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myownwholewildworld · 3 days

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acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

“I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?�� His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

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ganondoodle · 2 days

Text

okay i typed this in a reply but i need to say this more detailed here too, the way totk dealt with horses (and stables) is bad and worse than botw imo (yes i can rant about that too, these weird choices are in every little spot in totk, its almost impressive)

in a game that lets you build cars and stupid flying maschines, towers that shoot you into the stratosphere AND teleporting points all over the place, the chance is already low that you use a horse- though i would be one of them bc i love horses and hate building and didnt find it fun at all-

(also i almost never used any parts i had with me bc you cant put them back and your dumb vehicles despawn as soon as you dont look at them- also a negative thing about that system that reinforces the feeling of actually using it being more punishing than rewarding with the added bonus of the good ol saving your health potions forever problem)

-and something i DID like was that you can have more horses and the ... one.. new color (the lil spots but only AFTER you do that one quest in the spy post)

the stable points seemed like a neat idea, but like so many things, are utterly cheatable, imo the system should have only given you a point when you visit a new stable, so you actually have to go around and visit them all

(also .. add new stables, like mini ones or sth that dont offer beds- you dont need that anyway- so you have more places in which you can get them ... why did they remove some of them anyway, shouldn there be MORE now that the land is supposedly healing/being repaired? especially the one next to the big canyon, its so empty there it would have the perfect place for sth like a new settlement or a big boss arena but no its more empty than it was before, why?? and then putting yet another repeating annoying quest there in that weirld empty place?? i just dont get it)

letting you farm points by sleeping at a stable or bringing in a horse gives you LESS incentive to actually go around the world bc you can just farm it there

(and if that was done so youd 'discover' the malanya talks to you in your sleep 'secret' ... that is literally told to you, and if its bc you dont want to force players to go around and find every stable to get all those rewards ... why do you have 140 or whatver caves then with the majority of them being the literal same thing over and over ... to make people actually use the sleeping thing there? .. why, who uses that anyway, and farming points by sleeping there .. what the hell does that add? AND THEN the stupid sleep over tickets, probably the most nothign reward ever, dont count?? i dont think i ever used one- it just all doesnt make any sense, everything plays against each other)

the upgrading system for your horse is .. once again, a neat idea horribly executed, you have to go find malanya to upgrade them, and similarly stupidly like the fairies, they only tell you what food you need for what upgrade when you are there .. or when you are sleeping in the special tm bed at a stable, randomly, one food, bc the quantity changes too

which is just so ??????????? let me go and do a quest that rewards you with a lil booklet in which you can look up what an upgrade costs, or let the stables have that, either as a list or in the menu when selecting a horse or something?? (also why the hell is malanya in a different spot anyway, like, it feels like a modder just plopped them over there, their og spot is just empty now - except for yet again a stupid filler quest for .. another big horse and a yaaaaaaaaays crystal shrine quest- ... the spot is even still called spring of the horse god .... its so stupid, just like the fairy shuffling around, like you really couldnt think of a better way to reuse that concept other than to ... move it to a different spot in the same map and map level???? and not change anything in their og spot except idk, put a hole in the map ... for one of them like .. its like they moved them around last minute just to have the semblance of things being 'changed' with no regard what makes a change actually feel like one and what just feels like, pick up thing, click on random spot on map, drop thing- its like that for the fairies and shrines too, its so dumb and .. feels disrepectful to botw and how much thought seemed to have went into these spots that were clearly built about those things)

and like it couldnt get WORSE, they cut off the paths that horses follow automatically with one of those miasma buttholes (sorry its just a hole cut into the map, it doesnt even look like miasma burst through, it just .. cut out) a monster camp (that RESPAWNS, i thought those camps you clear with a quest would stay clear, but that would make sense, so of course it respawns and you can do the frame rate killer quest over and over yippieee) or otherwise like, with a big rock or a broken bridge-

and there is NO WAY to create a new path or fix or move anything in a game ABOUT BUILDING supposedly, like you needed more reasons to never use a horse????? i liked jsut hopping on and letting them follow a path and chill looking at the landscape, you cant do this here, and you cant even excuse it with 'its bc of the theme' as in, stuff is destroyed bc calamity 1.5 or whatever bc nothing in the game makes it feel like theres anything actually at stake, but the real crime is to make it not be fixable. WHY??? link moves entire buildings with ease but cant move one freaking rock that fell into a river?????? you swing around logs like a club but cant fix a bridge so your horse can get over it??????????????????????????????

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #ganondoodles rants #totk critical #i know i know its long #and you may wonder how i can find things to rant about yet #and i swaer im not trying to find thigns to hate #but igven how much it reuses from botw #imporvement or at least meaningful change should be the minimum and they just ......dont .... again #like WHY this is so dumb.................#the more i try to get my feelings into coherent thoughts about this game the more i realize just how rushed it feels #even the detail or side mechanics either dont make sense #or have some sort of way to cheat around way too obviously to be something overlooked #or are poorly integrated #or cheapen antoehr function #like these problems are everywhere #and the longer you look at it the cheaper it looks #even if you love the game and dont mind it or whatever there is NO WAY to justify that price tag #and so wish they were honest about what happend #it cant just all be covid can it? theres so much wrong in every part except for sound and music #and so desperately want to know WHY #........ i just wanted more horse colors- more horse slots- and a lil pasture somewhere where i can see them all frolicking around #i feel like thats not too much to ask

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gingiesworld · 15 hours

Text

Queen Of My Heart

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Bittersweet Ending, Arranged Marriage. Death

18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.8K+

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Wanda Maximoff was everyone’s dream girl, the woman who had the most beautiful eyes, a smile that could brighten even the darkest of days, and a kind heart. Every man wanted her to be their wife, leaving many suitors to keep approaching her father about her hand in marriage.

“There’s another one.” Pietro groaned as he joined Wanda behind the counter of the Apothecary that their parents had owned.

“Why can’t they all just leave me be.” Wanda sighed as Pietro shrugged. “I don’t want to be with any of them, and it’s stupid to think that asking father would help them.”

“I’m sorry, Wanda, but that’s just how it is. No one truly marries for love, they never have.” Pietro told her.

“But that is what I want, I want a partner who makes me smile so effortlessly, I want a connection that isn’t forced, it just flows naturally.” She told him as she organised some of the jars on the shelf, dusting them as she went along. “I want to be with someone who I see a future with, not just for financial gains. Someone who wouldn’t care what we had or didn’t have, I just want that type of love that makes everything in the world seem so superfluous.”

“You mean what you have with Y/N?” He questioned, earning a slap on the arm.

“Shush. Father can’t find out.” Wanda whispered. “He will kill both of us, but yes. I just want to be able to live with them on some farm and grow old with them.”

“Wanda, your mother needs your help in the kitchen.” Mr Maximoff approached the twins, a smile on his face. “We have guests coming over tonight, and a possible suitor for you.”

“Father, I don’t.” Wanda tried only to get cut off by him.

“I don’t care if you want this or not. This is what’s best for this family and your future family.” He told her firmly. “You need to learn to remember your place.” He told her before he left the shop.

“I guess this is it.” Wanda sighed as she gave Pietro the rag. “My life and dreams are officially over.”

“They aren’t.” Pietro tried as Wanda just shook her head before she disappeared towards the kitchen to help her mother.

“I’ve already laid out your best dress.” Mrs Maximoff beamed as she prepared the dough for her bread. “This is so exhilarating, you’re going to be a wife.”

“I don’t want to be a wife.” Wanda told her honestly. “Besides, I don’t know this man either.”

“I didn’t know your father, but I can’t say that I was against marrying him when he asked your grandparents.” Her mother spoke. “But, I can say that over the time I have spent with him, I learned to love him and we then had you and your brother.”

“I don’t want to learn to love. I want it to be natural, just feel it without even spending an unknown amount of uncomfortable time with someone who is only going to help keep father’s business afloat.” Wanda told her honestly.

“There isn’t a choice in this Wanda.” Mrs Maximoff spoke angrily. “You are a woman, this is your womanly duty to provide for a husband and build a family with him.” Wanda sighed and gave up fighting against her mother, knowing she won’t exactly see the situation as Wanda does.

The night soon fell, the Starks were a well respected family in the Westview, Mr and Mrs Stark had two children, Jarvis and Morgan Stark. Given there is a significant age gap between the two siblings, they both remained close. Jarvis being the protective older brother that his sister needed.

“Are you nervous, son?” Mr Stark asked as the carriage came to a stop before the Scarlet Apothecary.

“I am father.” He answered truthfully, having seen Wanda everyday since they were children, falling for her every time he saw her or heard her voice. He loved the sound of her laugh, although he hated that he was never the one who made her laugh. That only fueled his deep hatred for Y/N Rogers, the only one who has ever truly been extremely close to Wanda. Everyone in Westview saw both Wanda and Y/N as best friends, even one of the neighbors would joke saying that the two of them would fall in love and wed.

“It is going to be fine.” Mrs Stark reassured him, making him smile as they all left the carriage, the two gentlemen helping the ladies down the steps. “She would be stupid not to see such a fine man.”

As they approached Maximoff's residence, Wanda was too busy pacing her bedroom, soon moving as fast as she could when she heard her window open, locking her door before she saw Y/N climb inside.

“You know, you could always tell me you don’t need me anymore.” They smirked as Wanda sighed. “We had a date, and you never came and I got worried.” They told her truthfully.

“I’m sorry Y/N/N, but my father.” She tried before her eyes started to fill with tears. “He’s trying to marry me off to someone.”

“He can’t do that.” Y/N stepped closer to her, their arms soon wrapping around her, pulling her into their strong embrace. “That’s not.”

“He can do that.” Wanda sniffled. “It’s not like women have similar rights to men.”

“Well, you should.” They told her firmly. “Everyone is allowed to have the freedom of choice. It shouldn’t matter depending on your gender.”

“I just.” Wanda tried as Y/N ran their fingers through her brown locks.

“I will be here when you’re finished and I can hold you until you fall asleep.” They told her softly.

“But, what about your father?” She asked them, they just shrugged.

“I’m only going to be missing another talk on why I need to uphold the family name and join the military.” They told her, they gently kissed the top of her head before she left the room. As she approached the dining room, she could hear the voices of her father, Pietro and two other men, all of them laughing as the smell of whiskey and tobacco filled the air.

“Here she is.” Mr Maximoff beamed as she stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Wanda, dear, come on in and introduce yourself.”

“Hello.” She spoke quietly, doing a small curtsy before she caught sight of her twin's grin as he tried to hold in his laugh.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Wanda.” Mr Stark spoke as he took her hand in his, pressing a kiss upon her knuckles, she had to try to hide the uncomfortable feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. “Jarvis here has told his mother and myself an awful lot about you.”

“Jarvis?” She questioned as she looked at the tall man beside her twin. “I don’t think we have ever met, I’m sorry.”

“Wanda!” Mr Maximoff scolded her, causing her to flinch at the anger within his tone before Jarvis spoke up.

“It’s perfectly fine.” He told them both with a warm smile. “I know we have never uttered a single word to one another, but I have noticed you Wanda, I have noticed you everyday since you first moved here with your family.”

“Why have you never spoken to her?” Mr Stark questioned as Jarvis shrugged.

“Well, Y/N Rogers seems to always have her attention.” He answered as Mr Maximoff scoffed.

“I don’t care for that Rogers child.” He spoke bitterly. “They are just a military family, and soon enough Mr Rogers will have them shipped off into the next War and then who knows, we may never have to see them again.”

“Father.” Pietro stepped in, seeing how Mr Maximoff’s words had affected Wanda. “Y/N is an amazing friend and they have always been there for Wanda. Did you know they were also the one who had done all of my chores that time when I had broken my leg? I never asked them too, they noticed the amount of extra stress that you put on Wanda and they decided to help. They are always there for her when we are not.”

“Don’t you dare speak out of term to me, boy.” Mr Maximoff seethed as the sound of the slap had silenced the room. “You do not disrespect me in front of our guests, now get out of my sight.” With that, Pietro left the room in a hurry, holding his already bruising cheek.

“I’m going to check on my mother and dinner.” Wanda spoke quietly before she left the dining room. She had hoped that maybe some unfortunate circumstance would happen and they would cancel dinner, but just as she had entered the kitchen, her mother was already bringing out the food.

“We are going to feast like royalty tonight.” Mr Maximoff beamed as he took his seat at the head of the table, opposite Mr Stark. Everyone had soon settled in to take their seats, soon digging in and sharing small conversations.

“I know this may seem forward.” Jarvis spoke as he sat beside Wanda. “Would you like to accompany myself on a stroll through the park on Sunday, after church?”

“I don’t know, I have to help my mother with the shop.” Wanda tried as Mr Maximoff shook his head.

“I can help your mother, you should go on this date.” He told her sternly. “You may never find another fine young man like Jarvis again.” He turned to face Jarvis. “She will be there to accompany you, she will meet you at the park.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jarvis beamed, soon the rest of the evening passed by in a blur, Wanda soon finding herself helping her mother in the kitchen with the cleaning before they all had retired to their bedrooms.

“Hey.” Y/N whispered as Wanda entered her room. “How was it?” They asked as she sat on the edge of her bed after locking her door.

“Awful.” She sighed, running her hands over her face. “My father is all for it and what he said about you.” She stopped herself before she continued.

“I heard.” They told her. “Your father isn’t exactly tactful in trying to be silent about his distaste.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered as Y/N moved to sit beside her, wrapping their arms around her and pulling her into them.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, darling.” They told her, cupping her cheeks and wiping the tears that had threatened to fall. “I will always be here for you, however and whenever you need me.” Wanda looked into their eyes, seeing how the blue shone in the moonlight, she had always loved their eyes but seeing them in this lighting was something different, and she loved it. It was a sight she wanted to be able to see every night for the rest of her life. She soon leaned in and pressed her lips against theirs, their lips both moving in unison before she snapped back to reality.

“I’m so sorry.” She said as she moved away from them. “I didn’t.” She tried before Y/N cut her off, approaching her, taking her hands in theirs.

“It’s okay.” They gave her a soft smile. “Although, I have to be honest with you.” They sighed before continuing. “I have always wanted to kiss, I can’t quite recall in which moment I began to feel more for you, but I do.” Wanda shook her head in haste, pressing her fingers to their lips.

“Please don’t say it.” She whispered sadly. “As much as I want to hear you say it, I want it to feel amazing and in a moment that is special between the two of us, within a moment that solidifies that our union will be forever.” She moved her finger as she continued. “This isn’t that moment, if I hear you say those words I so desperately want to hear right now, it will shatter my already broken heart.”

“I’m sorry.” They told her before they stepped away from her slightly. “I uh, I should take my leave now.”

“Please stay.” Wanda pleaded as they moved towards her window. “I need you to hold me, just for tonight.” And that was indeed the start of the pair’s internal struggles. Y/N hated seeing Wanda accompanying Jarvis everywhere, ever since their stroll in the park, her father had urged her to go on more outings with her husband to be. She would even see as Y/N would pass her by in the street, her heart breaking little by little, just as theirs was breaking. Knowing that in this lifetime they will never have the life they had always dreamed about when they were just children.

“You can’t seriously think you can make a name for yourself with these knick knacks.” Mr Rogers scolded as he approached Y/N who was happily carving pieces for a new chess board.

“I don’t think that father.” They answered him. “This is merely something that brings me peace and tranquility.”

“I have arranged a meeting with my old Senior Officer.” He told them as he picked up a rook, looking at it between his fingers, a look of disdain on his face. “He will help with getting you set for joining the services.”

“I don’t.” Y/N told him, placing down their chisel and the King they were carving.

“I do not care what you do or don’t.” Mr Rogers seethed, throwing the rook far into the field before he gripped Y/N up to their feet by the scruff of their collar. “You have a family name to respect, we are a military family and you will follow the path that I have laid out for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Y/N spoke flatly, their eyes never leaving their father’s who then started to straighten out Y/N’s clothes.

“I will see you at supper.” He told them before he left, Y/N watching as he disappeared out of the field, not realizing that Wanda was approaching them.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” She questioned urgently as she approached them, watching as they soon turned to face her.

“I’m fine.” They grumbled as they sat back down in their spot, grabbing their tools to finish carving the King.

“I found this.” Wanda held out her hand, the rook in which Mr Rogers had just thrown.

“Thank you Wan.” They smiled at her, her own smile widening at the nickname she had missed so much. “How are things with Jarvis?” They asked her, an edge of bitterness in their tone.

“I don’t like him.” She told them honestly as she sat down beside them, watching as Y/N’s hands worked on the small wooden figurine. “I can see that he likes me, but I just, I don’t think I will ever like him in that way.”

“But, this is what your father wants for you and your family’s future.” Y/N reminded her as she just shook her head.

“My father only wants the financial benefactors that come with this arrangement, he couldn’t care less about the family.” Wanda told them, before she turned to watch their face as theY concentrated. “I just want to be able to be with the one person who I am truly in love with freely, without any judgment from my father.”

“And how do you suggest you do that?” Y/N questioned, their attention soon turning to her, their faces close as they could feel her breath on their lips.

“I don’t know.” Wanda whispered, her eyes flashing between both their eyes and their lips. That kiss they had both shared, never really left her mind since the night it happened. “I just, I know what I want, I know who I want but I just.”

