#also only had less than 3 hours of sleep today/last night | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dovveri · 4 months

Text

misunderstandings

bachelorette masterlist - part 1 ▸ part 2 ▸ part 3 ▸ part 4 ▸ part 6 ▸ part 7

synopsis: y/n watches the most recent episode of the bachelorette and is met with something she doesn’t like. sana also seems to be angry for whatever reason and it builds up into a big argument at the end of the night.

warnings: sex! overstimulation, fingering, scissoring, oral sex, degradation, choking, cursing

w/c: 7.1k

a/n: soooo sorry for the delay this will probs be my last update for a while bcs finals season is driving me up a wall (if u see me post another story or part its bcs im actually not studying and u should yell at me for it) i lwk hate the pacing of this chapter i feel like its everywhere but hey! we got some smut!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

the backlash wonsik gets online is more than satisfactory. apparently, with all the evidence piled up against him, he would most likely be sent away for the rest of his life. which is disgusting to think about, how much crime do you have to commit to get a life sentence? you try to shake those thoughts as you watch the most recent episode with the leftover contestants while sana’s on her individual date as usual. it was tradition now, even more so as the pool of contestants gets smaller and smaller.

after your day off, things had gotten right back to normal.

sana went on a solo date with jacky. good thing it was jacky too because they had the famous ‘conquer a fear’ date. who knew big, australian jacky was afraid of balloons. and in typical bachelorette fashion, producers came up with a romantic hot air balloon date for 5am in the morning.

costume designers had rushed into your room at 4am, turning on all the lights and pulling sana from your arms, not even casting you a second look now that they were used to seeing the both of you cuddled up and naked most of the time they had to come in and dress you.

you were barely conscious as they ran around frantically, pulling the covers over your head and groaning a little, trying to make yourself go back to sleep.

you’re sure sana didn’t feel the best either from the little grumbles and whines you can hear faintly as she struggles to keep her eyes open while makeup artists dab eyeshadow on her eyelids.

soon enough they're off and you drift back into sleep, only to be awoken a few hours later so you can get dressed and attend the group date for the day.

that was also pretty fun. everything was meant to be high-adrenaline, facing your fears, all that sort of stuff today. so the team had booked out a big amusement park and you all had free rein. it was also good because it meant you had a little bit more freedom, not everyone had to stick together so people ended up splitting naturally when they wanted to do different rides and you had even managed to sneak sana away from the cameras for a quick make out session in the toilets.

it was a pretty great day and would make for a nice and light episode after the mayhem that happened with wonsik. there was a rose ceremony as always but this time, only 2 people were eliminated. unfortunately you had to say goodbye to dae and nayeon, sana did say it was getting harder and harder to eliminate people because as the more time goes on, the closer you get, and when there's less people in the house, it also facilitates closer relationships. she had to eliminate those two simply because she felt her romantic connection with them wasn't as strong as it was with some of the other contestants. it was rough but that's showbiz.

after 2 more eliminations tonight, it would officially be the quarter finals meaning it would be time for sana to meet all of her last 4 contestants' families and close ones.

currently, you're enjoying an afternoon tea at the contestants' house. as usual, sana was on a solo date with jiwon but there wouldn't be a group date today because there wasn't enough time to film it. instead, the both of you were allowed a little sleep in after yesterday's rude 4am awakening, and a little more time in the afternoon to dress up before the rose ceremony tonight.

the episode had just finished with jacky and sana's date. jacky still won't go near a balloon and he's probably developed a fear of heights on top of that too now but at least it looked pretty on television.

you had teased him when the episode showed him nervously walking around and inspecting the hot air balloon before sana had to basically yank him into the basket. he had his eyes shut tight the entire time, holding on to sana for dear life while they ascended. it was a little cute when sana finally managed to get him to peek his eyes open once they reached their highest altitude, just in time to catch the sunrise, and in exchange for getting over his fear and not backing out of this date with her, she gave him a rose and kissed him on the cheek.

you heard afterwards from eunji that as soon as they touched back down he had jumped out of the basket and laid face down in the grass for about half an hour, just getting used to the feeling of being on the ground again.

they had caught a bit of him on the floor doing exactly that which was pretty hilarious because sana was crouched next to him, poking him and trying to get him to sit up but he just groaned and mumbled something incomprehensibly in response, his rose still clutched tight in his hand, stretched out in front of him.

they cut it off there though, maybe a little for jacky's reputation but you all knew how long he was there for.

