on as you both came to a stop by a log, sitting beside one another for the first time. 

"I could take you" you said without thinking, "Oh, don't be silly" Natasha giggled, "how could you ever take me on an adventure outside of my Kingdom? That would most certainly turn the heads of others" she added. 

"Maybe so but you would enjoy it. It is beautiful, the things you see. The wild, the fresh air, the night sky" 

"It all sounds beautiful but I'm to be a queen and nothing more" 

"You are wrong. You are much more than a queen. To me….I would take you with me, if we could" 

"But we cannot." Her tone shifted and her eyes fell to her hands in her lap as a silence grew between the both of you. "Have you ever used a sword before? You talk in one of your letters that you wanted to be a Knight" You asked to break the silence. Natasha looked up at you and shook her head lightly, "I have held one before as my father got off his horse, but I have never used one" she replied. Looking into her eyes, you slowly stood from the log and pulled out your father's sword and handed it to her. "Let me teach you" you smiled. 

Natasha smiled softly and took the sword with your hand still around the handle as she rose from the log. You walked behind her and gently wrapped your free arm around her waist, "Stand with your left foot ahead of your right" you spoke as you held her into position, both her hands gripping the weapon tightly. "There are little angles of attack, I only know of 8 but my father knows many more. "Show me?" Natasha whispered as she watched your hands move on top of hers. "Move straight down from the top" you said as you showed her each of the attacks you knew of. 

"Like this?" Natasha asked with a smile as she practiced the moves you just showed her while you took a step back, "that's right!" You smiled. You found a tough stick to use to let her put her new skills to use, "Oh no! what if I hurt you?" She stopped once she saw the stick in your hand. "It's okay, you won't" you assured her, "I want to show you how to defend yourself. Attack me" you coached her. She was hesitant at first but eventually came at you with some of the moves you taught her. You blocked each one, using the stick to playfully fight back as she giggled nervously. "You're becoming a natural" you smiled. 

"Well I know the greatest Knight" Natasha smiled as she took a few steps closer to you. Not watching where she was walking, she tripped over a few twigs. Acting faster than you have ever done before, you dropped your stick weapon and caught the princess before her dress could be ruined in the dirty. "I'm so sorry!" She looked up at you with rosey cheeks, you looked into her eyes, holding her in your arms as she tried to hide her nervous smile. "You're beautiful my princess" you spoke in an almost whisper as you brushed the loose hairs from her face, "so beautiful" you added. 

Slowly, you lean forward and press your lips gently on hers. Any feeling of the kiss being deemed as wrong or sinful never crossed your mind as she gripped your arms and kissed you back with love. The fluttering feeling in your stomach bursted with butterflies as the kids got deeper and longer, only stopping before the two of you suffocated. Natasha smiled softly before running her tongue over her lips as she looked into your eyes, "do you kiss every princess like that?" She asked. 

"I…I've never k-kissed a woman before let alone a princess, I am sorry…I wasn't thinking" you replied in a panic as you helped the princess back on her feet. Natasha chuckled slightly before cupping your face, "kiss me again" she spoke softly. Without being asked twice you crashed your lips on hers again, pulling her closer into your body. It was wrong. It was full of sin but it was beautiful and felt so right. You never wanted to let the princess go. 

"I do not wish to wed a man….not when my feelings for you are so strong" you said after breaking the second kiss. "Then we meet here once a week at sunset" Natasha suggested but it was too far of a ride on her behalf. "No" you shook your head, letting her out of your hold, "I will come to you, if that is what you wish" you added. 

——

From that night onwards, once a week, you would sneak out and meet the princess nearby her Kingdom and lay under the stars with her in your arms, kissing her whenever you pleased, hearing about her day, teaching her more about defending herself and how to use a sword. She loved every second with you, even though you both knew that it was wrong. 

She'd always be your princess and you'd always be her knight.

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[bi-yearning-02]

crimson & clover

“now i don't hardly know her, but i think i could love her"

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x mute!reader

summary: people fear that which they do not understand. it makes sense then, why you and wednesday fall in love and help each other

warnings: erm you killed a lot of people on accident, angsty in the middle there, threats of violence, descriptions of violence

word count: 5.1k

A/N: heavily inspired by black bolt, who i really do think is one of my favourite heroes. there will likely be a part 2 or 3 to this but for rn my attention is on kiss with a fist. THERE WILL ALSO BE A PART [IV] OF SOMETHIN' STUPID

KISS WITH A FIST [IV] WILL BE UP NEXT SUNDAY

===+++===

===+++===

There were certain things you couldn’t have, when one had the ability to do incredible damage, if they just opened their mouth.

When you did so, on a random Saturday morning at 10 years old, and your house burst apart, it took your parents and a chunk of the neighbourhood with it in a fiery tempest that stabbed you right through the heart. You learned then, that maybe you weren't meant to have a family.

At age 12, when the kids at the Home for Outcast Children strung you up from the monkey bars by your ankles, and you couldn’t hold in a laugh from how the world looked funny when the sky looked like the floor, you learned you weren’t meant to have friends, sitting silently in the dirty crater where the playground used to be with your head tucked into your knees.

You had thought it would be implied then, that you would never have a lover, either. But then again, there was Wednesday Addams.

It was still a mystery, why she chose you. You had assumed she would want nothing to do with you just like she didn’t want anything to do with most people, and you couldn’t have been more wrong.

The both of you met about a week after she arrived at Nevermore, in the dead of night on one of the walks you always took when everyone else had gone to bed and there was no one to watch you, no one to murmur as you went past. You didn't pose a danger to anyone, then, and it was liberating and also deeply melancholic.

That was when you were most at peace. Your thoughts, even though well-reasoned, could not be expressed. You wrote often, in a leather-bound notebook you’d let no one see, but the power was given to writing through reading it, and there was no one you could have close enough to do so. It made you tired, to be around people you couldn’t communicate with. Few people wanted to wait for you to write something out on a notebook and even fewer wanted to learn sign language.

Kinbott had a dry-erase whiteboard in her office that was just meant for you and the only deaf person in Jericho, though the old man had gone missing a few months ago, without a trace. It was humiliating, at first, and you used to write two-word sentences, curt responses doing the bare minimum, often out of anger— whether it was anger from your situation or anger at being a teenager, you didn’t know— but now you could fill it with paragraphs and kept a notebook for when communication was especially necessary.

That night itself was peaceful, with gentle, twinkling stars that were only lightly polluted by the quad’s towering lamps. You could still see their faint outlines above you, with casting shadows down the lawn from the roof’s spires, and it smelled as if it were going to rain soon.

When you heard the scuttling of something on the floor, you jumped, startled, eyes shooting down to where you were certain you had felt someone’s fingers grip at your leg. Your eyes widened in surprise at the disembodied hand, racing up the uneven cobblestones and then up the leg of someone at the far end of the quad, landing finally on her shoulder.

Wednesday with her arms crossed, looking at you with a comically large bag slung over her shoulder that must've contained all of her belongings, like a runaway in the night.

Oh. That's what she was.

You blankly stared back at her, blinking at her figure. She took a menacing step forward, her grip on the bag tightening. "Are you following me?" she asked, tone icy. When you kept looking at her without so much as opening your mouth, her apathetic eyes narrowed. "If you tell anyone you saw me, they will never find your body. Don't say a word."

It was intended to be a threat, and if it had been anyone else, it probably would've made their blood run ice over just from how cold her gaze was. But you just raised your eyebrows at her, unable to stop the amusement from tugging at the corners of your lips. The irony was very far from lost on you, and the more serious she seemed the more funny the blunder was.

"What?" she snipped. "Is something amusing to you?"

Again, you could not say. You silently shook your head, tilting it then out of curiosity, and gently pointing towards the hand on her shoulder. It sat up at your attention, sending a friendly wave in your direction. Your eyes widened, waving before Wednesday could clear her throat and pull your eyes back up to hers.

Her eyes in question were dark and intense, but beautiful, even under the dim lighting, and you had to swallow what felt like a lump in your throat, in order to regain your composure. "Why are you silent?" she asked, narrowing them at you. You were under her microscope, and she scanned you, looking for anything that would impair your immediate voice.

You raised up a hand as if to say ‘hold on,’ before tugging your notebook out from your overcoat, flipping it open and pulling out your pen. With a click, you were scribbling down on the paper, and Wednesday narrowed her eyes at you again, scanning you in suspicion.

When you were done, you flipped it around, holding it up to her eyes with a gentle smile. 'Trust me, I don't think you'll need to worry about me telling anyone anything, anytime soon.'

Her eyes combed over the words, then glanced back down to you. "Why is—" she opened her mouth out of curiosity, but a heavy door slammed shut down the hall, and she whipped around before she could finish the question.

You both could hear the footsteps coming closer, and Wednesday straightened up, grip tightening on the bag over her shoulder. "You didn't see me, and you won't ever again," she said, coldly.

You nodded, not that you believed she'd make it out. You yourself had tried to run away for the first month and a half, and after long enough, one just gave up. Nevermore was hard to escape; you doubted she had readied a good enough plan in just a few days of being there. Still, you wished her luck. The forest was dangerous, and especially now.

With a final nod in your direction, she hastily walked off, down the corridor the opposite way. You watched her go, calmly sitting near the fountain. A few moments after she disappeared down a different hallway, a very tired looking Weems came down the stairs in her nightgown, holding onto a rusted lantern.

When she saw you, she sighed. "What did I say about those nighttime walks of yours, (Y/n)?"

You smiled, tilting your head to the side and shrugging at her. Weems huffed at your attempt at cluelessness, shaking her head fondly. "Just make sure you get yourself to bed soon, alright?"

You nodded, leaning back on the fountain edge and tracing the grout lines with your thumbs. Weems turned back to the hallway Wednesday went down. "I guess Miss Addams is planning to escape tonight?" But you didn't write anything down, raising your eyebrows at her as if to say 'duh.' Weems adjusted the hem of her nightgown from where it had dragged gently on the steps. "Thank you, (Y/n). I'll see you tomorrow."

She began to follow down the path Wednesday had taken, letting the lantern lead her through the dim corridor, and you silently yawned, picking up your notebook and figuring you had enough adventure for the night.

===+++===

That was your first unofficial meeting, at least. You almost forgot it had happened the following morning, except for when Wednesday showed up in class the next day looking more displeased and unhappy to be there than normal.

It was amusing how frustrated she was, mouth drawn into an annoyed line and eyes looking especially dark. When she caught your eye as she went to take her seat, you averted your gaze back down to your notebook to hide your cheeky smile, resuming your doodle in the margin and running a nervous hand through your hair.

She kept staring throughout the lecture, as if silently daring you to mention her failure, not that you could aloud. You weren’t willing to look back, but you could see her dark eyes shift up and across the round of tables towards you from the corner of your eye, which you made sure to keep on Thornhill.

After long enough, Xavier noticed too. He whispered something to her and then glanced up at you with a look that was far from friendly. He hadn't liked you one bit, but neither did any of the other kids, when they found out. You couldn't exactly blame them, either. The school was full of monsters, but you were a monster among monsters.

"Wednesday, Xavier," Thornhill called out, crossing her arms. She wasn't angry, though. More playful. "Is something more important than our study of carnivorous plants?"

Xavier began to shake his head, starting an apology, but Wednesday cut him off, blankly staring back at Thornhill as it left her mouth. "Yes."

At the challenge, the whole class seemed to let out a comically loud gasp. Thornhill's previously teasing smile dropped to a displeased frown, and she shoved her hands into the pockets of her overalls, motioning to the large glass enclosure on the table behind her. "I don't suppose you can tell me what this is, then?" At the question, you can see Bianca smirk and raise her own hand, eager to steal it away, "I haven't said the name out loud yet, and it will be on your test next—"

"—Dendrophylax lindenii." The interruption came swift from her lips, but Wednesday's eyes are still steeled over and unimpressed by Thornhill's attempt to be put on the spot.

You have to hide your amusement again, at the shocked look on Bianca's face, but she rushes to make up for it by adding something of her own. "It's also known as the Ghost Orchid—”

"—First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1852," Wednesday adds, and once more she's won. Or, she would have. You can't help the shake your head does, or the cheeky smile on your face that Wednesday locks onto, like a heatseeking missile. Her eyes are like daggers, stabbing you through and through. "Is something funny?"

She says it across the entire classroom and everyone goes silent, less focused on the plants now and more the fact that she's acknowledging your presence. You shrug, trying to diffuse the situation, but it only makes her glare at you harder. "No, go on," Wednesday demands, her tone just as icy as she had been the night before. "Tell us, what was so funny?"

"Wednesday," Thornhill warns her, sending you a sympathetic look, but she ignores her and so do you.

"Or are you still at a loss for words," she draws out, and in doing so, the rest of the class fills with 'ooh's and 'woah's. You stare at her for a moment, then silently, your hand goes to your notebook.

The moment you begin writing in it, the classroom tenses again, waiting for you to finish. You make them as big as possible, large enough that she'll be able to clearly read them across the room. When you're done, you flip it around and hold it up like a sign, face blank.

discovered 1854, not 1852

idiot.

You've circled it several times in messy pen, to make sure she really sees. The room roars even louder in surprise, and however bad Wednesday's stare was before, the new one she gives you is infinitely worse. Her face is still deadpan, but her eyes flick away down to her notebook. It’s the only time you’ve seen her approach something resembling embarrassment or fury. You're sure the 'idiot' bit didn't help, but you were far too annoyed by her poking of you to not have poked her right back.

"Well...," Thornhill tries, "It seems the Ghost Orchid isn't the only carnivorous plant in here, today." But the class is too far gone to focus up again, sending you wary glances. They don't like Wednesday, but they like you even less, so it's confusing who they should root for.

You hold her gaze until the bell rings, finally breaking it to gather your things and leave as soon as possible. Her eyes are still on you as you go, and just before you exit the room, you can hear someone mutter "freak," under their breath. You tuck your books under your arm, and duck out into the hall.

===+++===

Fall was always your favourite time of year; for once, Jericho wasn't entirely unbearable. The leaves turned a warm orange and red, falling from the trees in abundant piles on the ground, and the air fermented into something crisp and especially breathable. You let it fill your nose as much as possible.

You sat on the lawn, listening to the birds flit about and the wind brush under the branches and hem of your jumper with a book in your lap and a frown on your face. It wasn't a good book- something the internet had said was incredible but had firmly left a bad taste in your mouth, and part of you wanted to put it down and turn to something more useful. But another part of you wanted to keep reading, like being unable to look away from a car accident.

The book was so engrossing in its awfulness that you didn't notice her watching you from afar or, more so, aiming in your direction. That was, until you turned the page, and her throwing knife whizzed past your ear and lodged itself into the tree you had been sitting against.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the noise, and you turned your head to the side, looking at the shiny, reflective silver. The letters W. A. stared back at you, engraved just below the knife's spine. You frowned, and when you looked back, she was standing over you, arms crossed and expression as deadpan as always.

You raised a questioning eyebrow, looking over at the knife and then back to her as if saying, 'What was that for?'

"Your attention was required," she replied dryly.

You rolled your eyes, dog-eared the page of your book, and placed it down next to you, pulling out your notebook and your pen. You wrote a single word.

dangerous.

"Believe me, if I wanted to hit you, I am entirely capable of aiming to kill," Wednesday said. Then, after a brief look around Nevermore's green, her eyes flicked back down to you. "I'm here on business."

You search her face for a moment, narrowing your eyes. They locked in on the small bandage on her forehead, and you nodded up at it, asking her what happened with the look on your face. Her frown deepened.

"I'm in the process of crushing a bee... and almost getting crushed by a gargoyle." You blinked, but Wednesday continued. "But I won't have to do either if you agree to my request."

It's hard to deny that her words massively pique your interest. Wednesday in general massively piques your interest, and you write down the thing you really want to know.

people say you eat human flesh...

You turn the page back to her, and Wednesday seems to process the words for a moment. She looks over at you, unimpressed by the allegation. "I don't eat it. My menagerie of pets do. And even then, that's nothing close to what Enid's said about you."

You stare up at her, then scribble a couple of words on the paper.

and what's that?

"That you're dangerous. That you’re somehow infinitely worse than I am, which I'm doubtful of," Wednesday says without missing a beat. "Enid won't say anything more, and neither will Xavier." She looks around again, over the green. There's a picnic of sirens by the lake, and a few of the werewolves are playing with a frisbee. She looks back at you. "I've been warned to stay away, and your propensity for being obnoxious has made that task fairly easy so far." You begin to write again.

so why are you here

"Because," she states like it's obvious, "I want to break out of here. And you're somehow the person to have gotten the closest."

and yet

i'm still here

You turn the page to her and jab the bottom bit several times with your pointer finger.

"Well then," she says, "help me succeed."

===+++===

“And how do you think that made you feel?” Kinbott asks, eyeing her various pages of notes to the left of you. Some of the other patients in Kinbott’s care had small, yellow folders, but you had a larger red one, with your name in highlighted block letters on the front. It looked like it should’ve had a top secret sticker in the corner, not that you weren’t appreciative about your records being sealed.

You erased the board, writing a single word.

seen

Then, underneath it.

idk, like i was really there?

Kinbott nodded. “You’ve said people often ignore you a lot. Why do you think that is?”

they’re scared. they think i’ll hurt them because they heard rumours about what i did.

i can’t blame them, really

She frowned, wrapping her hands around her knee. “But that’s not really fair, is it? When was the last time you’ve caused damage with your ability, (Y/n)?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment.

about four years

“And you haven’t made any sort of mistakes, right?”

well, no

“Then why should they be afraid of you?” Kinbott asks. She’s leaning forward, looking at you with her eyes softened. “You’ve trained yourself to silently yawn, you don’t cough, you don’t sneeze, you don’t snore. I think you need to trust yourself a little more, (Y/n).”

You shrug again, but don’t write anything down, so Kinbott sighs and sits back in her chair. “Principal Weems says that she has another little Harry Houdini on her hands?”

You write down Wednesday on your board. She nods. “I’m seeing her in a little while, actually.” It makes your eyebrows raise in surprise.

why?

Kinbott shakes her head. “You know I can’t share that. Therapy is private. It seems she doesn’t plan on staying, though. Wednesday has already tried to escape.”

i know.

she asked me to help her

Her eyes scan over the words and then look back up to you, warily. “You know better than to help her, right? Nevermore could be good for Wednesday. And I thought you were actually starting to like it here.”

You nod.

i already said no

it’s too dangerous, in the woods right now. with the attacks and stuff.

“Good. And please, tell Principal Weems if you learn of any plans in the future.” You nod again, much less committed, and Kinbott looks down at her watch. “I’m afraid our time is over, (Y/n),” she says with a smile. “I’ll see you next week.”

You write a quick thank you down and stand, shoving your socks back into your shoes and tugging on your jumper, tucking it underneath the collar of your shirt and fixing your Nevermore tie. Purple stripes was never your pattern, and Weems had long since given up on trying to make you wear the coat. She figured it probably made you less likely to run away.

Wednesday is sitting in the lobby when you get down the stairs, with a bored-looking Weems come to babysit. You send her a glance, and then give Weems a nod of your head in acknowledgment.

She beams back at you. “Ah, (Y/n). We’re here for Miss Addams’ session. If you want to wander around Jericho, we can take you back to the school when we're done, if you’d like.”

You send another look at Wednesday, whose face is just as deadpan and unhappy as before, and shake your head. You point at yourself and then mime walking with your two fingers. Principal Weems frowns, but gives you and okay, and you turn around to leave.

You can feel Wednesday’s eyes on you as you head for the school. You know she's annoyed by your refusal to help her, but you can't exactly tell her why you're refusing either, especially since you're lacking any evidence for your theory. So you just told her no.

===+++===

Even from deep inside the forest, you can hear the carnival. There's a Ferris wheel towering over the trees in front of you, and circus music blasts from a few speakers so that you can faintly hear it amongst the windy branches, leaves blowing along the ground and caressing your shoes from time to time as you walk through the dark.

You're looking for something, anything, indicating someone would've been there. Sheriff Galpin had found all sorts of hikers, recently, all almost unidentifiable, with how bloodied they were, but they had yet to find anyone with a hearing aid, so you were unsatisfied. It was believed he was on vacation, but you knew the old man went to his therapy appointments every single week. He hadn't missed a single day, so you failed to believe that theory. You didn't even know his name, really.

On a tree not too far from you, there was a claw mark sunk deep into the bark, and you looked towards it, at the pattern. The idea a bear was responsible for all the deaths wasn't exactly convincing, and looking at the claws, your doubts only amplified. You pulled out your camera, aiming it towards the mark, ready to snap a shot, when you heard footsteps pounding past you.

"Rowan!" called a voice behind you, and you froze, putting the camera down and flicking your flashlight off. The last thing you needed was word getting out that you were lurking in the woods. People thought you were scary enough.

But the words weren't directed at you. You listened intently, and then you heard the faint but panicked voice again. "Rowan," Wednesday says again, and the moment you realise it's her voice, you take off running towards it.

You find Rowan with his hand held up, crushing Wednesday against a tree, and before you can stop to think, you're rushing forward, shoving him in the back and pushing him into the dirt, where he struggles to catch his breath. The moment his hand splays out in front of him, Wednesday is dropped to the forest floor. You run to her, checking her over quickly for injuries, making sure she can run. When you find none, you grab her arm, hoisting her to her feet. You send a wary look over at Rowan, who's already trying to right himself and take Wednesday's hand in yours, pulling her deeper into the forest.

It isn't long before you hear him calling out. "Wednesday!" he yells, and you freeze, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her behind a tree. You push her flush against the bark and cover her mouth with your hand, getting as close as possible so that you hide better against the trunk. She seems too scared to comment on the touch, eyes wide and chest heaving from the running. You raise your other hand and press your finger to your lips.

"Wednesday, I'm doing Nevermore a favour," he tries again. "One massive favour. You're dangerous. My mother's seen it. I can see it. Anyone who knows you can see it."

Your eyes flicker to Wednesday's in confusion, processing his words. She's staring up at you, eyes dark and full of worry, begging for him not to find you. Any idea you had about her not getting scared goes out the window. She's just as human as you are. You send her a comforting nod, peeking around the tree trunk. Rowan's a few trees away, with his back turned, scouring the area.

You begin to back away from Wednesday, gesturing over your shoulder. If you both can sneak off and go back to the carnival without Rowan noticing, you can ensure safety. She gives a curt nod, letting you take her hand in yours again. You're faster than her, she knows that. You slowly pull her with you, quietly stepping away and towards the fair.

You only make it a few steps, until Wednesday steps on a branch.

The small twig cracks under her boot, and within an instant, Rowan whips his head around to you both, staring back at him like a pair of deer in headlights. He takes a few menacing steps forward. "There you are," he draws out in between wheezy breaths. His hand comes up, ready to crush her, but before he can use his ability, a large, hulking creature grabs him by the leg, whipping him around and down onto the ground.

You and Wednesday watch in horror as Rowan screams, and the creature rears up on its hind legs, coming down and smashing Rowan with its fists. You can hear the crunching of his bones and then the tearing of flesh as the creature's claws dig into the boy's skin. Wednesday's hand is still in yours, and she squeezes it harshly, small black fingernails digging into the back of your hand, pulling you down to the ground with her and then scooting back.