“Have to live up to our parents' expectations of us.” Y/N finished for her, their faces had somehow moved closer, their noses brushing one another. “I understand that perfectly.” They whispered sadly. “I want nothing more than to be able to remain here, marry the one woman whom I have only ever seen within my future and start a family with her.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Wanda questioned, not anticipating Y/N rising to their feet and stepping away from her, creating some distance.

“I think you know exactly what is stopping me.” They told her, Wanda soon followed suit and stood before them, taking a slow step closer.

“I want to hear it from you.” She told them firmly. “I want you to tell me.” She watched as Y/N closed their eyes, clenching their fists as they gathered themselves before they moved towards Wanda, faster than she had anticipated, she was pushed up against the tree.

“Because you are marrying another, and I’m clearly not worthy of such love nor a future with you.” They told her sadly, Wanda’s hand reaching up to cup their face. “It’s you, Wanda. It’s always been you.” They confessed, both of their hearts beating rapidly before Wanda soon pressed her lips against theirs, kissing them with such passion as Y/N pushed their body up against her own. Wanda moaned at the feeling of their tongue slipping through her parted lips, Y/N’s hand gripping the fabric of her dress, trying to steady themselves, trying to fight the urges they had. “We should stop.” Y/N whispered, after finding the strength to pull away. “This is wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong.” Wanda whispered, Y/N’s head rested against hers as neither of them attempted to move away from the other. “This.” She held one of their hands in her own against her chest, allowing Y/N to feel how fast her heart was beating. “This is right, this is what it should be, but.”

“But you belong to another.” Y/N spoke sadly, their eyes glistening as they filled with tears.

“My heart is yours.” Wanda told them. “It doesn’t matter who I am with or wherever I am, my heart will always be yours. I’m just sorry that we couldn’t have the life we wanted in this lifetime.”

“I promise you that I will always find you in the lifetimes that shall follow this one.” Y/N told her confidently. “Maybe, in one of those lives, we will finally have our story written.”

“How can you be sure?” Wanda questioned, her eyes taking in Y/N’s for what she never knew would be the last time.

“My heart will beat as fast as it is now when it is in your presence.” They told her softly. “My heart will always know when it’s home. You are my home.” Wanda pressed a soft kiss to their lips before the two pulled away.

“But, what about now?” She asked them as they sighed.

“I want nothing more than to run away with you and start our story, but we both have our obligations here.” They reminded her. “You’re getting married, and Jarvis is a rather nice gentleman, he will look after you.”

“But, I want you.” Wanda tried, feeling disappointment as Y/N stepped away, feeling the loss of their warmth against her form.

“In the next life, we will have our happy ending.” They told her as they started to pick up their tools and chess carvings. “Besides, I have a family obligation I need to uphold.”

“Join the military and get yourself killed.” Wanda scoffed as Y/N sighed, observing Wanda as she wrapped her arms around herself, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“With every passing day we are dying, we are dying from the moment we were conceived.” Y/N told her. “It’s what we make of time we have that makes it count, and I can say that since the moment you came into my life, you made the sun shine brighter, the colours more vibrant than ever.” They continued before Wanda interrupted them.

“Don’t.” She spoke firmly, struggling to stop the emotions from falling through. “I am not going to say goodbye to you. I can’t ever say goodbye. Not to you.” She whispered as her tears slipped. “You aren’t leaving me. I won’t let you.” Y/N took a shaky breath before they approached her, only just within arms reach.

“We have to part ways, but I will always carry you in my heart.” They picked out the Queen and King in which they had carved. “You will always be the Queen of my heart. Always and forever.” They handed the small figurines to her, watching as she held them both close to her heart. “I will always remember you, Wanda and I will always hold you in my heart, until it stops beating.”

“I can’t.” She cried as Y/N pressed a lingering kiss to her head.

“You don’t have to say goodbye.” They told her softly. “Just promise me that you will continue to live your life, have a family of your own. I know Jarvis isn’t exactly the one you want to have a future with, but when you have your own children, that love you feel will be greater than any love story in history, because you will do anything for them, you will make sure they get to live the life they choose, they get to love whomever they fall in love with. Let them live the future neither of us had the chance to experience.” Wanda only nodded before she watched them leave, her sobs soon falling harder as they had disappeared. Wanda had never anticipated that that moment was the last moment she had ever shared with Y/N, especially on that night when they had returned home to find Mr Rogers drunk and hitting their mother. Y/N had jumped in to defend her, only to be beaten to death by their drunk father. Once the news had traveled about their death, Wanda had grieved for them, she had felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest, hoping that maybe if she had convinced them to sleep with her under the stars for one last time, they would still be here, but all she could do was honour their final wish they had had for her, to live her life and build a family of her own, giving her own children the opportunity of freedom, away from the family’s expectations. As much as she hated it, Y/N was right about Jarvis, he was a good man, a good husband and father to their children. It wasn’t exactly the life that she had envisioned for herself, but she was happy, she had built herself a family, taking away her own parents expectations of her own twins, allowing them to follow their dreams, something in which Wanda was never given the opportunity to do.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff imagine

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joelsrose · 2 days

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Roses & Rust

Eek!! Guys this is my first ever Joel slow burn fanfic I hope you guys enjoy !! I have the next few chapters ready to post so please let me know if you want me to post them!!! Super slow burn slay .. enjoy babies xx this is not super accurate to the time jump and age in the game and show - reader is late 20s and Joel is late 40’s early 50’s!!

Summary: In a world ravaged by infection and chaos, survival is all that remains. Once a doctor with a life filled with love and promise, you've spent the last eight years fighting your way through a broken landscape, haunted by the loss of everything you once held dear. When a chance encounter with Joel Miller and Tess brings you into the Boston QZ, your journey takes a turn you never expected. As you both navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, an unexpected romance begins to bloom, fragile and uncertain, against the backdrop of survival.

Chapter 1: Thorns of Survival

Survival. That was all your life had been for the last eight years. Every step, every breath, every decision—focused solely on staying alive. You grunted as you trudged through the overgrown streets, boots caked in mud, legs heavy with exhaustion. The worn-out, hand-drawn map in your hand was a relic from a raider you’d killed days ago—maybe weeks. Time had become meaningless, lost in the blur of surviving. All you could focus on was your destination: the Boston QZ.

The city loomed ahead, a jagged silhouette against the dull, gray sky. Its once-proud buildings, now hollowed-out husks, stood like tombstones marking the death of the world you once knew. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill creeping in as the wind picked up. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your pack digging into your shoulders, but you pushed forward, driven by the faint glimmer of hope that the QZ might offer something—anything—resembling stability.

But that was all it was now—just survival. There was a time, eight years ago, when your life had been so much more than that. You were barely 23, freshly graduated from med school, and engaged to the love of your life. Back then, your future had been bright, full of promise. You’d worked so hard, every hour spent studying, every sacrifice made, all to build a life you could be proud of. The career, the home, the family—you had it all mapped out.

And then the outbreak happened.

You hadn’t been prepared for how quickly it would all crumble. One day, you were planning a wedding, discussing where you’d go on your honeymoon. The next, the world had descended into chaos. The infection spread like wildfire, burning through cities, turning people into monsters. The man you’d planned to spend your life with—your future—was ripped away from you in a brutal instant. The infection didn’t even give you time to say goodbye. You could still hear his voice, sometimes, echoing in the back of your mind, telling you everything would be alright. But it wasn’t. It never would be again.

The ache of his loss never left you. It just dulled, becoming part of you, settling in the empty spaces where your future used to be. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the memory of his face, the way he used to make you laugh, the plans you had both dreamed of. You didn’t let yourself think about it too often—not anymore. It hurt too much. There was no room for that kind of pain in this world. It would swallow you whole if you let it.

Your hand instinctively tightened around the strap of your backpack, feeling the reassuring weight of the medical supplies inside—your last real bargaining chip. An assortment of drugs, benzos, antibiotics. Enough to trade for ration cards, enough to buy you time. You’d managed to hold onto them through every close call, every brush with the infected and the living threats alike. That was your edge, your way in.

As you approached the towering walls of the QZ, the scene before you was bleak. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their faces hard, their eyes scanning the crowd with the kind of weariness that came from years of seeing too much. People milled about, dirty, tired, hungry. You didn’t stand out. You were just one more lost soul looking for a way to survive.

A guard stepped forward, stopping you with a rifle slung across his chest. The scanner in his hand beeped to life as he raised it to your forehead. You stood still, barely breathing, until the small device let out a soft beep—green.

“Move along,” he muttered, not even sparing you a glance as he waved you through.

You stepped past the gate, feeling the weight of the city settle around you. Welcome to Boston.

•••

Your living space was barely more than a box. The apartment, if you could even call it that, was wedged in one of the many crumbling buildings in Area 4, packed with people like you—survivors, or at least, those trying to be. The building was a decaying relic of a forgotten world, its walls cracked and peeling, the floors groaning underfoot with every step, as if the weight of too many broken lives was pressing down on it.

Inside, the room was a suffocating, grim little square. A single cot was shoved against the wall, the mattress so thin it felt like you were lying on the floor itself. In one corner, a rusted sink dripped relentlessly, a slow, rhythmic reminder that time was passing—whether you wanted it to or not. Above it hung a small mirror, cracked down the center. You caught your reflection as you passed by, your braid fraying, dark circles hanging like shadows under your eyes. You barely recognized yourself anymore. That bright-eyed girl from eight years ago—freshly graduated, engaged, so full of hope—felt like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

A small window, smudged and grimy, let in just enough gray light to remind you there was a world outside. But the view wasn’t much—just crumbling concrete and the ever-present silhouettes of soldiers patrolling below.

The few belongings you had were scattered on a makeshift shelf: an old, dog-eared Murakami novel, a half-melted candle, a crumpled photo of a past life. Everything here felt temporary, fleeting.

Under the poor excuse for a bed, you’d stashed your most valuable possession—your bag of medications and supplies. Hidden away, out of sight. In a place like this, trust was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The Boston QZ felt like a prison. Every inch of it was crawling under the weight of control. Soldiers were everywhere—stoic, unflinching, rifles always at the ready, their eyes sweeping over the crowds with cold detachment.

You never went anywhere without feeling their gaze on you. They were always watching, waiting for someone to slip up. And when they did, the consequences were brutal. You’d seen it in your first few days—one wrong beep from a scanner, one foot out of line, and that was it. No second chances. No mercy. The executions were swift, cold, and left a weight in the air that lingered long after the bodies were gone.

Curfew was like a countdown to death. 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM. No exceptions. You’d watched as people scrambled to get indoors, their eyes darting nervously at the darkening sky, fear written in every step. No one wanted to test the military’s patience. You certainly didn’t.

For the first few weeks, you did what everyone else did—kept your head down, worked random jobs, and stayed in the shadows. The QZ was a labyrinth of desperation, everyone clawing for a foothold. The ration lines seemed to stretch forever, and the food was barely enough to keep people alive, let alone thriving.

But you quickly realized that wasn’t going to cut it. Not if you wanted more than just survival.

You spent your time observing, slipping through the cracks of the city, watching. Areas 1, 3, and 4 were heavily controlled, military checkpoints at every turn. But Area 5—that was different. It was a world unto itself, tucked away from the watchful eyes of FEDRA. The black market thrived here, an underground pulse of illicit trades and dangerous deals. People did what they had to. And you knew you’d have to do the same.

That was when you saw them.

You didn’t know their names yet, but you noticed how they moved through the market with a calm, quiet authority—like they owned it. The woman was tall, sharp-eyed, her voice low but commanding as she negotiated trades with surgical precision. She knew how to read people, how to get what she wanted without ever raising her voice.

The man was quieter, in his late 40s maybe, with a patchy beard of graying hair and hands that looked like they’d seen more than their fair share of rough work. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone parted crowds, people stepping aside without a word, their eyes flicking nervously in his direction as if they knew better than to cross him.

You watched them for days, curiosity gnawing at you. Who were they? How had they carved out a space for themselves in this cutthroat world? They were always together, moving in sync, but their relationship was unclear. Partners? Lovers? Friends? You didn’t know—and for some reason, it bothered you that you couldn’t tell.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t just surviving. They were thriving. And if you wanted to last here, you needed to figure out how.

•••

The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the streets as the QZ slowly shifted from its harsh, daylight routine into something even darker. You stood by your window, watching the light fade, waiting for the right moment. The curfew would soon push everyone inside, and the soldiers would become more scarce. You’d been observing their patrols for days, mapping out the routes they took, the blind spots they didn’t bother covering. After all, Area 5 was its own beast, and even FEDRA seemed to know it wasn’t worth patrolling too heavily.

This wasn’t just a gamble—it was the result of days of careful planning. You had finally managed to set up your first trade, something you never would have attempted when you first arrived in the QZ. The world of smuggling and black-market dealings had been foreign to you then, a stark contrast to your life as a doctor. But now, with ration cards running low and survival becoming more desperate by the day, you had no choice but to adapt.

When the streets were finally cloaked in darkness, you grabbed the bag of benzos from under your bed. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slid the strap over your shoulder, casting a glance at the small mirror by the sink.

The alleyways were quieter now, the usual shuffle of desperate people retreating behind closed doors. The only sound was the distant hum of generators and the occasional clatter of boots on concrete. You took the path you’d memorized, the one that snaked through the backstreets where FEDRA never seemed to bother. Every step felt heavier than the last, your nerves gnawing at you. But you kept going.

The alley where the trade would go down was just ahead. Dark and narrow, it was tucked between two abandoned buildings, far from the reach of the patrols. You’d seen it used before—traders slipping in and out, never lingering too long. It seemed perfect for what you needed, but still, the unease in your stomach hadn’t left.

You arrived first, of course. You leaned against the damp brick wall, the weight of the bag heavy against your side as you waited. Your breath was shallow, hands slightly trembling as you clutched the strap tighter. You tried to shake it off. You’d seen others make trades here—dangerous deals, sure, but ones that had paid off.

But as the minutes ticked by, the unease twisted deeper.

He was late.

The alley was darker than you expected, shadows swallowing everything except the faint glow of the streetlight far at the entrance. When he finally appeared, slithering out of the shadows, his grin was wide and crooked, eyes gleaming with something you didn’t like.

“Well, if I knew my trader was such a fine young thing, I would've dressed up for the occasion,” he drawled, his voice dripping with false charm.

Your stomach twisted, regret settling in like a heavy stone. This was a mistake.

You steeled yourself, jaw tight, and handed him the bag. “I’ve got your stuff.”

His smirk deepened as he took it from you, the way his eyes lingered making your skin crawl. “Relax, darlin’. Doesn’t have to be all business,” he murmured, stepping closer, his fingers brushing your arm.

Your blood ran cold. His hand lingered too long, his body closing the space between you, and you felt panic surge. You’d faced the infected, raiders, betrayal—but men like him were something worse. They looked at you like you were nothing but an opportunity. Your heart raced, but your feet stayed frozen, rooted to the ground by fear.

And then, a voice cut through the dark.

“Let her go.”

The voice was low, steady, with a hint of an accent—something southern, but rough around the edges. It sent a chill down your spine.

The thug stiffened, his smirk fading as he glanced over your shoulder. You turned slowly, and there he was—the man you’d been watching for weeks. Tall, broad-shouldered, his eyes cold and sharp as steel. The weight of his presence was enough to make the trader in front of you hesitate.

“This isn’t your business, man,” the thug sneered, though there was a crack of fear in his voice.

The man took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “It is now.”

The tension in the air was thick, almost tangible. The thug wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outmatched. With a frustrated growl, he tossed the bag of benzos at your feet and slunk back into the shadows.

You stood there, heart pounding, too shocked to even say thank you. The man stepped forward, his eyes flicking down at the bag before meeting yours. His gaze was piercing, and you felt like he could see right through you—like he knew exactly who you were and everything you’d been through.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice steady, “watch who you deal with.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, as easily as he had arrived.

You stood there, shaken to your core, but with one thing clear in your mind: your world had just collided with his.

#joel miller x reader #Joel miller #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Pedro Pascal smut #Ellie tlou #joel miller one shot #Pedro Pascal one shot

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grillthegridmydear · 2 days

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　Love You Like A Love Song - Part One :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

F1 Grid X Reader

The grid reacts to a love song you wrote about them.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Max Verstappen

✧Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift

Max was almost always found on the race track, if not in real life then in the simulator with team redline or just solo streaming. It was his comfort zone, what he knew best. Stepping out of that comfort usually had Max counting down the seconds until it was over and he could go back home to you and the cats, but today was different seeing as he had followed you to the studio on this particular winter morning. You were so secretive on the jet ride to London, furiously scribbling in your leather notebook that was falling apart from being under constant strain of ripped out pages, daily use and the odd time that Sassy got her claws on it when it was left out in odd spaces in their home.

"Tell me again why I had to be here today if I am not allowed to hear the new songs yet?" he mumbled with a cheeky grin as he followed you through the door out of the cold and rainy weather, the recording studio was warm at least. Elliot, your producer, got there before them and had boosted the heat in the building to knock the chill out of your bones before what promised to be a long day in front of the mic. "Because we only have one more song to record Maxie, and I want to know what you think of it." You never really meant to be secretive about your music but the nerves of releasing this particular album were leagues higher than in the past since it was your first studio album since you and Max had started dating a year ago.

You met on night two of the European leg of your last tour, Victoria was a big fan of your music and had dragged Tom and Max to your Amsterdam show. His only exposure to you prior to that night had been through the walls of his sisters home when he came to see his nephews but seeing you on stage that night was the nail in the coffin on his single life. Being the world famous racing driver that he was gave him the chance to meet you after the show and the rest was history.