after a short break where they show a few scenes of silly occurrences inside the house with the other contestants, and then finding out everyone was invited on the group date that day, except for jacky who was invited but ended up taking the rest of the day off to recuperate and basically laid in bed in the medical office, even skipping the rose ceremony since he already got his rose.

they shot everyone in the car on the way to the amusement park, asking the contestants what they thought was going to happen, if anyone was scared, trying to pull a few comedic clips together, all the anticipation scenes the audience needed to be excited for the date.

eventually, everyone's in the middle of the amusement park with sana and yourself waiting for them in casual clothes. you shift a little as you recall the way you had her gasping into your mouth and your hand up the blue polo shirt she’s wearing on screen only 20 minutes after the introduction and everyone had split off.

in the meantime, while the cameras were running around frantically trying to find sana, they had filled in the gaps with clips of the other contestants, you laugh when momo is practically dragged onto a rollercoaster by jihyo and jun, she’s kicking and screaming but they manage to strap her in and gesture for the roller coaster attendant to go. its one of those really fast ones where it goes from 0 to 100 in seconds so the force pushes all of them back against the seats, poor momo barely has the time to blink and then its over. she’s gasping with her eyes clenched shut while the other two are laughing and pulling her off and along to the next ride.

it’s great being able to watch what happened when you weren’t on screen, and also what sana was up to when you weren’t with her.

you laugh when they show all the contestants clambering onto the carousel, you had all taken some group pictures and some of them were more than silly.

eventually, you get to the rose ceremony, and just as you were on the night, your breath is taken away again with sana in a stunning red dress. she really nailed being on camera, her face was one that was meant to be on screen.

the night starts merrily, everyone's more of a family now, you’re all happy to drink and talk together, and it wasn’t so competitive to get time with sana anymore because there were less contestants.

you frown a little though when the camera shifts to sana and jihyo, they’re sitting very close in one of the more private rooms inside the house.

jihyo’s playing a joke and sana’s laughing, a little flushed, probably from the alcohol as she slaps jihyo’s arm lightheartedly. jihyo preens at the attention, grabbing another drink and offering it to sana who accepts it gratefully and takes a sip.

she hums in satisfaction before speaking up, “so you never did tell me how you broke up with that gym rat…”

jihyo’s laughing a little nervously, twiddling her thumbs a little, “right yeah… i just realised that i made the wrong decision. i was caught up in the newness of everything with him but after that got old, i realised i still loved-“

sana’s eyebrows are shooting up, she’s setting down her drink and clearing her throat.

“sorry.” jihyo flashes an apologetic look over at sana, but sana shakes her head.

“no no it’s okay. be as honest as you can, please. we’re both here because we’re looking for a relationship right? can’t do that if we have any skeletons still in the closet.”

jihyo’s smiling gratefully and then continuing, “he wasn’t it for me. that’s why i broke up with him. i’m sorry for the way i treated you sana, you didn’t deserve that, you never did anything wrong in our relationship and i never really gave you a reason to why we broke up. i hoped by coming on here i may be able to win back a second chance.”

sana hums again, taking a moment to think while jihyo nervously looks at her with wide eyes.

“jihyo… you hurt me a lot when you left.”

“i know! and i’m so so sorry for that! i never want to do that to you again, all i’m asking for is another chance sana.”

she’s shuffling closer, grabbing sana’s hands tightly and imploring with her eyes.

sana looks down at their hands together, taking a breath before looking back up, "look... i'm not going to lie to you... i never really did get over you completely."

what?

"and i wouldn't have kept you in here for this long if i wasn't curious about what you had to say and if i wasn't ready to give you a second chance."

what the actual fuck?

"it wouldn't be fair though. to the other contestants, y'know? if they knew you had a head start. and i admit i was avoiding you a little because i wanted to even the playing field and get to know everyone else first before revisiting this." she makes a gesture with her hands, signaling between the two of them. "so its nice to finally be able to sit down and get a clear answer about what happened in the past."

jihyo looks more and more hopeful as sana goes on, your hands only get tighter around the fabric of your pants. sana didn't tell you about this conversation last night. sana hasn't mentioned anything jihyo related. whenever you ask, she's always managed to change the conversation or misdirect you with the promise of sex. was this why? is this how she really felt about jihyo? did she think you would disapprove? well you do disapprove but that was besides the point.

all of the other contestants don't seem too shocked with this news. it's not too surprising though because they've all lived with jihyo and the one thing they all have in common is sana so there's no doubt they've all discussed each other's feelings for sana, and jihyo probably told them their history as well.