The attack is short but brutal, and you see bits of Rowan's chest go flying and pure red maw. The creature whips around to you when Rowan goes silent, staring at Wednesday with intensity in its big eyes. Then it scrambles off, tearing through the woods and into the darkness.

As soon as it's gone, Wednesday rushes forward in the leaves, going to Rowan's side. You clamber to your feet, watching the direction the creature went with wide eyes. When you turn back to Wednesday, you catch her shoving something in her pocket. You don't ask what it is, but you make a mental note to ask later.

"Please," she says, a bit panicked. Her fingers are coated in Rowan's blood. "Go get Weems."

===+++===

Another not-too-awful thing about Nevermore was the breakfast. You sat at an abandoned picnic table in the corner of the quad, finishing your eggs, when Wednesday slammed her hands down on the wood with a loud thunk. You jumped in your seat, startled by the noise, dropping your egg back onto your plate.

"What exactly did you see last night?" she demanded, glaring.

Your eyes widened at her tone. It was harsher than normal, and she wore her frustration on her sleeve. A few students at nearby tables sent you suspicious and wary glances. Over Wednesday's shoulder, you could see her roommate, Enid, staring at you.

Most important was Weems, who looked down at you from the balcony above. You composed yourself and looked back down to Wednesday, shrugging nonchalantly, as if to say you didn't know.

Wednesday gritted her teeth harder. "But you do know. We saw Rowan get eviscerated by that creature. You were there. So why did you tell Weems you didn't see anything?!"

You furrowed your eyebrows, shaking your head at her, doubling down. This was no place to get into it. No place to tell the truth. You slid your notebook towards her.

i saw him this morning.

She huffed, stomping off. You knew exactly why you saw him that morning, actually. Weems had shown you her powers a time or two, and you knew that 'Rowan' was just her in disguise. But you also didn't know if it was something you wanted to share yet. You, too, had been a bit miffed at seeing Weems pretend to be Rowan, but you also knew Weems' powers gave her an advantage, and you were too loyal to take that away from her. You owed her too much.

The question of why still rang in your mind, though. Why was she so eager to cover it up? She had never at least lied to you, so this lie seemed out of left field.

You saw the fake Rowan several times throughout the day. Each time you did your best to let Weems know you knew, and she seemed wary of you, avoiding you at every intersection. You spent the night thinking, wandering around Nevermore, stopping in the library and pulling out several books.

Wednesday had shoved something in her pocket, something that Rowan had. Something about her dooming Nevermore, about being dangerous. You raked through all the books about prophecies, not finding anything of interest and giving up at around one in the morning. No books were missing a piece of paper, and no books mentioned Wednesday's name. You could find a few references to someone named Goody, but she seemed unimportant among the other Addams ancestors, having been dead for hundreds of years. You made another mental bookmark to look more into it, later.

You trudged back to your dorm, already regretting your choices, considering you had an 8 am class in the morning. The school was peaceful again, and as you climbed the stairs, you could hear the trickle of the fountain.

But the moment your shoe placed itself upon the landing, you froze. Your door hung open slightly, just cracked, and right in the way was the same hand you had seen on your first night. You straightened up, feeling more awake, and more annoyed, now.

You pushed your own door open, knocking loudly on the wood like it wasn't your own room, illustrating your frustration. Wednesday turned towards you, unimpressed. She had your journal in her hands, the other one not meant for your communication but for your theories.

It was open to the photo you had just taken, of the claw mark. Right above it you had put the photo of the deaf old man, and right on the photo of the claw mark, you had 'Rowan' written in red sharpie and underlined several times.

You crossed your arms, glowering at her. The hand scuttled towards her, stopping halfway. "So you were hiding something," Wednesday says. "You know that Rowan isn't Rowan. You know he's dead."

You silently swallow, crossing the room until you are right in front of her. Wednesday's eye contact is intense, and you look down at your own notebook, feeling her watching you as you take it from her hands. You can feel her breath fanning against your face, and she smells like pomegranate and fresh petrichor. You turn the page to the drawing you've made of the creature. It's a little off; some of the details are fuzzy regarding last night. But it's the creature as best as you can remember it, and Wednesday nods.

"That's what I saw, too. That's what I want to find," she says. "That's what you're going to help me find."

This time, you can't find it in yourself to refuse.

===+++===

this was the first episode and a bit of episode 2. i really liked doing the mute reader but boy is it hard to write communication without dialogue. it does so much heavy lifting for characterisation. can't wait to see where this one goes, and it'll probably take me two or three parts to get through the whole season, is my hope.

[bi-yearning-02]

Taste of Obedience

Dom!Human!Wanda x subby!vampire!reader

Summary: You're a vampire, ancient and obedient, but Wanda? Wanda owns you in every sense. She's human — painfully so — warm, bleeding, alive. And when she lets you sink your fangs into her throat, it’s not just about feeding. It’s devotion. It’s power play. It’s control.

Tonight, she lets you drink. Slowly. Teasingly. But only when and how she says.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, blood drinking (consensual), power imbalance (negotiated, consensual D/s dynamic), dom!Wanda / sub!reader dynamic, possessive language & ownership kink, mild overstimulation, praise kink, post-bite soreness / gentle aftercare, one-sided sleep (reader does not sleep), vampire themes (immortality, fangs, blood), emotional intimacy & codependency undertones

Authors note: I had this idea of a powerful being who wasn't so powerful when it came to Wanda. It flowed so beautifully out of me this morning.

The taste of Wanda’s skin was forbidden fruit.

You weren't allowed to bite — not without permission.

And tonight, permission wasn’t coming easy.

Wanda had you on your knees at her feet, hands folded neatly in your lap, your fangs aching behind your lips. Her body heat was unbearable this close — a furnace radiating against your chilled skin. You could hear her heartbeat, steady and slow, taunting you.

“You’re squirming,” she murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “Something wrong, little fang?”

You swallowed, eyes wide and dark in the candlelight. “I-I need…”

“I know what you need.” Her smile was cruel in the most loving way. “But you don’t get to take it. You earn it.”

Your throat bobbed, the ache to sink your fangs into her pulse point clawing at your control.

Wanda leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “Say it. What do you want?”

“...To bite,” you whispered, shuddering.

“Say it properly.”

You whined, eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Mistress. Please let me bite. I’ll be good…”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully, trailing her fingers down the side of your throat, letting you feel just how vulnerable she was — how easily she could give you what you craved.

But you belonged to her now. A vampire on a leash. Her pet.

“Maybe,” she said at last, drawing back and straddling your lap, “if you beg pretty enough, I’ll let you have a taste.”

She smiled when your fangs dropped involuntarily.

“Such a hungry little thing.”

Wanda’s thighs cradled your hips as she settled in your lap, warm and commanding. Her fingers threaded lazily through your hair, tugging just enough to remind you who was in control.

Your hands stayed exactly where she expected them — limp at your sides, trembling, even though every part of you screamed to touch her. Your instincts, your hunger, your damnation all thrummed beneath your skin like static.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice syrupy and slow as she rocked her hips forward ever so slightly, “you’re lucky I find this whole pathetic need of yours so… cute.”

You whimpered.

She tilted her head, exposing her throat — just a glimpse of the skin you craved more than blood itself. Then, she grinned and tilted it right back.

“Not yet,” she said sweetly, stroking the line of your jaw. “I want to hear more. Tell me what it does to you, knowing I’m right here — warm, alive, bleeding just under the surface — and you’re not allowed to touch me.”

You blinked fast, fangs pressing hard against your bottom lip. “It hurts, Mistress.”

“I know it does, baby.” She cooed, her nails dragging lightly down your chest. “Hurts here?” One nail traced the space above your heart. “Or here?” She cupped between your thighs just briefly before retreating.

You bucked up into the phantom of her touch, breath catching.

“Both,” you admitted shakily. “Please. Please, I’m so hungry…”

Wanda clicked her tongue, as if scolding a child. “You think I don’t know how hungry you are? I can feel it in you, little bat . The way your whole body hums with it. But want and deserve are two very different things.”

Her hands slid around the back of your neck, nails scratching lightly as she leaned in, her lips ghosting your cheek.

“You’ve bitten me before without asking,” she whispered, her tone sharp with accusation. “You promised you wouldn’t again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you gasped. “I lost control —”

“And who do you belong to?” she interrupted, pulling back to meet your eyes, her own blazing with intent.

“You,” you breathed. “Always you.”

“That’s right.” She kissed you then — not soft, but claiming. Her tongue slid against yours, and you tasted her spit, her heat, her power. It wasn’t blood, but it was intoxicating. Your nails dug into your thighs to keep from moving.

Her hand suddenly tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, exposing your throat now.

“Say it again.”

“I belong to you.”

Her lips brushed your neck, mimicking what you longed to do.

“You’ll drink when I say so,” she murmured, and you whimpered as she scraped her teeth along your throat in wicked mockery. “Beg one more time, and I’ll think about it.”

You were desperate now, eyes wide and glossy, your voice cracking.

“Please, Mistress. Please let me drink from you. I’m yours. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I need it, I need you…”

Her breath hitched — just slightly. Enough to tell you she liked that. Liked hearing you fall apart.

Slowly, deliberately, she shifted in your lap again and drew your face into the crook of her neck. Her pulse was right there. So close. You moaned from the proximity alone.

“Okay,” she said softly. “You’ve earned it.”

Your body went boneless with relief, and just as you began to move in, her fingers threaded through your hair again, tightening hard.

“But,” she added, low and firm, “you bite slow. You drink only when I say. And you stop the second I tell you.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you breathed, barely able to contain yourself. “I promise.”

“Good girl.”

She tilted her head, exposing the smooth, delicate skin of her throat — and finally, finally, she whispered:

“Drink.”

You sank in — slow, reverent. Her blood burst across your tongue like fire and honey, thick with life and heat and Wanda. She let out a soft gasp, her hand stroking the back of your neck, grounding you, guiding you, owning you.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered. “Take it slow. My good little vampire.”

And you did — because she asked, because she allowed it, and because everything you were belonged to her.

Her blood was everything.

Warm. Sweet. Saturated with her magic and will and humanity — and the taste of her love, because even Wanda’s dominance was affectionate in its own twisted, perfect way.

You drank slow like she asked, fangs buried in her throat, hands shaking where they hovered at her waist. Every instinct screamed to drink deeper, to hold her tighter, to take, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t.

Because she let you.

Because she told you to.

Your arms eased up around her, slow and careful, wrapping her in your embrace without squeezing, without claiming. You never held her too tightly. You couldn’t — wouldn’t — risk hurting her, not even by accident. She was breakable. Human. Yours.

And above all, you were hers.

Wanda stroked your hair lazily, her breathing steady while yours grew rough — not because you needed it, but because it helped, gave you a rhythm to anchor your control.

Her voice broke through the haze: smooth, sharp as a command.

“Stop.”

You froze. Fangs still inside her. Breath stuttering against her skin. Your eyes flew open, wide and frantic. You whimpered against her throat.

But you didn’t move.

Didn’t pull back.

Didn’t drink.

Just… stayed there, trembling, trying so hard to behave.

“Good girl,” she murmured, and her nails scratched softly at the nape of your neck. “Still learning how to behave, but you’re getting there.”

You moaned helplessly. Her blood sang through your mouth, coating your tongue, tempting you even now.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she whispered. “My heart… still beating. My body, still warm. And you’re so cold, sweet girl. So empty. But you’re not going to take what isn’t given.”

You whimpered again, your mouth still latched to her skin, fangs shaking from restraint.

“You’re going to wait,” she said, hand fisting in your hair. “Because I said so.”

Your arms tightened around her a little more, never enough to bruise, just enough to cling. To say I’m here. I’m listening. I’m yours.

You wanted to sob — from hunger, from devotion, from how badly you needed her to say yes again.

And Wanda — cruel, knowing, amused — nuzzled your temple.

“Breathe for me,” she said softly.

You obeyed, inhaling against her neck, shaky and slow.

“Good. Now exhale. Focus.”

You did.

She waited a moment longer, making sure you really held still, before her hand relaxed in your hair and her breath danced over your ear.

“Start again, baby.”

You made the softest, most broken sound — a breathless gasp of gratitude — and resumed.

Carefully. Worshipfully.

Drinking not because you could, but because she let you.

Wanda sighed, letting herself melt into your lap again, perfectly relaxed, completely safe — despite the predator wrapped around her.

“That’s it,” she murmured, almost teasing. “Nice and slow. My good little monster.”

The moment Wanda said start again, you sank back into her throat like it was the most sacred place in the world.

Because it was.

The pull was slow, gentle — reverent. You obeyed to the letter, but you couldn’t stop the little whines in your throat. Each swallow made your hands tremble, your mind quiet, your whole world narrow to the pulse beneath your tongue.

And Wanda was feeling it.

She shifted in your lap, grinding herself against the firm line of your thigh. A sharp gasp left her lips — small, but real.

You knew this rhythm. This body.

You knew what your bite did to her. How her blood ran hotter the deeper you drank. How the pain mixed with pleasure until it blurred into a fever in her skin. You felt her magic flicker beneath her skin like a lit match waiting to catch.

Her fingers tightened in your hair.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, voice cracking.

That wasn’t just arousal — that was need.

You moaned against her, eyes fluttering shut. Her hips rolled again, slow but purposeful, chasing the friction.

“You don’t get to move,” she managed, voice strained. “Don’t… fuck, don’t you dare help me.”

You obeyed. Not a single thrust back. Not a grind. But you held her, arms locked around her back, anchoring her to you as she used your thigh, your body, her vampire.

Her pet.

Her source of pleasure, and pain, and everything between.

She buried her face in your hair as her noises grew more desperate — soft, gasping moans with every twist of her hips.

The taste of her deepened. Darkened. You could feel her heartbeat in your tongue now, rapid and erratic, responding to the heat building between her legs.

You held still like she asked. Even as her nails bit your shoulders. Even as she shook a little in your arms.

“Fuck, baby…” she whispered, her voice almost cracking into a whimper. “You have no idea what you do to me…”

But you did.

You knew.

You’d tasted her blood a hundred times. You felt how deep the reaction went. How intimately her body tied pain to pleasure — how even the softest feed left her breathless and shaky in your arms.

You knew her tells: the magic buzzing at her fingertips, the hitch in her breath when your fangs scraped just right, the way her thighs tightened around you as she fought to keep control.

And she was losing it.

Because even though you were the one kneeling, trembling, biting her throat — she was the one unraveling.

Her hips jerked once, rhythm faltering, and she let out a helpless little moan, high and sharp.

Your breath caught.

Wanda swore under her breath and grabbed your jaw, yanking your head back just enough to pull you off her neck. Blood painted your lips, and you blinked up at her, dazed and starved.

She looked wrecked.

Flushed cheeks. Wild hair. Lips parted.

“Don’t you dare look smug,” she growled, but her voice was shaking. “That wasn’t permission to get cocky.”

You nodded, wide-eyed, blood slicking your mouth.

“I wasn’t,” you whispered. “I swear, Mistress.”

She glared — then kissed you hard, her tongue licking into your mouth, tasting her own blood off your lips with a hungry groan.

“I’m not done with you,” she breathed against your mouth. “Not even close.”

And you believed her.

Because you’d barely scratched the surface of what Wanda Maximoff could do with a trembling vampire wrapped around her finger.

Wanda was breathless, flushed, and trembling slightly when she pulled back from your blood-slick mouth.

Still straddling you. Still in control.

You were hers — panting, fangs aching, lips red from the taste of her. And when she reached down and tugged your shirt up and over your head, you let her, limbs pliant and obedient.

“Sit still,” she ordered, and you did.

She pulled your bra off slowly, watching the way your chest rose and fell in anticipation, her eyes flickering with heat. Her fingers grazed your skin — barely there — and still you shivered like she'd burned you.

“You don’t get to touch me,” she said, voice dark and low as her hands slid down your body. “You hold me. You feed from me. But you don’t fuck me unless I say.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you whispered, voice trembling.

Wanda rocked her hips again, harder this time, and your hands flew to her waist — not to move her, just to hold. Steady. Supportive. Worshipful.

She ground down harder, chasing friction against your thigh through the thin fabric of her panties. She wasn’t hiding the way she moaned now, short and sharp, every breath dripping heat as her fingers dug into your shoulders.

“This is mine,” she whispered, dragging her nails down your chest. “All of you. Even this need you think I don’t see. I own it. You don’t come until I do.”

You whimpered.

She rolled her hips again — and again — soaking the front of your jeans, her body pulsing with magic that sparked against your skin, fraying the edges of your control. But you held firm, nails pressing into your own thighs to keep from moving. From begging.

From doing anything but what she let you.

Wanda's moans grew louder, less composed. Her head fell to your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin where you’d bitten her earlier.

And then — a shudder, a breath held too long — her whole body jerked once, and a loud, broken sound fell from her lips as she came against you.

It was messy. Slow. Her body shaking in your arms, hips twitching as she rode it out, panting into your neck like you were the one keeping her grounded.

You were.

Your arms were wrapped tight around her. Not possessive — never that. But protective. Present. The kind of hold that said: I’ve got you. Take what you need. I’m yours.

Wanda slumped into you, chest heaving, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. You felt her heartbeat against your skin, rapid and erratic and human.

You kissed her temple softly, lips stained red.

Only then did she pull back and cup your cheek.

“Still with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes hazy, every nerve humming with the weight of her.

She smiled — tired and wicked and full of something soft.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “So good for me.”

Your throat bobbed. “Thank you, Mistress.”

Wanda slipped off your lap and gently pushed you back onto the couch. Her fingers made quick work of your jeans, and before you could protest — or beg — she was between your thighs, her hand pressing flat against your center through your soaked underwear.

“Now,” she said, her voice like velvet. “Now you get to come.”

You came fast — embarrassingly fast — hips bucking up into her hand as she rubbed tight, practiced circles over your clit. All the blood, all the restraint, all the tension that had built up through obedience and denial crashed through you in a wave.

And Wanda watched, chin propped on your thigh, grinning like the smug devil she was.

“God, you’re pretty when you fall apart,” she murmured.

You whimpered, back arching, thighs trembling, and then — finally — you collapsed.

Spent.

Full.

Shaking.

Safe.

Wanda didn’t rush the come-down. She climbed back into your lap, straddling you again — this time to soothe, not to take. She cradled your face, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your brow, the corner of your mouth.

“Easy, baby,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You clung to her, still panting despite the fact that your lungs didn’t need to. Your whole body ached in the best way.

She cleaned the blood from your chin with her fingers and pressed them into your mouth to suck.

“There’s my good girl,” she murmured. “Took it so well. You always do.”

You leaned into her, eyes fluttering shut, resting your forehead to hers.

Her hand stroked your hair. “You did everything I asked.”

You nodded.

“And when I told you to stop, you stopped.”

Another nod. A tiny, broken sound of pride caught in your throat.

Wanda kissed you once — soft, slow, grateful.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “Every inch of you. Forever.”

And you were.

Wanda was the one who moved first, even though her body was still shaky and her thighs still pressed damp against your jeans.

“Come on,” she murmured, cupping your jaw with one hand and pressing a final kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You went with her without question, clinging just a little as she guided you to the bathroom. She chuckled softly, arm around your waist.

“You always get like this after,” she teased, voice warm. “Like a baby bat stuck to me.”

You nuzzled your face into her hair, still overwhelmed, still grounded in her scent.

She bathed you both gently — hands slow, steady, not teasing anymore. She peeled away your ruined clothes and held you under the warm spray of the shower, fingers stroking your back, humming softly under her breath.

It soothed the leftover trembles in your limbs.

She washed your hair like you were precious. Like she liked doing this for you. She always did — insisted on it, really.

And afterward, she dressed you in soft pajamas — one of her oversized shirts and a pair of cotton shorts you couldn’t remember stealing but were definitely yours now. She dressed herself in a robe, loose and cozy, and tugged you by the hand into the kitchen.

Wanda didn’t even give you the chance to ask. She pulled a sealed container of blood from the fridge and handed it over wordlessly, then turned to fix something for herself.

You sat on the edge of the counter, sipping slowly, still a little floaty. Your fangs had finally retracted, but your gums were sore. That always happened when you drank too slowly.

She glanced over and frowned. “Still tender?”

You nodded.

Without saying a word, she pulled out one of her freezer packs and wrapped it in a dish towel. She pressed it gently to your cheek, right where your jaw was clenched.

You leaned into it with a soft sound of gratitude.

Wanda made herself a grilled cheese — extra sharp cheddar, exactly the way she liked it — and slid it onto a plate. She only ate half before she offered you a bite.

You hesitated, but took it when she gave you that look — the one that said let me care for you back, dummy.

When you were both fed and warm and finally calm, she took your hand again and led you back to the bed. She crawled in first, reaching for the blanket, but stopped when you climbed in behind her and pulled her gently into your arms.

“You need sleep,” you whispered against her hair.

“You need rest,” she murmured back.

“I don’t sleep.”

“I know,” she said, already burrowing into your chest. “I just like saying it.”

You held her close, your arms wrapped around her waist, your chin tucked over her head.

Wanda let out the softest sigh — barely a breath — and her whole body relaxed in your hold.

It was the only time she ever went limp like that. Only after you fed. Only when her magic quieted and her body was wrung out and her heart beat a little slower in her chest. That was when she let herself be small. Tired. Human.

You didn’t need to breathe, but you did anyway — slow and steady, chest rising with hers. You liked matching her rhythm. It made her feel less alone.

Her fingers twitched against your shirt. “Still with me?”

“Always,” you murmured.

She hummed. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Always.”

She drifted not long after, body warm and boneless against yours.

You stayed still.

You never moved while she slept. She hated waking up alone.

So you stayed — watching the way her lashes fluttered against her cheek, the way her lips parted slightly, how utterly soft she looked when all the sharpness faded from her face.

Powerful, fierce, brilliant Wanda — sleeping safe in your arms.

Yours to protect.

Hers to belong to.

You didn’t need sleep.

You had everything you needed right here.

[bi-yearning-02]

This Is Me Trying - (A Y/N Parker Spider-Woman X Kate Bishop Story) Masterlist

Intro

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

[bi-yearning-02]

The Camgirl Next Door

Series Masterlist

Summary: One of your favorite ways to relieve stress is by watching a beautiful camgirl named “Scarlet Witch.” When Wanda Maximoff, Scarlet Witch herself, moves in next door, you fall for her.

A/N: My first series! Hope you all enjoy!

This is an 18+ series with nsfw content. Chapters with smut are marked with *.

Part 1 - New Neighbor*

Part 2 - First Date*

Part 3 - The Morning After*

Blurbs/Drabbles in this AU

[bi-yearning-02]

The Catalyst - Masterlist

WandaNat x Female Reader

Story summary: A peaceful life could never be an option, especially not when backing out of a fight means leaving your loved ones to fight. It still doesn't change the fact that you hate having these powers.

Spotify Playlist

Main Masterlist

The Catalyst - Stronger on Your Own - 4.5k

A reunion with an old friend brings you back into the life you tried to leave behind. How do you deal with once again being in the same room with the woman you once loved? The same woman that left you to die?

The Catalyst (2) - Colder - 4.8k

Even though you worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for years you’ve never been keen on mind games. Yet it seems like this whole situation is a big mind game.