Which led him to where he was today, sitting on the ridiculously comfortable couch behind the production table watching you working on the final piece of the puzzle that would make up your newest record.

"Alright, lets get playback and do a first run through." Elliot prompted you through the microphone that fed his voice through the soundproof booth into your headset. One nod of acknowledgement from you and the playback started, Max could hear the live feed through the speakers for the first time and the drum beat caused him to sit forward with his full attention.

The last thing he was expecting was the lyrics that came out through those speakers,

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

You had always joked about him being your muse since the week you started dating, when you would be on dates and he would see you stop dead in your tracks to pull out that notebook.

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha

He felt the flush in his cheeks and the grin rise on his cheeks before he even had the chance to fully process what was happening. The song you were most excited to show him that you couldn't even wait until the album was finished, it was about him.

After the initial recording session Elliot busied himself with the hundreds of buttons, sliders and dials on the panel in front of him, you crouched to get your water bottle, ready to go again if needed but Max, he couldn't take his eyes off of you even if he tried. When the ok was given from Elliot you crept out from behind the door of the booth with a shy smile on your face as you made your way to stand in front of him, awaiting the reaction of the love of your life.

"so what do you think?"

Max could barely get the words out between the kisses he was peppering all over your face and neck.

"Vic is going to be so jealous I got a song."

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

✧Lando Norris

✧Nonsense - Sabrina Carpenter

Your Vegas show was strategically planned to fall the day before Lando had to be stuck in the paddock all weekend for the first Las Vegas Grand Prix, which led to many of the drivers and their girlfriends to fill up the VIP section of the theatre that housed hundred of excited fans waiting excitedly to see you take the stage.

You and Lando had known each other for years, being in the same year in school up until your GCSE's when he had left to focus on racing and you had moved from England to the states to pursue your music career. You were childhood sweethearts that stood the test of time and the long distance to end up where you are today, both living in Monaco during the off season with you accompanying Lando to each and every race in the last year, spending all your spare time in one of two places, the studio or cuddled up in Lando's arms in the privacy of your apartment. But with your first full studio album skyrocketing you through the charts a world tour soon followed and it had been a few weeks since your schedules had synced up enough to allow you both some real time to spend together. Lando had never been so thankful to have the racing season coming to a close in a few weeks, and with your last 5 shows coming in the following days to wrap up the tour he was ecstatic to have you all to himself for winter break.

His conversation with Oscar and Lily was cut short when the familiar piano notes of 'Emails I Can't Send' ring out through the venue and the screams and cheers of everyone in the room make a dumb grin break out on his face. Your figure appearing on the stage in your iconic tour outfit that Lando was obsessed with, but what made his smile bigger was the slight changes in the style of the outfit that graced your body on the stage, your dress that was usually a hot pink or lavender colour was changed to the oh so familiar papaya colour he knew as his team colours and your white boots had the number 4 emblazoned on them in his iconic neon yellow branding on the chunky heel stem.

The night was electric as he watched you up there, giving the crowd what he would say is the night of their lives as song after hit song was performed with your infectious talent and energy.

Right as the final notes of 'Sue Me' rang out to the crowd he expected the show to end as he knew the set list by heart from being to a few shows at the beginning of the tour, but you weren't leaving the stage and as you started speaking to the crowd his fixed gaze that had been watching you the whole night was broken as he heard the hushed conversation of some of the WAGs that were surrounding him, he barely had time to notice that Alexandra, Lily and Rebecca were looking at him with shit eating grins on their faces and Carlos was recording him on his phone before you stole his attention again.

"So guys, my boyfriend is actually in the crowd tonight." was all you managed to say before the fans cheered, hundreds of faces looking right at him as you let out that beautiful laugh he loves so much before continuing. "Lando is racing in Vegas this weekend and I've been on tour so I haven't been able to see him in like, forever. But the cool thing about that is he hasn't been able to hear this next song, same as you guys."

An unfamiliar melody started to loop through the venue as the cheers of fans kicked up once again. Pure confusion spread across his face as you continued to introduce the new song. "So this is my new single on the deluxe edition of the album and I hope you all enjoy it."

The room was electric as you began to sing, and Lando very quickly realised the reason why everyone of the drivers and their partners surrounding him had the same reaction, because Lando was not expecting to have a song about him drop that very night, but god was he glad it was.

I'll be honest

Lookin' at you got me thinkin' nonsense

Cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in

And when you got your arms around me

Ooh, it feels so good I had to jump the octave

His face felt like it was on fire but his ego was growing by the second.

I'm talkin' all around clock

I'm talkin' hope nobody knocks

I'm talkin' opposite of soft

I'm talkin' wild, wild thoughts

You gotta keep up with me

I got some young energy

I caught the L-O-V-E

How do you do this to me?

The song began to end and the last lines of the outro had Lando impossibly excited for the night to end so he finally got to have you to himself again.

he loves me so good its downright heinous

this songs P1 in my boyfriends playlist

what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas

Oh yeah, he was definitely glad he got you all to himself.

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Oscar Piastri

✧Human - Dodie

University had been consuming what felt like your entire existence, barely having enough time or energy to apply to anything that didn't involve coursework, especially since you had your contemporary song writing final project due in a few days. Life had consisted of spending days locked away in your dorm room in front of your travel keyboard trying to construct a melody that felt lightyears away from you.

"You can't keep rotting away in there you know, I don't think we will get our deposit back if you melt into the carpet."

Hattie had been your best friend from the day you started preschool, your entire lives had been spend joined at the hip, you were unable to be separated in your younger years, down to the first days of school every year which were spent in the Piastri home's kitchen eating a breakfast that Nicole had made while you and Hattie chattered so loud that the whole house was brought to life with your laughter. Your tight bond had extended to today, where you both sat in the shared kitchen of your university housing, cups of tea decorating the table along with a pair of laptops and more sheet music blank than filled.

This had easily become the hardest assignment of your degree for you, where Hattie seemingly had no issue and was just finishing the arrangements of her own work before she got to submit her assignment and go home for summer break, you on the other hand felt like smacking your head against the wall, your fractured concentration being split even further by the commentary coming from your phone that was propped up in front of 6 crumpled pieces of composition paper, the Spanish Grand Prix well underway on the other side of the world, where Hattie's brother (who just so happened to be your boyfriend) was in the final laps of his race weekend.

"I know, I cant for the life of me figure out what's wrong. Nothing I've written feels good enough and I really don't want to fail this assignment. The last thing I need is to be back here in three months to repeat this class."

The voices that seeped from your phone announced that with that final lap the race was over and glancing at the chart that took up the left side of the screen a smile broke out on your face. Hattie let her curiosity get the better of her as she rounded the table to watch over your shoulder. "P2, He will be happy with that."

Your whole body itched for a change of scenery after a further 30 minutes with no progress so while Hattie started on dinner for you both you slipped on a jacket and stuffed your notebook into your pocket, heading outside for some fresh air. The weather had cooled only slightly compared to the usual stifling Australian heat which allowed you to sit under the awning of the bike sheds outside the building. Your phone rings not 2 minutes after you settle into a comfortable position, a the familiar contact flashing on the screen as you swipe to answer.

"Congratulations on your podium, Osc." Your words rang out through the empty courtyard as familiar breathing was heard in your ear, the boy you had loved since your childhood clearly having settled in his drivers room after his race. "Thank you, how is your assignment going? Still giving you trouble?" Your audible groan at the mention of the demonic workload hanging over your week was met with warm laughter on the other end of the phone. "That bad huh?"

"I don't know why but I haven't been able to focus enough to even get a melody going, everything I've tried sounds like it was written by The Wiggles." The snort of laughter that rang through her ears eased the stress that held her body hostage by the second and her own laughter broke out to match. "Hey, everyone loves The Wiggles, I think you would make a very cute Wiggle personally."

Oscar's words had her breaking up laughing this time. "Yeah, you would say that." Her voice taunted him over the line, memories flooding her mind of the ridiculous stories that Nicole had told her when she and Oscar had first gotten together when he came back after graduating from his British boarding school, about Oscar being five years old and in love with the Yellow Wiggle at that stage in his life. "I know you can make something amazing, everything you write is so incredible but you need to be kinder to yourself love, you're only human after all."

Oscar's advice rang through her mind as she ended the call with him, his presence being required to go to his post race debrief before he could go to the airport to fly back home to start the summer break with her. Before she could blink the floodgates in her mind finally let loose the creativity that she had been craving since she began the writing process a week ago. Sprinting up the stairs she had just enough time to grab the bowl of spaghetti Hattie had prepared her with a rushed thank you thrown over her shoulder.

An hour and a half later she finally submitted the dreaded assignment and packed her microphone away with the rest of her minimal recording equipment, quickly attaching the audio file to a text and sending it to Oscar before the night caught up with her and she drifted off to sleep in the navy blue OP81 hoodie that she wore to death.

The next morning was hectic, full of packing and cleaning as both girls got ready to pack up Hattie's car and get on the road, with the semester finally over and the promise of a few weeks on the road with Oscar melting the last of her stress. In the chaos of the morning she didn't get to check her messages until noon, where she was met with two texts, one from Logan and one from Oscar.

Oscars message was opened first, a quick 'I knew you could do it <3' sent in the middle of the night, considering the time difference it must have been when he was getting on his flight. The message from Logan showed a video of Oscar sitting on the plane, her voice playing through the speakers of Oscars phone as he stared at it with pure adoration in his eyes.

I want to give you your grin So tell me you can't bear a room that I'm not in Paint me in trust I'll be your best friend Call me the one This night just can't end Oh Oh, I'm so human We're just human

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George Russell

✧Bewitched - Laufey

"Remind me why I'm doing this again, this feels like something that I shouldn't be allowed to do."

The ball of stress that stood in front of George pacing in a midnight blue evening gown would have been the funniest thing in the world to him if he was looking at anyone in the world other than you, his beautiful girlfriend who looked about 3 seconds away from passing out. This seemed like an appropriate time as any for you to suddenly develop stage fright, because you were used to busking on the streets of London with your guitar in your teenage years, eventually moving up to small, intimate gigs in your early 20s to crowds that seemed smaller than a classroom, this was in a whole different ballpark. George met you when you both attended a charity event three years before that was funding for sick children across the UK, part of what drew him to you was your unwavering confidence that you walked through life with, he supposed that musicians had to be born with a certain level of audacity but you were unlike anyone he had ever met before, which is why your anxious behaviour was such a shock to the system.

It eventually became too much for George to take as he stood from his seat in the dressing room and held you firm by the hips, halting you from burning a permanent line in the ridiculously expensive carpet that lined the floors. That seemed to do the trick as you finally managed to take a deep enough breath to ease the tension in your body long enough to look him in the eyes. "What if it's shit Georgie?"

Your statement pulled a chuckle from him before he he could think to stop it. "Impossible love, you've never been shit at anything you've ever done." His reassurance sent a visible comfort through your body as the rest of your muscles relaxed. "Except for padel, you are brutal at padel." George took the laugh that lit up the room as a good sign, god he loved your laugh, he once described it as reminding him of sleigh bells at Christmas which got a good laugh out of Lando and Alex, they still hadn't let him live it down, not that he minded much.

The knock at the door sent your body rigid once more as the stage hand that had been sent for you poked his head around the door to give you a 5 minute warning until you took to the stage. It was unlike anything you had ever done before, George supposed that being invited to perform at one of the most prestigious concert halls in the UK was daunting to begin with, but being asked to perform at their anniversary celebration that was being attended by what seemed like every important person they could think of, royalty included, well George was impressed that this was the extent of your nerves. A big deal indeed.

"You'll be watching me the whole time?"

Your request was endearing if unnecessary, because there were very few moments in his life now that George was not totally enraptured by you, he had been the muse of many memes in his time but his favourite had to be all the times that journalists and fans alike had compiled evidence of the many times that George was probably supposed to be paying attention to something, a meeting, a conversation, but his eyes never left you. "I'll be in the wings the entire time my love, now go, break a leg."

Heavy velvet curtains hid him from sight as the lights faded on to reveal you, centre stage and framed by a beautiful orchestra. The polite applause was so different from the screams of fans that he was used to hearing on a race weekend, but it set the tone as the orchestra began to play, now George was familiar with pretty much every song you had ever written due to how often your voice could be heard through your shared home, but this song was completely new, you had kept it under lock and key deeming it a surprise. As your voice joined the strings and woodwinds he began to realise that this was a wonderful surprise indeed.

You bewitch me Every damn second you're with me I try to think straight But I'm falling so badly, I'm coming apart You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart And bewitched me Bewitch You bewitched me

As the audience broke out into thunderous applause and you took your bow, George took a moment to pat the small square box in the pocket of his suit jacket, the box that held the promise of forever.

Bewitched was the only word word to describe him.

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Logan Sargeant

✧Pancakes for Dinner - Lizzy Mc Alpine

In the last few years Logan had been away from his family and friends during the Fourth of July weekend. It was never easy, he spent most of his childhood surrounded by all the people he loved most, with barbecue food and football on the beach filling up the day, the celebrations starting early in the morning and ending with the insane firework display at night. They were some of his favourite memories, the ones that comforted him on the days and nights when his career started to feel like a noose around his neck that tightened with every race weekend that didn't go according to plan.

Which is why he was so happy that this year, the race calendar perfectly bordered his beloved holiday, with Austria ending mere hours before he found himself on a flight back to Florida to celebrate on his week off before Silverstone. Seeing his family was a welcome reprieve from his hectic life, but seeing you was the cherry on top of a perfect week.

The firepit that roared at the beginning of the night had died down to a comforting glow, the beach behind his family home now empty apart from you and him, the rest of the guests gone inside to continue the festivities in the house. "It's good to have you back Lo, I miss you a lot when you're off living the dream" your voice carries across the space between you as you messed with the guitar that sat on your lap, beer forgotten at your feet as you strummed random chords. You had always been his best friend ever since you both met at a karting track as kids, he used to race with your brother before he decided that baseball was his calling, but you and Logan were attached at the hip until he left to move to England to take his career to another level. Now your friendship consisted of facetime calls, battling with time zone differences instead of a 10 minute walk to your house. "You should agree to come to more races then, you know you're invited to basically every one right?"

In reality he knew that globetrotting with him to a new country every fortnight wasn't that simple. You were a veterinary nurse in Florida and he was a racing driver, both of your schedules too hectic to allow for any real time spent together that didn't involve him making the trip back to his hometown. "You really want to put me and your boss on the same continent, I'm too pretty to go to jail!"

The two of you busted up into laughter at the idea of James Vowels being unfortunate enough to be close enough to you that you could finally give the man a piece of your mind. "I do miss Lily though, so might have to take some time off for Austin this year." The fake offended noise that left his lips made you laugh hard enough that Logan was sure his neighbours could hear you. He was sure that the only bond that could rival the one you shared with him was the one that you held with his teammates girlfriend, the fact that you had spent more time at the golf course with Lily this year than you had seeing him face to face sparked emotions in him that he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge.

"What are you playing there?"

The sly smile that crept up onto your face, illuminated by the firelight made his heart stutter, your answer didn't betray your emotions as you started strumming the melody more clearly.

"I wrote you something."

Logan swore his pulse started up in double time as you met his eyes. You had played guitar since you were eight years old but your own songs had been secret for as long as he can remember. But something in the moment caused you to let him into a part of your life he was sure he would never see.

"Play it for me."

The world around them was muffled and felt a million miles away as you nodded before training your eyes on the black ocean in front of you both. Lyrics flowing from you before you changed your mind.

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner I wanna get stuck in your head I wanna watch a T.V. show together And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed I wanna go out on the weekends I wanna dress up just to get undressed I think that I should probably tell you this In case there is an accident And I never see you again So please save all your questions for the end And maybe I'll be brave enough by then

Laughter from the house behind you both broke the electric energy that filled the air.

"So? What do you think?"

Logan could only hope his kiss was worth a thousand words.

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Alex Albon

✧Juno - Sabrina Carpenter

There wasn't a person alive that believed the joke that Alexander Albon was the biggest WAG in the world than the man himself. While he spent his days driving his Williams car in the midfield of the F1 grid he was more than aware that you kissed him good morning every day you spent together, only to go and play a sold out concert to a stadium of adoring fans, of which Alex was your biggest.

He still found himself pinching his arm whenever he saw you, either on stage playing the global superstar or in the comfort of your own home playing with your puppy Juniper. It seemed uncharacteristic of him when he slid into your DM's one night after seeing a concert with his sisters, but fate apparently had his cards picked out in his favour when you visited a race a few weeks later as a guest of Red Bull and he got to meet you in person, the rest was history as you had been dating the Thai driver ever since.

The distance wasn't always easy but this particular summer break lined up perfectly with the end of the US leg of your most recent tour, which is how you both ended up spending your three week break in Bali, completely wrapped up in each other with no work interruptions.

Until today that is.

His place in your shared bed gave him the perfect view of you pacing the balcony of the villa that had been rented for the duration of your stay. His eyes easily following your body as it appeared in the doorway before disappearing just as quick, back and forth as you spoke to your management team on the phone, a call which was hitting the forty minute mark, causing his patience to wear thin. Luckily just before the call was about to hit an hour in length you ended it and your figure bounding back into the room caused him to sit up against the headboard. You grabbed your laptop from your bag before sliding back into bed, lips meeting his before you settled in and began furiously searching through the files on your desktop.

"what part of vacation do they not understand?" he groaned, his face finding the crook of your neck as you let out a laugh, nudging his side.