you're fuming though. you can't believe sana didn't tell you something this important. that you're finding this out along with the rest of the country when you were meant to be her best friend here, the one person who was supposed to know everything before everyone.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

the rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur. you can vaguely tell when someone comes up to you and tries to initiate or bring you into the conversation but your mind is swirling with information about sana and jihyo, their past interactions, whether you could decipher any of sana's feelings from observing her.

eventually, it's time for the rose ceremony again and you're still in your head about everything you thought you knew happened yesterday.

you have half the mind to pull sana aside and ask her about it but when you meet sana's eyes, she squints a little and looks away quickly with signs of a pout in her lip.

the night continues like this, the two of you stealing glances at each other only when you think the other isn't looking. when sana starts pulling jihyo aside though, you don't care if she sees the look of disbelief on your face, she doesn't seem to notice anyway, all cozied up to jihyo.

you're averting your head again and downing the rest of your drink in one gulp.

when it's time to read out who gets a rose and who's going home, you're stiff standing next to sana, she's purposely avoiding your gaze as well. the tension between you two was so thick jiwon had come up and asked if something had happened between you two. and technically nothing did happen so you don't really know why sana seems to be angry with you when you were the one who was hurt by yesterday's episode.

the ceremony is brief, you have to say goodbye to jun, and eunji unfortunately but you can barely give them a proper hug as you stare at jihyo who's now made the final four.

after your goodbyes you quickly make your way towards the car, tapping your foot impatiently while waiting for sana to finish saying her goodbyes so you could both go home.

unfortunately, that takes another 20 minutes and you're just about to tell the driver to leave without her when she's sliding into the car, still avoiding your gaze and sitting on the opposite end of the car. normally she's all over you, needing affection after a big day but now you're pretty sure if she moved any further away she'd be falling out the window.

that was fine though. it’s not like you wanted to have an argument with her while the driver could hear you anyway.

the car’s pulling in and she’s opening her door and stalking inside the house without even a second glance towards you.

what the fuck? why was she mad at you now?

you feel almost childish copying her actions and making sure to slam the door on the way in, but if she was acting like this for no reason that only infuriated you more.

you find her in the kitchen, tapping her foot impatiently and waiting for you to come in.

once you’re standing on opposite sides of the counter, you cross your arms and still. she’s leaning on the counter with her hands, staring you down. there was no way you were going to be the first to break. she was the one who had some explaining to do right now, not you.

sana's stubborn as well though, lips pursed and not backing down.

it goes on like this for a few minutes before you finally break, raising an eyebrow and asking coldly, "so do you have anything you want to say to me sana?"

sana scoffs, the tips of her ears red, "do you have anything you want to say y/n?"

"what? no! i don't even know why you're being like this right now! i'm the one who's been left in the dark here."

"oh you're the one who's been left in the dark huh? unbelievable that you're still lying to my face about this. is that how you really feel about her?"

"excuse me?! it doesn't matter how i feel about her! the whole issue is how you've been dealing with this situation!"

sana sneers, your voices getting louder and louder trying to top each other, "this again? seriously y/n? i'm my own person and i'm allowed to have opinions on who i like and who i don't like! if she's being weird or sneaky or whatever i'm going to call her out on it!"

you scoff, "yeah right. like you called her out on it last night? and tonight as well i bet. why did you take so long saying your goodbyes huh?"

sana goes beet red and you think you've got her, "what?! what are you talking about?! and i stayed behind to say proper goodbyes to everyone! not like you apparently who couldn't care less, you barely talked to anyone tonight, when jun, and eunji, who was one of your closest friends here right?! when they had to leave you didn't even look them in the eye when they hugged you!"

"riiiiiiiiiight and you expect me to believe that? you weren't cuddling up and getting a quickie in before you had to go right?"

"what?! what are you talking about y/n?! quickie- what?"

"with jihyo! you stayed behind to talk to her didn't you!?"

"what?! well yeah i did but what does jihyo have to do with any of this?"

"what?! i've been talking about jihyo this whole time what do you mean?"

she's slipping something out of her suit pocket and sliding it across the counter to you. your phone.