The Catalyst (3) - Monster - 4.1k

The tensions keep rising and the first actual danger makes you act in a way you didn't think you ever would act again.

The Catalyst (4) - Superhero - 4.4k

A team built on spilled blood and common goal, forged in the flames of a battle to protect the world.

The Catalyst (5) - Burning in the Skies - 4.6k

A desperate battle continues, giving you all a taste of what’s to come and how unprepared you all truly are.

The Catalyst (6) - Let it Burn - 7.5k

A reunion opens up old wounds and a question of “What now?” plagues your mind. And the answer? It lies in the past, in the days long gone, buried under the betrayal of the woman you loved.

The Catalyst (7) - Way Away

Captured, with no hopes of escape, all you could do was wait for the rescue that would never come. For the first time in your life you have to let go, you have to let the heat burn within you.

The Catalyst (8) - Explode

The events are being set in motion as sisters reunite and a promise is made, that a year and a half from now you’d come back, more prepared than ever to fight for the Earth.

[bi-yearning-02]

A New Addiction

You've known Agatha for awhile now but when you start working with her, feelings start to develop

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: oral sex, service bottom reader, caffeine addiction, praise kink, bit of an oral fixation, age gap

A/N: This is super specific and entirely self-indulgent lmao

It’s a stupid crush. 

Harmless. Futile. Foolish. 

You’ve known her for years. She’s friends with your mom. And now, she’s your much older co-worker. 

Well, kind of your co-worker. You’re just helping out on the side. It’s the swimming unit for the Physical Education classes at the high school you went to and you’re lifeguarding after graduating college just to make some extra cash. 

Which means getting to hang out on the pool deck with Agatha Harkness for two weeks. 

The crush sort of came out of nowhere. You’d never really thought of her in that way, and you’re not sure when things changed. 

Maybe it was when she asked you deep questions when it was just the two of you sitting there and she actually listened. Maybe it was when she teased you about trying an energy drink for the first time and getting hooked immediately and still encouraging you. Maybe it was when she told you that you were funny a few days ago. 

But you can’t stop thinking about her now and the way she tilts her sunglasses down to look at you with those bright blue eyes and the way she tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and the way she nudges you when you say something cheeky but then smirks wickedly to dish it right back at you. 

It’s becoming a slight problem, how you always want to be with her. How the class periods that she has free just drag by and you count down the minutes until you might be able to see Agatha again. How you would do anything just to have her attention on you, even though you know logically that she’ll never like you back like that. 

But Agatha brings you an energy drink on Monday, tsking when your eyes light up and you immediately reach for it when she gives it to you in the office. 

“You are so addicted,” she sighs with a chuckle when you hand it back to her because you can’t open the can. Agatha easily pops it open, nails painted a deep red that contrasts nicely with her pale skin, and she holds eye contact as she takes a sip right from the opening of it. She’s wearing shorts that show off her long legs and a light blue shirt and you can’t stop your gaze from wandering down her body.

She gives it back to you and you try to ignore the fact that your lips are touching the spot that hers just did. 

“And yet, you’re just giving me more,” you say, grinning. “You like it.” 

Agatha snorts. “And you’re crazy.” 

You take a long swig and swish the liquid around your mouth. She watches, pupils dilating just slightly. When she looks at you like that, you think she must feel something for you. 

It looks like she’s going to say something else, but she doesn’t—she just smirks knowingly and picks up her clipboard before walking out and to the pool deck. 

This is her easiest class: not a lot of kids and they’re all strong swimmers. Which means you get to just hang out with her. 

You walk with her up and down the deck, mindlessly chatting about your weekends and how the kids are doing while swimming. Agatha’s lips quirk up each time you lift the can to your mouth and you pretend not to notice, but you can’t help laughing. 

She makes you feel so free. 

When the kids are done swimming and they have free time to play around in the pool, you and Agatha sit next to each other in chairs by the diving well. You take off your shirt, revealing your sensible one-piece just to get some sun, and you think you hear her breath hitch. 

It’s hard to ignore the warm feeling spreading through you as you feel her eyes raking over you. 

—

She walks with you up to the cafeteria during lunch and you’re hoping you can snag something to eat. 

You have a second energy drink in your hands and Agatha keeps making fun of you for it. 

“One day, your heart is going to explode,” she says while shaking her head fondly. 

Lifting the can to your lips, you smile into it before taking a short sip. “What can I say? I get addicted to things way too easily. I just can’t stop thinking about them.” 

There’s a look in Agatha’s eyes, like she knows that what you really can’t stop thinking about is her. 

The cafeteria is crowded when you get there. You open the door and hold it open for Agatha, who breezes past you with a quick “Thank you.”

It’s easier to hang back, so you do. But Agatha pushes through the crowd to get food and she comes back a few minutes later to raise an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you getting something?” 

You gesture at the line of kids standing there. 

Agatha huffs. “Go up there and get something. Do you need me to hold your hand?” 

Turning out your bottom lip mockingly into an exaggerated pout, you nod, wondering what she’ll do. 

She grabs your hand from where it was limply resting on your waist and squeezes it. “Be brave and go get some food.” 

But then Agatha drops your hand and you’re almost disappointed. You nod and she claps you on the shoulder before you push through the kids to pick up a paper plate with pasta on it.  

When you come back, she’s still waiting for you and she buys your food for you. You don’t really know why she’s being so nice but you mumble a “thank you” and she smirks before waving you along. 

A few girls from her class catch you both as you’re walking back to the office and you finish your pasta while they talk to her. After you throw your plate away, she hands you the rest of her food without saying a word to you. 

Once again, you have to pretend not to care that your mouth is eating from the same fork that hers was. 

—

You’re back on the deck with Agatha. It’s only her class in the pool—just how you like it. It means it’s just the two of you, no other coaches around. 

One of her students, a girl with light brown hair and black suit, is talking to you about boy drama she’s having, trying to stall having to get in the pool. 

Agatha laughs when you say something snarky and you try to ignore the way your clit pulses. Your hands are slightly trembling, a remnant of all the caffeine you’ve drank today, and you can feel Agatha’s eyes on you again. 

“All right, Jess, you need to go swim,” Agatha says and Jess looks at you pleadingly but you tilt your head toward her coach in agreement. 

She sighs but finally goes to jump in the pool and catches up with her friends. The air is thick with something now that she’s gone and it’s just you and Agatha. 

“How is your love life?” Agatha asks and you stiffen before trying to seem casual. You pick at your nails while she leans over the side of her chair. “Any guys?” 

That makes you snort and you turn to look at her. “I’m not really into guys,” you rasp, voice suddenly deeper. 

She picks up her sunglasses and rests them on top of her head, surveying you. Her blue eyes seem to pierce right through you, and although it’s really hot outside, you shiver. 

What is she going to say? 

All Agatha does is hum and drop her glasses back down onto her nose and you bite your lip at the silence. 

Should you continue that conversation? Tell her about your failed relationships? Ask her about her love life?

“That’s good to know,” she says finally and you stare straight ahead at the pool and hope that she thinks your flush is just from the temperature. 

—

Agatha brings you another energy drink the next morning and you think you get more of a high from her than you do from the caffeine. She’s wearing a green tank top and khaki shorts and you want to get on your knees for her. 

She opens your drink for you again and takes a sip before you can. 

It’s like she wants you to think about kissing her. Like she wants you to imagine it. 

“I hate this type of schedule,” you say. The kids have only their even class periods today, whereas yesterday, they had their odd. 

She smirks and steals the can from you again to take another sip before handing it back. Her fingers brush against yours and there’s droplets on her lip that you want to lick off. “Is it because you don’t get to see me as much?” 

It is. She only has one class out in the pool on days like this. You like the other coaches well enough, but none of them give you the rush that Agatha does. 

“Totally,” you answer sarcastically so she thinks you’re joking. 

Agatha taps your chin with a knowing look and you think she must know a lot more than she lets on. “Don’t get too bored without me.” 

“I could say the same thing to you,” you quip and are delighted when she winks at you. 

She takes a step closer to you and the air gets tighter around you. All you can think about is her leaning in and kissing you slowly. 

But she doesn’t. 

Agatha just gives you a crooked smile and walks out to get her class and you trudge to the pool deck for over an hour of boredom. 

—

“How was it?” Agatha asks when you collapse into a chair in her office after the first period of the day. You’re sweating already, even though it’s still early in the morning, and the sleeves on your shirt are rolled up, baring your shoulders. 

You groan and wipe your forehead. “Those boys are the worst. And you weren't there.” 

She laughs and it’s music to your ears. “I’ll be there next period, don’t worry.” 

It pulls a smile onto your face and she holds your stare for a second. There’s something different about the way she’s looking at you and talking to you. Like there’s a closeness now that wasn’t there before. 

Agatha doesn’t act like this with anyone else, at least not that you’ve noticed. She doesn’t share drinks casually with anyone else like she does with you. 

It has to mean something, right? 

Your hand is trembling again against the desk. No surprise after downing the drink and you can slowly feel yourself start to come down from the high. 

She abruptly slides back in her chair and stands up. You look up in surprise and she puts her hand on top of your shaky one. 

“I need something from the equipment room. Come with me?” she asks, but it’s not really a question. 

And you’d never say no anyway. 

Her office is connected to the gym and she leads you into the storage room on the other side. It’s big and filled with carts of footballs and basketballs and volleyballs and hula hoops hang on the walls and big physio balls are stacked on top of shelves. It smells musty but it doesn’t take long to adjust to it. 

Agatha walks back and forth like she’s looking for something and you don’t get in the way; you stand to the side and run your hands through the line of jump ropes hanging. 

You accidentally catch one of them with your fingertips and end up pulling about six onto the floor. 

Before even thinking about it, you sink to your knees to pick them up. 

Agatha stops in front of you and you just look up at her, dropping the ropes in your hands back onto the floor. It feels like everything goes even quieter than it was before. Can she hear you breathing? You can hear yourself and you don’t know if it’s really as ragged as you think it is. 

Her eyes are dark as she peers down at you and something just feels right about this. 

She must want you too.

She has to like you too. 

Agatha swallows, strangely and uncharacteristically affected, and reaches out to brush a strand of hair back behind your ear. It’s gentle and you almost shiver. Your mouth is watering. 

You could make her feel so good right now. Your clit pulses at the thought. 

Neither of you have moved. 

Will you just stay like this until the bell rings and then pretend that nothing happened?

But then she clears her throat and your eyes dart up to watch her lips move. “You look good like this,” she says, thick and hot and you let out a strangled gasp. 

Your hands are shaking again but it’s not because of the caffeine, it’s because of your desire. Your need. 

She sees it too and smirks. “You are addicted, aren’t you?” 

Addicted to her. 

Is that what she’s asking? 

“Yes,” you admit breathlessly and she grins wolfishly and starts to walk away. You watch her, dumbfounded, until she backs into the wall only a few feet away from where you’re still kneeling and stares expectantly at you. 

And then she hikes up her shirt and unbuttons her shorts and your eyes widen. 

“But—I—you—” you stammer, not sure why you can’t just shut up. This can't be real, this is just some hallucination or something. 

“Are you going to make me feel good?” Agatha asks nonchalantly, like she isn’t about to let you fuck her, and your world tilts on its axis. 

You whimper and nod pathetically and you don’t even care that you’re crawling across a dirty floor on your knees for her because you’d do anything for her at this point. 

How did it get to this point? 

Her thighs are soft under your quivering fingertips and you don’t care if this is a dream or if she calls this a moment of weakness or if you never get to touch her again. 

She tenses as you drag your hands up further to tease the edge of her shorts and you flick your eyes up to watch her through your eyelashes as you pull her zipper down with your teeth. Her chest flares and she reaches up to ruffle her hair with her left hand. 

When her zipper is all the way down, you find a hint of gray cotton underwear peeking through and you quietly groan to yourself. You tug on the waistband and slowly drag them down her pale legs. You can’t resist the urge and you lean in to nip at her thigh and she hisses. 

“We don’t have much time,” Agatha rasps but you move in slow motion anyway, tilting your head back up, eyes travelling up from her shorts pooled at her ankles to the damp fabric between her thighs. She says your name, a testament, maybe, to how much she wants this too. 

You could tease her; it would be payback for all the teasing she’s given you the past few days. 

But you need this as much as she does. 

Agatha lets out a small noise when you lay your hands on her thighs to spread them and you scooch closer to her. You give her one last look, just to make sure, and you only find desire on her face. 

You drag your tongue over her wet gusset and everything is changed between you forever. 

Agatha slumps against the wall and you moan unconsciously at the tangy flavor before sucking on her folds through her underwear. Her hips buck and you’re surprised by how turned on she is already. 

But you can’t talk—you can feel how much of a mess you are. 

You lick at her clit through her underwear which is now a charcoal gray color with your saliva and her wetness staining it. A thrilling high roots itself in your brain at the thought of her walking around in these the rest of the day. You hope she feels how soaked she is with every step she takes.

She gasps and her hand finds your hair. Her fingers tighten and her nails scratch against your scalp, pulling a moan from you. “Hurry up,” she grits out. There’s a longer break on days like these, but you don’t know how much time is left. 

And you’d hate to leave her unsatisfied. 

You pull back and scrape your teeth over her thigh before reaching up to pull her underwear to the side. Her wetness gets on your hand and you suck your fingers into your mouth to clean them. Her top teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares down at you. 

And then you slowly move back to her cunt, like you’re being pulled magnetically. You breathe heavily, already craving her, and you think you die and go to heaven when you drag your flattened tongue through her folds, able to feel her this time. 

She fills your mouth and your taste buds are flooded with the best thing you’ve ever had and you close your eyes to savor her. Agatha inhales again and slides further down the wall so you’re able to get more between her legs. Your fingers are digging into her thighs and they’re not trembling anymore—you’re getting your fix right now.

Agatha gasps when you lap around her clit, teasing but not giving in just yet. She makes a muffled noise and her fingers warningly tug on your hair and you smirk against her hot center before enclosing your lips around the nub and sucking. Her eyes shoot wide and she clamps her other hand over her mouth. 

Your knees ache from the floor but it hardly even registers because you can feel her clit throbbing in your mouth and her head drops back against the wall and you know you’re doing something right. 

She keens when your tongue slides down to her entrance and then curls up inside her and her hips rock again. Your nose moves over her clit and she does her best to ride your face, as much as her position allows her to. 

Her walls clench around your tongue and more wetness leaks down the side of your face but you can’t get enough. You devour her, frantically mouthing at her pussy, and you still can’t believe this is actually happening. 

“Fuck, your mouth is so good,” she groans and you moan into her. She stiffens over you and you curl your tongue inside her again. She pulses around you. 

You say something into her cunt; it’s muffled and unintelligible and even you don’t know what you’re meaning to say. 

Agatha whimpers and pulls at your hair again when you move back to sucking at her clit. “Right there, fuck, that’s perfect,” she sighs and your tongue lashes against her. 

Her pupils have swallowed up almost all the blue in her eyes and her cheeks are a rosy pink color. The vein in her forehead that you watch throb sometimes is throbbing right now as she looks down at you. 

You’ve never felt like you belonged somewhere as much as you do right now. You could live under her desk with her cunt in your mouth and you don’t think you’d be more content anywhere else. 

Agatha’s fingers are gripping your hair so hard it’s almost painful and you relish in the fact that you’ll feel her phantom touch even after it’s gone. You’ll be sitting on the pool deck next to her, the taste of her still in your mouth, and no one will know. 

It’ll be your little secret. 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m going to come,” she groans urgently and it’s as close to begging as you’re going to get from her. 

Your teeth scrape against her clit and you dip your tongue back inside her one last time before sucking open-mouthed on her and flicking your tongue over her clit as fast as you can. Agatha throbs and her cunt is getting hotter and your nails dig deeper into her legs. 

“Oh—fuck,” she breathes and you feel her come. Her thighs tighten around your head and shake like your hands were earlier and she yanks on your hair. Her lip has to be stinging from how hard it looks like she’s biting it. 

And you just keep sucking and lapping up her wetness, drunk on her taste and feel and everything. Her noises are delicious and go straight to your own cunt and you want to make her make them over and over again. 

Her clit is still pulsing; you can feel it, and you think she might come again. She has a dazed out look in her eyes as she stares down at you and her breathing is labored. 

But she shakes her head and tugs you away from her and you reluctantly let her. You sit back on your heels, gasping, the entire bottom half of your face and nose slicked with her. 

She chuckles while she takes in the disheveled mess that she’s made you into and wipes her thumb against your chin, collecting her wetness. She holds it out to you and you eagerly suck on her, bobbing up and down to make sure you get all of it. Even after the taste is gone, you don’t stop. 

“Already addicted?” she asks, soft and teasing and this won’t be the last time this happens because you think she might be addicted too. She bends down to pull her pants and underwear back up.

You nod and there’s a smug, triumphant smirk on her face. She’s so proud and there’s a burning sensation that sears through your stomach. 

The bell rings and you’re reminded that you’re on your knees in a storage room in a high school gym and you have to go out and work. 

With Agatha. 

After she just came all over your face. 

You can still taste her and smell her and feel her. 

“Go clean up,” she orders and holds out her hand for you to take. She helps you up and your knees hurt when you bend them and she laughs when you wobble on your feet. 

She looks over your body one last time before nodding assuringly and then walks toward the door. She glances over her shoulder to make sure you’re okay and you follow her out with a foggy mind. 

You already can’t wait for the next time. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @500daysofmarissa @tobeawriter98 @hapuchika @r0se16

[bi-yearning-02]

save a horse, ride a cowgirl | sophia laforteza

synopsis: the wife you never wanted to see again has re-appeared like a phantom, with nothing else but "let's get a divorce". you have more than a couple words to say to that effect.

pairing: (ex-ish) wife!sophia x cowgirl!reader

tags: angst, slow-burn, fluff, smut, g!p reader (don't like, don't read), tension, marriage troubles, guns (no one dies!), cheating but also not really cheating, slight religious themes, cowboys/cowgirls, a-list-celebrity!sophia, more...

wc: 14.5k

"you'll probably leave later, anyway it's love made in the usa"

it was on a tuesday. 

up by 5am, ready to get the daily chores moving. bold strides across your bedroom, feeling the hardwood creak under your feet as you cross into the bathroom. you give yourself a once over as you brush your teeth. the soreness from your daily activities wears into your body. 

loose hair falling over your brows as you wash your face. the water trickling through your hands, and a little wax to keep your hair back. 

afterwards, you’re whistling to yourself, light tunes that keep you in motion as you slide on the long thick denim pants, holster on the right side, and boots that have worn in over the years. 

your favorite black leather pair.

there’s nothing more serene than being in the quiet, the soft sounds of animals, and the wind blowing at the windchimes.

and soon you’re out the door, chewing on a stick. taking a long view of the most gorgeous yellows and oranges peering just over the horizon, lifting slowly into the sky.

signaling yet another day on this planet.

and with the click of the heel you’re headed down to the barn. stride in pace with the snapping of your fingers.

you can already see charlie in the distance, curled up next to the barn. soft breathing as his ears twitch.

you let out a whistle as you approach. and charlie has shot up like a lightning bolt. eyes alert and ears forward. the cattle dog making a mad dash for you when he spots you in the distance.

he halts to a quick stop and sits in front of you, panting loudly.

“good boy, let’s get our day started.” you give him some pets as you continue to travel down the graveled path. he lets out a loud bark and runs for the chicken coop. 

the chickens are clucking loudly, already rounding towards the fence. 

they know the drill, the sight of you in the early morning means feeding, and they’re happily clucking.

you unlatch the small door to the coop, reaching inside for a couple of eggs, and dropping them into a basket. you quietly fill the buckets of chicken feed, checking the troughs thoroughly and then closing the gate behind you, the basket full of eggs bouncing against your leg as you leave it on a crate.

you’re rounding the back to fill their pots with fresh water when you hear charlie.

your head perks up and you stride towards the sound. it's the loud kind of bark that hits you in the chest. sound rattling your body as he growls at something in the distance. 

your eyes following a dust trail that reveals a big car. one that’s unfamiliar, and one that definitely does not belong on these paths.

the dust from the ground is forming a cloud. shielding it until it comes to a stop by the entrance of your ranch. 

a big shiny grey suburban parks right out front.

“this can’t be any good, charlie.” you’re walking towards the car, listening to the heels click as you try and look into the car. 

it’s tinted and the dust cloud is settling. 

you get close enough before you shout.

“good morning, anything i can help you with?” there’s no movement. and you’re tempted to kick one of the headlights out. 

“this is private property, if you have no business here, then leave.” you shout again, hand clutching your belt buckle. 

charlie’s eyes are wide and he’s drooling, ready to attack at a moment’s call. he continues to bark until you pet him, and he stills. unlike him, you continue to tap your feet until you notice a movement.

one of the side doors opens, a tall man fitted in a black suit starts to approach you. sunglasses pressed up the bridge of his nose and without a smile to match.

“hello sir, are you lost?” you ask, and he’s got something in his hand. a manila folder that he hands to you, no further words.

you look at him a little puzzled, grabbing the folder and opening to the sight of: 

STATE OF NEW MEXICO

DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE WITHOUT CHILDREN.

and right there at the bottom of the page is that signature, the same one that you were smiling at years ago when you were getting married.

sophia laforteza wants a divorce.

you continue to stare at the papers, eyes already a bit blurry, the resounding thumping of your heart hitting your ears and all you can hear is the panic that ensues in your own body. it’s getting harder to breathe calmly.

you’re feeling the pressure hit your head, until you let out a shaky breath.

then you rip it to shreds, all of it. all the mentions of a divorce, you tear it right in his face. pieces of paper flying all over the ground. either for him or for yourself: the reminder that sophia signed this doesn’t exist anymore.

he doesn’t make any movements, face as stoic as he came.

“don’t ever come by here again.” you say slowly at him. he doesn’t move or respond. 

“did you hear me? or are you deaf?”

he’s quick to draw a gun, but not as quick as you, the barrel already aimed at him, trigger cocked back. and he’s aiming you down with his handgun.

“i’ll slam this bullet right in your family jewels if you don’t leave right now.” 

you poke it at his liver, and lower it slowly at his groin. he doesn’t flinch. and now you’re staring into sunglasses that stare back into you. the sun’s shining into your eye, but you keep your hand steady. not missing the way a bead of sweat drips down his forehead.

you’re both standing off from each other, and a door opens from behind him. you peek over his shoulder and wait for someone to show themself. he barely moves an inch and you’re already ready to blow him away. 

he tucks his gun away.

returning to the side of the car and lending a hand as someone gets out of the car.

your gun is still aimed at him.

and out she steps.

you swear to yourself that you must be sick, some parasite must have infected your brain functionality, infected your vision, infected the way your eyes are seeing the world. 

you blink a couple times, swear that the sun is hitting the figure and refracting the light in such a way that what you see before you cannot be true.

because in the flesh, your not-so-dead-ex-wife sophia is looking at you. 

“can you put the gun down? we need to talk.” she sighs. 

you let out an long breath, lowering the gun back into your holster.

so much for a relaxing tuesday.

--

in front of you is a woman you’re too familiar but not familiar enough with. she’s sitting in the home you two built but she doesn’t belong.

she looks even more gorgeous than you remembered. well tamed hair, heavy makeup and a bold lipstick to match. her red bottom heels sticking into the floorboards and earrings that dance in the sunlight.

she doesn’t fit here, at least not anymore. her clothes are too clean, her posture is too straight and you reckon she feels the same way.