"That was Marcus, Short and Sweet drops in an hour."

Alex could feel the excitement vibrating through your body. Your most recent album had been in the works for months and while he usually got to live through the entire process with late night writing sessions and studio visits between races, you had been oddly secretive when it came to this one. He was excited for you, he loved your voice and your music was what had brought you together so seeing you continue to make the music that made you so happy made the challenges that came with your relationship worth it.

A soft "aha" pulled him out of his daydream as you pulled up the folder that contained the songs. He sat up again, ready for the full listening party that he was so used to at this point. Which is why his proud grin turned a tad confused as you dragged the cursor down to the third to last track on the album, his question died on his tongue as you pressed play on the file titled Juno (A.A<3) and the music started to pour through the speakers of your laptop.

Oh, I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno You know I just might (Might) Let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two though? Give it to me, baby You make me wanna make you fall in love

His ears burned as the song ended and by the look on your face he was reacting exactly how you wanted.

"So? What do you think?"

Your laptop tumbled onto a stray cushion that found its way onto the floor, as he tackled you back onto the sheets. laughter filling the room.

Thank god for the end of the tour.

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Part two will be up asap. Requests are open.

Hope you enjoyed!

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#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri #formula 1 #max verstappen #lando norris #george russell #logan sargeant #alex albon #x reader

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aziraphales-library · 3 days

Note

Y’all are awesome and I appreciate the hell out of this account! Any fics that are an attempt at a season 3? Preferably comedic ones! Thank you so much and keep up the amazing work! ❤️

Hello. We have a #good omens s3 speculation tag, so check that out. Here are more to add that have some kind of humour tag...

a place to be by kaiyen (NR)

In which Crowley moves back into his flat, Aziraphale has problems at work, and the Second Coming of Christ is but a stone's throw away. In the end, Crowley makes it to rolling green hills, leant against a stubbornly yellow Bentley. He remembers the first morning. He had slithered out of the ground not long before dawn, the dirt damp even before the first rain, the grass cool and crisp against his scales. And the sun had risen, jewels spilling across the great blue sky, warm and golden from the East. Crowley – Crawly, then – had wanted to follow it, had felt a great pull Eastwards. He went, too, until he found the ripe red fruit nestled amongst the lush green leaves and knew what they were for. It was luck, then, that the humans had left in the direction of the sunrise. Luck, or– ineffable. The sun rises over the South Downs, and Crowley finally wants to stay.

The Ineffable Shades of Gray (Good Omens Season 3) by altsernative (T)

After returning to Heaven, Aziraphale learns the Metatron's true intentions, finds himself disillusioned, and regrets his choice to leave Crowley, who has been working in the Temptations department. They reunite, and find themselves stopping the final war between Heaven and Hell and learning God and Satan's true intentions for the world and each other.

Demons are Forever by in_a_pickle (T)

After finallly finding the courage to tell his best friend his feelings, Crowley's dreams are shattered when Aziraphale once again chooses Heaven over happiness together. With ‘Great Plans’ afoot upstairs, Aziraphale discovers that the starring role he accepted comes with some unforeseen duties and that Crowley’s kiss has become something of a distraction. Crowley meanwhile is trying to come to terms with a broken heart and is trying to fathom why Heaven is so keen to have Aziraphale back in the fold. A mini adventure with our favourite group of two, written in case I get hit by a bus and never get to find out what happened next.

The Intended Effect by Esme_Abner (E)

A post-S2 fic that begins with a very sad Crowley and a conflicted Aziraphale and a surprisingly not-awful Jesus. It's all building toward our boys reconciling, because like everyone else, my heart is broken and I need to pick up the pieces somehow. And they might try to like save the world again, too.

(I just can't wait for) Season 3 Good Omens! by RCReveal (T)

After Season 2, I really needed to find out how Aziraphale and Crowley could get their reunion: a real reunion & not 'pretendy real'. They both have so much growing to do with neither of them, yet, being able to even say 'I love you' clearly to each other. Angel, what's going on? What kind of doublethink are you doing to still think that Heaven is the Good side & that you can't even admit to being friends? But you'll do anything to protect the World. Crowley, always planning on running. Sorry, but that won't work. If you had run at Armageddon there'd be no here to be in. But somehow, still a little seed of optimism. And wow! what you two can do together! Especially with a little help from old and new friends. So here's a story about averting the Second Coming with that great ensemble cast of characters in Heaven, Hell, and Whickber ST. Long set up, but then starts to speed up, kinda a wild ride from chapter 42 onto the end. This story is at about the same level of cursing, violence (well, maybe a little more Gaiman-esque), humor (definitely much more Terry Pratchett-esque) and romance as that of the second season.

There's a Special Place on Earth for Beings Like You by Kipje (T)

Set two years after Aziraphale leaves to become Supreme Archangel. It’s the Second Coming. Aziraphale is tasked with finding parents for the new Christ and returns to earth. He needs Crowley’s help, but the two haven’t spoken since the break-up. Crowley doesn’t want to forgive the angel, nor does he want to help out with the baby, but he finds it incredibly hard not to get involved. OR Aziraphale and Crowley raise the new Christ together; a girl named Eden. While they try to sort out their feelings and avert the apocalypse. Excerpt: Crowley had always assumed Aziraphale would want to run away with him in order to be together. He had never bothered to ask if there was a version where they would be an ‘us’ on earth. What was Aziraphale supposed to do once they arrived in the Alpha Centauri system. How would that even work with his book collection? Sure, Aziraphale had fallen in love with the demon – and it had taken him a while to be able to admit that – but he had also fallen in love with humanity, with earth. He had never planned on leaving. He knew earth would be no fun without his favourite wily serpent, but that did not mean he would be fine anywhere as long as Crowley was there. He had standards.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s3 speculation #ineffable husbands #humour #mod d

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cheynovak · 18 hours

Text

Complicated

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character

Summary: Y/N, a young personal assistant to Soldier Boy (Ben) and Crimson Countess, is caught in a whirlwind of events that shatter her sense of stability. After accidentally witnessing an intimate moment between Ben, Crimson, and another woman, she’s left shaken and unsure how to process it. The following day, Crimson casually invites her to join them, which only adds to Y/N's confusion.

Warnings: 18+ mentioning of: threesome, cheating, build up to smut/ spice.

English is not my first language

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

part 1/?

Working for superheroes had always been my dream, and landing the personal assistant job for Soldier Boy felt like I had finally made it. At just 23, I was on the inside—right next to the legends. And more than anything, I admired Crimson Countess. I had looked up to her for years: strong, fearless, elegant, everything I wanted to be.

Soldier Boy was, well, intimidating. Ben, as I had been told to call him, was a larger-than-life presence, intense and unpredictable. But Crimson? She was the one who inspired me, and every day, I tried to live up to what I thought she represented.

Tonight was no different from most. It was late, the compound was quiet, and everyone else had left for the night. I was tying up loose ends, some paperwork mostly, when I remembered that Crimson had left a stack of files in her office. I figured I’d drop them off on her desk and head home. I had done it hundreds of times already, just part of the job.

As I walked down the dim hallway, I noticed her office door was cracked open. That was unusual; she was always so careful about her privacy. For a moment, I considered knocking, but it was late, and I assumed she had gone home. I thought I’d slip in, leave the files on her desk, and get out without disturbing anything.

But the second I stepped through the door, my world came crashing down.

Crimson Countess wasn’t alone. She was there, on the couch, barely clothed, on her knees on one side of Soldier boy while some other woman... well, sat... on his... face.

They were tangled together, moving in a way that left no room for interpretation. It was raw, intense—nothing like the polished, controlled way they presented themselves to the world. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene.

My heart hammered in my chest as the reality of what I was seeing sank in. This wasn’t something my in experienced soul thought was possible. This was something darker, something intimate that I was never meant to witness.

Before I could even think to turn and leave, Ben pulled the girl of him, his sharp gaze snapped to mine and smirked, that signature cocky grin spreading across his face, like he found it funny that I had walked in on them.

“Well, look who it is,” he drawled, his voice low and thick with amusement. “Want to join sweetheart?”

My stomach churned. Crimson Countess didn’t seem to notice me, too caught up in the moment with him. His fingers tangled in her hair.

I took a step back, every nerve in my body screaming at me to get out of there. My hands were trembling as I fumbled for the door, trying not to look back, trying not to hear the low chuckle that followed me as I stumbled into the hallway.

“I—uh, I’m sorry,” I stammered, though I wasn’t sure if anyone even heard me.

My feet moved on their own, rushing down the hall, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. I could still feel Ben’s eyes on me, the way he hadn’t even been fazed by my intrusion. He’d looked at me like I was just part of the scenery or something to laugh about later.

The moment I burst outside, the cold night air hit me, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside of me. My hands shook uncontrollably as I pulled out my keys, trying to focus long enough to unlock the car door. I didn’t know how long I stood there, but eventually, I managed to get inside and slam the door behind me.

What had I just seen?

Crimson Countess—Crimson Countess—the woman I looked up to, the one I had admired for so long, wasn’t who I thought she was. And Ben, Soldier Boy, had just acted like it was no big deal, like he didn’t care at all that I just walked in on that.

My mind raced as I drove, barely registering the streets flashing by. The image of them together, so vulgar, was burned into my brain, refusing to leave me alone. They weren’t the heroes I had built up in my head. They were… something else, something I didn’t want to understand.

When I finally got home, I fumbled with the keys to my apartment, my hands still trembling. The door swung open, and I was greeted by the warm light of our living room. My fiancée Kevin was already there, standing by the kitchen counter, looking at me with concern.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft, and the second he saw my face, I could tell he knew something was wrong. “You’re home late. What happened?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out. How could I explain this? How could I even begin to tell him what I had just seen? I was sure my fiancee, respectable man he was wouldn't even understand this. My head was spinning, and all I could feel was the rush of emotions crashing over me—shock, disgust, confusion.

“I—I don’t even know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I set my bag down, my legs weak. I collapsed onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “It’s… I saw something at work. Something I wasn’t supposed to see.”

He came over and sat beside me, his hand resting gently on my back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head, the memory still too raw, too sharp. I couldn’t even process it myself, let alone explain it to him. How was I supposed to tell him that the people I worked for, the heroes we had both admired, weren’t who we thought they were? That Crimson Countess, the woman I’d idolized for years, had just shattered every illusion I’d ever had about her?

“I just… need a minute,” I said softly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

He didn’t press. He just sat there with me, his presence steady and comforting in the middle of the chaos in my mind.

I closed my eyes, trying to push the images away, but they wouldn’t leave. No matter how much I wanted to forget, I couldn’t. Crimson Countess and Soldier Boy weren’t just flawed—they were something far darker. And now, I wasn’t sure if I could ever look at them the same way again.

The next day, I sat at my desk in the office, trying to act as normal as possible, but the memory of what I had seen last night haunted me. My fingers tapped anxiously on the keyboard, eyes glued to the paper, but my mind was miles away. Every time I tried to focus, my thoughts drifted back to Crimson and Ben… and that other side of them I had never imagined.

The Tower bustled around me—colleagues moving through the halls, casual conversation floating in the air. Everything felt normal, but I felt like I was on edge, hyper-aware of every sound, every movement. I kept telling myself that if I just acted like nothing happened, everything would be fine.

But then I heard her familiar voice and my heart dropped.

Crimson Countess.

I didn’t dare look up as she strolled over, her signature confidence radiating from every step. I tried to stay calm, but my fingers froze over the keyboard of the typewriter when I saw her lean on my desk out of the corner of my eye. She wasn’t in her full supe outfit—just casual, but even then, she exuded that effortless power and control that had always made me idolize her.

“Morning, Y/N,” she said lightly, but there was something teasing in her tone.

“Morning,” I managed to reply, keeping my gaze glued to my paper.

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just watched the room as a few of our colleagues passed by, her lips curling into a faint smile. I could feel the tension building, and my stomach twisted in knots. I knew something was coming. I just didn’t know what.

Finally, when the coast was clear, she turned her attention fully on me, her voice low and almost conspiratorial.

"Ben told me you saw us last night."

My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel my cheeks flush bright red. It was like my whole body betrayed me, and I cursed myself for it. The heat crept up my neck and into my face as the memory of what I’d walked in on slammed back into my head.

“I—uh—” I stammered, struggling to find words. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t supposed to see that. I didn’t mean to—”

Crimson waved off my apology with a casual flick of her hand, like it was nothing. Her expression was calm, her eyes almost amused, as if she found the whole thing mildly entertaining.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” she said, leaning in a little closer. “If you want to join next time, you’re welcome to.”

The offer hit me like a freight train. My mouth went dry, and I had no idea how to respond. I could barely believe what she was saying—it was so nonchalant, so easy for her, like inviting someone to dinner instead of, well… that.

My mind went blank, but the first thing I managed to blurt out was, “I’m engaged.”

Crimson’s eyes flickered with amusement before she suddenly threw her head back and laughed, the sound loud and echoing throughout the office. A few heads turned, but no one seemed to think much of it—this was Crimson Countess after all. People expected her to be eccentric.

“Engaged, huh?” she said with a smirk once her laughter subsided. “He’s welcome too.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor. I stared at her, completely lost for words. Did she actually mean that? The casual way she said it, as if it was no big deal, made it even harder to wrap my head around.

“I—uh, I—” I stammered, trying to find a way out of this conversation without combusting on the spot.

Crimson just smiled, crossing her arms and leaning back slightly. “No pressure, Y/N. Just let Ben or me know if you’re in or out. It’s all about options.”

Options? I wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. My entire world had flipped upside down in the span of a few seconds, and here she was acting like this was just another casual conversation.

“I… I’ll think about it,” I said quickly, though in my mind I was screaming no, no, no, wanting to escape this situation as fast as possible.

“Good girl,” she said, winking at me before pushing off my desk and walking away, leaving me sitting there in stunned silence.

As soon as she was gone, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. My heart was still racing, my palms clammy against the keyboard. I tried to make sense of what had just happened, but nothing about it made sense. What kind of world had I walked into, where things like this were normal?

And worse, how was I supposed to look her in the eye now? Or Ben? I swallowed hard, staring blankly at the text I just typed. How did I get into this situation?

The next day, I was running late for lunch. Most people had already returned to their desks, leaving the cafeteria nearly empty, just a handful of others grabbing a bite before heading back to work. My stomach twisted with anxiety—I still hadn’t fully processed my encounter with Crimson Countess. I barely managed to choke down a few bites of food, my nerves making me feel sick.

I was sitting at the far end of the room, hoping to avoid any more awkward encounters. But just as I thought I was in the clear, the door swung open, and in walked Ben, flanked by the TNT twins. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me almost immediately. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he smirked.

My pulse quickened as he started walking over, his strides slow and deliberate, like he enjoyed the effect he was having on me. I quickly looked back down at my half-eaten sandwich, pretending to be too engrossed in my food to notice him. But it was too late.

Ben—Soldier Boy—pulled out the chair beside me and sat down, the weight of his presence making the air feel heavy. I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face, and I silently prayed he wouldn’t bring up last night. I wasn’t ready for another awkward, twisted conversation.

"So," he began casually, his voice low, "have you spoken to Countess?"

I swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. She, uh… talked to me earlier.”

He didn’t say anything for a second, just stared at me, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He could sense my nerves, I knew it. My hands felt clammy, and I tried to focus on anything other than how close he was, but his presence was suffocating.

"She tell you how we like to have there sometime?" Ben asked, his tone smooth, like he was discussing the weather.

I nodded again, my throat dry. “Yeah, she… she mentioned it.” I could barely get the words out. Every part of me wanted to shrink away, to disappear, but Ben leaned in closer, closing the already small gap between us.

"I gotta say," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, "I wish you’d stayed last night." His lips curled into a smirk as he watched my reaction. I could feel my face turning red, my heart racing uncontrollably.

“I’m engaged,” I blurted out, my voice louder than I intended, desperate to set a boundary. Please, let that be enough.

But it wasn’t. Any other man might’ve taken the hint, backed off, but Ben wasn’t just any other man. He chuckled, a dark, deep sound that sent shivers down my spine.

“Engaged, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "That’s cute, congrats, I'm sure he is eh, taking care of you."

"Oh he is." I answered way too fast. His hand moved over my arm, "So you have... some experience, thats good." I couldn't look at him thinking. Well not much, not at all if experience means what he did the other night... but I had sex before yes.

He must have read my mind "You gotta understand something, sweetheart." He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my skin. “This is freeing. Learning to love more than just one person. Sharing is caring, right? Besides I might teach you a thing or two your man likes.”

I stared at him in shock, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what he was saying. It wasn’t just about what I had seen or heard. This was something bigger, deeper—he truly believed it, believed in some twisted version of love where boundaries didn’t exist.

My mistake was looking up at him then—really looking at him. I was too close, closer than I had ever been. For a moment, all I saw was the strong, perfect lines of his face, the chiseled jaw, the intensity in those green eyes that made it hard to think straight.

He was beautiful, magnetic, and dangerous all at once. I hated how my body reacted, how my breath caught in my throat as I felt the pull of his presence. "I-I don't think I would... like it." I stammered.

His gaze dropped to my lips, and I swore my heart stopped. My whole body tensed as I realized just how close we were, the air between us heavy with something I didn’t understand.

“You could learn to enjoy it,” he whispered, his voice seductive, filled with a kind of promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

I quickly looked away, my mind screaming at me to get out of this situation, but my body betrayed me, frozen in place, caught between fear, confusion, and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I… I can’t,” I stammered, my voice barely audible.