"are you fucking serious y/n? you've been talking about jihyo this whole time? what the fuck? why the fuck are you suddenly bringing her up? you're the one who's been going behind my back getting all flirty and friendly with miyeon! after you told me you were just friends?! calling each other babe and sweetie and honey in your texts, how the fuck did you even get her number anyway? how long have you been talking to her huh? how long have you been fucking me while talking to someone else?"

you're scrambling for your phone, unlocking it and scrolling to your messages with miyeon. fuck. sana must have read everything. you don't even remember leaving your phone behind but it must have been with her since the morning. you scroll down the texts and see the most recent messages miyeon has texted you today and you find that sana has been replying to her.

"are you serious sana?! why the fuck did you go through my phone?"

sana turns her head at that, pouting a little, "i didn't mean to! she just kept on texting and i thought it must have been something important if your phone kept going off so i just went in to make sure everything was okay! how was i supposed to know you were basically sexting her behind my back!?"

"we were not sexting oh my god sana! miyeon is my friend we're just friends!"

"why have you been keeping this from me then?! you must like her or something then don't you?!"

"what?! no! and don't talk to me about keeping secrets right now sana!"

"what secrets have i kept from you?!"

"hello?!" you're waving your hands around frantically, "the whole jihyo situation?! why didn't you tell me you never got over her?"

"i never got over- what?!"

"you said so last night! on national fucking television! don't play dumb with me right now sana, and don't try and change the topic on me!"

"i never said that! are you being serious right now? jihyo and i split and it took me a while but you were there for it all! you saw me at my lowest and you helped build me back up! i am over her!"

"why is she in the final four then?"

"oh my god y/n you cannot seriously still be talking about jihyo! i'm over her! the producers wanted her to make it to the final four because they thought they could add some drama in during the home visits or whatever! jihyo and i talked about it last night and i told her why she was still here because i didn't want to keep leading her on! that's why i stayed for longer after the rose ceremony, i just wanted to check on her and make sure she was okay with all of this because i still care about her! i loved her at one point in my life!"

"that's not what i saw in last night's episode!"

"what?!"

"yeah! you and jihyo were all close and snuggly and she told you she still loved you and you said you were going to give her a second chance!"

"y/n i never said any of that." the rage has lifted slightly now, replaced with confusion.

you're breathing heavily, tired from arguing, you and sana had more fights these few weeks that you've been filming than you've had your entire lives together.

you tap out of your messaging app, going to tiktok and searching up last night's bachelorette episode, scrolling past all the funny jacky moments and amusement park shorts, trying to find the part where jihyo and sana were talking. someone had to have posted about it.

"are you serious right now? are you fucking texting miyeon while we're talking?"

"what?! no! sana i told you miyeon and i are just friends! i'm trying to find a clip of you and jihyo last night to show you what i'm talking about!" you find one then and quickly hold it out for sana to see.

she watches the clip replay a few times while you wait defiantly.

after the seventh replay you take your phone back, sighing when you think she has nothing to say for herself.

“y/n…”

“want to explain yourself now? anything else you wanna divulge while you’re at it?”

“what? no y/n i didn’t say any of that. they edited that together. i didn’t say any of that to jihyo i promise.”

you look at her in confusion, looking back to your phone, and then back to her.

“i did pull jihyo aside and we did talk but i never told her that i didn't get over her. y/n you have to believe me baby i- i can call the producers right now, they'll clear everything up." she's reaching for her phone, but the immense relief that she doesn't still have feelings for jihyo washes over you and brings you to action. moving around the counter and taking her phone from her and wrapping her in a hug.

she stills against you, and you're both surprised when you feel your own tears falling down your face, the tension of the night finally getting to you.

"y/n..."

"i'm sorry. i'm sorry i do believe you. this all seems so silly now i hate when we fight. i overreacted with the whole jihyo thing and it could've been solved so easily if i'd just talked to you instead of..."

sana softens against you, wrapping her arms around your waist and carding a hand through your hair. "it's okay baby. i'll talk to the producers tomorrow and make sure they don't pull anything like that again. and after the home visits i promise jihyo is the one who'll be going home."

you sniffle a little, "you don't have to do that for me sana. i swear i was just being..."

"hmm?"

"i don't know i'm tired sana. can we go to bed?"

she hums against you, pulling you both towards the bathroom for your nighttime routines. once you're done, you're climbing into sana's bed and picking up your phone again, scrolling back to your messages with miyeon while waiting for sana to finish her routine and join you.

y/n: heyy sorry i just got my phone back, sana's had it the last few hours because i left it behind so if i seemed weird over text it's because she was messaging you

miyeon: oh it's okay! i did think you sounded a bit off but i just chalked it up to u not feeling well or something. was sana mad when she found out we were texting?

y/n: 😂 how did you know?

miyeon: well i was on the receiving end of her jealousy when she texted me today so that was one clue 😂

y/n: jealousy?

suddenly your phone starts vibrating and miyeon's name flashes across the screen. you pick up hesitantly, "hello?"