“i’m sorry for showing up randomly, but i want a divorce.” she speaks to you gently.

and it’s like listening to a ghost. 

one that you’ve already mourned, but here she is in all her glory. bone, flesh and talking to you.

you think about how there’s an empty casket right behind the laforteza’s backyard. how you had to comfort mrs. laforteza for months, her weeping into your arms. the tears are still staining your shirt and your heart.

you remember the long nights with mr. laforteza. working with the county police and even going to the state to locate the very woman in front of you. you remembered the way his eyes went hollow after days of no updates. the way he begged you to bring his daughter back home.

you felt like you failed. you were supposed to protect her, keep her safe. you swore at their feet that the only priority in your life was her, that you married her to help her blossom. 

and then she disappeared. like an echo into the night, she disappeared into nothingness. you searched for her day and night. you practically galloped the whole city, searching high and low for her. no one else knew anything either. you talked to every town person, telling them to notify you if there was any news.

you lost sleep, weight, and hope in the process. everyday that she didn’t return, you could feel yourself getting restless. the bags under your eyes grew bigger, your shirts draped over you, you barely could stomach a meal. townspeople would give you pats on the shoulder with that look in their eyes. 

so before you is the very woman that you had long held in your heart, not one you were ready to see again, live in the flesh.

you especially remember how you laid down her favorite boots in the casket. headstone in big bold letters “SOPHIA LAFORTEZA”.

“fia, i thought you were dead.” you don’t even lift your head up as you utter the words. your finger fidgeting with others, picking at the nails. 

the slow drip of the faucet is the loudest sound in the house. you’re left speechless again. 

how is she so pretty?

why does she want a divorce?

why does she not look like fia?

where does she live now?

how is she?

“i’m sorry.” she can’t meet your eyes now, hands clasped together. 

she looks harder around the edges. 

“i wanted to tell you, but i needed to do this for myself.”

she brushes her hair back, revealing dazzling earrings that are worth more than your ranch. 

you’re just begging to reach out, to touch her. to feel her, you can’t even be sure that she exists. your hand nearly reaches out before you grab it with your other hand. you still yourself once more.

“do what?” you ask softly, you’re scared that if you even speak too loud that she’ll vanish, just like she did that night.

“i needed to leave, i needed to chase after my dreams.” she speaks just as gently as you, worried that you’ll be set off. she knows how vulnerable she left you, she might have been better off dead considering how you’re reacting. 

“i found hollywood.”

hollywood?

you remember those nights, where sophia would explain to you how she wanted to be an actress, to be under those bright lights, and shine brighter than the stars in the sky.

you recount how she’d often re-enact lines from the movies that you two watched, how she sang to the cows as she worked, and how her eyes sparkled whenever you allowed her one-woman dialogues at the dinner table.

“so what now? you’re a big star actress?” the heat’s starting to build up, the more you listen to this story, the rage is slowly building. 

“you could say that, yes i am.” she watches the way you’re rapidly tapping your foot, tucking hairs under your hat like a childish habit. 

she’s half tempted to reach out as well, to flip down the collar of your shirt.

the faucet continues to drip.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you were scared of asking this the most, to know that she might not trust you enough to tell you how she wanted to explore her dreams. 

in the dead of the night, when you had too much whiskey to remember your name, you would sit on your porch, eyes wandering the moon as you asked into the air all the questions that lived within your head. brimming over with anger or sadness. the biggest question you had was “why?”

“this ranch, the lifestyle that we grew up with, i wanted more. you were always so happy about growing this ranch, and i couldn’t take you away from this life. but i also had to chase my dreams.” she explains slowly.

and you always suspected that she was still alive. 

maybe it was a coping mechanism, but you once knew sophia laforteza inside and out. 

but it hurts. 

it hurts to hear that she considered your side and still left without another word. it hurts in a way that destroys the core of who you are as a person.

“fia, you could’ve talked to me, we’re married for God’s sake!” your eyes are darting around, and you’re out of your seat. it’s not typical of you, but you can’t make sense of anything anymore.

she stares at you with all the sadness that she’s pushed down. the idea that she left behind her spouse. who she swore to their family and under God that she would be there until her last breath. 

she can feel the tears starting to well up, it’s all too much, to return to this place that she’s unsure of. unsure where her place is anymore, and it hurts more knowing she’s the reason.

“i thought you were dead!” you seethe. your eyes are angry, eyebrows dropped low, and an accusatory finger aimed straight at her. “we all thought you were dead!”

she’s trying not to let the tears come out, her lips are trembling and so are her hands.

“i fucking mourned you. laforteza.” your tears are still flowing down your face, but you’ve hardly blinked at all. eyes like glacier: chilly and icy. 

“do you know that? do you know how hard it was holding your mom in my arms? she was begging me to bring her daughter back. do you fucking know that?”

she stands up suddenly, chair hitting the floor. 

the words continue rolling out of your mouth without missing a beat.

“i had to lower an empty casket. in your name, fia! and you come back from the dead. asking me for a damn divorce.” you stride close to her, with every punctuation of word, she steps backwards. until her back hits the kitchen counters.

“forgive me, God. but you. can. go. to. hell.” you push your finger into her chest. 

and with that you leave. quick steps bounding for the door, slamming the door wide open. 

and running towards the stable. charlie’s quick on your tail. he looks back at sophia once, then turns to chase after you. the tears are sliding off your cheeks, angry tears that stain your skin, reminding you just how much she can still affect you. 

in five breaths, you’re riding your house out the ranch, disappearing into nowhere.

--

you don’t even know how long you’ve been riding buckeye. just the feeling of hoofs clacking against the road, and charlie panting beside you. 

you remember crying into your shirt, all but a snotty mess. you’ve barely processed sophia’s death, and now she’s come back to life. treating you like you’re a pair of car keys that she left behind, not worthy enough to peer into her soul.

you remember screaming into the night, screaming how much you hated her. hated the way your heart still beat for her. as if she didn’t crush yours, as if you meant anything to her. 

you remember the way she still gently walked over that part of the floorboards, the soft spot in the corner of the floor. the way she sat in her seat, the very same one you made for her as a gift.

you’re slow to return to the ranch, buckeye’s slow clopping on the ground still present.

knowing sophia, she probably left. she knows better to try and talk to you now. even after you’ve cooled off, you’ve always taken longer to come to terms of talking through things.

so you slide off buckeye’s saddle and give him some extra carrots for the sudden ride. he’s nudging into you, as if he senses the sadness that emanates from your body.

“i’m okay buckeye, thank you for today.” you give him some more scratches and lock him in his stable. 

returning to the house with charlie at your side, he’s whining a bit as he walks against your leg. you give him some scratches too, leaning into your hand with quick tail swishes.

he’s sniffing around the house, nose leading him into the house, and he waits patiently at the door. it’s closed. you slowly turn the doorknob, hoping that sophia’s gone. 

you don’t know what you would say to her now. the last thing you need after the exhaustion is to try and bring up discussing the divorce again.

and she’s gone, almost like she never even showed up.

except she leaves a note, a short message.

i’ll be back tomorrow. please, let’s talk this out.

-love, sophia

underneath there’s a bowl of your favorite meal, saran wrapped and steam hitting the surface. the same one she would make for you. and you sink into the chair. eyes are getting blurry again as you nearly crumple the sticky note. 

so you didn’t imagine her. she was here. 

the conversation was real, and she wants a divorce.

you slowly dig into the bowl of food in front of you, and it’s like you’re twenty again. coming back from a long day of work, exhaustion set into your bones. but enough to crack a smile for sophia. as she would hand you a bowl of your favorite meal. dropping into the chair as you two recounted your day, happily scraping the bowl until mere lines of gravy were left. you remember the way her hair would be tied back, strands falling to frame her gorgeous face. kissing her in between bites when she was rambling.

do you even remember the taste of her lips?

you cry into your bowl, tears streaming into your food as you ate it, a reminder of who she once was for you. you smile as the tears fall, savoring the way it still lit up your tastebuds.

you would destroy your body for years if it meant being able to eat this dish until your last breath.

you set the bowl into the sink, letting the faucet slowly drip into the bowl. washing away the reminder of her presence. letting only the soft glow of the moonlight illuminate the kitchen, as every second goes by and more droplets fill the bowl, you let out a final breath and trudge upstairs to fall into your bed.

tomorrow you would take care of everything, but tonight you let yourself be haunted by shiny brown eyes that have kept your soul captive for as long as you lived.

--

on the other side of town, sophia’s finally calmed herself from the explosive interaction that was meeting you after years of disappearing. 

she knew what she did was wrong, but her fuel to become a star was greater. 

she remembers that night like a haunting dream. she left with kisses to your face, to remember them in her heart. the way you held onto her like she was home. 

and she swore her heart cracked a little more with every kiss, the way your face looked so calm in your sleep. she brushed your hair for hours, admiring every little feature of yours. and then she left in the middle of the night, hoping to make a name for herself, leaving behind her old life.

leaving you behind.

she also regretted how she left her parents, she knew it would break their hearts. so not only did she tear yours to shreds, now she needed to mend their hearts. 

approaching the steps to their house was just as tough as she thought, each step weighing on her feet. the porch light was on, and she could see figures within the house. she hadn’t even prepared what to say to them, her family that she left behind.

and then she knocked on the door. the seconds felt like forever, but she heard the footsteps. the way the floorboards creaked behind the door. then it opened, and she was flooded with the smell of her mom’s cooking. of soup and the smell of wood, the same warm glow from the kitchen light. and the sight of her dad behind the door.

“sophie, is that you?” 

her dad’s gotten older, more white hairs in his hair. his skin looks rougher but his voice still has that gruff low timbre. he has on his light brown cowboy hat, and then sophia’s mom steps into frame. 

“hi dad, it’s me.” and then sophia’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug, her dad hugging the air out of her. 

“sophie? jesus come here.” and her mom’s pulling her out of his embrace. hands trembling as she holds her daughter’s own face. her mom’s crying, the vision breaking her heart instantly.

she has never seen her mom cry before, not even when she had lost her own parents. her mother holds her head softly before pulling her into a hug. and her mom still smells the same, of lavender and herbs.

it’s like she’s six years old, coming back with scrapes on her knees and loud wails.

her dad encloses all of them as he hugs them as well, thankful to have his very alive daughter in his arms once more. his prayers have been heard.

“sophia, where have you been?” her dad’s voice comes out soft and confused. sophia wipes her tears away and pulls away from them. the sadness from their faces seared into her mind.

“let’s sit down, i have a lot of explaining to do.” sophia explains, and her parents share a look.

--

sophia stares at the headstone, a little worn down but the flowers are fresh. she has yet to figure out how she feels about her name being splayed across the top. 

in memory of a loving daughter, sister, and wife.

the light blows of the wind pushes hair into her face. 

she doesn’t know what’s worse: being known as dead but being alive, or being truly dead?

she could feel her heart breaking at the idea of you burying an empty casket of hers. she notices the empty headstone right next to hers. it’s a chilling reminder that you would’ve been buried next to her. until death were you meant to part. she can’t bear the idea and turns away, walking back towards her parent’s ranch. 

the conversation between her and her dad had gone sour. he grew angry with her, not understanding why she left. 

after he went quiet and left for his room, her mother stayed behind and they talked for hours. about sophia’s current life: all the red carpet events, the glamor, the paparazzi and how she felt coming back.

then she asked sophia how she felt about coming back to you.

and then sophia broke down all over again, she regretted leaving you the most. you were happy with sophia, you loved life on the ranch and you loved her. 

sophia loved you but she didn’t love life on the ranch. she enjoyed the tranquility that came with this life, enjoyed nights alone with you under the dark skies and how you were so charming. 

she kept breaking her own heart by chasing her own dreams, she could smile at all the accolades on the walls, the way people swarmed her for autographs. all the brand promotions and award shows. 

but when she went home, she felt the loneliness of living by herself, a huge mansion to herself and the recognition of the masses, but when the night gets too loud, she wishes she were in your arms. in your a-bit-too small bed and the sounds of the wind hitting the house. 

she wished for you with her. 

and she searched for you in places that were safe: her co-stars, random athletes, and singers.

all of which couldn’t make her feel the same way at night, she doesn’t want to trace their skin. she didn’t want to embed herself into their souls. she doesn’t stay for long in relationships, something miniscule always sets her off, and then she pulls away. she knows who still has her heart all these years, and she’s lost herself in a facade of quick intimacy.

she long gave up on trying to rekindle your relationship. she didn’t know where she stood anymore with you, whether you would throw her out the second she arrived. or would you welcome her with open arms. which was definitely wishful thinking on her part.

but she needs this divorce, she needs to set you free. and set her own heart free. to be free from the haunting reminder that she once had you in her arms. had you so close and tossed it for her dreams. a sacrifice that she’s still not sure if she regrets to this day. 

all she regrets is how she left.

her mom gives her a look when sophia mentioned getting a divorce from you, it’s the same look she gave sophia when she came back drunk in the dead of the night when she was a teen. the same look of worry when she disappeared for three days after a long argument with her dad.

it’s the very same look that speaks, 

i don’t agree with what you’re doing, but this is your life.

she pokes and prods into sophia’s mind, wondering why she would come back for a divorce. when she replies, sophia’s mom gives her a quiet nod, not one laced with approval but one that shows understanding, and maybe one of pity.

maybe sophia’s lost sight of her dream, and who she wants it with.

she doesn’t want to confront the ugly truth, one that would leave her vulnerable, and maybe without you in the end.

she makes her way over to your ranch with conflicting thoughts in her mind.

--

you’re busy cleaning the stables when she arrives. the first thing you notice is that she’s wearing her old clothes, the same red flannel you bought her when you were 18. your eyes see the poor patch job you did to the right sleeve.

the second thing you notice is that she’s forgone wearing her tall heels. wearing old boots, making her shorter like you remember. it pulls you back to fond memories, taking on the daily tasks and laughing at charlie trying to round up all the chickens. 

you put the brush away, and stare at her. she hasn’t said a word since she stepped in. and you’re already feeling ready to leave.

you take a couple steps out the stable, when sophia catches hold of your arm.

“please, can we talk this out?” she’s pleading with you, and you’re already ready to let your guard down, but the hurt rises in your chest.

“i don’t want a divorce, fia.” you say. 

she makes the mistake of looking at you and it’s like she’s 19 again, staring into gorgeous eyes that made her swoon. and she doesn’t know why she’s asking for a divorce anymore.

she’s always liked you with your cowboy hat on.

“i understand, but it’s either you sign this now, or we wait for the divorce to default.” she explains, and you’re already grabbing a saddle, sliding it onto buckeye. 

you turn around, facing her with anger in your eyes.

“fia, you won’t even tell me why, and you come here after years of disappearing and expect me to click my feet together and sign divorce papers. you must be out of your damn mind.” 

you’re prepping buckeye to go out for a ride, when you notice her slide a saddle onto honey. 

great, she’s not letting up.

“i’m headed to the general store.” you say reluctantly. 

and she nods.

you head out, buckeye trotting and whining as he walks out the ranch. you don’t have to look over to know sophia’s following behind you, honey happy to have her favorite rider back.

charlie’s also warmed up to sophia too, once he smelled her enough and recognized her. he walks beside honey, tail swishing lowly, watching sophia every so often. maybe you aren’t the only one that’s missed her.

it feels like everyone’s rushing to welcome her with open arms, but you’re off-kilter. 

you let out a breath when she’s picked up the pace. both of you are riding towards the town. you still needed to tend to the ranch, despite sophia’s insistence on begging for a divorce.

she lets the topic of the divorce go, as you make it into town together.

it hasn’t been like this in years. watching your back as you ride, the familiar swish of the tail from buckeye. or charlie sniffing happily along the trail. reminding herself of her discarded life.

her heart is cracking at how disjointed this all feels. stuck between a path of two lives that she’s tried so hard to separate. she’s not too sure if she wants to sacrifice you anymore.

maybe she’s selfish, maybe she wants everything and more. she wants to be greedy.

you hook your horse onto a fence, instinctively you hook sophia’s horse to the fence too.

she doesn’t point it out, but a small smile stretches her face.

and soon you’re entering the general store.

“sophia? is that you, honey?” mrs. teller races around the desk. pulling sophia into a tight hug and shaking her a bit.

you wander off the aisles of the store, knowing mrs. teller would talk sophia’s ears off. picking up some rope along the way, taking your time. you can still hear the two catching up, and in between rows you watch them. 

sophia’s smiles are still warm.  

you grab some nails and head to the counter.

“are you back, dear? for good?” in the hopeful tone that you’d expect from your grandma. sophia breaks her heart again, shaking her head no.

mrs. teller pats sophia’s hand and all she can feel is guilt. she left behind a community that watched her grow up. townsfolk that looked after her at almost every stage of her life.

she gets lost in her thoughts, until the sight of you buying rope and nails moves into her field of view. 

“mrs. teller, did you get those shipments of horse feed? i placed an order with mr. teller last week.” you’re fishing out money from your wallet when sophia steps in. placing bills in mrs. teller’s hand before you could take it back.

“yes dear, it’ll be in tomorrow!” she shuts the register. “bring charlie around the house, the grandkids love playing fetch.” mrs.teller giggles to herself watching how you two are arguing over sophia’s gesture.

“sure can, thanks again mrs. teller. have a lovely day ma’am.” you lift your head to bow at her. you’re grabbing the merchandise and heading out with sophia hot on your tail. “fia, i could pay for that myself.” 

you both don’t see it, but mrs. teller is smiling at the sight.

“i know you can pay for it, i simply wanted to.” she explains, grabbing onto honey and mounting onto the horse.

maybe you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. maybe it’s the way you hate her paying for you, but it’s upsetting. it erupts in annoyance.

“fia, go back to hollywood, i won’t sign those divorce papers.” you say to her, and her smile from that interaction in the shop has dropped. 

you’re no fool and frankly it’s insulting for her to think a small gesture would change your mind on something as big as divorce.

“i can’t. i need that divorce.” she stares at you with desperation in her eyes, there’s something hidden, she’s not telling you everything.

“why?” you ask.

“i can’t tell you.” she offers, and it’s honest. she can’t explain the deals she’s made, how she’s under the strings of a puppeteer. 

and she wants to save you, save the last bit of happiness she can give you, setting you free from her. 

you swallow the heaviness that sets in your chest.

“you want to get rid of me that bad?” you ask. she doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are getting watery.

she thinks about the vows she wrote and said to you, to her parents, to everyone here. she’s betraying everyone and her own desires.

you take the silence as a sign.

“30 days. give me 30 days of your time, fia. then we’ll go our separate ways.” 

she has nothing to say to you.

wasn’t this what she wanted? 

you don’t know it but you break two hearts. 

you turn around, not wanting to look at her. you tuck your hat a little lower, just enough to shield your eyes. shielding them from welling up, you’re signing away a life that you promised under God that you would protect.

you give a tap to buckeye and you’re riding out of town. 

sophia taps honey and follows you.

the silence consumes you both on the ride back. and you’re both thankful for that.

--

in a week’s time, sophia’s back at the ranch. gone is the heavy makeup and opulence from when she first showed up. she looks younger like this, softer eyes and you’re reminded just how beautiful your wife is.

over the past week you’ve been preparing for sophia to be back. you thought about why you even offered that deal, maybe a part of you likes the pain, or is trying to prolong what’s inevitable. or maybe you’re too much of a coward to let things go.

whatever the reason may be, you had your wife back. and for the solace of a month, she was yours as well.

sophia’s out in the front, playing with charlie who hasn’t left her side since she’s arrived. the first thing you told her when she returned was how charlie kept whining and pawing at the door when sophia left.

you want to welcome her like charlie can, but touching her feels like ripping your heart further. opening the old wounds you tried so hard to mend close.

you walk towards her, basket in hand and pass it to her.

“chicken duty, let’s go.” you start walking down the path to the chicken coop and sophia’s still playing with charlie.

she watches you as she plays with charlie.

she hates that you’re so distant but so close. each time you pull away, she wishes it was just all a terrible nightmare she could wake up from. hates that she has to ask for this divorce and is devastated that you agreed.

inside her there’s a war of want and need for safety. some days she thinks about running away from all her responsibilities, and just drift into a fantasy land with you. but she knows this mess was one that she created, and you didn’t ask for this.

she watches the way you move through farmwork like you could do it blind. she’s a bit rusty and as she grabs one of the chickens, she nearly falls over when it escapes from her grasp.

“easy, laforteza.” you’re holding her steady, strong arms that keep her from falling over. 

you give her a smirk and let her go. 

“i’m fine.” she brushes herself off.

“a thanks would be nice.” you scoff and sophia’s ready to argue with you.

“thanks? you act like you saved the world.” sophia’s trying to get a rise out of you.

“saved your pretty ass from falling into chicken shit.” you reply. watching the way sophia’s face heats up.

“whatever.” sophia storms off, chasing after the chicken that’s escaped her grasp.

the smile on your face doesn’t leave your face the whole day.

not even when you’re having the worst time rounding up the cows. and charlie’s chewed up another sock of yours. you don’t even complain when sophia’s eaten the strawberries that you were saving up for dinner. 

you have half the mind to feed one to her.

--

one night curiosity bites you in the ass. you’re too curious for your own good. 

spending years asking God to bring you the answers you were longing for. you ask her about it during dinner, when you two have already grown a little more comfortable with each other.

“so, did you make it?” you ask her, chewing a piece of beef slowly. “did you make your dreams come true?”

she slows her fork, setting it down on the plate with a clank. she smiles wider, and your heart warms.

“i made it, someday i’ll fly you out to one of my premieres.” sophia starts, a sparkle in her eyes that glow brighter than the night stars. 

“i’m being called left and right for roles, and they want me to be apart of this major franchise soon.”

as she talks about the accolades, the way her eyes brighten and shine, you realize you couldn’t take this from her even if you wanted to. she shined so bright, and who were you to hold her back. 

you continue to bite into your food, letting her take over the conversation. 

it seems you no longer know sophia, you don’t know her friends, her interests, her sense of style. 

all you have are old fragments of what once was. 

“i’m glad you achieved your dreams, fia. genuinely.” it pained you, but it was true. you were genuinely happy for her.

“what about you?” she’s curious.

“what about me?” you questioned back.

“did you achieve your dreams?”

“no.” 

you shift your feet a bit, the floor boards creaking. sophia is understanding, but you’re not painting the full picture for her.

“it’s okay, you can keep trying.” she offers, there’s kindness in her voice. 

you don’t have the heart to tell her that this divorce will crush your dreams.

“thanks, fia.” you stare out, she’s chipping at the walls that you’ve concealed.

there’s something to it, the sadness that hangs in the air. how you never fully say what you want. 

it makes her skin crawl, no longer does she bear the secrets to your heart. you’ve long thrown the key away when you lowered the casket in her name. 

she doesn’t mistake how you’re unable to look at her. she wants the obsessed version of you back. how devoted and caring you once were. 

she figures she lost that privilege when she disappeared from you. she grabs both her and your plate and begins washing the dishes. you get up with a sigh. 