He smiled, a slow, predatory smile, as if he had all the time in the world. “Think about it, Y/N. Seems like you’ve got a lot to learn, want to keep your soon to be husband happy between the sheets, don't you?” His hand brushed against mine on the table, and the contact sent an electric jolt through me.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there. Now.

“I should go,” I muttered, pushing my chair back so fast it nearly toppled over. I stood up, my legs shaky, and grabbed my bag. Ben just leaned back in his chair, watching me with that same smug, knowing smile, like he’d already won some kind of game I didn’t even know I was playing.

“Take your time,” he said lazily, his eyes glinting. “We’re not going anywhere.”

I didn’t dare look back as I rushed out of the cafeteria, my mind a mess of confusion, fear, and frustration. How had I ended up here? What kind of world had I gotten myself into, where boundaries didn’t exist, where people like Ben and Crimson Countess played by their own rules?

And most importantly—what the hell was I going to do next?

I couldn’t tell Kevin about what happened. He’d flip. The thought of trying to explain everything to him, the look of betrayal and anger that would flash across his face… I just couldn’t handle that right now. It felt like everything in my life was spiraling out of control, and I didn’t have the strength to add another confrontation to the pile.

That day, I rushed home far earlier than usual. I needed stability, something to ground me, and Kevin had always been that for me. I kept telling myself that once I got home, once I saw him, everything would start to feel normal again. He didn’t know about the world I worked in, the twisted games that came with being around supes. With Kevin, things were simple. Normal.

When I reached our apartment door, I noticed something was off before I even stepped inside. The faint glow of candlelight flickered under the door, and I could smell something sweet—champagne? My heart lifted slightly, thinking maybe he had planned a surprise. Maybe Kevin had sensed how off I’d been lately and wanted to make it up to me. The thought of spending a quiet evening together, just the two of us, made my chest ache with hope. This was what I needed.

But the second I opened the door, that hope shattered.

There he was. Kevin, sitting on the couch, cozy and comfortable—but he wasn’t alone. Another woman was with him. Her long legs were draped across his lap, her hand on his chest, and they were kissing. Not just a casual kiss, but something deeper, something intimate. The kind of kiss that said I was no longer part of the equation.

The candlelight, the champagne, the soft music playing in the background… it wasn’t for me. It had never been for me.

I stood frozen in the doorway, my breath caught in my throat, unable to process what I was seeing. My entire body went numb, like my brain was trying to protect me from the full force of what was happening.

My heart broke, a sharp pain slicing through my chest as I watched them—Kevin, the man I was supposed to marry, the man who had promised to love me, sitting there with someone else like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t even notice me at first, too caught up in the moment with her. I felt like I was drowning, my mind swirling with disbelief and devastation. I wanted to scream, to yell, to make sense of it, but all I could do was stand there, staring at the wreckage of everything I thought I knew.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he pulled back from her, and that’s when he saw me. His eyes widened in shock, and for a second, we just stood there, the silence between us deafening.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice laced with guilt, panic flashing across his face as he shoved the woman off his lap. She scrambled awkwardly, clearly not expecting to be caught.

“I—uh—it’s not what it looks like,” he stammered, but the words felt hollow, meaningless. It was exactly what it looked like.

My voice cracked as I finally managed to speak. “How could you…?”

He stood up, his hands out in front of him like he was trying to calm me down, like I was overreacting. “Just listen—”

But I didn’t want to listen. Not to him. Not now. Everything inside me was breaking, crumbling, and the anger, the betrayal, it hit me all at once, crashing into me like a tidal wave.

“How could you?!” I shouted, my voice trembling with hurt. “You’re… you’re... How Kevin! We were supposed to—” I choked on the words, unable to finish the sentence. We were supposed to get married. To be together.

His eyes softened for a moment, and I could see the guilt settling in. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t—"

“Don’t,” I snapped, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean for this to happen. You did.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my entire body shaking. “You planned this. You set this up.”

His silence said it all. The candles, the champagne, the soft music—it was all for her. Not for me. Never for me.

The woman stood there awkwardly, looking between the two of us, clearly uncomfortable but not nearly as sorry as she should have been. I felt sick to my stomach.

I turned and bolted out the door, not caring where I was going, not caring about anything other than the fact that my life, my world, had just been ripped apart in the span of a few short hours.

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pendarling · 1 day

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Curly & Dark

Hero lightly brushed their fingers against the tight curls and looked at their reflection.

"Oh, didn't you know? Villain likes looser and longer hair so..."

They were in shambles, and they hated to admit it. They didn't like their enemy, no, only offended that anyone could assume that at all. Especially their friend; why did they say that? Nothing was wrong with their curls, at least nothing they could think of. Who cares if Villain likes lighter skin and eyes?

That had nothing to do with them, and who told their friend what Villain preferred? They could be lying. Villain always lied.

Not to them, of course, or at least Hero hoped so. Villain was very careful with their words when they whispered sweet poems in their ear when they got too close for comfort in their hand-to-hand combats. Villain's eyes didn't lie when they stared longingly back at Hero; their body gave away their feelings. Hero knew it all too well and was confident that Villain couldn't care less about their dumb curls or their skin.

It didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. It's a stupid claim, but it still hurts.

Hero's breathing quickened as they frowned deeply at themselves through the mirror with fingers caught up in the strands of hair and oh...

Hero thought, 'What a strange appearance. None of my peers look the way I do.' They huffed and walked slowly out of the bathroom, 'That should be a good thing. I stand out.'

It didn't feel good, however. Their head replayed the scene from earlier again.

Hero stood in front of their friend, and their friend smiled at them when they said it, trying to let them know kindly of the situation. They cared and didn't want Hero's heart to be broken when it would be revealed that Villain was just bullying them afterall.

"They have bad intentions; we all know Villain doesn't like curly hair, so it doesn't make sense... you're suit... yeah, that's probably why they said all that. If you wore something else, it would've been different."

Hero's suit now lay on their bed; they've worn it for years and never thought it played a part in their world. Was it too revealing? Inappropriate? Hero liked it; it was created to accommodate Hero's powers. They didn't think of it as anything else, but assuming it was attracting the wrong kind of attention, Hero was willing to wear something new.

They couldn't stop thinking all night after earlier. The next time they saw Villain, they should start ignoring them. Whatever Villain was up to was too cruel. If they hated someone that looked like them, then they should stop interacting completely.

At least that's what they told themselves to do, but still, Hero found themselves taking up another job that would require them to see Villain again.

They sat waiting on the ledge of their usual meeting spot on the roof of a building far from home. Any second now, they'd hear Villain's voice call their name with a ring in it that made their heart skip.

"There you are."

Hero sat up straighter and turned around. "Hi." Hero shyly spoke. It was less confident than they anticipated. Their hands immediately went to touch their hair again; the messy thing always got in the way, and they had taken the time to flat-iron it that morning before showing up. They couldn't remember the last time they straightened their hair; it's been a while, and they accidentally burned their ear with the hot rod in their haste to get it done as quickly as possible as if the curls were a disease.

"You look different," Villain noted, widely smiling as they set their gaze on them.

They swallowed their nervousness and stood up. "Uhm.. yeah, thought I could use a change."

"Looks good."

Hero wanted to ask if it was true. Still, something forced their tongue down even when silence fell into their conversation, where they'd usually idly chat for a good few more minutes before getting into their usual spar.

Villain's hand reached for their belt and pulled out the hilt of their sword. "May I have this dance?" They stepped closer and aimed at them, waiting for a response.

"Try to keep up this time." Hero's hand glowed a shallow colour, just enough to get them riled up.

They fought bravely as usual, each blow heavier than the last, quicker and matching Villain's attacks.

Their smile persisted throughout the entire duration. Hero dodged Villain's sword and slashed at the air with a sharp flick of their wrist. A thin line of energy burst from their hands, and the Villain deflected it with their sword.

Hero took another step back, catching the blade with their hand and twisting it away from their body, unaware that they'd run out of places to move as they felt their back pressed against a wall.

"So quick to lose," Villain smirked as they panted hard from their chest and out. Hero could feel their body buzzing with excitement; although some doubts still lingered, it was all irrelevant at this moment. "Or did you want me to corner you like this?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Hero breathed heavily, all too happy for their liking. They could feel the heat on their face, hotter than it was supposed to be after hardly fighting.

When Villain stepped closer, Hero felt their smile falter a bit. An unreasonable fear consumed their head as they repressed the feeling of touching their hair again. "Ever wonder," Villain began, "What it would be like outside the mask?" Their head tilted slightly with that same crooked smile they'd grown so used to.

"No..." Hero whispered, "There's nothing interesting."

Villain laughed lightly, "Not even yourself?" They leaned down closer, their fingers tapping at the hilt of their sword while Hero's sweating palms rubbed the rough brick behind them, memorizing every crevice.

"Not even myself." Their eyes flickered downward, then back up again, "And you?"

"I have lots to offer." They casually answered.

Hero rolled their eyes, "Sure you do."

They heard them huff and mock a shocked expression. "You're questioning me?" Villain placed a hand on their chest. "I have what you could only dream of-- what you couldn't comprehend."

"Like what?" Hero pressed.

The criminal shrugged and crossed their arms, "Nice try, but I'm selective about who I choose to tell."

'Selective.' Hero reiterated in their head and licked their lips; the feeling that tormented them the other night returned. Itching up their throat and successfully stopping Hero from pursuing the conversation any further.

"You're awfully quiet," Villain remarked and moved back from them slowly, their eyes analyzing the way Hero stood almost slumped up against the wall. "Usually, you're so much more hot-headed."

"You like hot-headed?" Hero quickly snapped. It came out more disgruntled than they wanted. Hero didn't know what overcame them; what was supposed to be a good sensation had burned into a simmering hatred for this strange relationship they had. Hero took a deep breath, their brows furrowed as they stared at their shoes and tried to stop themselves before it was too late.

"Relax." Villain's voice cut through their head. "I just wanted you to know that you're acting out of character."

Hero didn't even bother this time and felt their hands grasping at the air before they could understand. Each fist went flying at Villain, aiming to hit as hard as possible.

Villain played defence, avoiding each one of their punches with swift movements and slight turns. "What's the matter, Hero? I think you've gotten--"

"Shut up!" Their first, burning a bright array of white and yellow, shoved into the metal frame of a nearby door; the ground cracked beneath them upon impact, and Villain stumbled as they went behind Hero with that same obnoxious laughter.

Villain's brows raised, impressed as they whistled at the scene, "Careful, that could break your hand."

"I said stop talking to me!" Hero went to hit them again, throwing enough of their energy to tear Villain's sword away from their hands when they went to deflect again.

Hero never got Villain's weapon away from them before. It surprised them how much they could do, and the surprise made them nearly trip if Villain hadn't caught them just in time. Their powers faded slowly as Hero's emotions dropped back down again. Something about being held so closely has thrown them out of focus.

"I said be careful didn't I?" They softly uttered. Hero's heartbeat fell back into its strange rhythm as usual, a different kind of beat that played a romantic song in their head and repeated itself for weeks. It was then that they grew keenly aware where Villain's hand were placed, so neatly on each side of their waist and so gentle with them. Hero's eyes blinked with confusion until they buried their head into Villain's chest.

"Sorry." They muffled the apology, still holding tears back.

"It's okay." Villain's hands grasped at their suit, slightly tugging at its edges.

They shook their head, "No, it's not." Their lips trembled, and a few drops of tears escaped them as their mind muddled in the confusion of being torn between truth and agonizing desperation. They couldn't stop themselves from saying what they hoped they could hide, "Do you like curly?" Hero heard themselves whisper, wishing they had more control over what they said when Villain didn't respond right away.

Villain's fingers paused. "What? Your hair?"

Hero could only nod, too afraid that the next time they spoke, they would start sobbing uncontrollably.

"I like curly." They murmured. "I like curly... and I like dark." Villain moved one hand to their back, rotating up and down. "Is that what's bothering you?"

Hero sniffled, feeling silly more than ever. "It isn't just teasing then." They said, more to themselves than to their enemy. They smiled under them, their knuckles still stung from the last hit, but that was behind Hero now.

They briefly stood in silence until Villain questioned them again. "Who told you I didn't like it?"

Hero cleared their throat. "A friend."

"Friend?" They stretched the word, sounding more startled as Villain worked through a list of names they'd seen Hero with before. "Which one?"

"The one with blond hair." They answered slowly.

"Hero." They called.

They lifted their head, eyes still foggy. "Yeah?"