"y/n! hey! it's good to actually hear your voice again!"

you chuckle a little, "you too princess. what's up?"

"nothing really, i just wanted to see where your head's at with sana now."

"what do you mean?"

"remember the conversation we had the night i got kicked out? while you were drunk?"

you squint a little, shuffling around in the sheets, "kinda... why?"

"i noticed the way you looked at her, the way you talked about her, even on the first night i think the reason why no one suspected that you weren't just a regular contestant was because i thought, we all thought you also felt the same way we did for sana."

"w-what?"

"you might not have realised it... but i think you were beginning to see it when filming started. do you get jealous when you see sana with the other contestants?"

"i- well- i mean i kinda just thought i was friend jealous though. or like that i just wanted the best for her which was why i was so harsh on contestants in the beginning."

"the way you talk about her over text sounds like its more than that y/n."

"i don't- what- i'm not jealous-"

you barely register that sana's finished with her routine now, sliding into bed next to you and cuddling up immediately. "what are you jealous about?"

you freeze, looking at her like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar in the middle of the night.

"is that sana?" you're broken out of it quickly when you hear miyeon's voice over the phone.

sana bristles though, moving away from you and frowning, "are you on the phone with miyeon?"

"i- yeah-"

sana's snatching the phone out of your hand instantly, bringing it up to her ear and speaking into the microphone with a cold sneer, "yes this is sana. can i help you?"

you can't hear miyeon respond but the way sana's speaking sends a lightning rod of arousal down your spine. your mind is still hazy with what miyeon's suggested, and you're thinking about how you hated seeing sana kiss wonsik, how blinded you felt when you thought sana still liked jihyo, what could this mean? how long have you liked sana for? has it always been this way?

you don't realise that sana's features have become less defensive as she talks to miyeon, almost apologetic even when she settles back down next to you, humming in response to something miyeon's said over the phone. she's within proximity again that you can make out miyeon's voice.

"-but i hope you've been doing well and taking care of yourself with all the craziness that comes along with filming."

"yeah thank you miyeon. really. and again i'm so sorry for all the misunderstandings and i hope you know that eliminating you was definitely a mistake and it was very short-sighted of me but i'm glad that we've finally had a chance to talk where i'm not completely hostile to you."

you can hear the airy giggle of miyeon over the phone, "of course! all the best with the rest of the season sana. maybe we'll see each other on the other side."

sana smiles, "definitely. goodnight miyeon!"

she hangs up and hands your phone back to you, going right back to cuddling as if nothing had happened.

you're trying to pick out what part of that conversation that you overheard bothered you when it hits. "eliminating miyeon was a mistake?" was this the jealousy again?

"weren't you the one saying that?" sana raises an eyebrow at you, brushing her fingers over your side.

"well- i-"

she's giggling now, "i'm just kidding. miyeon just put to rest everything that was on my mind so i have nothing to worry about. i'm sorry for overreacting when i found out you were texting her. you're allowed to have friends, sorry i was trying to micromanage that."

"what was on your mind?"

"hmm y'know... you mostly."

you whine, hitting her lightly while she laughs at you.

"she told me you were just friends and she never meant to make it seem like it was anything else. she also helped me... come to terms with a few things so i'm actually very grateful for that."

"what things?"

"so many questions y/n. are you worried i'm about to steal her away from you?" sana teases.

"what? no! stop teasing-"

she grins, poking your cheek, "i'm keeping that to myself for now okay? i'll probably tell you one day. just not today."

"why not?"

"just because." she smiles, "now let's sleep."

you grumble a little, confused at what miyeon could have told sana, confused with what miyeon told you. there was one thing you did want to test out though...

you lean in quickly and capture sana's lips, taking her a little by surprise but she's quick to reciprocate, closing her eyes and kissing you back.

you're aggressive, climbing on top of her quickly and licking into her. you're trying to figure out if kissing her made you feel anything more. anything that could clue you in on your true feelings for her.

she's breaking away from you panting though, pushing you back slightly when you try to chase after her again, "woah y/n baby baby slow down- what's got you all in a rush?"

your eyes are dark as you look down at her, friends don't normally feel like the world would end if they stopped kissing right? you needed to be back on her, in her, needed to feel her around you, needed to taste her, needed to memorise every single sound she made, you needed her. that was more than just lust right?