“need a hand with that?” you grab a dishtowel. holding a hand out as she passes cleaned utensils for you to wipe off. she feels more at home than she’s felt in months. nights of partying and meetings with co-stars and agents has left her soul feeling more than isolated.

but in this small house, with a few too many creaky floorboards, and a leaky faucet, she misses how simple this life is. 

of course her passion still lies in acting, but she’s not sure how much she wants that without you.

--

the next afternoon, the laforteza’s visit came unexpectedly. you spot mr and mrs. laforteza with wide smiles and a truck filled with gifts as they roll into the ranch. mr. laforteza gives you a hug that makes you want to cry. 

sophia’s parents know this divorce is not what you wanted.

but they also know that you would prioritize sophia’s happiness over anything. it’s why they were so accepting of you marrying their only daughter.

“mr. laforteza, it’s great to see you too.” you pull away from him, and he gives you a shoulder pat before walking towards sophia. he doesn’t have to say much to convey how he feels about you. 

both her parents seem so happy to have her daughter back. you want to feel the same, but the history between you two is entangled like vines. to unravel each branch might just tear you two apart. 

so instead, you help unload the truck filled with gifts of horse feed when sophia comes up to you.

“hey, did you know they were visiting today?” she asks, grabbing a bag of horse feed off the truck bed. you stack another bag onto the pile.

shaking your head, “no, i figured you asked them to visit.” 

she shakes her head too. “i didn’t.”

mrs. laforteza is happily walking into your house, charlie wagging his tail happily as he follows her. clearly he has a favorite human. 

you walk in after her, looking at her taking groceries out of a bag. 

there’s a silence that envelops you both. 

“you look too skinny.” mrs. laforteza says as she takes out a pot, filling it with water. “and you look sad…are you sad?” 

she has a knowing smile on her face as she watches you. you lean against the fridge, and contemplate the question. 

are you sad?

this past week with sophia has been revealing how much you missed your wife. the instinctual habits that you forgot you had are coming back to light. when you always scoop her helping of food first. how you always leave the left side of the couch for her to sit on. how you always tuck your boots next to hers. it’s a familiarity that you want to relish in. but in less than a month’s time she’ll never be yours again.

so maybe you are sad, maybe you’re devastated that you’ve betrayed your wants in favor of giving sophia what she wants. maybe you’re losing yourself by giving it all to sophia.

“i’m not sure what i am anymore.” you reply. 

she can feel how lost you are. from having sophia come back after years of mourning her disappearance. she feels for you. as if you were her own. and her daughter wants a divorce. she still doesn’t understand why and it’s the elephant in the room.

“honey, you don’t want this divorce. what made you agree?” she turns off the faucet. you reach over to place the pot onto the stove. 

she smiles at the gesture.

“i don’t want sophia to feel trapped with me, and it’s clear she left without telling me for a reason.” you explain even though it’s cracking your heart. her mom gives you a light pat on the cheek and shakes her head.

“that girl has never stopped from loving you. i know her. this is killing her as much as it’s killing you.” 

you want to believe that, truly you do. but you have a heart to protect too. are you going to be a fool and let it be torn all apart again? 

“then why is she doing this?” you’re tired of hearing how sophia still wants you from other people. it hurts more.

“i don’t know why either, dear.” she speaks gently to you.

you stare out the kitchen window, watching sophia’s dad talk to sophia. you can’t hear what he’s saying to her, but she’s listening intently, and at one point she turns to look at you. 

feeling caught, you avert your gaze. 

but she watches you, eyes trying to commit you to memory.

it’s later at dinner, when you and the laforteza’s are eating together. laughter loudly echoing around the house that you forget that you’re about to be divorced. 

you bathe in the happiness that emanates throughout the night. mr. laforteza retelling stories of how he courted mrs. laforteza. with eyerolls from his wife and sophia hanging on his every word. 

charlie’s seated right by sophia, curled into himself as his tail wags slowly. 

this is what you envisioned your home to be. to be warm and filled with life, and eventually down the line you wanted kids. wanted to create your own family with sophia. to have her parents come down to babysit the grandkids and play with them. 

for charlie to have another person to play catch with.

you don’t even notice the tear that rolls down your face. it stains your jeans as it free falls. you continue to laugh along with a funny joke that mrs. laforteza has said. 

sophia’s eyes notice it immediately, reaching out to cup your face.

the laforteza’s share a look with each other.

“are you okay?” sophia’s using her sleeve to wipe it off.

“oh, yeah, yeah i’m good.” you snap out of your daze, feeling the way sophia’s eyes are filled with worry. the way she lightly dabs at your cheeks. and it feels too much like home. 

“well, we ought to get out of your hair, it’s getting late.” mr. laforteza stands up, brushing off his pants and sliding on his cowboy hat. ms. laforteza stands up as well, a warm smile adorning her face as she follows him out. 

you and sophia stand up, wishing them on their safe travels. you watch them as they go out the ranch, until you can’t see their tail lights anymore. maybe in a distant world, you get to have everything. the big family dinners filled with laughter and excited screams from kids. but reality is always more grim than fantasy.

you let out a sigh and turn around, sophia is silently waiting for you.

“come on, let’s go to bed.” she says, hand open for you to take. 

your finger twitches. you nearly step forward.

“i was going to take the couch.” you say a bit too quietly. this whole time that sophia’s been here, you’ve been sleeping on the couch, offering the bed to her. she doesn’t tell you how it breaks her heart that you don’t follow her every night.

“let’s go to bed.” 

she shakes her hand a bit. in turn, you scratch your neck a bit, and take a step towards her. hand slipping right into hers like a glove.

she smiles at it. lifting your intertwined hands as she places a gentle kiss on your hand.

you don’t know it, but when you’re long asleep. the sensation of sophia tracing every ridge and dip of your face, your nose bridge, your cheekbones, your jaw. she’s found an angel on earth and you’re laying next to her. she slides closer to you, giving you gentle kisses on your face.

she wants to cry all over again, how cruel it is to leave you again. she closes her eyes once she feels that she’s left parts of her soul on you, covering your skin with her love.

it’s unspoken but you don’t take the couch ever again.

--

the next week you’re arriving at the rodeo in one of your cleaner shirts, a darker cowboy hat that you saved for special occasions. sophia’s by your side. 

you initially were planning on going by yourself, but when sophia heard you mention it in passing, she invited herself.

so she’s wearing her best denim jacket with her hair styled up in a ponytail. makeup enhancing her gorgeous eyes and glossy lips to pair. she caught you staring at her getting ready, held under her trance. maybe she wanted to give you a show, maybe she took extra long getting ready, knowing your attention was stuck on her.

you enter the large barn, seeing crowds of people surrounding the fenced in rodeo. there’s an experienced rider on top of a wild bull. shouts and whistles being thrown around, and the sounds of bells clinking all around. this was going to be a good night, you could feel it in your bones.

you begin walking towards the fences, when sophia pulls you back.

“can you get us some drinks?” she asks sweetly, using that smile that makes you weak in the knees.

“of course, fia, two beers?” she gives you a nod and you’re bound for the bar. it’s filled with older cowboys and cowgirls. one of them tips their hat to you, in which you do the same. he helps signal over a bartender for you. 

you’re walking back to sophia with two drinks in hand, excited to watch some real bull riding and wanting to enjoy a night with sophia. when you notice the crowd surrounding her. there’s cameras in her face, and people shoving papers into her hand. 

you push past some people, trying your best to reach your wife, when you hear the shouts from the crowd.

“sophia! i love you!” a man shouts. 

“you’re sophia laforteza!” a woman shouts. 

“can i get your autograph? please, it’s for my daughter!” another woman shouts at your wife.

you finally push through the bodies and find your wife looking cornered, the encroaching crowd pushing her into the fence. within a couple steps you wrap your arm around her. pulling her out of the crowd.

“please, give her some space!” you shout at everyone. a couple of the cowboys recognizing you and pushing the crowd away. giving you a tip of their hats when the majority of the crowd disperses. 

you’re thankful for the help, but you hadn’t anticipated sophia to be recognized here.

“i got your beer.” you slide the cold bottle into her hand and she nods. she’s tapping her feet rhythmically. grabbing a hold of your arm and sliding her arm through. 

“thanks, for back there.” she says, placing a kiss on your cheek. 

your face heating up at the affection. 

“you’re welcome, fia.” you say. “does that happen often?” 

you signal your hand. gesturing at the commotion that was. the only celebrity that you’ve come close to is the town mayor and his family, but even then it’s mostly to badger him for public works. 

you’ve never seen a real-life swarm of people asking for autographs.

“hm? oh, all the time. i mean i can’t even walk down the street without bodyguards sometimes.” sophia’s speaks about it casually. to be known and approached by the masses for the recognition of your talent. you don’t know if you could stomach that life. 

“do you miss it?” you ask into the air, but there’s more to it. you want to know if she misses her life in hollywood, the one she chose over you. 

she shakes the beer bottle a bit. you don’t even realize you are holding your breath. waiting for the second shoe to drop. 

“i miss the human interactions, when people would tell me how inspired they are by my acting. how it made them want to go into acting themselves. i don’t miss having camera flashes in my face when i’m trying to go buy groceries or enjoy a lunch outdoors.” she speaks

you listen earnestly. her life feels so foreign to the one you both grew up in.  

“sometimes, when life gets too much out there, i rub this necklace and wish i was still back at the ranch. i wish i could have both.” she shows off the necklace that you’ve seen her wear for years, a family heirloom that you’ve never seen her take off.

and with the sound of a bell there’s a new bull rider entering the arena. 

loud hollers around the barn echoing as the rider hangs onto the bull firmly. the bull is running around with kicks and swishes of the head to knock him off. but he’s holding firm.

sophia pulls you closer to the other side of the fence. getting a better vantage point of the scene. she makes some comments about how the rider’s pretty good. letting his body move enough to bend to the bull’s movement, but doesn’t let himself tip too far.

maybe you’re fishing for compliments, or maybe you want her attention on you. either way you spout it before you can stop yourself.

“i can do better than that.” you scoff, taking a swig of beer. she raises an eyebrow, taking a sip as well. she hasn’t seen you ride a bull in years, but she remembers how good you once were.

“you still got it, cowgirl?” sophia tempts you. 

“damn right, i still got it.” you say, drinking the rest of your beer and walking over to sign yourself up for the competition. sophia watches you. noticing you take a piece of gum out and chewing it. 

the same ritual you always had whenever you rode. she stares at your hair under the hat. your eyes surveying the bull that’s trying to buck another rider off. she stares at how you look so damn good under the light.

and then you’re up, loading into the bay with the bull standing by. a couple of people are prepping the bull, sliding on the rope tightly. and you hop onto the bull. gloved hand gripping onto the rope wrapping around the bull. you adjust your hat a bit, and look out for sophia.

she spots you from across the fence, holding herself on one of the bars. waving to you, and you tip your hat to her. signaling this ride is for her. 

“you know the rules, cowgirl, stay on for at least 8 seconds,” one of the guys fixing the rope asks you. “you got it?” 

you give him a nod and tap the gate. nodding forward and lifting up, the gates open automatically. your bull immediately sending you forward, he bucks and twists his hind legs. trying his best to shake you off. he’s got you spinning like a spin top, using the momentum to throw you off. 

you grit yourself. you keep your bottom half of your bottom as close to the bull as possibly. your leg slapping against the side of the bull. the bulls spinning around trying to get you dizzy. you nearly fall off at one point, gripping onto the rope with all your might.

and then you hear the roars, eight seconds are up, and you feel the bull trying to kick you off, his horns getting a bit too close to your head, so you roll off the bull, just narrowly missing it. you roll onto the ground, the dirt covering you entirely.

as you run away from the bull. screams of the crowd cheer you on. 

you run right up to sophia, sliding your hat right onto her head, hugging her over the fence. and everyone’s cheering your name. loud chants echoing the arena. more than just qualifying, you’ve put on a performance. everyone is cheering for you but you have your eyes set on sophia. 

maybe it’s the beers, maybe it’s the feelings that are swarming in her chest, but she grabs you. 

then she’s kissing you and everyone roars. 

whistles and hollering in the air as sophia continues kissing you.

the screams drone out and you kiss her back. and for the first time you’ve seen her eyes shine so bright for you.

“you saw me out there, fia?” you shout at her, the loud chants droning out your voice. 

“of course i did, you did amazing baby.” she smiles and pulls you into another kiss. and you leap over the fence.

pulling sophia into a hug. still breathing hard from the run. she leans close to you, tucking your hat tighter on her head.

“how do you feel, cowgirl?” sophia asks you. you both walking towards the bar again, needing a refill. 

“indescribable.” you say, kissing her temple. 

and you reach the bar. several cowboys already offering to buy you drinks. you try waving them off, but then the bartender slides over the drinks to you.

“on the house, courtesy of your bull riding return!” he shouts. “and for sophia’s big return too!” 

the cowboys cheered for you too, and you gave them a clink of beer. sophia grabbing a beer and cheering to some of the guys too. the bar continues to be lively into the night, some retired bull riders telling you about their heydays. sophia was welcomed back happily by a couple of cowboys. 

your hand doesn’t leave sophia’s the whole night. a gentle rubbing across your knuckles even when she’s talking to someone else. you don’t want the night to end, and neither does she.

--

you and sophia ride back home, she’s still wearing your hat and holding onto you as buckeye continues clopping on the road. 

“and then charlie nearly bites him in the ass!” you shout, the laugh nearly making you double over as you recount the event. sophia’s listening intently, giving you nods of her attention, with her head pressed into your back. relishing in the feeling of your body’s movement. 

“we’re home.” you say gently. dismounting buckeye and pulling him into the stable. she watches you, and she has been the whole night, sometimes you caught her too. 

“you okay?” you say, letting go of the rope, staring up at her. she looks at you for a moment, memorizing how you look in the moonlight, gorgeous and warm.

“great. help me off?” she says. and you grab onto her, pulling her off the horse and setting her down. 

she slides her hand into yours again, and you feel your skin heating up again at the feeling. 

she pulls you towards the house, urging you into a run and opening the door eagerly. you’re confused but you don’t question it when she’s sliding off her boots and running up the stairs. you follow quickly after her, opening the door and seeing her in the corner.

she’s fallen into your bed, beckoning you forward, and you obey. reaching close to her when she places the cowboy hat back onto your head. tilting it low enough to her liking. her hands reach for your shirt, sliding up and down the front. it stills at the top button.

“can i?” she asks. and you nod.

she’s unbuttoning your shirt quickly. and she lets her eyes drift up, catching you staring at her with the same want.

she loves how you look on top of her, hat still covering your head, the hottest goddamn cowgirl she’s ever seen.

“hat stays on.” sophia says firmly, removing your shirt. your eyebrow perks up at the admission.

“you have a thing for my hat?”

“i have a thing for you wearing that hat.” she rushes to take off her own shirt, revealing all too gorgeous skin. you reach out, feeling the heat from her skin against yours.

“noted.” you smirk at the way she’s embarrassed. 

you slide her shirt off her back, bunching it up and throwing it across the room. you slowly move up the bed, enclosing the space that feels oh so far. she’s moving up too, liking this view of you looking to claim.

“is this new?” you spot a tattoo under her breast, a small butterfly. the wings spread on her ribs. tracing it with your thumb, maybe you need to be re-acquainted with her.

“yeah, like it?” she says, liking the sensation of you tracing over the tattoo. you nod, a bit too entranced by the linework. 

and then she grabs your hand, lifting it up gently. you snap your eyes onto hers. she smiles as she moves it upwards. dropping it right on top of her bra. and she stares at you, begging you to make a move. 

she pulls you down for a kiss, you want to pull away, but she keeps you close. hand wrapped around your neck, she pulls you close enough to get her mouth next to your ear.

“you still remember how to fuck me?” sophia challenges you, lightly tugging at your lobe. “or do i need to teach you again?”

she pulls away. 

she’s smirking at you, wanting you to snap.

“i still know how to fuck the senses out of you, fia.” you confidently claim, and you’re back. the same confident girl that makes her head spin.

“prove it.” she whispers. 

you grab her face, kissing her with the hunger that’s been building up this whole time. you still wanted her as much as you used to. distance and time hasn’t changed how much you yearned to make her yours. 

she’s pushing up into you, wanting you just as much, having a little taste wouldn’t satiate this desire. so you grab onto her torso, pulling her up. enough to unhook her bra and slide it off. another discarded piece of clothing landing across the room.

“God, you are perfect.” you say, dipping down to kiss her jaw. moving your hands again, pushing lightly into her hip. you continue to kiss down her sternum, reaching a hand to rub against her boob. lightly grabbing and pulling it towards you. 

she gasps.

“you’re so sensitive, fia.” you joke. continuing your journey south. gliding your hands to unhook her pants, sliding them off her legs. 

and it’s like christmas came early. 

“can’t help it.” she whines a bit. anticipating your touch. “it’s you.”

you stutter a bit. the emotions in her voice are overwhelming. maybe she wanted you in the same way.

so you go silent, wanting to express how much you yearned for her. wanting to re-learn everything that makes her tick.

you slide your hands under the waistband. her panties still sticking a bit as you took them off.

she smells divine, a mixture of sweat and desire. and you’re ready for worship.

you roll into her with your pants, hips tilting upwards. letting your hardness rub against her, and she drops her mouth. pretty sounds falling from her lips. 

she reaches down, grabbing a hold of you. feeling around and reaching for the belt. pulling at the buckle until it pops. 

she pushes you back, frustrated she can’t get closer to you. and you land back, propping your arms just enough to let her reach for you. 

she climbs on top, pulling her hair all to one side. pulling your belt off the loops. you watch her throw it off the bed, and she’s grabbing onto your pants. unbuttoning them in urgency.

“desperate?” you gaze into her.

she gives you a look that says a thousand words. the darkness in her gaze, and the kind of sterness that makes you excited.

then your pants are unbuckled. you let out a breath, relaxing as the pressure from the pants has been lifted. you’re standing at full attention, begging to be touched.

begging to be touched by her. 

she puts her hands inside, not bothering to slide your pants completely off.

you let your head fall, she gets closer.

“i missed this…missed you.” she tugs a bit, and you twitch. 

you nod, pulling her in for a kiss. “i missed you too fia.”

you close your hand into a fist, gripping onto her hair and letting open mouth kisses fill the air. she looks so beautiful like this, putty in your hands and plump lips that make you nearly cave in.

you reach down, a single finger that draws a line. finishing right where she wants you. you give her a tap, and she lets out a hiss. 

she wants to swat your hand away, instead she gives you a look.

“stop playing.” she scolds.

“yes, ma’am.” you chuckle a bit, liking the demanding side of her. she continues to lightly play with you over your boxer briefs.

letting her nails slide up and push into your briefs. you can feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, the way she starts tugging again, rubbing the tip and spreading out your juices.

“you’re leaking baby.” she says, continuing to pump you, hands gripping enough to give you that head-spinning pleasure. 

you reach down again, looking for her wetness, smiling to yourself at the feeling.

“same to you, baby.” you smirk. letting your fingers gather that wetness and spread it up. 

playing with her clit until it’s begging. 

you hear the hard pants and watch how she goes rigid, unable to look you in the eye. eyes closed shut with a hand on your forearm. 

she looks so gorgeous, and you want more. want to mess her up so she’ll never want to leave.

you pull her hand out your briefs and she almost looks hurt. wanting to reach out again, and you stop her. you simply shake your head, kissing her enough to distract her. pushing her back, pleasing her is your only motive right now.

“baby, let me make you feel good.” she blushes at the words. she remembers how good you were with your mouth.

sometimes she’d touch herself at night just remembering the touch of you.

“please, hurry.” and you do, setting her head on a pillow. dropping yourself onto the floor.

kissing her and parting her legs. sliding your hands over her thighs. you get close enough, but not enough to touch her. and when she doesn’t expect it, you kiss her clit. 

she moans at the contact, and then you latch onto it. softly sucking it, just the way she likes. when her legs twist and turn, hands reaching to grab the sheets.

you got her right where you want her. gorgeous and laid out.

you slide a hand up, running your palms through her torso, far enough to grab onto a nipple, and flick it. she grips onto your arm. the slight pain making you grin. 

it’s cute how worked up she gets with you.

every little touch like a flame that dances upon her skin.

you continue to suck around her bud. giving it a slow lick and she’s gripping your arm more. you lick it with fervor, liking the way she’s begging for you, name rolling off her tongue that strokes your ego. 

you stand at full attention, light twitches at her beautiful moans. you get lost in your own world, licking slowly and with a flat tongue. enjoying how her legs shake when you suck.

her body is hot to the touch,  a slight sheen of sweat coating her body. casted with moonlight making her skin glow. she’s gorgeous and the only one you want in your bed.

“baby, please, i need you inside.” she begs. trying to pull you up, so you let her. let her drag your body closer, until you’re touching her with your clothed cock.

you slide your pants down, pulling them off and flinging them away, the restrictive material off your body. 

and sophia watches you, likes the sight of you bare. body toned with years of farmwork and bull riding building you up. 

you slide up to her, using the wetness that’s been leaking from her cunt and coating it all over your cock. enough to get you inside. she’s more desperate than you, reaching for you, and pulling it towards her. 

“come on baby, it’s all yours.” you say to her. letting her dictate when she wanted you. and then she pushes you inside, instantly her head drops back onto the bed. the feeling of you inside again after so long has her starting to tear up.

“you okay baby?” you ask, a little startled from the tears. 

you stop to wipe them off, ready to pull out at a second’s notice.

“so good, please move.” she begs of you, and you’re more than willing to comply. pushing in slowly and watching her face contorted in pleasure. 

pretty pink lips that are begging to be kissed, so you dip down and kiss her. soft kisses that have her gripping onto your hair, pulling the hat off your head and tossing it aside.

you slowly tilt your hips to sink into her. the vibrations from her throat buzzing against your mouth. moans that are begging to be heard echoing inside. she grips harder into your hair, loving the way you stretch her.

“please move baby, i need more of you.” she detaches from your mouth, waiting for you to rock into her. and you do, in that slow pace that lets you feel every ridge of her insides. warm enveloping heat that’s making your heart hammer.

your pretty wife below you, such a vulnerable and intimate sight. you kiss her nipples, lightly massaging one with your hand and playing with the bud. 

she puts a hand on your stomach, feeling your tensed abs against her nails. you continue to push in and out of her. moans in time with your movements. you want her to always feel this good, to want you forever.

you lick her nipples, then blow on them, cold air hitting her and she hisses. 

“you are so gorgeous baby.” you dip down to whisper to her, and she feels herself getting wetter. the movement of you inside her has her mewling. her nails lightly scratching your abs, you continue to roll into her.

using your hips to angle upwards, pressing your tip in that soft spot. tingling immediately hitting her body from all over.

“found it.” you smirk at her. and with what strength she has she rolls her eyes. wanting to tell you off, but you hit that spot again, and she’s back to being a mess.

“fuck…” she moans out.

“yes baby, feeling good?” you smirk. she nods with whines coming out, unable to answer you. you continue tapping it, enjoying the way she seems in heaven.

you grip harder into her hips and move to tilt your hips back down, long strokes that knocks at her womb.

you want to fuck her so she forgets everything but you. want her to remember only you, it's selfish and possessive. but you need her to want to be yours.

“kiss me please.” she begs and you dive down, kissing her intensely. still giving her long strokes that have her fingers shaking.