"Do me a favour," Villain's thumb came to wipe their tear, "and don't listen to them."

~~~

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warlocksoup · 2 days

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into the spider-verse: nishinoya yuu

volume one, chapter two: calls

word count: 2.5k

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On the rooftop of the Flatiron Building, she leans back, and stares at the sky above her. She’s learned that looking down gives her vertigo, and if she’s lying down, she can pretend she’s not twenty-two stories off the ground.

Noya laughs at her, because he always does, but he still holds her hand, because he knows it makes her feel better. “I can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.”

“I feel like this is a super reasonable fear to have.” She inches a little but further away from the edge as she speaks. She doesn’t even wanna be close to it. “Plummeting to my death isn’t like, a big priority for me right now.”

He squeezes her hand. “You know I’ll catch you if you fall.”

He would. She doesn’t even doubt that for a second. If right now she stood up and decided to take a swan dive off the side of the building, there would be nothing getting in between him and her, and Noya would have her safely in his arms before she hit the fifteenth floor.

But still. It fucking terrifies her.

“Okay, sorry my primal instinct does not recognize that you got bit by some weird science experiment spider and now you defy all laws of nature,” she rolls her eyes, still tightly holding onto his hand as he sits upright beside her. “I’ll work on that.”

Nishinoya leans over a lightly pinches the soft skin of her stomach under her t-shirt. She squeals. “Keep it up with the attitude and I’ll throw you off the side of this building myself.”

“Hmm, not very hero-like of you, Spider-Man.”

“You bring out the worst in me.”

She grins. “I’m going to have to write an article about this. ‘Spider-Man throws innocent journalist with fear of heights off Flatiron Building.’ Jameson will love it.”

Nishinoya scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure he would. Too bad you’ll be busy being a sidewalk pancake.”

Her eyes find their intertwined hands. It’s always been natural, their friendship, everything that happens between them feels like it’s supposed to. The handholding and the couch-sharing and the arm over her shoulder. It’s always right, with Nishinoya. She doesn’t even have to think about it.

She watches his thumb as it brushes against her skin. “How’s it been out there lately?” she asks.

“Quiet,” Nishinoya replies. “Saving kittens from trees and helping old ladies across the street. Besides Sytsevich, everything’s been quiet since Osborn died. It’s kinda weird, y’know? Like eerie.”

“Yeah, I imagine waiting for the next disaster to strike can feel like that,” she comments, leaning back to stare up at the empty sky. You can’t ever see stars out here. “Hey, Noya?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you’re gonna stay here forever?” she asks. “Just stick around and be Spider-Man for the rest of your life.”

He hums a bit. “I dunno. I think I’ll probably just go wherever you end up.”

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

She’s sitting on the train, a hot cup of coffee in one hand, and her phone in the other. She’s looking down at an email from her favorite Yahoo user: If you don’t want the whole world to find out, do as I say.

It’s pretty explicit. It’s hard to misinterpret that kind of message, as much as she’s deliberately trying to. Her fingers tap against the paper cup, trying not to let panic work its way up her throat in the middle of this train cab, surrounded by bored commuters that wouldn’t flinch twice at any sort of breakdown she could have.

A heavy breath leaves her lung, and she pockets her phone, trying, with a tight feeling of desperation around her throat, not to think of it. If it’s not in her face, it’ll be marginally easier to pretend.

Yachi’s waiting for her at her desk when she gets into work. She slides into her chair, and Yachi skips the greeting. “Jameson’s pissed,” Yachi says, tapping a pencil against her desk.

“Yeah? What’d Spider-Man do now?” she questions, typing her password in. She mistypes it, and curses slightly under her breath.

“The PI he hired to find out his identity quit,” Yachi laughs. “Apparently there wasn’t enough for him to go off, and the guy got tired of Jameson raising his blood pressure at him for forty minutes a day.”

She snorts. Noya’s told her about private investigators before. Everyone touts that they’re going to be the one to unmask Spider-Man, but it’s kinda tricky trailing a man with superhuman sixth sense and the ability to basically fly through the city. “I give it another three months before he tries this one again.”

“I give it one,” Yachi counters.

Her desktop loads up, and she is immediately hit with a barrage of emails, looking like they’re coming in all at once, all in caps lock. “Fuck, looks like he’s taking it out on me again.”

Email after email, the subject lines varying from things like, “This piece is crap!” to “How are you still employed here?”

Yachi leans forward to get a better at her screen. “Oh, that’s bad. I’ll leave you to that.”

And it’s just that Yachi gives her a sharp grin and two-finger salute that another email pops up. No subject line, just a simple: Wait for my instruction.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Harry Osborn looks smarmy on the television screen, a thin layer of sweat shining on his forehead and slick smile that looks a little bit too pleased for his father’s funeral. She knocks her knee into Noya’s leg underneath the blanket they share. “That guy’s such a piece of shit,” she comments, jerking her chin forward towards the younger Osborn.

Noya knocks his leg back into hers. “My guy looks like he just won the lottery,” he remarks, eyes not leaving the screen. There’s a bit of history between Spider-Man and the Osborn family, mainly consisting of Norman committing acts of domestic terrorism from the vantage point of a hoverboard, dressed like a fucking goblin.

“Yeah, well he basically did,” she snarks. “Imagine inheriting Oscorp before you’re twenty-five. Basically guarantees you a fucking thirty under thirty spot.”

He snorts. “I’d rather not have anything to do with Oscorp. I’d rather be broke.”

"Oh, you mean the company that basically sponsored the lizard-ification of Dr. Connors? I can't imagine why." She lops her head to the side to look at him. “And anyway, I’m broke. You’re a freeloader.”

Nishinoya waves her off. “Same difference.”

She snorts, turning to face the television again to see they’re playing old footage of Norman Osborn in a lab (coat and everything), explaining the mission statement of Oscorp. To build a better future.

There were rumors about Norman, post-mortem. Details floating around about how he was driven mad in his final year. That the Osborn curse had infected him beyond hope, and his mind had began to decay, along with his body. Some people think he’s been dead for much longer. Some people think a group of investors had been secretly running Oscorp for years while Norman received private care upstate. Some people even suspect him of being the Goblin.

She wonders if that was the better future he had envisioned.

Noya shifts uncomfortably in his seat. She reaches over and grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly in hers. She’s sure he’s wishing the son will be better than his father. She’s hoping too.

His thumb traces circles over her knuckle. He doesn’t look in her direction. She tries to focus on the news and enjoy the way his hand feels in hers before there’s some police broadcast or distant siren or whatever to call him back to duty.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Meet me @ 300 W 57th St tomorrow at 8am. Or I tell everyone about him.

She sits at her desk, biting down on the end of a pencil, and weighing her options.

One: she could tell Noya.

There’s not even a chance he would let her go. Not even if he were there. No matter the argument she would present. Nishinoya would sooner web her to the couch than let her go meet up with some mystery blackmailer. She also knows that this threat would do little to sway him. If she tells Noya, the most likely outcome is him, masked up and aggravated, showing up to fight.

Which would result in [email protected] telling everyone.

Two: she could do nothing.

There’s really been no hard proof presented to her that shows that Yahoo user ijs99ETJfdhsg knows what he claims he knows. This could all very well be a big misunderstanding on her end. And so what? Even if he does know what he claims to, it’s not like the world would so easily believe that Nishinoya Yuu, random unemployed man, is Spider-Man. Random liars claim to be Spider-Man every day. Noya could easily blend in with random liars.

The consequence of doing nothing though is, of course, him telling everyone. And still, the possibility that the masses believe him or that Yahoo user ijs99ETJfdhsg does have some hard evidence on his side gnaw away at her. She can’t shoulder that.

Three: she could show up.

She could put some pepper spray in her bag and give Noya the address just in case something happens, and she could go and meet with this mystery blackmailer to see exactly what the fuck it is he wants.

And then, he wouldn’t tell anyone.

The thought of it puts knots in her stomach, and those knots are worsened by the acknowledgement that it’s probably her best course of action.

She sighs, using her cursor to highlight the address he provided and plopping it back into search bar. She’s envisioning some deserted alley, an abandoned storefront or someplace that would leave no witnesses if she were to be kidnapped and/or murdered.

What she wasn’t expecting was fucking Oscorp.

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

Harry Osborn’s office is neat. Almost empty, save for a few hard-drives and a stack of unopened newspapers at his desk. The wall to ceiling windows provide a view of the city she’s never seen before, and standing in the middle of it, she feels so starkly out of place. She looks behind her, just to see the assistant that led her up here closing the door behind him.

She feels trapped, at once.

Harry himself is leaning against a window, and as if operating on a que, he turns on his heel, a sickly grin plastered on his face, and, if she squints, she can almost see a greenish sort of hue in the undertones of his skin. “There’s my favorite journalist,” he greets, arms extended out as if he was going to hug her.

She steps back. “Erm, yeah,” she responds, head turning slightly to eye the closed door behind her. There’s something off in the air of room, something off-putting in the way Harry is looking at her. “Is there a reason you summoned me here through cryptic emails, or did you just wanna like, hang out?”

He stops, and lets his arms drop back down to his side, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets. “Straight to the point. I like that. I like that quality.”

It’s strange to be in the same room as him, New York City’s prodigal son. She’s seen his face on the cover of magazines and on news segments and she’s written articles about him. Harry Osborn has almost always been some kind of mythic figure in her head. An untouchable prince. Nothing she could get away with printing in the Bugle would ever have any impact on him.

But here before her, he does not look mythic, or untouchable, he looks like a very sick man. His hair falls flatly on his forehead, and he uses the back of sleeve to wipe off droplets of sweat. The longer she looks at him, the greener he seems, like his whole body is lightly stained.

Harry takes another step towards her. She steps back again.

“Y’know,” he drawls, and moves to stand behind the large desk that takes up most of the room; she watches him carefully, eyes trained on his every movement, “one of the most underrated parts of a power acquisition in a company like Oscorp, is that you suddenly have a lot more information at your disposal. A lot of information that money can’t buy.”

There’s something about the way he talks that is starkly unnatural. The PR training bleeds out of every word, and though he looks young, but the way he carries himself is eerily like his father. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. She looks over her shoulder, back at the door behind her. “O-okay.”

Harry takes a seat, like he’s unbothered by her presence. His hand lingers over one of the hard drives. “Did you know that, back in the early two-thousands, this company poured millions into researched on genetically enhanced spiders. They were supposed to be this miracle cure. A magic spider that could cure any illness. Until, of course, the head scientist died in some accident, and they had to kill off the whole project, including all the spiders they bred. Y’know, today, I think we only have one thing to show for that project.”

Her face is hot, and her ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton. This all suddenly feels like a mistake, like she’s in over her head and she never should’ve come here without Noya. Her tongue is dry when she tries to speak. “Is this, is this on the record, or…?”

Harry leans forward in her chair, and sneers. It chills her blood, that expression, cold and gnarled. “I’m not interested in going on the record with some second-rate journalist at a trash paper. I’m interested in this.”

Harry Osborn grabs the newspaper on his desk and slams it forward. She takes a step forward to get a better look and knows immediately what it is. It’s the Daily Bugle, with Spider-Man on the front page and her name printed on the bottom.

The First-Ever On-The-Record Interview with the One and Only Spider-Man!

Her hands are shaking. She looks up to see Harry grinning at her. “It’s funny, actually, how someone right out of school, with no credentials and no reputation to go off, could get this kind of interview.”

She can hear her heartbeat, and all she can think of is how unbelievably, colossally fucked she is.

Harry Osborn stands and makes his way to stand directly in front of her. The closer he is, the more of him she can see. The green tint of his skin, the almost scaly quality, the point of his teeth. “I want you to find Spider-Man, and I want you to get him to give me his blood.”

🕸 ｡𖦹°‧✩｡🕷˚⋆｡

On the busy street beneath the Oscorp building, her fingers tremble as she dials Noya’s number. He answers after the first ring. “Hey, what’s up? I’m just dropping this bodega thief off at the station-“

“Noya,” she cuts him off, trying to hold back the sob in her voice. “I fucked up.”

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anangelinthepit · 2 days

Text

Without You…

Part 4

Warning ⚠️ - possessive behavior and break in. Uncomfortable topics

************************************************

Noah’s POV

“Oh Ruby, you forgot who you were married to didn’t you ?”

I pushed the guys off of me and let out a frustrated yell. Even though I’m pissed off, I couldn’t help but begin to laugh. One man with all my power doesn’t take losing control gently and welcomes the sweet insanity that follows.

“My wife,” I said looking up at the old broken down building she resided in.

“MY WIFE. The one who is carrying MY son threw me out of her house. This isn’t fucking happening. IM THE ONE WHO CALLS THE FUCKING SHOTS AROUND THIS BITCH.”

After punching the brick wall and kicking over trash cans, the voice of reason began to try and calm my anger.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” Nick said in a demanding tone

“A conversation between me and the Mrs,” I said lighting a cigarette

“Noah she’s fucking six months pregnant, what were you planning on doing?”

“Oh please, I wasn’t gonna put my hands on her, but she needs to remember who fucking makes the rules around here. Nick, she shouldn’t be in this shady ass fucking apartment with some bitch she barely knows. I didn’t even have to get rid of her forcefully she was willing to run off and sleep with you. What does that tell you ?”

“It tells me that you’ve gone fucking insane and need to rethink what just happened. The woman you love fears you and doesn’t want anything to do with you. Do you have any idea what it takes to stand up to a person like you?”

“Person like me? I’m her fucking husband! She should obey and respect me!”

“You should be fucking thankful you had a woman like her Noah! Whatever happened to be calm or did that just fly out the fucking window?” Nick said crossing his arms

“I tried that Nick, but it seems like my wife forgot that I’m the only one in the relationship who is supposed to have a set of fucking balls!”

“Dude I may be your henchman but I’m also your best friend and I’m telling you this because I care about you. What you did in there just pushed her even further away. You are going to push her into the wrong fucking arms. She is to the point where the only way you’re going to get her back now is if you force her.”

I looked up at Nick and smiled at him. It’s almost like he read my mind.

“Force?” I said to myself

Feeling a sensation of happiness l and pure heat come over me, I gave myself a friendly and encouraging reminder.

I’m the strongest man in fucking California right now. Why didn’t I think of this before? I’ve got all the money, power, and men to control a fucking army. What is stopping me from bringing my wife home?

“No. NO. Noah don’t you fucking dare.” Nick said glaring at me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Call up Davis and tell him to meet us at the hotel. Ruby is coming home.” I said flicking my cigarette.

“I really gotta watch my fucking words from now on.”

We made our way back to the hotel with Davis and Matt waiting. The only thing I could think about was how my wife was gonna be begging for me to let her come home after all of this. She'll be at my feet, asking for my forgiveness. Of course, I'll have to play hard to get but the least I can do is give in a little.

“You got the blueprints of the building Davis?”

“No, but you’re not gonna need them. This building only has two exits and get this, Sapphire is 1 of 4 other tenants. The damn place is so old you could pull apart the bricks piece by piece.”

“That's it?”

“Yup”

“So what’s the plan here boss?” Matt asked

I took a deep breath and contemplated on if this was a good idea. As much as I hate causing her so much discomfort, this is my only option. I’ll change my ways but first, she needs to come back home to me. She doesn’t understand how much I truly need her, and if she could just stop being stubborn and open her fucking eyes she would see that.

If she won’t come home willing then I’m gonna show her how scary the world is without me there to protect her.

“In two days you guys are going to pay Y/N a visit.”

“What kind of visit?” Nick asked

“You’ll see.”

Nick got up and walked away in disgust. I don't know what his problem is lately but he's turning soft on me. I'm gonna need him to toughen up a bit if he wants to stick with this family.

“Davis go fucking talk to him. I don't have time to give the princess treatment right now.”

Davis grunted and went outside to catch up with Nick. I don't have time for his emotional bullshit. Right now I need to get my Ruby back home and make sure she stays there. Permanently

Nick's POV

“He doesn't fucking deserve her goddamit!”

I yelled throwing a trash can and kicking the remnants that fell. God if only he fucking knew. Does he not understand? He had a good woman next to him and he gave it up for all this bullshit. I lit a cigarette and tried to calm my nerves while Davis came out and asked me if I was okay.

“I'm fine dude I just need a minute.”

“Well, Noah told me to tell you to toughen up.

I laughed at what Davis said, it's so obvious that Noah is wrapped in his world and doesn't have time to be gentle in nurturing anyone. How is that man going to take care of a baby? Y/N was smart to run.

“He doesn't deserve her Davis. You know it and I know it.”

“It's not my business Nick. I work for the man.”

“This can't be happening,” I said dragging my fingers through my hair

“I do know one thing though, if you keep running your mouth and don't control that serpent that's in your pants, He's gonna make me cut it off and force you to watch..”

I couldn't help but scoff at him.

“You know don’t you?” I asked

“Seriously? Are you trying to get me killed too? If I admit what I know then we’re both in deep shit. I don’t like the way he treats her either but overstepping boundaries with him is not something I have the balls to do. I don’t think you realize you dug your own grave, Nick.”

I looked up at the sky for answers but as always received nothing. Did I make a mistake? What am I gonna do when he finds out and will I be able to handle him?

“I don’t know if I can pretend anymore.”

“Look dude, fake it till you make it. Fuck some other girl or smoke some weed. I don't care, just figure it out. Also, don't make me a fucking accomplice to whatever Lifetime movie bullshit you got going on. Got it?”

I flicked my cigarette and went back inside. I’m gonna have to keep this bullshit cover-up for a little while longer, and even though it kills me, I’m willing to do it.

I’m willing to do anything for her.

Noah and Matt were talking but stood abruptly and stared at me when I walked into the room. I’ll play my card right and keep the poker face that I’m so good at having on.

“I'm ready for whatever you need me for Boss.”

Noah shot me a smirk and waved me over. Hearing them talk over the plan made my gut turn, but having to agree with it was even worse.

Poison on my fucking tongue

Two days later

Y/N’s POV

I’m still feeling shaken up about what happened. I couldn't focus at work and Sapphire began to notice I was dwelling on how things needed between Noah and me. I’ve never seen him get so angry at me, now of course we had our fights but what I witnessed was what I can only consider as maximum rage. I used to think he would never lay his hands on me but him flipping that table the way he did now has me second-guessing. Six months pregnant and he almost put me in harm's way.

“You’re fucking mine!”

“I'm not his fucking wife, I'm his goddamn property,” I said to myself shaking my head. Why the hell did I ever agree to this?

The moonlight shined down on me after another shitty night at the bar. I waved goodbye to my boss and made the drive home. Still feeling on edge I got to the apartment and was met once again with silence. I began to get nervous as I called out for Sapphire, I heard nothing until I went towards her room and could hear her shower running. Having a wave of relief come over me, I went into my room and tried to wind down for the night. Sitting down on the bed trying to massage my swollen feet, I realized skipping out on a shared probably wasn’t in my best interest. I smelled like sweat and unwanted married men's hormones crawling all over me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the bathroom when I got a text.

It was from Sapphire

Sapphire

Hey, I met this really cute guy, so I'm gonna chill at his place 2night. Wish me luck ;)

Oh so is that why you're in the shower? Lmfao gurll you do you. Just careful

I smiled and just shook my head at my bestie's promiscuous ways. I figured I should offer her a ride to this guy's house because I don't want her walking and it also gives me an excuse to go get Chinese food. As I made my way to her bedroom door, I received another text.