"just- just need you please-" you're leaning back in, almost begging.

"no- no y/n stop. tell me what's going on, you're not normally like this."

you groan, head falling to her shoulder, slumping against her. "something stupid miyeon said..." you mumble into her shoulder.

"what did she say?"

you huff against her, "that i had feelings for you."

you hear the gasp sana lets out, her hands at your waist tightening their hold and you groan into her, grinding down a little at the feeling.

she stills you though, hands sliding down to grip your hips, "stop that." her voice is harsh, and you're reminded of the way she talked to miyeon over the phone, all cold and annoyed. it only makes you drip more at the tone of her voice and you whimper a little.

"do you?"

"do i what?" you're distracted, wanting only to kiss her again.

"do you have feelings for me?"

you sigh, "don't know- that's what i'm trying to figure out."

"how are you trying to figure it out?"

"kissing you. touching you. seeing if all of it made me feel something more."

"something more?"

"i don't know. something other than horny."

sana hums before finally loosening her grip. "okay. try it. just promise me you'll tell me what you think afterwards?"

you're quick to latch onto her lips again, mumbling yes and thank you into her.

she bucks her hips up against you and you moan. she was finally giving into her feelings and letting you do what you wanted, expressing herself freely.

“can you- mmf- can you-“

“what what is it baby? what do you need?”

“can you- be mad at me?”

she’s kissing down your neck, nipping slightly as you grind down into her, “i’m not mad at you. we talked about this just then baby.”

“no- i need- can you pretend to be mad?”

she’s licking up to your ear, “i don’t understand baby. can you elaborate?”

“f-fuck sana- can you- just imagine i did like miyeon and i wanted to fuck her-“

you’re scared you said the wrong thing and ruined the mood when she stills under you. then all of a sudden she’s rolling you over and straddling your hips, lips and teeth back at the sensitive parts on your neck. “you like it when i’m mad?”

“g-god yes sana please-“

“whore. you want me to mark you up? make sure everyone knows your mine? mine to ruin?”

“yes yes sana please-“

you moan when you feel her sucking at your collarbone, intending on doing exactly that.

"off." her hands are at the bottom of your shirt tugging, and you scramble up, almost knocking your forehead against hers in haste, you'd laugh but you were so pent up you couldn't think about anything other than her fucking you all night long.

her hands are cold when she slides them up your stomach, cupping your tits and you shiver at the feeling.

"trying to piss me off on purpose bringing up her name into this hm? after we just made up too." she squeezes and you gasp into her, nipples hard against her palms as she runs a thumb over the tip.

"think my pretty baby's going to come for anyone else?" she circles a nipple leaving you twitching, "i'm going to ruin you so that everytime you even come close to coming in the future, you'll only be able to think about me."

she's licking a trail down the middle of your chest, before sucking marks into the sides of your breasts, avoiding your nipples, only tracing them lightly with the tip of her thumb.

you're squirming around under her, begging and crying, eyes clenched shut, hand drifting down towards your folds, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that's built up.

she snatches your hand quickly and pins it above your head, "don't even fucking think about it."

you whine under her, trying to pull away from her grip but she has you completely under her control.

"don't do that baby. you asked for this didn't you? you're going to be a good girl and take it now." her lips come back down on your other tit, sucking and licking again, you're grinding up into nothing, stuck with the feeling of your own sticky arousal.

"p-please sana need- please- more-"

"what do you need baby? this?" she takes a nipple into her mouth then, sucking gently and flicking over it with her tongue, then popping it out of her mouth, "or this?" a hand trails lower, thumbing the waistband of your pyjama bottoms. "maybe this?" a knee comes up then, pressing right where you need her most and you’re moaning against her.

"g-god sana- fuck- all- all of it- god i need all of it-"

"be more specific sweetie. you can do it. c'mon now."

"f-fuck need you to fuck me like you said you would. need to feel your fingers inside me, your mouth wrapped around my clit, your hands gripping my ass so hard it'll leave behind handprints. just need you sana please- please-"

"mmm that's a good girl. begging for me like the slut you are. because you were so pretty i'll give you that. but you gotta talk me through it okay? if you stop i'll stop and i'm going to go fuck myself in your bed and leave you here for the rest of the night."

you whimper, nodding your head.

"words baby."

"yes, yes yes god please just-"

she smirks and then she's back at your nipples, fully sucking on them now and pulling your bottoms off along with your panties, immediately swiping a finger through your wetness. the sudden change from feeling nothing to feeling everything be stimulated was almost too much but also exactly what you needed.