“you’re doing so good for me, fia.” you speak in between kisses.

“my gorgeous girl.” you speak to her soul. begging her to hear your calls. 

“your gorgeous girl.” she says, tears springing into her eyes again, overwhelmed by the claim. “yours. yours. yours.”

you fuck into her, hips gradually snapping. hitting against her insides and she reaches out, hands open for you to intertwine. you take it and give her hand a kiss.

she cries at the sight, all the feelings spiraling out of her.

she lets you continue to fuck her, intensity sharpening as you keep pulling in and out. her nails dig into your hands, she looks like a mess, the most gorgeous mess. 

you want to keep her here forever. she knows it. knows how you’re concentrating so hard on pleasing her. she wants to as well, wants to make a mess of you.

 and then she pushes you.

“baby, want to ride you.” she whimpers out, and you nod. slowly sliding out of her, ending with a light gasp from her.

“come ride your cowgirl then.” you settle yourself on the bed, laying down and watching her shake as she tries getting up, legs a little wobbly.

“don't. say. anything.” 

your mouth is already half open, ready to make a joke. 

but she shuts you up. instead you watch her gorgeous body climb on top of you. hands that cross around your neck.

“you look so pretty, fia.” you say, placing a kiss on her arms. rubbing them up and down as she gets situated.

“not as much as you.” she says through heavy breaths, trying to kiss you on shaky knees. 

you use your legs to keep her in place, meeting her halfway. kissing her fervently and passionately. 

she has you hooked, cock begging for attention. 

then she slides onto you. sinking enough to let your cock rest inside her. and it feels like heaven, how you missed this.

“fuck, fia, you feel so good.” you moan out, head dropping onto the pillow.

“you feel even better.” she smiles at you. sinking down until you’re fully sheathed. she keeps her hands on your abs. settling for a rocking motion as she moves herself on top of you.

“mm, i could ride you for days.” she whispers.

“you’d ride me until i’m dry.” you scoff. hissing when she drags her nails down your body. 

“you can’t go dry.” she scolds you.

she wants to milk you for all your worth and more.

“this is mine.” she clenches, enough pressure to make your cock jump. 

“yeah?” you let out playfully, “did you decide that?”

“of course i did. this is mine.” she clenches again and you twitch. and she gives you no time to recover. 

going right back to riding you. pulling herself up just enough to rock back down. you relish in the sight, the moonlight shining in and illuminating her body. you watch her in a haze, the pleasure spreading inside of you, but the sight of her is more than everything. 

you are still so in love with her.

she continues to ride you, hand on your thigh as she leans back. rolling herself on top of you. 

you feel like you could cum any second now. and you grip onto her thighs, to which she grabs a hold of you. 

staring at you with desire and pleasure in her eyes.

she closes her eyes, letting the feeling of riding you consume her. she can feel the familiar feeling at the pit of her stomach.

“fuck, i’m going to cum.” she keeps repeating it to herself in the moment.

you grab a hold of her. rushing to push her back. wanting to fuck into her until she cums. in a second her back hits the bed again, and she looks at you a little dazed.

“need to fuck you.” you say just loud enough for her to hear. and push into her. going for a more relentless speed.

she keeps moaning in your ear, chanting your name lowly. it drives her crazy to have you so close.

“i’m cumming baby, inside or out?” you pant in her ear. 

all you want is to cum inside, begging to pour yourself into her.

“please, inside. only inside please.” she begs for you. hooking her legs around you, holding you close. “want your kids, please.” 

there’s tears in the corners of her eyes and she’s raking her nail down your back.

“yeah?” you whisper to her, feeling your stomach coiling into itself. “you’d be the best mom.”

the rush nearly hitting you when she clenches. 

“fuck!” she cries desperately, pulling you into a kiss that expresses her deepest desires. 

she wants this, wants to be the mother of your kids. the idea of anyone else as a replacement sends her in a tailspin.

all she wants is you. 

wants to keep a part of you with her forever.

she needs you. and she needs you to want her. wants you to fill her up. she’s gasping and holding your head. staring into you, in each part that she’s loved and admired.

“baby, fill me up.” she whines, continuing to clench every so often. you gasp each time, open mouthed and head falling back.

“fuck, i’ll fill you up baby, be patient.” you hiss when she pushes back, using her hips to meet you halfway.

she feels the way you twitch inside of her, the signifier that you’re close.

you reach your climax, the white hot sensation hitting you in the body, letting out ropes of cum inside of her. grunting and moaning as you keep pushing into her, wanting to be as close as possible.

she can feel her walls getting painted with you, and it triggers her own climax. 

the intimacy, the desire, the urgency makes her continue to sob as she cums.

you continue to slowly pump in her, the orgasm coming to a slow descent. trying your best not to collapse on top of her with your arms shaking. you try to push yourself up, just to get yourself in a better position so as to not crush her.

when she suddenly pulls you down, chest to chest and you can hear her sobs.

“no! stay inside.” she cries out. and maybe time has changed you but you don’t remember ever hearing her so desperate. 

“fia? what’s wrong?” you’re concerned.

“no, just want you. stay inside please?” you stare at her, the desperation in her voice is echoing in your heart. 

so you stay, gently wiping tears off her cheeks and comforting her as she cries. giving her kisses on her shoulder and lips. 

you continue to shower her in gentle affection. letting her enjoy the feeling of you and trying your best not to move around. she feels herself relax eventually, enough to make her sleepy.

she closes her eyes, trying to drift asleep. before she does though, she whispers to you.

“stay?”

“of course, fia.”

–

the morning has dawned and you let yourself sleep in. with sophia next to you and the memories of last night, you feel on top of the world. 

it feels like the old you is back. there’s still the ever-looming divorce over your head but maybe last night changed things.

maybe you can allow yourself to believe she wants to stay. maybe she doesn’t want this divorce.

maybe you can allow yourself happiness again.

it’s a slow morning. you’re trying your best to clean up last night’s mess. dirty clothes tossed into a hamper, trying your best not to wake sophia up as you clean her.

giving her kisses that nearly wake her up. hand reaching out to find you. 

it’s domestic, and an old familiarity you missed.

you give her another kiss just before you leave.

it’s a good morning to enjoy yourself on the porch. rubbing behind charlie’s ears and sitting in your rocking chair.

letting the thoughts of sophia consume you as always. maybe you’ll buy her flowers today, wrap it in a bouquet for her. or cook her breakfast so she can have it in bed. the thought keeps you happy.

then charlie barks, standing at attention. that’s when you spot someone in the distance. 

“can i help you, sir?” you continue to chew on your stick, lightly rocking back and forth. 

he’s too well dressed, a three piece grey suit that’s already gathering dirt and dust under his feet. 

he’s fidget-y, device in hand as he frantically searches for a signal.

“i’m looking for sophia. sophia laforteza?” he’s continuing to twirl in circles, hands up in the air as he walks in different directions, trying to look for a signal.

he looks like a damn fool.

“sir, i don’t know of a sophia.” you continue to chew at your stick. hand firmly held on your buckle. 

“well either you’re lying or this gps is.” he says, continuing to fiddle with his device and he starts walking towards the house. “and i spent a couple thousand on it.”

“i don’t know a sophia. you must have the wrong place.” you shout back. 

charlie’s tail stills when he doesn’t move. instead he approaches you. a charming smile on his face.

he gets close enough for you to escalate. 

you lift your gun out, pointing it at his forehead.

“i don’t take too kindly to strangers trespassing.” you let out. “please leave.”

“sophia! i know you’re in there.” the stranger shouts.

“you have some goddamn nerve.” you shout, stepping up face to face. 

charlie rushes forward, loud barking shaking him up. you keep him still, not letting him lunge forward to bite.

he smirks seeing the door open and sophia running down the steps.

she’s by your side in an instant. and then she sees him, and her blood runs cold.

he wasn’t supposed to find her, or you. 

he wasn’t supposed to have leverage.

“sophia! where the hell have you been? i’ve been calling your cell, your manager, lara, everyone!” 

his voice cracks at the end and he looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. his forehead vein sticking out and blood rushing to his cheeks.

“i couldn’t contact anyone! but i had this tracker and it led me here. in new mexico.”

he explains rapidly and at this point you’ve pushed sophia behind you. putting some distance between this strange man and your wife.

“what are you doing here in new mexico?” he finally stops.

“i-...go home thomas. we’ll talk later.” sophia says.

“no, i’m not leaving without you, laforteza.” he says with an awful smirk. one that starts making you nervous.

you didn’t know anything about thomas.

“who are you?” you ask, and sophia wishes she could rewind time. rewind to a time where she never left, kept you close and didn’t break your heart, because she feels like she’ll break it all over again.

“i’m thomas moore, nice to meet you.” he offers his hand, you don’t shake it. “i take it, sophia hasn’t introduced me?” he says, taking his hand back. 

“i’m sophia’s fiancé.” 

he says with a smile that’s slow, ending a grin that makes you want to rip it off of him.

fiancé? 

it hits you in your chest, the shock making your ears ring. ringing and all you can see is sophia arguing with him. shouts like a silent film in your head. you’ve been duped again. 

you let your heart get trampled over again. ruined by this woman. she’s crying and trying to shake you out of your haze. you don’t see the tears that trickle out your eyes. hand open faced and gun to the ground. 

she tries shaking you again. and you take a step back. a tense step, muscle at full flex. you need to get out, you need to get away. 

she’s done it again, she’s let you believe in her love. after everything you tried spelling out to her last night, you want to forget her. you want to forget how you gave the deepest part of you to her.

you leave, feet turning into the house. quick steps turning into a mad dash. you’re opening kitchen drawers, running through the house, trying to look for a pen. anything that can write. you don’t even know if anything else is real.

pen. pen. pen.

and then you find one, it’s an old pen. ink nearly dried up, and you’re scribbling on scrap paper. heart thumping loudly, with adrenaline coursing through you. 

sophia runs after you, trying to get you to stop. she watches you try to write with a pen. her mind going haywire. she has no idea what you’re trying to do. she’s trying to anticipate it and then it hits her. 

her heart drops.

“no! baby please, look at me.” she begs you, grabbing a hold of your face. trying to break you from your dazed self. angry tears staining the paper. 

you grab the papers from the cabinet. an extra copy of the divorce papers that sophia handed you. the lines are tagged with blue tabs. every line you need to sign is there.

and you see the ink flowing again. 

sophia’s crying, trying to get you to stop. 

you lift your pen in the air, placing it onto the divorce forms. signing the line. flipping through the pages with anger, signing the other lines. 

“please, let me explain.” she’s sobbing and begging you to look at her. it’s no use, you should’ve never trusted her again. of course she would leave again.

what were you expecting?

you finally sign it all and sophia’s sunken to the floor, tears wracking her body and she stares at the floor. 

“this is what you wanted, right?” you bite out.

she looks up at you, shaking her head vehemently. 

“no, no, i don’t want this. no!” she nearly screams. she gets up, trying to hug you.

“get off of me, sophia.” you cry out. arms at your side as she keeps her arms around you. it’s suffocating, you never thought you’d say it, but her touch is suffocating. 

“my name is fia! it’s fia! you don’t call me sophia!” she cries out, her heart is breaking. 

everything is in ruin again. you’re in ruin too. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

you wanted to ask her to reconsider, thought of getting her flowers and dressing up all nice to ask her on a date.

this solidified everything you thought was wrong.

“you have a fiancé?” you ask, with betrayal laced in your tone, backing up from her. it hurts to look at her. 

she doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing. bloodshot eyes that are begging for you to hear her out.

“and you didn’t tell me?” you continue to be impressed, at how little you know sophia.

she shakes her head, trying so hard not to have heave. 

“please, let me explain.” she begs and you shake your head. it hurts so bad, it’s sucking your energy to be in this room with her. 

“and last night…did you even mean it?” you ask, hand over your heart as you feel the anger boiling. you gave her everything, your heart and soul, and she has a fiancé. one that she conveniently forgot to tell you about.

“of course i meant it! i always mean it.” she shouts back, disgusted by the accusation. 

you stare at her, begging for the truth, for this all to be one sick play, where all the curtains rise and a camera crew filming the whole thing. a punk’d kind of sick trick.

“you must be one hell of an actress out there, laforteza.” you say out of spite. “you had me fooled with your act.”

“don’t you dare. i never, i never—it was never an act with you.” she nearly screams. 

but the curtains don’t rise, and reality sticks.

“get out sophia. i don’t want to see you ever again.” you say. you stare at the divorce papers that you haphazardly signed.

signatures flying across the page, and tears wrinkling it. it’s a poor sight, and one that you want out of your home. 

“get the fuck out.”

she feels her heart crack, truly crack. there’s so much hatred in your voice. pain ladened anger that screams for retreat. 

she cries out, hands reaching out for you. you turn away from her. tears streaming down your face.

“if you won’t leave, i will.” you bite out. moving past her, and out the house. and once again you’re running off on buckeye. 

charlie following you closely. whimpers coming from him when he doesn’t see sophia follow. he gives one final look before running to catch up to you.

sophia’s sobbing into herself, curled herself into a ball. staring at the home you both once built. maybe this was how it was always supposed to be. maybe she should’ve just stayed away the first time.

maybe she doesn’t deserve this happy ending either.

thomas steps into the house, the cunning smile rubbed off his face, a colder exterior forming.

“sophia, let’s go.” he says, offering his hand. “enough playing house, you have responsibilities.”

sophia looks at him through her tears, anger directed towards him. steel eyes forged with anger and resentment.

“thomas. fuck. off.” sophia stands up, grabbing the papers off the desk. leaving the house with him behind her.

she gives one more look at the house. trying to commit it to memory, trying to commit you to memory. hand on the door handle, opening the car door and stepping inside. 

maybe she needs to put this all behind.

she cries to herself as the car pulls out the ranch, hand crumpling the paper in her hand.

just like a phantom, she disappears again. 

this time you want her to stay away.

--

a/n: how did we like the ending!!! :) i apologize if this isn't true to the american cowgirl/ranch owner/bull rider experience, i tried my best! and honestly this was a whole beast to write so i hope you enjoyed it! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

[bi-yearning-02]

In the Presence of Gods | Attending!Wanda x Intern!Reader

Summary: In the high-stakes world of the NICU, you step into the demanding orbit of Dr. Wanda Maximoff. What starts as a tense first encounter slowly sparks something unspoken, a gravity neither of you can defy. As the lines blur between duty and desire, a deeper story begins to stir, one that neither of you are ready for, but can't seem to resist.

Word count: 4.5k

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, unspecified age gap, medical procedures, medical terminology, power imbalance due to professional setting, warnings will be updated

You are the first to arrive, well before the first rays of sunlight graze the horizon.

The air outside is sharp with early morning cold, the kind that clings to your skin no matter how tightly you wrap your jacket around yourself. Now, inside, it lingers in a different way. The air is heavy with antiseptic and a biting mixture of sleep and bleach.

The hospital at this hour is nothing like what you imagined. It doesn't feel like television or textbooks. It feels too quiet and heavy, haunted by the lives it couldn't save.

You move without thinking, muscle memory already learning the turns. Down the hallway, past the elevator bank, and through a grey door labeled STAFF ONLY. The locker room smells like detergent and cold steel, like first-day-nerves and deodorant. It's empty and the light only comes to life when you enter and the motion sensor gets triggered.

You change quickly and with purpose, but even speed can't ward off the anxiety that's crawling up your spine. You fold your hoodie with too much precision, redoing it twice. Slip into your scrubs, tug on the long sleeve shirt layered underneath, and double check that your laces are tied securely. Once you're satisfied, you grab your coat, square your shoulders and smooth down the front of your scrubs before you walk back out into the hallway.

You ride the elevator alone, the metal walls reflect a hundred pale version of yourself. Your white coat slung over one arm and your tablet clutched between damp hands. You keep checking your badge, your name, the credentials printed neatly in plastic. As if they might vanish, as if someone might step in, press a hand to your chest, and say: No, not you. Not yet.

Most days have been feeling like this since you started your first shift at the hospital, but tonight the feeling of being an imposter is particularly strong.

The doors open to the third floor with a mechanical ding that sounds too loud in the silence. When you step out, you scan the corridor like it might look different than it did during orientation, but it doesn't, although it feels like it should.

The halls of Stark Memorial are ghostly in the dim light, a faint blue glow cast by LED panels and machines that breathe in rhythm with sleeping infants. There is no overhead chatter, and no pagers ringing unless you're in the pit. There is just the soft hum of life support an the low hiss of oxygen flowing through tiny tubes.

At this time of night, even the vending machines seem to whisper.

You walk past the glass of Bay A, where row of incubators gleam under heat lamps. You glance in on instinct, careful not to let your footsteps echo too loudly. Inside, tiny chests rise and fall, skin like butterfly wings lit up by a thousand monitors and cables. Babies whose lives are measured in grams and seconds.

Your shoes squeak once on the polished floors and you flinch. Biting the inside of your cheek, you curse the rubber on your new sneakers.

The NICU is pristine; sterile in a way that feels sacred. Sleek glass walls and warm air. You grip your tablet tighter, fingers white at the knuckles, trying to look like you belong. Your chin juts forward in false confidence, a posture learned from prep schools and dinner tables with surgeons.

You still feel like an outsider, though.

Behind the nurse's station at the centre of the unit, a woman with dark-rimmed glasses murmurs into a chart, massaging her temples with two fingers. She doesn't notice you at first, too absorbed in some scribbles, until your steps falter just short of the counter. Her head snaps up, and surprise darts across her face. Interns aren't expected until six.

Her brows lift. "You're early."

You catch her name tag as she closes the file. Darcy. Her voice is low but alert, like she's lived too many night shifts. Despite the tiredness behind her eyes, a polite smile lightens up her face.

"Either you couldn't sleep, or you're trying to impress the newcomer upstairs." Her fingers lock under her chin. "Which is it?"

You exhale softly through your nose, trying to smother a nervous laugh "Both?"

She huffs, pushing her rolling chair back with a squeal and coming around the counter. "Well, in that case; let's get you prepped." Her tone shifts. It becomes brisk, but not unkind. She nods toward the NICU bays. "We've got fifteen in bed spaces. Five vented, two preemies under 28 weeks and Baby Hope..." she pauses. "Hope had a rough stretch overnight. She's in Bay A. You'll want to watch her."

Your fingers start tapping at the tablet instinctively, casting your face in cool light. "Shaky stats?"

"Couple of desats just before four. The O2 bump helped, but not much. Labs are on file, in case you want to review them. I left notes on fluid balance, but you might want to push them during rounds."

You nod along, eyes skimming Hope's chart. Tiny vitals. Post-op day four. "They're watching for NEC, right?"

"Yeah, Dr. Rambeau flagged her yesterday."

You nod, scrolling faster, but not fast enough to miss anything. You want her to think you're fluent in this, not panicking inside.

Darcy tilts her head, lips pushed into a pout thoughtfully. "Smart girl."

Startled, you look up with furrowed brows. "Not a lot of interns would've clocked that, let alone read notes older than twelve hours."

You blink, surprised by the compliment. You don't let get to your head, even when in place like this, it's the closes thing you can get to being seen. You quietly store it away and keep it in the back of your mind as a little badge of honour.

She studies you again, a little more curiously now, and nods toward the darkened NICU bays. "You thinking NICU?"

Hesitating, you shrug like it doesn't matter, like you haven't been here since four on purpose. "I'm floating for now."

She clicks her tongue, smirking. "You wouldn't be here before the janitors if you weren't thinking of something."

You fight the smile tugging at your lips and shrug again. This time it's an admission.

Darcy leans closer, her voice hushed. "Dr. Maximoff's schedule got posted around two. She's making her own rounds at seven, but if she finds you doing some prep work, it might score you some points with her, or not. Hard to say."

You lift your chin high and press your lips together. "I'll take my chances."

She grins, stepping back. "Smart and brave."

She doesn't retreat to her seat immediately, though. She lingers for moment, watching you a little differently now, not just as the ghost of an intern, not just as another kid trying to prove something. No, there is now the faintest sign of recognition in her eyes, like maybe she remember what it was like to be young and unsure and desperate to matter in a place like this.

"You keep showing up like this and people are going to start noticing," she says, tone gentler now. "Make sure it's for the right reason."

You draw your head back, caught off guard. You nod, words stuck somewhere in the back of your throat.

Darcy holds your gaze a moment longer before she retakes her seat behind the counter, already reaching for her pen and falling back into her prior motion.

You glance at the incubator again. Hope's monitor beeps softly. You are here. You are early. You are ready.

Or at least you are trying to be.

But readiness isn't always enough.

You tell yourself you're here because you want the edge, the good cases, the right eyes on you, the surgical rotation you're already chasing, but it's more than that, it's always has been more.

You grew up in a house where excellence was expected, not celebrated. Your father, a decorated trauma surgeon who spent years operating in combat zones, still talks in battlefield metaphors. Your mother, Chief of Cardiothoracics at one of the top hospitals in the country, rarely blinked unless someone was coding.

You didn't inherit ambition, you were raised in it.

Your path to medicine wasn't a choice; it was a legacy, a name that had to continue to carry weight. You knew how to stitch an arm back on before you were twelve, had internships arranged before you could drive. Dinner conversations resembled board reviews more than anything. They were cold, clinical, demanding. Praise was performance-based, and weakness wasn't even a language.

Your parents already decided your specialty. Neuro, maybe, or cardio. Something worthy of pedigree, something with blood and pressure and glory.

But when you walked into the NICU for the first time, saw the quiet blinking incubators, the impossibly small fists curling in their sleep, something cracked open. It was gentle and terrifying and oh-so deeply yours.

This wasn't loud. It wasn't showy. No one would ever applaud you for wanting it. Everyone calls this unit the pink squad. It's too soft, too feminine. There's not enough adrenaline, not enough glory. But here, in this ward, with these fragile lives and impossible odds, you see a quiet conviction. It might not be flashy or heroic, but at least it's real, and entirely your own.

You read the research. You've seen the clips. You've watched surgeries that looked like miracles. In-utero heart repairs, twin separations, emergency C-sections with five teams and mere seconds to act.

And there's always one name coming up.

Wanda Maximoff.

Medical journals love to centre their articles around her. She's a myth, a legend with blood on her hands and a no-bullshit policy. The rumours about her are as big as the name she carries. She lost her sons, left her husband. Vanished. Reappeared. Chose this, out of all places in the world.

You don't know if Dr. Maximoff will ever take you seriously. She's a woman whose name your parents only mentioned with begrudging respect. But if there's one place you might finally choose yourself, it will be here.

You adjust your name badge, catching your reflection in the glass. Light blue scrubs over a lilac long-sleeve shirt, a white coat that is too clean, and a name badge that still creaks with every step you take. Your braid is already coming loose and when you try to fix it, your hands shake too much. No matter how hard you try, when you look at yourself, you still feel like a little girl playing dress-up in her parents' clothes.

A low rumble from the end of the hallway interrupts your racing thoughts. The elevator stops with a faint groan before the doors drag open.

Footsteps.

You straighten your spine, joints cracking. You glance sideways, heart thundering in your chest.

A figure in dark crimson scrubs steps out of the elevator. Her stride is confident, unhurried. Her features are sharp and striking, a face carved not from marble, but from grief.

She doesn't pause, doesn't even look around, but her piercing green eyes flicker to you.