Sapphire

The shower? Girl I wish, my boss is making me close 2night so I still have another two hours left.

What…

Feeling my heart drop into my fucking stomach, I read over her message about 10 times. I frantically texted her back telling her that someone was in our apartment and what I should do.

Just like in a horror movie with an awful plot. The lights cut out in the fucking apartment, I wanted to scream but was too scared to do so. I slowly began to move away from her door and tried my hardest to make my way back to my bedroom to call the police. I began to back up, trying to not make myself noticeable to whoever was in her room. I could hear the shower water cut off, it was almost like the intruder was listening for my footsteps. I wasn't too far from my room when I heard frantic running in Sapphires. Whoever was in there heard me and was now making it their mission to get me. As my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, I swiftly turned around to flee, only to be met by a tall figure who was as tough as concrete. Being shoved to the ground I began screaming and crying for them not to hurt me.

“Please, I'm pregnant! Don't hurt me I'm begging you!”

I could hear the men laughing as I struggled to back away from them. Not realizing my surroundings I ended up being backed into the wall.

“MY HUSBAND IS NOAH SEBASTIAN DAVIS, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME HE’LL FUCKING KILL ALL OF YOU!”

Even in pitch-black darkness, I could tell that one of the men was only a couple of inches away from my face. I could feel and smell his hot breath in which I almost began to vomit. He put his hand on my stomach and leaned in to whisper in my ear

“Oh, babydoll.”

Those words cut through me like a knife

“I need you to do me a favor okay?”

I could feel something cold and sharp press against my neck and slid down to expose the cleavage under my shirt

“You tell Noah I said Hello, and if he ever lets you go again, I'm just gonna have to keep you.”

They kissed my forehead which caused me to break out into a cold sweat. God his lips felt dirty and unpure.

“Let's go boys!”

I heard what sounded like 4-5 men walk away from me and go towards my front door. My theory was confirmed when the hallway light shined in illuminating 5 men.

Before closing it, the one masked man gave me the “hush” sign and a creepy smile.

I lay there on the dirty hard wooden floor sobbing and falling apart. Making myself have enough courage and energy to get up and grab the phone. I dialed frantically and prayed he would pick up.

“Ruby?”

“Noah? Oh, thank God. Please listen to me, you have to come get me.

“Ruby, what happened?

“These. These m-men broke into my apartment and shoved me down for the g-ground.”

“Ruby slow down I can't understand you.”

I was shaking uncontrollably but I needed to pull myself together. I took a deep breath brought the phone back up to my ear and explained what happened.

“Noah I think there's a Rival group because they told me to tell you, that they're watching and if you let me go again they're gonna kidnap me. Noah Im so fucking scared please come get me!”

I fell back into hysterics and just wanted my husband. He's a fucking psycho but at least no one messed with me when I was with him.

“Are you and the baby okay?”

“Yes yes, Theo and I are fine. They just shoved me, I was able to catch myself so it wasn't so hard. Just please come get us.”

I heard nothing but silence on the phone. What the fcuk did he hang up on me? God if I can’t rely on him anymore then please protect me and my baby.

“Noah?”

“Do you finally get it, Ruby?”

“What?”

“I said do you finally get it?”

“Baby please stop, just come get me. Please!”

God, why is he making me beg?

“I can't protect you if you run away and try to be “miss independent”. Your life was always good here. If I come and get you, you better not pull this stunt ever again. There will be security in you 24/7 got it?”

I wanted to protest but the sound of phantom footsteps kept psyching me out. I didn't care anymore I just wanted to go home.

“Okay, okay, baby I will never do this again I swear, just please come get us. Noah, I can't do this on my own.”

Noah let out a huge sigh and told me he would be in about 10 minutes. I hurried and gathered my things and waited. Every minute felt like centuries, praying that those monsters wouldn't come back. I got a text from Noah saying he was here and sending Nick up to help me to the car. Oh, why couldn't it have been someone else? I waited for what seemed like forever and started to feel a nervous feeling in the bottom of my gut. I haven't seen Nick in so long, I almost forgot what he looked like. Hearing a pounding on my door, I ran over, took a deep breath, and opened it. I was met with long black hair, beautiful green eyes, and a warm smile that was always so welcoming.

“Nick”

“Y/N”

I don't know what it was but something about his smile made me collapse into his arms and start sobbing. His tight hold on me already made me feel so safe that the thought of letting go hurt.

“I got you, Angel.”

My legs could no longer hold me up and we slid down to the floor together.

“Oh, Nick. Please don't let me go.” I said sobbing into his chest

“You know I have to Angel, he's down there waiting for us.“

Nick caressed my face and made me look at him.

“Be my strong girl for me one more time, okay?

“Okay.”

Nick helped me up and walked me down to the limo. Jolly was waiting for me outside the vehicle and opened the door for me when I closed enough. I got in and could feel the tension in the air once again. Noah sat across from me with an evil look on his face. I'm not sure what I was expecting but this wasn't it. We began to drive and were only 10 minutes away from the house. I couldn't wait to shower and sleep in my bed again. I knew I wouldn't be let off so easily with this, I looked away from the window and saw that Noah was glaring at me while Nick was still facing the other way. I broke the silence and spoke which I should have known was a mistake.

“Thank you.”

Noah leaned forward and said, in a low deep growl.

“Get on your knees”

“Pardon?”

Nick snapped out of his trance and tried to grasp the situation.

“Noah she's six months pregnant, don't do this right now,” Nick begged

“Stay the fuck out of this Nick.” Noah snapped

“I said on your knees, Ruby”

I did as I was told, and got on the limo floor gently going down in my knees.

Noah yanked my chin upward forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“This is how obedient you are going to be from now on. Understand?”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“Yes”

“Get the hell up and sit there. We will talk more when we get back to the house.”

I got back up in the seat and wiped my tears. How is it that I trade one evil for another? I can't keep doing this anymore, I started to regret my decision but now it's too late. I looked over at Nick who was having a stare-down with Noah. I wish he would just look at me and not trouble the waters that we got ourselves into.

I need him right now and I don’t know how much longer I will be able to play pretend.

**********************************************

Hey guys, sorry it took so long. This story really had me wondering what I should do with. I hope you all enjoyed. Love you dearly

-Magenta 🌹

Taglist

@reyadawn @bloodylullaby @fadingintothegrey @aubrey-melinoe @supersquirrel1996 @thisbicc @amelia-acero @dreamstyles @ashdreamsalone @iluvmewwwww75 @lma1986 @concreteemo

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens cult #bad omens band #noahsebastiancult #noah sebastian davis #beautiful man #i love him #love him #baby boi #nick bad omens #nick ruffilo #noah sebastian reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #nick ruffilo fanfiction

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redrose10 · 16 hours

Text

#9 from the picture game!

Warnings: None

You sat at your computer screen anxiously waiting for your husband to answer your call. He was touring on the other side of the world and you might’ve missed him just a tiny little bit.

Finally after what felt like forever he picked up.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat staring at the screen. This was the eighth time you had called in the last four hours. The thing about Yoongi is he will always answer your call as long as he’s not performing or in an interview or something similar. And you knew that and would occasionally use it to your advantage.

Like right now when you called to ask him a question that you already knew the answer to. “Y/N,”, he said softly.

Not babe, baby, jagiya, kitten. Just your name. You knew he was getting frustrated maybe even a little annoyed so this was going to have to be the last time you called him.

“Ummm do you know where our measuring cups are? I want to bake some cookies and can’t find them.”, you asked rather shyly because you knew exactly where they were. The cookies were already made and cooling on a rack in the kitchen.

Yoongi licked his lips, “They should be in the drawer next to the spoons. If they’re not there then just let me know and I’ll order a new set and have them rush delivered.”

That was just like Yoongi. Even though he was exhausted and frustrated with you he would still go out of his way to make sure you were taken care of no matter what.

“Thanks Yoongs. I’ll check there. Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too.”, he said before quickly ending the call.

You closed the laptop and slid it under the bed not wanting to be tempted to call him again. You were already pushing your luck.

Instead you did some laundry, straightened up the apartment, made lunch. You felt like hours had gone by so you grabbed the laptop excited to call Yoongi again as he should be awake by now.

Much to your dismay though the clock showed that barely two hours had passed. You closed the laptop and walked over to the bed.

“I can’t call him again. He needs to sleep.”, you sighed.

Maybe laying in the bed was a bad choice because the sheets still smelled faintly of him, only making you miss him more.

You tried to hold out as long as you could which ended up only being at extra twenty minutes before excitingly running over to your desk.

You waited and waited and finally Yoongi’s face popped up on the screen. His eyes were barely open and his hair was a mess. You had clearly woken him out of a deep sleep and you felt awful.

This time he didn’t even speak. He just sat there and stared at the screen.

You could feel your emotions starting to bubble up. Your bottom lip began to shake.

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Y/N. What do you need this time? Find the measuring cups?”, he asked.

You nodded, “Yeah I made double chocolate chip cookies.”

He nodded but remained silent.

“Umm I just…I”, you said fidgeting with a loose thread in your tshirt.

Yoongi stayed silent as he waited for you to continue.

So you said, “I was just wondering…If there was a zombie apocalypse and I got bit would you still love me even though I was a zombie?”

You saw him swallow thickly. He used his elbow to prop up his head and leaned forward to get a closer look. His eyes squinted at you and his eyebrows furrowed. His mouth stayed slightly agape. He didn’t speak. He looked like he was in shock, maybe a tad disgusted.

“I’m sorry Yoongi. I just miss you a lot. I won’t bother you again and I’ll try to change so I don’t do this again. Go get some sleep and call me when you wake up.”, you said feeling ridiculous before quickly ending the call.

You sat staring out the window for a few a moments trying to think of something to distract you. Your phone vibrated on the desk.

Your heart swelled and your cheeks hurt from how hard you smiled.

A text from Yoongi,

“I’d build you a really nice cage where I could keep you and still come visit you from afar because yes I would still love you even if you turned into a zombie. But I love you more just the way you are now so please don’t change, especially into a zombie because I like kissing you too much and I don’t want to give that up.”

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fic #Yoongi fluff #suga #bts yoongi

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harrytheehottie · 11 hours

Text

JUNO

WORD COUNT: 2K MASTERLIST this is a part of the short & sweet fic challenge @harry-on-broadway let me know what you think 💘 hope you enjoy!

The sun was casting a warm golden glow through the windows of your living room as you sat on the couch. Harry was in the kitchen making your nightly tea as you rested on the sofa. It was a peaceful evening, like many that you have shared over the last three years. This familiar feeling and routine was something you cherished especially with the hectic schedule Harry’s life could bring.

A year ago, he finished his two year long world tour. It was an incredible feat and one that was an emotional roller coaster since it began. He had his entire life planned from the minute we all went into lockdown to the final show in Italy and these last seven months were spent just making up for lost time. He was always home when you came back from work, he was the one that was traveling on your schedule and your terms. It was a great change from how your relationship was before. You didn’t have to anticipate the day that he was going to go away for weeks at a time because you were a part of that decision making now and it only made the two of you stronger as a unit.

You glanced at the framed photos on the mantel: you and Harry in various stages over the last three years--goofing around backstage at Coachella, the night he turned his green room in MSG into a home theater and begged security to let you two spend the night after you just got off a six hour flight to surprise him for his last show. It was the simple moments that were your favorite, the picture of you walking through the Heath, a cup of coffee and pastries in tow for your favorite weekend tradition of a Saturday morning picnic.

This was the first year that you were able to think about the future just as it pertained to you and Harry. You didn’t have to think about how your life decisions factored into anyone else's. You always knew you wanted to have a family. He was always going above and beyond for the children in his life not just by spoiling them with gifts but checking up on them and making sure they knew that he was always there. And this became more apparent when he became an Uncle. He was always the first to offer up babysitting so his sister and her partner could enjoy some quality time, even making the trek up to Cheshire to watch his cousin's children if they asked.

So, when Harry walked back into the living room with a cup of tea for you and snacks for himself you sort of blurted it out before you had the chance to second guess the right time for this conversation.

“I’m ready to have a baby.”

Harry’s eyes widened, completely caught off guard, “What?” almost second guessing what you just said.

You take a deep breath, your heart racing realizing that you are not going to be able to take those words back. “I’ve just been thinking, we have talked about the future a lot as this far-fetched idea but we’re here now and…” you paused looking up at him, his expression shifting from the initial shock, he leaned closer, taking your hands in his. You knew how Harry worked and the subtle shift in energy was all you needed to continue, “I know not to think, I know I’m ready… for that next step.”

A moment of silence stretched between you as he processed your words “You really mean that?”

“More than anything,” you admitted, looking into his eyes. “I can’t imagine going through that journey with anyone else. And it just feels good right now, us, we are so good right now and there is just no reason to wait.”

Harry’s expression softened, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. “It’s a big step, probably one of the biggest steps we will ever take together.”

“Will we ever truly be ready?” You chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Life is unpredictable, but I want this with you.I want to build a family together.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. “I’ve thought about it too,” he finally said, turning back to you. “I want that. I’ve always wanted it honestly. I remember the first time you met Ruby and the way she was instantly drawn to you. S’probably when the thought first crossed my mind.”

You remembered that day. You were so incredibly nervous to meet Harry’s close group of friends. It was Ruby -- his God daughter’s 4th birthday. You had only been dating for around three months at that point. You remember stressing about what to buy her as a gift and even though Harry promised no one would think twice if you showed up empty handed. You still scoured the internet looking up every list of ‘best gifts for a 4 year old girl’ and settled on a Peppa Pig Camper Playset with all the characters. And to say it was a hit was an understatement. The two of you still joke about how as soon as Ruby opened her present she demanded that you stay after to set up the toy and play with her.

Harry remembers watching the way you were interacting with Ruby and how her father, Ben made a comment about how he had never seen Harry so fixated on someone before like he had you. It was still early days but he always went back to that moment and how it led you to where you are now.

“So, are we ready to do this?” You asked with a mix of excitement and nervousness in your voice.

“You know, if we really want to be serious about this. We’re going to have to start practicing.” Harry teased pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his body against yours as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative like he was emphasizing the importance of the moment you just shared.

You pulled away first, a smirk on your face, “Hmm.. practice? I’m feeling a little tired right now,” You teased with a wide yawn stretching your arms over your head. The playful banter that you know drives him crazy. Harry moves his hands to cup your face, his thumb glazing over your lips again, “C’mere” he whispers. He begins kissing down your neck, leaving small kisses along his path from his lips. You move your hands through his hair, as he scoots back on the couch, pushing your shirt up in the process and you help to take it off.

The kisses continue. He’s moving down your neck, between your cleavage and he stops right at the top of your stomach. His hands that were holding yours moved to touch your belly — picturing what was going to happen next. The commitment to a family and how you would be the home for his future baby. You were almost tearing up at the sight of him and just how careful he was already, always putting your needs first and making you his priority.

“You’re gonna have to use your words, baby,” You whisper as Harry moves his hands to the waist of your pants. You are already ready for him and he knew it just by how much you were wiggling under him trying to get him to move faster.

“I want you,” he says in a low breathy tone before helping you get your pants off. You move your weight onto your forearms to get a good view of him. You watch as Harry slides your underwear to the side, a rush of pleasure washing over the both of you. “So wet for me…” leaving his lips as he moves his fingers up and down your slit. The juxtaposition of the sexyness and tenderness of the moment right as he slid one and quickly two digits in pushing his fingers in and out. The pleasure washing over your body, the whimper of ‘Oh yes’ and ‘Baby’ a moan escaping your lips as you rode out your first orgasm.

His lips are immediately back on yours as you slide your hand into his pants pushing his joggers off trying to keep every part of your body touching. After being in a relationship for three years you still periodically used contraceptives especially when you are in the thick of it with his work never wanting anything to come in the way of jeopardizing this unspoken tension between the two of you. And tonight, was going to be and feel different, no more trying to locate the last spot you left condoms going on stretches of time of just trying the process. This was intentional and you felt the mutual giddyness as you slid your hand down his length pumping him once, twice, three times before Harry is ready for you.

“M’not gonna last very long,” he says before aligning your hips before pushing in deep. Taking a couple of deep breaths as you move your hips along with Harry as you adjust to the familiar feeling of him inside you. Harry leans his head toward you leaving kisses all over him, your nails dragging up and down his back.

“Tell me it feels good,” You whispered the sounds of your mutual pleasure echoing in the room.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, always s’fuckin good” Harry was moving faste and harder meeting your gaze right before letting himself go inside you. His body collapsing on top of you as both tried to catch your breath from the pleasure. You had your arms wrapped around his body wanting to keep the warmth of his body on you forever.

You cleaned yourselves up and spent the rest of the night thinking about your future and how you were going to take that next step forward. Harry was your safe space and you were his. You both knew that this next step forward would be unlike anything you’ve done before but you were both ready, as a team to make this next step.

And one day, you will be in this same living room waiting for Harry to finish making a bottle for your future baby - and boy, could you not wait.

#harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles #god... haven't used those tags in a minute! pls be nice and tell me what you think <3 out of my comfort zone a little..

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bengiyo · 20 hours

Note

Hello 👋

All of your favorite horniest sex scenes?

Hello! I've been busy, so this has taken forever to get to!

I don't always need the guys to bounce around on each other and gyrate enthusiastically for it to out as horny. Oftentimes, I find myself more drawn in by the building desire between the characters, and the explicit acknowledgement of release. I like when the sex feels like it's also revealing something to us about the characters. I've highlighted many of these before, but it's fun to revisit.

Ghost Host, Ghost House Episode 4 Couch Scene

youtube

I will never get over this scene, and especially the director's cut of it. These guys knew they liked each other almost instantly, and it was so rewarding to see them reach a place where they could express that. Bonus points for discussing the logistics of gay sex.

This show has been on Gaga and YouTube for a while, but it's also now available on Viki!

La Pluie Episode 6 Floor Scene and Episode 7 Bed Scene

I liked this scene so much that I wrote about it. Again, there's a lot of anticipation between these two, and you can tell how far it's built up because Patts has to dial it back down when Saengtai wants to stop. It's especially important to me because Saengtai does blow Patts in the next episode. If you're on iQIYI, there's an extended cut of that at the end of the video lists.

Mood Indigo: The Post-Funeral Scene