"god sana please- inside- need you inside."

she's pushing one finger in and you feel yourself clench around her, already so close, desperate for her. suddenly you're remembering your actual task, but before you can formulate another thought she's pulling out and thrusting back in with another finger.

"god you're so wet for me baby. how long have you been thinking about this hm?"

"i- fuck- i'm never not thinking about you sana."

sana hums, keeping a slow, languid pace, "is that helping with your little mission tonight?"

"i- w- fuck sana faster please-"

"answer the question first."

"f-fuck i- i don't know- i c-can't think- please-"

she's pulling out and removing herself from you so that none of your skin is touching anymore.

"now? now can you think?"

"sana please fuck- yes! yes it's helping everything is helping please just need you back-" you're making grabby hands at her, trying to pull her back so you can feel her against you again.

she obliges, pushing back into you and humming, "that's a good girl."

"thank you- god sana- thank you- mm fuck thank you-" you're babbling, barely making sense when she speeds up, curling her fingers inside you just the way she knows you like, and rubbing her thumb along your clit each thrust inside.

soon enough, you're coming around her, her name and curses spilling out of your mouth but she's not done. she's crawling down your body, marking almost every inch of skin she can get her mouth on, and then latching onto your clit and sucking, fingers still pounding into you.

"f-fuck! sana! 's too much! f-fuck-"

she only hums against you, the vibrations against your clit only tightening the coil in your belly once more and the overstimulation is too much and you feel yourself coming again.

she's pulling out and you think she's finished but she flips you onto your stomach, slipping a pillow under you to lift your ass up, hands gripping the cheeks and spreading them apart, just like how you had begged her to. but then her fingers are prodding at your entrance again and she slides in, and this angle is so much deeper and you cry out, muffled against the sheets, trying to squirm away from her but she's got your ass right where she wants you.

she's leaning down, pushing in and out of you again, you can feel her chest against your back, the fact that she's still wearing her top fleetingly crosses your mind but you can still feel her hardened nipples against your skin, you arch back into her.

"my baby's not done yet. you're going to give me another one. and another one. until you've finished your little experiment right?"

you're sobbing into the sheets, the delightful mixture of pleasure and pain running through your body, your hyperaware of every single movement, every single place your skin touches, every breath she takes as she ruts her fingers into you.

you feel your third orgasm coming up when a hand is snaking a way back up your body, pinching roughly at your nipples before closing around your throat. you gulp and clench even harder around her fingers when she squeezes her hand lightly, moaning your approval.

"yeah? you like that slut?"

"y-yes o-oh god fuck- sana- fuck-"

she's squeezing tighter now and the pressure is perfect, the lightheadedness from the cutoff of oxygen combined with the overstimulation and you're coming again, thrashing into her as she releases you slowly, heaving in air as specks of black dot your vision.

you feel almost numb when she slides the pillow out from under you, turning you slightly so she can kiss you gently, and you moan at the taste of yourself on her tongue.

she's slipping a leg between yours when you realise that she's taken off her bottoms, and you gasp when the feeling of her wetness glides against your clit.

you whimper against her lips, "sana..."

"shhhh baby one more."

you're helpless against her, whining and pushing yourself into her, relishing the way her breath catches and she moans when your clits drag along each other. she's got one hand at your tit again, pinching a nipple and you need to feel more of her so you slide a hand up her top, grasping at her breast and moaning when she rocks against you just a little harder at the feeling.

your lips never leave each other, even when you're so blissed out you're just panting into her mouth, rutting against her. you're not even thinking straight when you mumble the words, slurred together and mixed with curses, but sana still catches it. "i love you."

she stops immediately, leaving you humping her like a dog, panting into her wondering why she's stopped.

she's gripping your hips, stilling you, eyes wide, "what did you just say?"

"i love you sana fuck- please- please let me come again please-"

her eyes study you, half-dazed, and then suddenly she's rutting against you again, your hands tighten around her tits just to be able to hold onto something because she's pushing against you and you're so close and her hands are basically moving your hips against hers without you even doing anything, she's moaning into your mouth, caught in her own pleasure and it's all too much when you feel her tighten her legs around you, coming with a whine and shaking, you come again, eyes closing and feeling the wave of pleasure wash over your body, twitching lightly against her in the aftershock.

when you pull apart your legs are sticky and filthy and hers aren't much better, stained with your essence, you can't even open your eyes, just letting her plant light kisses across your face and neck, holding her against you and learning to breathe again.

when she kisses your eyelids you manage to peek open, staring at her in wonder.