Just a second.

Just long enough to burn.

The corridor is brighter now, smelling of coffee and disinfectant. Warm sunlight seeps through the slatted blinds, but the weight in your chest hasn't lightened. The rhythm of the hospital has shifted. Coffee cups, clipped heels, shuffling clipboards. The quiet reverence of the night has been replaced by the low-level chaos of a new shift.

You stand stiffly, pinned between Yelena and Peter in the morning line up. You'd stayed in the NICU longer than necessary, memorising Hope's labs and tracing her chart like a scripture. It was comforting, structured, clear. Something you could fix.

But now, that clarity is gone and the nerves are kicking back in.

Peter's yawning, Yelena's already on her second espresso, and MJ gives you a once-over with a raised eyebrow.

"You look like you've lost a bet with death."

You don't answer, too focused on the footsteps echoing from down the hall.

She turns the corner no longer in scrubs but in tailored black slacks and a burgundy silk blouse, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing lean forearms and a watch that glints under the fluorescent lights. Her heels are matte black, and her posture is absolute. A tablet is tucked under one arm, her coat draped elegantly across the other.

Without a word, she walks directly past the group of interns. No introduction. No greetings, just the clicking of her heels as she makes a sharp turn into a nearby patient room.

The group stares after her, collectively dumbstruck.

"Jesus," Peter breathes, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. "Did anyone else feel their soul leave their body?"

Darcy, who just exited a patient's room, hides her amused smile behind a clipboard. "That was your cue, kids."

There's a beat of stillness, and then, chaos.

Everyone lunges at once. Badges jostle, pens fall, someone drops their tablet with a soft curse. You fumble with yours but manage to keep it pressed to your chest as you rush after them.

"Bay D," Dr. Maximoff announces from inside the room, tapping her tablet once. "Mrs. Lawrence. Who wants to brief?"

The interns crowd the doorway, jockeying for position, trying to compose yourselves as if you hadn't just been herded like panicked sheep.

Her eyes scan the group, but she doesn't look at you. Something inside of you stirs. You want her to look at you, want her to see you. The patient's name barely registers before you open your mouth.

And then, a mistake.

"I–uh–she–Mrs. Lawrence is–"

Dr. Maximoff's eyes darken, her brows crease in the centre. She doesn't let you finish. "I'm not sure if someone has informed you," she says cooly, "But these files–" she taps the screen in your trembling hands "–are meant to be read and memorised. Not just held."

Heat blooms up your neck, eyes darting to the floor, where the edge of your too-clean white sneakers meets sterile tile. Shame pulses behind your eyes. You shouldn't have spent all your time in the NICU, you should've checked on the OBGYN patients too.

She sighs, and you can feel her rolling her eyes. "What a shame. I was told you were more than just a pretty face." The silence that follows is suffocating. "Belova." Yelena fires off the case facts without hesitation, clinical and complete. You don't even hear them. Your heart is pounding too loudly in your ears, but at least the spotlight is no longer on you.

MJ bumps your arm with her shoulder, and you nod just enough to signal that you're still breathing. Peter leans in when Dr. Maximoff turns to head to the next room, voice low. "Well, at least she thinks you're pretty?"   After going through the Bay B patients, mostly young mothers in the waiting, the next stop is Bay A. The air shifts as your team steps into the NICU's glass-panelled sanctuary. Dr. Maximoff stands at the centre of it all, poised and regal.

"Next," she says, eyes darting to an isolette fleetingly. "Jane Doe. Twenty-six-week preemie. Brought in three nights ago from the ED. No ID, no parental contact."

You already know which isolette she means. You find the little body under warm heating lamps, chest covered in tapes and tubes.

"She was found abandoned outside an apartment complex. Vitals unstable. Underwent PDA ligation on postnatal day two. Currently vented. Minimal urine output overnight."

Her voice faces for just a breath. Her eyes move to the side, to another incubator in the corner. You shift on your heels, trying to gain a better look.

Two boys lie nestled together, sharing one pod. One baby's skin is yellowed from jaundice, the other's stomach is covered by gauze, their hands curled instinctively around the other's. A laminated note is clipped to the side of the isolette with a blue whale tag: Twin therapy in progress. Post-op, Day 2.

Dr. Maximoff's attention lingers a second longer than necessary. The stoic mask on her face doesn't change, but something in her eyes does. You think you see it, but it's fleeting; a flicker of pain or memory. But it's gone as quickly as it came, and her gaze snaps back to you.

"Well, doctor?" Her voice cuts clean. "Would you like to contribute anything about your favourite glass box visitor?"

Your spine goes rigid. How does she know? Did Darcy say something?"

"She's... fragile," you say, voice low and a little shaky. "Post-op day four. Temperature's trending low. Vent setting bumped twice in the last 24 hours. She desatted again before rounds. Labs are pending."

"Diagnosis?"

You steel yourself. "NEC is a concern, especially with the feed residuals increasing and abdominal girth trending up."

Wanda studies you. "And if it is?"

You meet her gaze with a racing heart, inhaling sharply. "Prep for emergency surgery, resection if the bowel's compromised. There is a high risk of sepsis if not caught in time."

She nods, just once. "Good."

Then, her gaze shifts to the rest of the group. "She doesn't need you to hesitate. Not today. Not ever. Until she's claimed, she is our responsibility. That includes you. Do not let your focus drift just because she doesn't have a name."

The interns disperse as soon as the rounds are over, their footsteps echoing down the hospital corridor as they head toward their NICU and OBGYN assignments for the day.

Dr. Maximoff's voice cuts through the din, your name on the tip of her tongue. “You’re with me today.” 

Your heart skips a beat, hope blooming in the centre of your chest. Perhaps you had impressed her, despite your earlier slip-up. Perhaps she saw something worth watching closely.

“Thank you, Dr. Maximoff," you say softly, chin lowered in gratitude.  

“Stark Memorial is still a teaching hospital," she replies flatly, eyes trained on some labs. "And you clearly need the most teaching.” 

Your lips part in surprise. You want to say something, to push back, but the words get stuck somewhere along the way. Instead, you simply nod, swallowing the lump of humiliation. Today wasn't your strongest, but you can't remember the last time someone saw you as the runt of the litter.

Kate chuckles from the sidelines without looking up from her notes. "Try not to mess this up too badly, rookie."

Flinching, you break eye contact with her. The comment comes with sharp teeth that sink into your flesh and nestle underneath your skin. The stark comparison between you and Kate gives you the final blow, a right hook to your guts. She doesn't need to try, she's already earned her place in the few weeks you've been here. Everyone knows she's the favoured one, the one with all the answers all the time. She's already impressed half the staff with her nurtured talent. You don't cower, but there is a noticeable shift to your posture.

Dr. Maximoff's attention snaps to Kate. Her eyes narrow and her lips pull into a thin line.

"Bishop," she says, voice as sharp as a blade. "You're off my service. I don't need another intern wasting my time."

Startled with wide eyes, Kate opens her mouth to protest.

"I'm sure Dr. Romanoff will be more than happy to have you join her today," Dr. Maximoff cuts her off, dismissing her without much room to argue.

Kate's smirk falters and she turns with a downcast expression, grabbing her things without another word. It's not like she was a big fan of neonatal anyway.

You keep your attention ahead, jaw locked. Focusing on something at the far end of the unit. Pretending like you didn't hear her will make your wounded pride less fatal.

Dr. Maximoff watches you for a long moment, a faint glint of something unreadable crossing her features. For a brief instant, the sharp lines of her face soften, a quiet warmth breaking through. Then, with a quiet, unimpressed sigh, she shakes her head, dismissing a thought not worth entertaining.

"Let's see if you're worth the trouble," she says, already turning without checking if you're following.

You remain rooted to your spot. There was no clear instruction, no destination given.

She doesn't look back, she doesn't have to. Her voice cuts through the air effortlessly. "First lesson: when I walk, you walk."

Exhaling heavily, you drop down in a blue plastic chair like you've been discharged from combat. Your back aches, your legs are sore, and there is a migraine waiting to pounce behind your eyes. You peel off your white coat and let it hang limply off the back of the chair, like it might somehow shed the humiliation with it.

Peter waves a chocolate bar in your face. "You're not eating? She really is Satan reincarnated with a pager."

You take the bar without a word, and let the wrapper crinkle in your fingers without unwrapping it. The day has only begun, so who knows, maybe you will need the sugary support later on.

"Don't tell me the vagina squad isn't everything you imagined?" Kate teases, kicking her feet up on another chair.

You glare at her, but you barely have the energy to look angry. “Why are you even here? You're not NICU-assigned."

She shrugs, swinging one leg over the other. "Emotional support, mostly, but I also like to witness suffering firsthand."

You let your head fall to the table with a groan. At least the table is cold enough to ground you and extinguish the fire on your cheeks.

Kate steals the chocolate bar from your limp grip and tears it open. "Honestly, she's probably not even a doctor. She might as well just be a demon that learned to suture."

"Probably someone who hates interns," Peter mutters, half-serious, half-terrified.

"She doesn't hate us," Yelena adds, dropping into the seat across from you with a half-eaten granola bar in hand. "She just believes in pain as a teaching method."

"Spoken like a true trauma junkie," Kate mutters, not even glancing at her.

"Pain builds character and calluses" Yelena shrugs. "Both of which are very useful when you're wrist deep in someone's chest."

Kate raises a sharp eyebrow. "I think you need therapy."

Yelena grins. "I need trauma bays and a good night out."

"She made me do med rec on all four overnight admits," you mutter into your arms. "One mother only spoke Hungarian and another kept calling me Linda and mixing up the names of the medication."

Peter winces. "Ouch."

"And she watched me do it without giving any input. She just stood there sipping her coffee with that bored look in her eyes." Your wave your hand around the general direction of your face.

"Wait, she watched?" Kate cackles, clearly finding enjoyment in your pain.

"Didn't say a word."

"I have to admit, her stillness is very unsettling," Yelena adds, thoughtfully taking a bite of her granola bar. "It's almost like she's judging your entire life through a single glance."

"She probably is," MJ says as she slides into the last open chair like she's been listening the whole time, which she probably has. "I'm sure she knows all our secrets, even before we've admitted them to ourselves. There's something about those piercing green eyes..." Everyone turns to look at MJ, but she just shrugs. "I heard she once made a fellow cry in the elevator from just a look."

"It's not fair," Peter whispers, poking at the food on his plate. "Hot people shouldn't be allowed that kind of power."

"She handed me the entire patient list of the floor and told me to write every note. You want to learn, don't you? she said. Like it was a fucking gift and I should be thanking her on my knees for her generosity."

"That's so hot," Kate sighs dreamily.

You shoot her a look. "You're damaged."

"She's terrifying," Peter agrees. "But in a very sexually confusing way."

"You guys are sick," you whine, pressing your face further into the crook of your arms.

Peter leans in, an encouraging smile on his lips. "Hey, for what it's worth... you didn't choke."

You blink up at him, skeptical, remembering the horrors from a few hours ago, not to mention the few times you slipped up while talking to patients with her breathing down your neck.

"Well, okay, yes, you did, but not on the hard stuff."

You grunt. "You are terrible at pep talks."

"I'm working on it."

"Give him points for honesty," MJ says, drinking a suspiciously green substance from a mason jar. "It's more than most people in this hospital will offer."

Kate tosses her empty wrapper at Peter. "He's like an over-eager puppy. Useless in crisis but you keep him around because he means well."

Peter gasps, mock-offended. "I'll have you know I was a Boy Scout and know perfectly well how to react in crisis."

"That actually explains the pathological need to help," Yelena deadpans.

"Okay, but for real," Kate leans forward conspiratorially, eyes bright with mischief, "do you think she knows she's hot, or is it just part of the ice queen aesthetic?"

"Please," MJ mutters. "She knows it and she weaponises it."

"I didn't realise I was the topic of such passionate lunchtime discussion."

You freeze.

The whole table freezes.

Because standing behind you, again, like she apparrated out of the floor tiles, is Dr. Maximoff.

Her eyes briefly dart over the group, then they settle you. "If you have that much energy to gossip, I assume your notes are done."

Your mouth opens, then closes. To be absolutely fair, you did not gossip with them. You were just sitting here, overthinking your career choices. You swallow the bitter taste on the back of your tongue.

"They will be," you manage, voice cracking. "Soon."

"Good," she replies before leaning forward so that only you can really hear her next words. "Next time, unwrap the chocolate. Your blood sugar's tanked, and it makes your hands shaky and your reaction slow."

She pulls away with the same calm, elegant efficiency she always moves with, but just before she walks off, she throws one final comment over her shoulder.

"And for the record," her gaze cuts briefly to Peter, Kate, MJ and Yelena, "if I hated interns, you'd know. You wouldn't still be here."

And then she's gone, heels clicking sharply as she disappears through the cafeteria doors. Silence follows her until all of you are certain that she won't come back.

You sit there frozen for a beat longer than anyone else. Heart still pounding, stomach still in such tight knots that you consider getting a consult with Dr. Wilson.

"I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes."

Kate fans herself with a napkin. "Is it bad that I want her to step on me with those heels?"

Peter exhales shakily. "That was... something."

Yelena tilts her head, studying you, no, dissecting you. "She likes you."

"That's not possible."

"She watches you like she's already memorised your blood type."

Peter stares at you like he's something for the first time now. "She told you to eat something, didn't she? I think you just got knighted by the Ice Queen."

"Or marked for death," Yelena offers.

You press your palms into the sockets of your eyes until you see stars dancing across your vision, unsure which is worse, and why, somehow, you want both to be true.

[bi-yearning-02]

My Darling

Summary - Alicent Hightower doesn't see newly anointed knight Y/N Lannister when she looks upon the boy in front of her, instead she sees the young teen that comforted her all those years ago.

Warnings - General HOTD warnings

Hello, I am alive. The second semester of uni has been absolutely hell for me and my mental health but alas I have persevered and hopefully will be posting more here once finals are over.

Y/N had not been expecting to attend a royal funeral when his elder brother wrote to him of the tourney in Kingslanding. He’d expected to come and compete, finish in a reasonable place, and then make his way back to Casterly Rock. But the gods did not care for what he wanted, and his third day in Kingslanding found him standing outside in the cold while Princess Rhaenyra’s dragon lit the pyre of her mother and brother. 

His brothers abandoned him after the lighting of the pyre. Jason had it in his mind that he would one day be allowed to marry the Princess, and now that she was once again the King’s only child his ambition renewed itself with a new fervor. Tyland, ever the sheep, followed his twin closely leaving their youngest brother to find his way through the crowd by his lonesome. 

“Ser Y/N.” Y/N turned his head at the voice, smiling at the sight of Lady Alicent walking toward him. “I thought that was you.” 

“Lady Alicent.” Y/N bowed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. The action brought a giggle out of the girl. “It is so nice to see you again.” 

The years had been kind to the girl, as she looked much healthier than the last time Y/N had the privilege of laying his eyes on her. The previous time Y/N had seen Alicent had been when the girl was in the worst throes of grief. 

The girl's mother had been sick for some time, so the only person it seemed that was shocked by her passing was her only daughter. Y/N watched from the sidelines as Alicent fell headfirst into her grief, too young to be considered important enough to comfort by the courtiers around them. Even Tyland and Jason had warned Y/N off approaching the girl. Telling him to just let the women deal with it, for it was a woman’s job to supply comfort during times of grief. 

(The same brothers who had told him that were currently at the King’s beck and call, trying their best to slide their way into his pocket during his time of grief.) 

Y/N hadn’t heeded their warnings in the end. 

“Lady Alicent?” Y/N had asked meekly as he knocked on her chamber doors. He wasn’t supposed to be here, it was forbidden for an unmarried man and woman of their ages to be alone in their chambers together, but Y/N could not watch as Alicent locked herself away to rot any longer. 

“Please,” Alicent’s voice came from the other side of the doors. “Just leave me.” 

“It’s Y/N Lannister,” Y/N said, hoping the name of her friend would convince her to open her doors to him. “Please, I would just like to make sure you are alright.” 

Alicent opened the doors slightly, hiding behind the wooden frame and only allowing Y/N to get a glimpse at one side of her face. Her hair was unwashed and her eyes were red as if she’d recently been crying. 

“Can I come in?” Y/N asked, and Alicent nodded. She opened the door fully, allowing the boy to walk into the unkempt room. It was truly a feat to manage to get one's chambers as messy as Alicent had, as the servants came in every day to clean them. 

“Do you have a purpose for being here, Y/N?” Alicent asked, looking down at the ground as the boy in front of her took in the state of her chambers. 

‘She is uncomfortable’, Y/N realized, although why she would not be he didn’t know. He was standing in her chambers, without supervision, taking in the messiest part of her grief without an explanation. 

“I just wished to say that I was sorry,” Y/N said, watching as Alicent’s eyes began to water at his words. “I was saddened to hear about the passing of your mother, she was a lovely lady and she loved you very much.” 

Alicent nodded. “Thank you.” 

“That was all,” Y/N said, beginning to walk toward the door. Alicent reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. She was weeping openly now, tears running down her already red cheeks. Unsure of what to do, Y/N wrapped his arms around the crying girl, rubbing soothing circles into her back as she wept. 

“Thank you.” Alicent kept repeating. “Thank you.” 

“Are you in Kingslanding for long, Ser Y/N?” Alicent asked, bringing Y/N back to the present. 

Y/N nodded, “For as long as I am welcome.” 

Alicent looked shy as she spoke her next words, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “You may find that you are very welcome.”

Alicent hadn’t lied to him when she told him he would find himself welcome at Kingslanding. 

In the past months since Queen Aemma’s funeral Y/N has not found himself without the company of the youngest Hightower, and where came Alicent came Princess Rhaenyra much to Tyland and Jason’s delight. 

“She is almost of age.” Jason had remarked over dinner one evening, causing his youngest brother to roll his eyes. “Perhaps the King will see her closeness with you and bring that into his consideration.” 

Y/N had attempted to squash the ambitious ideas that had taken root in his elder brothers’ minds but the two had ignored the man’s protests in favor of their own delusions. Y/N had no ambition for marriage at this point in his life, and even if he did he would not be eyeing the hand of the heir to the throne. 

But despite his brothers’ ambitions Y/N had found himself enjoying his time in Kingslanding, especially his time with the Lady Alicent. He had forgotten what joy the girls company had been during his youth, and now that the both of them had matured throughout the years he found himself enjoying their time together even more. 

“Y/N!” Alicent would shout anytime she spotted the young knight in a crowd, picking up the tops of her dress so that she could hurry along to his side without fear of tripping. She would immediately loop their arms together, pressing so close to his side that he could feel the warmth of her skin through his jerkin. 

“What are your plans for today?” She would ask every day, and everyday Y/N would respond with- 

“Whatever your plans are my lady.” And every day Alicent would flush, and duck her head like the maiden he knew her to be. 

They would spend their morns walking through the halls of the Red Keep after breaking their fast, sadly separately as Alicent’s father took up the same amount of her time as Y/N’s elder brothers. By the time noon rolled around Alicent, Y/N, and often time Rhaenyra would make their way to the Godswood and sit in the sun reading the books their Septa had assigned. 

When Alicent was occupied with her lessons Y/N would find himself in the yard, training as a knight of his standing was expected to do. But he oftentimes found it draining and lackluster, something that confused him as before his journey to Kingslanding he relished in the feeling a sword in his hand would give him. But now he found his thoughts straying far from the yard and toward a certain maiden with auburn hair. 

Lately, their days have been plagued with silence and forlorn looks off into the distance. Y/N had tried to broach the subject with Alicent multiple times and each time the girl had just brushed him off and given him a fake smile to placate his worries. 

Now, he found himself walking back to his chambers alone his thoughts filled with worry for the young maiden. The door hadn’t closed behind him before he was stripping down to his breeches and tossing his dirty clothes onto the floor. 

“Oh.” He heard someone gasp behind him causing him to whip around. He hadn’t heard the doors open behind him or an announcement of the newcomer, and when he saw who it was he realized why. 

“Alicent.” He breathed, rushing to find something to cover himself with. The girl ducked her head, face turning crimson with a fury. 

“I apologize,” She said, turning around. “If I had known I would have announced myself.” 

Y/N grabbed his discarded clothing, quickly redressing himself before turning back to face Alicent. “It is not your fault, you could not have known.” 

Alicent was silent when she turned back around, looking everywhere but at Y/N’s eyes. Y/N waited for the girl to speak, to explain her sudden presence in his bedchambers, but she did not. So instead, Y/N cleared his throat and asked, “Not that you’re not welcome, Alicent, but is there a reason for your presence?” 

“I wished to speak to you about something,” Alicent said, suddenly sobering. “Can we sit?” 

Y/N navigated her toward the bed, letting her sit atop it before taking a seat in the chair across from her. As soon as he saw her atop her bed, he realized just how horrible this would be for the both of them if anyone else were to waltz into his chambers unannounced and find her here unsupervised. 

“I fear King Viserys is going to ask for my hand in marriage.” Y/N blinked at her words, his mouth falling agape. 

“What?” 

“My father wishes for me to marry the King,” Alicent explained. 

“And you think that the King will heed your father’s wishes?” 

“He has before.” Alicent said, eyes watering as she continued to speak. “And he needs more heirs.” 

“I don’t understand what you wish me to do about that, Alicent,” Y/N said, taking her hands in his. He wished to ease this burden from her shoulders, but if the King wished for her hand in marriage then nothing Ser Y/N third son of House Lannister could say would change his mind. 

“We could marry.” Alicent whispers so quietly that Y/N almost doesn't hear her. But he did, and the statement changed his life. 

He had not thought of marrying Alicent before this very moment, content in their friendship, but as soon as the thought was implanted in his head he realized he would love nothing more. His brothers had pushed Y/N to pursue Rhaenyra and in his haste to quell their ambitions, he didn’t realize what was right in front of him the entire time. 

But, “If the King wishes for your hand nothing me or my brothers say will change his mind.” 

Their friendship would build a strong marriage, maybe even one born out of love and not honor, and Alicent was a beautiful woman even Y/N had noticed that in their months together. He was so stuck in his thoughts of what a future with the girl would look like that he almost missed her next statement. 

“Not if I was a maiden.” 

“What?” Y/N stuttered. 

“If you-” She flushed as if simply speaking the words would make her plan come true. “If I were no longer a maiden King Viserys would not look so favorably upon me, and we would be forced to marry.” 

“We would only be forced to marry if it was I who took your maidenhood.” 

She ducked her head, and her wish registered in Y/N’s mind as he took in the way her cheeks darkened even further. “Oh.” 

“It was silly, forget-” She did not finish her sentence before Y/N was pressing his lips to hers. She gasped, grabbing onto his face and turning the chaste kiss into something deeper. 

Y/N pulled away from her, taking in her flushed appearance. If he did not stop himself now, nothing short of the entire Kingsgaurd would pull him off of her. “Is this what you truly want?” 

She nodded. 

“Are you sure?” He asked again, he would not do this unless it was what she truly desired. As much as this conversation had kickstarted a fantasy of his he did not even realize he had, and as much as he now wished to make her his wife and live his days with her by his side damn the consequences, he would not do this without her clear approval. 

She grabbed his face, gentle thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his cheekbones. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “I am sure.” 

They were married before the first week of summer.