These two are so horrible for each other, but damn are their sex scenes compelling. Theirs are the kinds of scenes only possible between two people you know can never work long term. I was so glad that we got back to Haruhiko in Playback, and the first thing he did was blow Rio in a car. If you haven't seen the Novelist, and you're itching for hornier BL, it's right there.

The End of the World With You "You're Soaked"

From the same team as The Novelsit, we got to experience baby's first fuckboy in this incredible show. Again, I love when we get scenes with couples who aren't ready to work, because they're allowed to have raunchier sex. They get to amp the intensity of the physicality because they need to give a reason why someone was so caught up and missed the warning signs. I actually love the car scene later as a more romantic intimacy scene, but we're focusing on horny here.

Jack o' Frost Birthday Sex

A common theme here with the Japanese offerings is that people are allowed to have more interesting sex scenes right before they split. This is true even in Jack o' Frost. We get a really great oner from the leads that precedes their breakup and Ritsu's accident. I think this might be my favorite of this list because the actors have to build the entire scene together since there aren't any cuts.

Gameboys 2 Bed Scene

Cairo and Gav are one of my favorite pandemic couples we got on screen, and I was quite relieved for them when they finally got to have this moment. We also confirmed they switch, and I love that.

Wedding Plan: Namnuea Showing Off His Stamina

No list for me would be complete without including them. I really loved seeing two gay men go at it after clearing out all of their misunderstandings. They had already had sad goodbye sex. It was thrilling to see them having enthusiastic, athletic sex. This also leads directly to one of my favorite emotional payoffs for a closeted character of all time.

Kiseki: Dear to Me Reunion

The second couple stole this show, but damn if I didn't love the way these two played out sex across multiple years between their characters. These two really suffered, and I really love the way Taro Lin and Hsu Kai captured the changes between these two as Bai Zong Yi grew and matured. This really was a solid sex scene.

Love Class 2: Sungmin and Joo Hyuk

I just really wanna thank them for reassuring me that if Korea wanted to, they could deliver.

Sleep With Me Jeans Scene

I am not a lesbian, but I share their beliefs. This scene was so good. I loved that these two, who have different kinds of disabilities, were able to have a very fun sex scene. I really like when it's clear both characters want to be there.

Only Friends: Boston and Top in the Car

Despite my eventual disdain for this show, I was impressed with Neo and Force for giving this incredibly selfish sex scene between their characters. This entire scene is about injured egos, and it's a standout scene from this show. We won't discuss the rest of the show here.

Thanks for the ask!

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sanakimohara · 7 hours

Note

Bangchan + Dollhouse by TheWeeknd and Lily-Rose Depp + Yandere 🤭🤭

Like imagine

You wake up in a random persons house, you've been stalked for months, that random person is your stalker. But you can't deny how hot he is. And for a while, he's gentle and makes you fall in love with him, until he introduces you to his friend, Changbin, who you can't deny is almost as hot as Chris, so you talk to him and basically ignore chris. Chris gets jealous and as soon as changbin leaves, he ‘punishes you’ with both rough sex and spanking (i have a spanking kink, spare me pls) and when he's done with everything and you're sleeping, he cries thinking he might of hurt you, you wake up a comfort him with another round. The relationship is messed up, but in front of everyone it's ‘Perfect’ and everyone calls you ‘Barbie and Ken’, but you're more ‘Jocelyn and Tedros’ (the idol ref). You sometimes feel trapped in a ‹Dollhouse› by how you have everything you want, but freedom and being able to talk to without chans supervision.

I know it's probably not your style of writing, but thought I'd request 🤭🤭

[ YOU ] PT.1 B. C.

parking: chan x fem! reader

summary: Stalker AU

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KyevYvSoqYDrdBqeAvTZO?si=ZgCCA54dQ7ChyVR2Eg381g

warnings: MDNI + NSFW + ANGST + KIDNAPPING + STALKING + STOCKHOLM SYNDROME + CNC + DESCRIPTIONS OF BODILY HARM + MENTIONS OF MURDER + TRAUMA + SMUT

type: full fic / angst / smut / horror…

a/n: not my style?!? Love, this is exactly the type of stuff I enjoy writing the most tbh. Also your request definitely reminded me of “The Idol” and ‘You” so…I made this fic as an overlap between both and I hope you enjoy it! 🖤

One…Two…Three….Four.

One…

Four walls. …

One door….

One. Two. Three. Four.

One….

Four walls and one door.

You’ve counted them over and over.

You sit in drowning silence, repeating the same numbers to resist the panic rising in your chest from their unfamiliarity.

You’ve never seen these four walls before.

You can’t even begin to remember walking through the door.

Let alone recall how you ended up tied to a bed’s iron-wrought headboard with tape plastered across your mouth to keep a wad of cloth shoved between your lips.

So, you resort to counting.

To repeat the pattern of numbers and halt the tears building in your eyes as the world seems smaller and smaller the longer you count them.

It’s strange.

These four walls and one door are your only comfort in the quiet of a dimly lit room.

It’s the only details you can make out through blurred vision, head fogging with illicit fear as you study them for any clue as to why you’ve been chosen to be within them.

It’s irrational.

Illogical.

But it’s the only thing you can think of to do being in a strange room, restrained and gagged without a clue as to who or why you’ve been put there.

You try to remember. Try to run through the possible events in the last twenty-four hours that’d put you in such an uncanny predicament, but nothing alarming crosses your mind.

There is nothing you can pinpoint as a warning sign you could’ve seen before ending up here.

You woke up, dressed, went to work at the record store until evening, closed the shop, grabbed a bite to eat at the cafe down the street, and then…

And then what?…

You couldn’t get past the point in your train of thought.

You remember the moment you stepped out of the cafe's side entry door and into the small alleyway leading straight to your apartment with a strawberry strudel and cold cream latte in one hand and your phone in the other.

You took one step, turning in the opposite direction of the cafe, finger hovering above the “answer’ button as an unknown caller ID flashed across your phone screen. You meant to answer it, wondering if it was the man who’d come into the record shop looking for a Nirvana vinyl and a pleasant conversation.

What was his name again?

Chan?…

Christopher…?

Wait, no…

Chris!

He’d been the kindest and most invested customer you’d ever met since working in the retrofitted store, insisting that you exchange numbers and plan a time to hang out, listen to records, and maybe discuss opinions on certain bands over a bite-to-eat later on.

You found no harm in taking him up on the innocent offer. Giving a good-looking, genuinely sweet, and apparent music lover your number didn’t seem like a bad idea.

You could barely hold the smile creeping onto your face at the thought of getting a call from him so soon, imagining the drawl of his Australian accent carrying through the phone like pure honey.

You hit ‘answer,’ phone raised to your ear as you began to walk down the brick alley, but the moment your lips parted to speak, a particular smell invaded your nose, and the world went black.

No warning.

No indication.

No recollection.

There was nothing you could grasp from the startling incident that gave a clue as to what happened and why.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, and your head began to hurt from the effort it took to sift through the distorted memory.

A solemn huff struggled to get past your lips, muffled by cloth and tape but audible enough to crack the silence in the room.

Your hands, wrists, and arms felt heavier. The rope twisted in and around the joints, pulled tight to wrap through the bed’s iron headboard, which swirled into a whimsical pattern. Your legs were left somewhat free, ankles bound by the same rope, but the knot around them was too tight for you to wriggle your feet free entirely.

Each time you tried to wrestle the restraints, they’d dig into your skin, scratching and pressing until lines of red were left.

You gave up squirming when the pain became too much, having let go of the hope that someone would hear your muted screams just before that.

Your heart rate failed to slow, stuck in a perpetual frantic pace as you resorted to counting and crying to yourself for comfort.

For a sense of security in a situation that couldn’t possibly remain secure.

A shroud of defeat hung above you, blanketing you in exhaustion as the numbers rang through your head again.

One. Two. Three. Four….One.

One. Two. Three. Four-

*snap*

*click*

Your counting abruptly ends when you hear the door lock come to life—a sharp sound that sends rivets of caution through your veins. You watch from the bed as the doorknob twists, turns, and clicks open.

*creak…*

The wood cries quietly as it’s pried open, inching with gentle force as a figure steps through it.

“You’re awake….I’m glad.”

Chris smiles, a warmth to his lowered voice that doesn’t entirely match the tension his presence has created in the stuffy room you’re tied up in.

You stare at him, watery eyes wide with confusion and pure fear.

His smile.

His voice.

Those brown eyes of his that you’d sworn looked so sweet, lighting up with recognition when you showed him the record store's Nirvana section. Now, they terrified you as they grazed along your vulnerable position.

A position he’d put you into.

A position you hadn’t expected him, a man so warm and so down to earth yet new to you, to put you in.

Chris saw the wheels turning in your head, reading the tidbits of betrayal bombarding you as the pieces of the puzzle you’d been trying to put together for hours finally came together.

He felt…guilty, of course.

He hadn’t meant to take you so quickly. Let alone without getting to know your mind a little better, but he needed a new source of purpose…

A new fix for the addiction many were unaware he had developed after years of denying it himself.

He needed a vice, a project, a doll to mold, a person who would depend on him and only him.

You checked all those boxes. He’d made sure of it. Trailing you for weeks after spotting you closing the record shop one evening on your way to the cafe he’d just left only a moment ago.

Getting rid of a body was never easy. It was a tedious task he rarely did without the help of caffeine in any form he could find, but one look at you had his mind wandering from the burden.

It was almost too perfect, in his opinion.

You were almost too perfect.

You remained on his mind for the next few days. You were the only thing he could ponder while tossing bags of muscle into the ocean in the dark hours of the morning. An itch he couldn’t quite scratch away.

So, against the resolve of his last failure to find someone to hold on to, Chris took an interest in you.

In your day-to-day life.

In the few friends and family you had and kept close.

In the days you went to work.

In the time you spent at the cafe after you’d leave the record shop.

In the specific orders you made.

A toasted strawberry strudel and cold cream latte on Mondays and Sundays.

Pumpkin vanilla cappuccino and lemon cake slice on Tuesday and Thursday.

Oh, but his favorite combination you ordered happened every Friday…

A slice of cake with strawberry filling and a cup of ice cream with extra whipped cream on top.

On those days, he’d watch from afar as your cheeks flushed from every bite of cake and cold cream you’d take. Bits of whipped cream swiped off your lips with a quick pass of your tongue. And that slight smile on your face as you enjoyed the treat always warmed his heart a little more each time he saw it.

You lived alone.

All alone.

A sweet girl like you shouldn’t have to but you do.

Chris couldn’t stand it.

Not the way you walked home all alone each night.

Not the way you stayed at the record store later on some nights to finish your manager’s closing tasks whenever he asked you to.

Which was far too many times for Chris’s liking.

Not the way you’d had to shop for yourself. You were buying smaller portions of groceries only to feed yourself.

Not how you helped anyone, even the rudest customers he’d ever seen when stopped by the record store in search of anything but vinyl records.

Not the way you’d crouch down in the alleyway after those interactions to cry into your hands and try to calm down before returning to work with a smile.

He couldn’t stand it.

Any of it.

Weeks of watching you suffer through a life he could make so much better for you made his headache and his mind numb.

Meeting you in the record store was only supposed to be a soft start to a usual routine he’d perfected over time. A quick interaction, something to ease his desire to have you all to himself. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But seeing your smile up close, hearing your soft voice carry under the sound of the 80s best hits as you led him to the section of records he’d asked to see, did something indescribable to him.

He could’ve waited. He could’ve gone on a few dates that he knew you’d gladly go on with him, but a rare impulse toppled over his logic.

You’d be so much happier if he had you.

He knew it.

He believed it.

And sooner or later, you’d believe it, too.

What’s the harm in making sure you’d believe it sooner?

Chris breathed, steadying himself despite the relief he felt seeing you wide awake and safe right where he had left you.

“Listen,…Y/n…” he stepped closer, eyes drifting around your figure when you began to toss and turn against the bed to scoot further away from him.

To keep him away at all costs.

Chris felt his heart drop, his smile gone, watching your teary eyes dart over him and through the room. Your body shook, your legs pulled close to your chest, and your head pressed back into the headboard.

You were terrified.

He terrified you.

That just wouldn’t do, and Chris stifled his inner doubts and regrets about causing you so much confusion and distress to remedy it in any way he could.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d listen to reason and hear him out.

You seemed like the understanding type.

A girl who could see another’s perspective without offering harsh judgment.

Chris was sure of it, though you looked utterly terrified of him now, if he was careful enough…

You’d have no choice but to understand.

“Listen,” he smiled at you, rounding the bed in three swift steps and kneeling at its left edge as you tried to curl closer to the right one.

He sighed, trying not to take your reluctance to be near him to heart, but the silent sobs that barely made it past your gag annoyed him to some degree.

Did you think he’d hurt you?

Him?

The one who’d made it his life’s new purpose to protect you at all costs would plan on hurting you when he’d only just gotten his hands on you?

Chris felt the frown on his lips, unable to retrain his disappointment in your behavior. Still, the disapproving expression he held lasted for less than seconds before he softened into a kinder one.

“Listen… I’m not going to hurt you. I know you must be so scared right now, sweetheart, and that’s fine.”

He straightened up, raising his arms to fold on the bedsheets. His shoulders tightened underneath the black shirt he wore, and he took a deep, elongated breath through his nose.

You watched him, struggling to see him as the same man you’d met in the record store. From the beginning, he’d been a stranger, a new face of kindness that mirrored your own, but now your mind couldn’t fathom what to think of him.

A dryness settled in the back of your throat, adding to your jaw ache and the soreness blooming through each of your tied limbs.

You were in pain.

He was putting you through so much pain, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

And you still had a little faith in his promise, believing the sick irony of it for the sake of internal hope.

Chris raised his head, strands of blonde hair falling over those eyes you couldn’t help staring into. “You can be afraid of me, baby. I know you are, and that’s fine, but know I’m doing this for you…” He paused, letting a wry laughas his lips pulled into a smile you barely saw when he lowered his head again.

Your nerves vibrated with anxiety, his sudden silence setting you on edge and bringing tears right back to your tired eyes.

Chris looked up, hearing you crying again, brows furrowing with irritation and concern. “Don’t cry.” The command hangs in the air, crisp and direct. You flinch hearing it, put off by the gentle raise of his voice and his abrupt movement to stand up and lean over the bed’s edge.

You shift away from him, holding back the tears that beg to fall from your eyes, fearing that disobeying his demand won’t end well for you.

“Crying won’t change anything for you.” He inches closer, a knee dipping into the mattress as his left-hand reaches to cup your face. You jerk your head back at his touch, ignoring the slight pain hitting it against the headboard causes but failing to avoid his touch when he weaves his fingers through your hair and tugs to hold you in place.

It hurts.

The pressure he inflicts onto your scalp leaves you complacent and strained.

You go still, shivering underneath his looming body heat as he drapes his head over yours.

Blonde locks tickle the bridge of your nose and forehead, shifting as his brows raise and his thickly accented voice pierces the room's defeating silence.

“You’re a smart girl, yeah?..”

You nod in a daze, throat too dry to scream, head too sore to think, and heart racing too fast for you to decide if fear or attraction to him was taking over you.

You hoped it was the latter.

Otherwise, you’d already begun to lose your mind.

Chris smirked, studying the way your pupils dilated on him.

There it is.

The sign he’d been longing to see since he’d walked into the room and found you awake.

A small, familiar, and telling indication of submission.

“Yeah, you are…” he scoffs, eyes drifting to the tape plastered across your face, noting the subtle lines of drool beginning to slip from under it and down your chin.

Your chest heaved as you inhaled a sharp breath through your nose, choking on a sob that dwindled into a whimper for mercy.

For his mercy.

His pity.

Anyway you could get it, use it, and beg for it.

Your desperation.

You wanted him to see it written across your face and in every painful sound you made.

But Chris looked right past it, heard none, and continued leering you into his web of little white lies.

“Then you understand why I’m doing this to you? Why do I have to keep you safe like this? Why do you have to stay and do as I say?..”

You don’t move. You are not giving him a nod or a flutter of your lashes that’ll resonate in agreement.

Because you disagree.

You’re helpless, scared, and condemned.

But your pride and need for survival hang on by a thread, so you refuse to feed into him more than you have to.

You defy him.

Chris waits. He waits for a moment to see if you’ll give an inch to his established mile, and when you don’t show any sign of doing so, he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“So….that’s how you’re going to be…” he sighs, frowns present as he loosens the hand gripping your hair to trail it down to the nape of your neck. You jolt at the feeling of his large and rough hand meeting your bare skin, applying pressure right below the crown of your head as he holds you still.

“I bet this is hurting you, huh?” Chris hums, a genuine flicker of sympathy flashing across his face as he lifts his free hand to trace over the duct tape plastered across yours. “Why don’t I help you, hm? Get this off your pretty mouth and let you to answer me…”

Your eyes widen, and your head tosses in his hold the second his pointer and thumb grasp a corner of the tape and pull it from your skin.

Chris rips the sticky plastic from your face as if it were a simple bandage over a healed wound, and you cringe hard at the ruthless action. A half-formed scream, tears from your still stuffed mouth turning into frantic cries as he forces you to stay still through the searing pain.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” He comments passively, pulling the wad of cloth between your aching lips and tossing it onto the bed with the discarded tape.

You cough, your throat is burning, and your jaw is hurting as you try to grit your teeth and speak to him, but your voice is devoid.

Stripped away from all the pointless screaming and crying you’d down for god knows how long.

He smiles at your attempt to curse and yell at him, his head shaking mockingly as he passes a thumb over your trembling lips. “Shh shhh shhh…just listen to me, sweetheart,” he coos, and you groan in defeat as he repeats his earlier question.

“You understand why I’m doing this to you, right? That it’s not safe for you out there. Not without me there to help you…say you understand, and I’ll take away the pain you’re feeling right now.”

You stare at him, failing to maintain a glare from the strain your mind and body is in.

It would help your sanity if you said no.

Shake your head and build up the courage and will to fight him with all you have, but numbness drags you into a state of complicit survival.

A need to appease him and hopefully garner some relief from your physical exhaustion.

Your lips part but then snap shut when a sharp ache flares in your jaw.

Chris’s face softens completely when he sees the minuscule instance of pain you’re in. “You don’t have to talk if it hurts. Nod for me instead….just like that,” he soothes you in a hushed tone, smiling as you gently obediently nod your head.

“Atta’ girl…” he praises, a smile slowly forming again as you whine quietly, shutting your eyes tight, letting the few tears you have left pour down your reddened cheeks.

You can’t speak, and you have no freedom to move or motivation to call for help.

And part of you doesn't want to anymore.

Part of you sees no point in doing so.

What’s the point in fighting is not beneficial when you can barely speak or move a muscle without strain.

Without feeding into his demented perception of your need for him.

It’s odd -feeling defeated but strangely aware of the caring nature of the man who had forced me into such a miserable state.

Chris breathes a sigh of relief, nose nudging against yours as he hums lowly while breathing you in.

Breathing in your desperation.

Your dependence.

Your fear.

Your innocence.

He takes everything you have to offer him, his mind racing with ways to use it against you…

To help you, his newly shattered doll, piece yourself together again.

The correct way.

His way.

a/n: This’ll be a 4 pt series and my prime event for the spooky season. Btw…fiction is fiction and this fic has pretty extensive and extreme themes in it so please don’t continue to read it if any of the plot/context makes you uncomfortable. I don’t tend to hold back on darker themed fics and this one won’t be any different so please keep that in mind.

other links: n/a (might go up on AO3 later)

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