[bi-yearning-02]

Can i request Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra daughter reader where reader finds Alicent crying and upset and comforts her and they end up fucking, viserys lives longer in this story so reader is of age

☆Alicent Hightower x Reader 🏰⋆｡°✩

Alicent Hightower x Fem!Rhaenyra’s Daughter Reader

Request: Yes

Warnings: Smut, pseudo-incest

Word Count: 2359

An: I made the reader bastardphobic so she and Alicent would have something in common + slight Viserys bashing cause he’s an easy target. Also I fear this isn't my best work but I wanted to get it done before I got on this plane I'm so sorry anon. And no title cause I couldn’t come up with one :<

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The halls of the Red Keep were suffocating. The stone walls that once held warmth now pressed in like a cage, trapping you in a place that had never felt like home. Not truly.

You had grown up watching your mother fight for a crown that should have been hers by right, but you had never been one for politics. If anything, you hated the crown for how it affected you. As the third eldest, between Lucerys and Joffrey, you were never in the running for the throne. Because of this, you had watched your brothers be doted upon by your grandsire while you were met with indifference. Viserys had always claimed to love his family, yet his love was selective—reserved for Rhaenyra when it suited him, for her sons—not your brothers. It was obvious that those three bastards weren’t fully your kin; they lacked the Velaryon look, which made you even more bitter.

You were an afterthought.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Dinner had been a disaster.

It had begun with good intentions. A rare gathering between the two sides of the royal family, with Viserys at the head of the table, sick but determined to keep the peace. Your mother sat to one side of him, her sons(you refused to call them your brothers) at her side, while Queen Alicent and her children sat on the other. And you? You had been placed awkwardly between them, the unacknowledged daughter, a silent observer.

At first, Viserys made an effort to speak to everyone, offering smiles and words of affection. But as the evening wore on, it became painfully obvious where his heart lay.

He toasted about your mother first, calling her his “beloved daughter” with a voice thick with emotion. He praised her strength, her wisdom. Then he turned to Jace, to Luke, even to little Joffrey, his eyes bright with pride. He called them the future of the realm, their mother’s legacy. You grinded your teeth

But when it came time to acknowledge Alicent’s children—his flesh and blood—he hesitated. Aegon received a passing remark, Aemond was barely acknowledged, and Helaena was forgotten altogether.

And you? You were not even worth a glance.

You had expected it. But Alicent had not.

You could see the way her fingers curled against the tablecloth, knuckles white with tension. The way her lips pressed together, there was a flicker of pain in her eyes. But the look disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by a carefully schooled expression.

Viserys did not love her children the way he loved Rhaenyra’s. The same way he did not care for you as he did those bastards.

By the time the meal had ended, Alicent excused herself, her composure was barely intact. No one else seemed to notice—no one except you.

Which was how you found yourself here now, in the dim lighting of the sept, watching as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sat hunched before the altar, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

You maybe should have left her alone. Instead, you stepped forward, your voice low.

“He doesn’t see you either, does he?”

Alicent sucked in a sharp breath and turned, her eyes red-rimmed.

“Princess,” she said, her voice raw. “You should not be here at this hour.”

“I could say the same to you.”

She looked away, fingers clutching at the folds of her dress. “It is not seemly for a queen to cry.”

“Perhaps,” you agreed, stepping closer. “But it is not kingly for a husband to shun his wife and children either”

Her breath hitched.

Without asking, you sat beside her, just as you had before. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken. You let it.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I have done everything for him. I have given him sons, ruled in his absence, and upheld his peace. And still, he…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“He loves my mother more.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Alicent exhaled sharply as if struck. “Yes,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “I expected it, yes, but I did not know that he would make it so… apparent.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, carefully, you reached for her Gran hand. It was cold beneath your touch, tense with grief.

“I understand how you feel,” you murmured. “He ignores me for my mother's sons.”

“Your mother's sons,” Alicent said “Your brothers?”

“No, her sons” you corrected

Alicent nodded, the weight of it unspoken but understood.

You bumped your shoulder against hers in a quiet gesture of comfort. “He’s a fool for ignoring you. I think you’re quite the catch.”

“Do not call your grandfather a fool,” Alicent chided, but her tone was lighter than before, and there was the faintest smile on her lips.

Perhaps, for the first time in both your lives, neither of you were alone.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

After that night in the sept, something seemed to shift.

It was subtle—fleeting glances across the dining hall, hushed conversations in the gardens where no one could overhear. You began spending more time with your step-grandmother than with your own mother. You told yourself it was all to spite Viserys. If he would not be there for either of you, then you would be there for each other. You began to favor your uncles and aunt over your supposed ‘brothers’

Every lingering look, every quiet moment spent in Alicent’s company was just another way to claim what Viserys never gave you. He did not notice, of course. And neither did Rhaenyra, too busy with preserving her image in a realm that did not want her on the throne.

But that excuse grew harder to believe with each passing day.

The Queen had always been a picture of restraint, bound by her duties and devotion. But with you, she was something else—unguarded and sometimes even tender.

It was late one evening when she was the one to seek you out. Usually, it was the other way around.

You were seated by the fire, staring at the flames, when she slipped inside your chambers without a word. The door shut with a soft click.

You turned to her, unsurprised by her entrance. “Another difficult night?” you asked, watching as she hesitated by the threshold.

She exhaled, nodding. “Aegon went out into the city again. Aemond is…being Aemond. And Helaena” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “She isn’t speaking again. And the King doesn’t care about any of it.”

Your lips curled into something bitter. “As expected.”

A silence settled between you, thick with tension.

“Maybe you should not be too harsh on him,” you said “After all his old age is getting the best of him, soon he will forget about my mother and her bastards too” You were trying to get her to smile but she didn’t 

Then, slowly, Alicent stepped closer. “You are not like your brothers,” she murmured, almost to herself. 

You snorted “Of course not I have my Valyrian hair and they have Ser Strong’s features”

She shook her head. “Yes, but you are sharper. You see things they do not.”

You grew silent, watching her carefully. “And what is it that you see, my Queen?”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, in a move so hesitant yet deliberate, she reached out, brushing her fingers along your wrist. It was such a small thing, a ghost of a touch, yet it sent something molten curling in your gut.

She should not be here.

You should not want her to stay.

But neither of you moved away. It was inevitable, really.

Instead, you reached up, your fingers tracing the soft skin of her wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath. “This is a dangerous thing ,” you murmured.

“Yes,” she whispered, but she did not pull away.

You could have ended it then. You could have laughed, let go, pretended none of this had ever happened.

But instead, you lifted her hand to your lips, pressing the faintest kiss to her fingertips.

Alicent inhaled sharply. “This is madness,” she said, but her voice was trembling, her body swaying ever so slightly toward yours.

Your lips curled. “Then tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

And that was answer enough.

When you pressed your lips against hers, she didn’t pull away, but she was awfully stiff, so you pulled back.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“No, no,” Alicent cut you off. “It’s just that…” She sighed and trailed off. How was she supposed to explain that, as a 30-year-old woman who had been married for 15 years, she had little experience with kissing or lovemaking beyond simply lying there and taking it?

“It’s okay,” you said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll go slow.”

You kissed again, and you led her toward your bed. Despite your promise to take things slow, you couldn’t help but slip your tongue into her mouth when she moaned. As she fell back onto the bed, her fingers dug into your shoulders, pulling you down with her.

You took your time, pressing kisses along her jaw, neck, and shoulders. The low neckline of her dress granted easy access. Your fingers traced the intricate designs of her bodice before reaching for the lace at the back, the delicate ties holding it all together. You paused, looking up at her for confirmation.

“Yes.”

That was all you needed. You tugged at the laces, and the dress fell apart surprisingly easily. More of her skin was revealed, and you eagerly returned to kissing her skin. You pulled her dress off leaving her in her shift but you discarded that as well.

You had to keep yourself from letting out an embarrassing moan as her body was revealed to you. Alicent's breasts were full and round, she had slight weight to her due to her multiple pregnancies, and her thighs were thick and shapely but you couldn’t keep your eyes from the auburn bush in between her legs, she was exquisite.

Your mouth latched onto her breast sucking and teething on them as if you were a babe. Hands flew to your hair as you did so “Ah—” Alicent tugged on your hair but that only encouraged you. As you sucked on one breast you fondled the other, you switched back and forth between sucking and fondling her breast never staying on one for too long.

You looked up at Alicent to see that her head was tilted back, her eyes were closed, and she was red in the face. She tugged on your hair again to get you to continue. “Please…” you obeyed.

You dragged your tongue down Alicent’s stomach which caused her to shiver “You seemed quite experienced in these sorts of things princess” she said in an almost accusatory tone

You chuckled, slightly nervous. You may or may not have snuck out into the slimier side of the city a few times, sometimes with Aegon. “I assure you, grandmother, I am untouched and my maidenhead is still intact. But do you have any right to judge, considering our current situation?”

Alicent pushed your head down, her face was even more red “Do not call me that while we are like this…please”

You smiled as you kissed your way down her stomach, licking at a stretch mark on the way before reaching where Alicent really needed you.

You gave her cunt an experimental lick, she tasted salty and a bit tangy but you liked it. You gave a few more catlicks before diving in completely. You found the hard point of Alicent’s clit and began to lap at it with the flat of your tongue.

“Oh—oh” Alicent whined “Oh gods!”

That spurred you on, the pious Alicent Hightower calling out the Lord's name in vain because of you? You kept going, swirling your tongue and sucking on her cilt. Alicent’s hips bucked but you kept them down forcing her to take it. The queen’s legs clamped around your head, you could barely breathe but you would be happy to die like this

It didn't take much longer, after you gave her a hard suck on her clit Alicent came apart with loud noises. You were afraid a guard would hear and enter the room, so when you pulled away, you quickly kissed her to silence her.

As Alicent trembled beneath you, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps, you traced your fingers along her flushed skin, grounding her back to reality. You had expected her to push you away now that the haze of pleasure had cleared, but instead, she clung to you, her hands fisting the fabric of your nightgown as though afraid you might vanish.

“I should not have done that,” she murmured against your lips, but she did not move away.

You smiled, brushing a damp strand of auburn hair from her flushed face. “And yet, here we are.”

She swallowed hard, her green eyes dark with something unreadable. Guilt, perhaps. Longing. 

“Will you regret it?” you asked, voice softer now. “Come morning, will you pretend this never happened?” Will you ignore me like the king does now?

Alicent exhaled shakily, her fingers tracing the bare skin of your arm in absent patterns. “I do not know,” she admitted. “I have spent my life doing what is right, what is expected. But with you, I…” She trailed off, eyes searching yours.

You did not press her for more. Instead, you kissed her—soft and slow, without urgency. A promise rather than a demand.

“You do not have to decide tonight,” you whispered against her lips. “But when you do, know that I will not let you go so easily.”

A shiver ran through her, though not from cold.

As the embers in the hearth started to die down, you held her close, the weight of duty and consequence momentarily forgotten in the quiet safety of your chambers. Whatever tomorrow brought—whether she chose to embrace this or push you away—you would not regret this night.

And judging by the way Alicent’s fingers remained laced with yours, neither would she

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An: I still think I’m pretty awful at writing smut but I’ll never get better unless a try!

[bi-yearning-02]

Choose a side.

Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!reader

Summary: You've always loved Alicent. When she comes back to plead with Rhaenyra, you can't deny getting to see her- even if it's for the last time. Takes place during S2E8.

Warnings: making out, alluding to sex, unhappy marriages, alicent angst

A/n: this is such a big day for me. My very first wlw!!!! (I got a prompt idea from this post that inspired all this!) Bold italics means a flashback

Masterlist

........................................................

"Nyra?" Your tired voice carried through the hall.

Rhaenyra's head slowly lulled to the side to see you enter her solar. "Go back to bed, sister," she chided.

But when your eyes set on Alicent, your Alicent, you couldn't dare to think of sleep again.

Your sister caught that look immediately and played middleman, approached you with her jaw set. "Go back to bed as I instructed."

"Nyra," you whispered. "Have mercy. Please."

She scoffed. "When I have mercy, they plead for none. And when I am through with said mercy," she paused as she looked you over, "you beg."

"This is Alicent!" You plead, your voice rising and your tone shifting to something more desperate.

"Enough," she snarled. "Do as I said."

Any hope for remorse in your sister's heart is shattered in yours. You give her a final look, then your eyes drift over her shoulder to see Alicent's doe eyes peering up at you.

Nyra shifted to the side to catch your eyes again. "Go!"

With a shaky huff, you gather the fabric of your nightgown and stormed out.

…

In all honesty, you had hidden yourself away in the corridors, awaiting what became of the redhead you once thought you loved.

You didn't think you could forgive Nyra if she killed her.

Sat against a pillar like a child, you sat and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was something in Alicent's eyes that hadn't been there in years. Peace, maybe. Or clarity. You were unsure.

It made you remember how much you loved her before.

The sound of cheers and clashing of metal filled your ears as you remembered the day you realized it.

Jousting had always been a harsh sport to you. It was entertaining, yes. But bloody and cruel. Somehow exciting and enlightening.

And when your brother was being birthed in the Keep, you sat by Nyra and Alicent to watch this tourney unfold.

Being Rhaenyra's younger sister had its perks and disadvantages. Being less judged for doing unbecoming things was a bit of both. Nyra was always jealous of that. Being the heir was taxing at times. But you? You could be a free spirit, riding your dragon until the sunset. No lectures from father for it. Not that you ever did wild things, but it didn't stop your sister from dreaming.

The cheers rose as you snapped to. Your uncle, Daemon, set out on his horse to choose his opponent. 

The kingdom loved Daemon. 

"Hard to see him as this tough warrior," you grinned as you leaned over to Alicent. "He snuck a whole plate of biscuits from the kitchens last night for us to share."

As she giggled alongside you, you remembered, "There's still some in my room if you… wanted to have tea or something soon."

Her laugh stopped, replaced by a smile. "I would like that very much."

The two of you didn't look away until you had to.

"… Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown!"

Both of your heads snapped to the scene before you. He'd picked Gwayne. He'd picked Alicent's brother. Whether it was to spite his brother or to spite the Hand, or perhaps all of it, you weren't sure.

As the two horses circled one another for a moment, Gwayne hesitated.

Then he rode out in front of the royal family. 

In front of you.

"I'd be honored," he spoke carefully, "to receive the favor of the Princess Y/n."

You froze. Why w- 

You saw Alicent's head turned back towards your fathers, but no words were spoken. 

On shaky legs you stood, approaching the railing with your favor. You'd made it yourself last night, just in case. Seems luck was on your side. Or not.

Your favor slid down his lance until it reached the vamplate and rested on it. The knight's helmet tilted down at it, then back up to you before bowing his head and riding to his first position. 

As you sat down, you overheard your father's words. "…a fine match for the future."

And judging by the way Alicent's face was white and Nyra was holding back a clear grin, you knew exactly what was happening.

You didn't want Gwayne. He was your friend's older brother. He was… he just wasn't what you imagined for your life.

And yet-

Footsteps take you out of your daydreams. Nyra's.

"What are you doing still awake at this hour?" Her voice asked you softly.

"You know what I am doing."

She nodded, folding her arms over her chest. "Alicent is leaving. I'm sending her back."

"What?"

"She is choosing a side, as am I. I need you to choose as well."

You sighed, your head knocking against the pillar harsher than you intended. "I have a husband. He is off fighting on the other side-"

"-That does not mean you've chosen a side, sister." She bent down to your level. "I see where your physically body is, sure. But your heart, your loyalty in your heart, that is far greater. And I must know where it lies. Or," she shrugged, "with whom it lies."

The silence settles between you two. Torn apart by choices that neither of you made.

"I do not know what to do," you admitted. "My heart wants it all to be as it was. Like back then. But my mind, it… it knows you were usurped, Nyra. And as much as I wish to love them all, our brothers and sister. Our niece. And Alicent. I know I cannot."

"Then we are in quite the same situation, you and I. I loved our lives. But we were children." She brushed some hair back from your face. "We're not children anymore, sister. And neither are they."

"I know," you whimper, an onslaught of tears threatening to show.

"You married for duty. As did I. Aren't you tired of it all?"

A sniffle and a nod.

"Let's get you up." Her hands wrap around your biceps and help you to your feet. "Alicent is waiting to say her goodbyes." She kisses the top of your head. "Be wise."

…

When Gwayne was knocked off his horse that day at the tourney, Alicent's hand found yours.

It always found yours.

"Alicent, have you ever kissed someone?" You asked one day, deciding to come out and ask.

Her face turned a dark shade of red. "No, wh-"

"-Was only curious." 

The two of you sat in garden, alone as you two often did. You studied while she read. Or more often, she stitched while you swung on the swing you begged father for.

She accepted that answer. "Suppose when we have husbands, we'll find out what it's like."

"Can't imagine it's nice," you huff. "Not with old men you don't love. Nothing is nice about that."

"Well, perhaps you'll find a younger man. One you truly love."

You sat up completely and glared. "Like who? Your brother?"

She flushed. "You know that's not what I meant."

"But you said it."

"Just… don't give up on him immediately if you become betrothed. He is kind. A bit snarky, but kind all the same."

You scoot closer with intention, your voice growing more serious and stern. "I hold your family in high esteem. But I will never love your brother."

She lets out a breath and it fans across your face. The two of you just then realize how close you are. 

And how her eyes are glued to your lips.

"Perhaps I've wondered how it felt as well," she admitted softly. A meek confession for one you to hear.

"Cou-" Your words stick in your throat before you can decide what to ask.

She leans a little closer. "Perhaps just to know what it's like. For the future."

…

As you enter back into the solar, your met once again with Alicent's wide eyes staring at you. The brown sparkles in the dim light of the candles. 

She's picking at her nails. "Princess." There's a formality to the dark timbre of her voice. Still, as her world falls apart, she's remaining as the fake facade she created. Proud Alicent until her dying breath. "I am sure you've heard that I am departing as s-"

"-Alicent," you breathe out like an answered prayer. "How are you?"

Her lips falter. All the formality fades quickly. "I…" She licks her bottom lip. "I do not know."

The sad reality of it brings a twisted smile to you. "I understand what you mean." You push yourself further into the room. But you don't go to her immediately like you want to. You roam the shelves of your family's history. Your fingers brush over the wood holding the scrolls. "Have you come to boast or to apologize?"

"Apologize," she answers quickly.

"To Nyra?" Your head slowly turns. "Or to me?"

She pulled her cloak closer to her frame. "I was not sure that I would see you. My brother said that you have not written back to him. He feared you were imprisoned or… worse."

That made you scoff. You had decided to go back with Nyra to Dragonstone to return her children. She was due with a sixth child at any moment, and you would do anything to be by her side.

And now? That baby was gone. And so was the innocence the two of you once had for 'princess' like things.

A part of you regretted never writing back to Gwayne when the war broke out. With you two separated on each side, communication was… not ideal. 

But it's not like you loved one another. It was a transaction. A duty.

And if being Green meant remaining in meaningless duty… you'd claim the Black's side until its color invaded your heart.

"Well, you may tell him that I am alive and well. My sister is not cruel and unjust," you bite. You had an idea of what they screamed of her in King's Landing. Babe killer.

There's much more you wish to point out. But you refrain from it.

"She does not want this war. And neither do I," the redhead explained. "And what of you?"

"What of me?" You huff.

"What do you want?" She asked in a raising voice. 

"What do I-" you pause, contemplating how honest to be to your friend- your enemy- your… "I just want happiness for my sister."

She takes her time to respond. "I understand that. I want the same for my daughter." That's when she moves towards you. "If you always loved me as I adored you-"

"Alicent, please," you beg. Your eyes were watery, the blur of it making it hard to see her. But you didn't need to see her to know her reaction. You knew her like the back of your hand.

"I promise you, I meant every word-"

"Alicent!" You yell. Your voice shakes and rattles you from the inside out. You'd always been mild-tempered. But she'd brought out the last of your sanity. As you breathe in, it catches, and all the strength you just had is lost. "I swear, if you say you love me right now, I will never forgive you."

Her doe eyes stare back, equally shaken and hurt. "I…" she doesn't know what to say. Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth as she looks anywhere but in your eyes. 

Right when you think your frustration is worth taking back, she slowly drops to her knees in front of you. 

Alicent. On her knees.

You suck in a breath and step back.

Her body folds in on itself, her beautiful hair that you've come to adore is laid on the dirty floor and you want to curse for being the cause of it. But her face is a foot from your legs as she begins to beg. "Please, forgive me. I was… I was wrong. Please let me make it up to you."

…

"Please wait!" She calls after you. But you were far from listening.

Your father. And Her. All this time, she had been… seducing your father? 

"Please let me explain!" 

"EXPLAIN WHAT?! Explain that you've spent your days with me and your nights with him? No. I'll hear none of it."

"If you only-" she sniffles and pulls herself together. "My father- he- I did not do this to become queen. Please believe me. You've always been my friend." 

When you don't respond, she gives a last attempt. "I love you."

Her hand reaches out, but you step away from it. 

"Your heart is far too guarded, Alicent Hightower. No one could scale the walls you've built around it. Not even you. So, do not speak to me of love. You know nothing of it," you spit.

…

"Please let me make it up to you."

Alicent before you like this. To have her so near. It almost made you want to forgive her. Almost.

But then you thought of your sister. Of Luke. Of every fault that had happened around Alicent. All the things she was complicit in. You couldn't forgive that.

You tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at you from her place on the ground. Your thumb rubs over her cheek soothingly. You'd done the same thing before. In the garden.

She seems to remember too and she leans into your palm.

"You could not beg enough, Alicent, for what you've done to me," you whisper.

"Please let me try."

And before you could think, you joined her on the ground. Your knees brushed against hers you were so close.

Your eyes looked into hers. Still so guarded were those brown orbs. But slowly, your Alicent was breaking through.

"What would you do?" You asked.

"Anything," she admits.

Her confession manages to move you. Her breath against your face. Her warmth radiating in waves. Her hair glowing like a halo in the candlelight. Her eyes staring at you-

You kissed her.

It was soft at first. A temptation. A mere brush to see if she meant what she said.

Then… she kissed back.

The feeling was all too familiar. And yet long enough from the last time to have to reheat the feeling in your stomach. 

She grew desperate, as did you. Her lips were clashing against yours, begging for anything you'd give her. And you'd give it to her. You'd give her anything she asked for. 

You buried your hands in that beautiful hair. Those locks that you used to brush your fingers through.

Her hands moved up your hips, moving upwards until she brushed over your breast.

You squeaked and pulled away in a pant. "Eno-enough."

She reared back immediately at your words. She feared for rejection, even though she knew deep down that you wouldn't.

"It's… it may never be enough to forgive you," you admit in frustration. You couldn't think of a single thing to convince you to truly forgive her. The scar on your sister's arm would remain forever. The death of your nephew was forever. This usurped throne… it would be marked forever. 

"Then perhaps I may never earn it," she accepted. "Do not deny me then of this. Just this one night. Hate me in the morning but do not- do not hate me just for the night."

Her hand brushed over yours.

"Will Rhaenyra enter here again any time soon?" She asked.

"She's gone to bed."

Your hand brushes over the neckline of your nightgown, pulling the sleeve over your shoulder. 

You knew you'd never deny Alicent. She'd always have your heart.

..............................................................