"did you mean it?" her eyebrows are slightly furrowed, hair sticking to her forehead, bottom lip protruding a little in a pout.

you were overcome with pleasure and overstimulation, but you remember everything you said. "i did. i love you. i'm sorry it took this long to realise it."

she sighs, eyes tearing up, "i love you too idiot."

"what about the season?"

"we'll figure that out later. let me clean you up and we can cuddle and sleep?"

you hum, whining when she leaves you to grab a damp towel, missing her warmth already. it felt painful to be without her. every second you spent apart, you were thinking about her, you can't help but laugh at how stupid you've been. you've been in love with sana for the better half of your life, you were determined to make it up to her. to show her just how much you loved her. just how much you needed her in your life.

you smile happily when she comes back, bringing her into a sweet kiss and letting her wipe at your legs. you were so, utterly, in love with her, and you finally realised it.

#sana #twice sana #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #twice x reader #sana imagines #twice imagines #sana smut #twice smut #sana x f!reader #sana x fem!reader #twice x f!reader #twice x fem!reader #dovveri

228 notes · View notes

midnight-pluto · 10 months

Note

Hi! <3 could you please write a mutual pining only one bed fic for a gn!reader and Nico di Angelo

MOVE OVER — nico di a.

TROPES: mutual pining, only one bed, fluff, crack-ish

UNIVERSE: riordanverse

PAIRING(S): nico di angelo x gn!reader

WARNING(S): mentions of injuries, takes place after the giant war, i slipped incorrect quote in here for funsies, also because im slightly high

A/N: mattresses don’t count as beds

THE INFIRMARY WAS bound to be filled to the brim after todays events. Even with the help of the Roman Apollo kids, it was still practically double the amount of kids injured making them bring out mattresses for all of them to be taken care of.

You were one of the many kids to get hurt during the battle, a gash on your thigh along with minor cuts and scrapes was bound to get you landed there. It was unfortunate that you ended up on the mattress on the ground but you understood.

There were others in deeper trouble.

Something you were glad that happened is that your mattress was the one closest to the window with only one bed next to you, and on that bed is someone you’d like to call you’re friend. However, you’re unsure if he would dub you the same.

Nico di Angelo — son of Hades. From what you understood, he had known of the existence of both the Greeks and Romans, yet chose to not let them know of each other. That was one of the many things you admired about him.

The way he always manages to show up in just enough time and helps turn the tide in his favor, or the way he was able to bare the fact that he was treated as an outcast just for his parent and not make the rumors true. He was someone who you truly respected.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Totally.

Nico was laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was instructed by Will to sleep but couldn’t find it in himself to close his eyes for more than two minutes. He kept on glancing towards your figure laying soundlessly on the mattress on the ground.

You were one of the only ones to still smile at him whenever he passed by after the Titan War glory wore off. You were one of the only ones to not actively avoid him. One of the ones that didn’t send weary glances in his direction. You were someone who he truly respected.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Totally.

As the hour’s drifted past with nothing but murmurs and grunts filling the room Nico had drifted off to sleep along with it.

However, when he slept you awoke. Flashbacks from the past events and wars coming to haunt your dreams. Looking up only to see Nico’s back, only then do you make your move.

AS NICO BLINKED himself awake, he felt another presence in the bed. His hair was being played with was all he knew of, but it wasn’t a feeling he was opposed to. Tempted to relax once again, he fought off the urge and turned to face the other side of the bed for his eyes to only widen in surprise.

“Morning,” you smile, moving your hand away from his hair, “How’d you sleep last night?”

“What the hell,” Nico whisper shouted as to not alarm some of the sleeping patients, “What’re you doing in my bed? You were supposed to sleep on the air mattress on the floor.”

“I had a nightmare.”

“And you deciding sleeping on my bed was a solution to that problem,” he deadpanned, sitting up to face you and the pillow resting on your lap.

“Listen, I needed to feel comfortable and I was getting this weird power dynamic vibe from me sleeping in the ground and you sleeping up there,” you say, pointing to mattress on the floor and patting the sheets of the bed.

“Ah yes! How high and mighty I am up on my not even twin XL,” he deadpans, observing his and the rest of the beds in the infirmary.

“That is not what I meant—“

“Silence in the presence of your king,” Nico dramatically turned away with his eyes closed, leaning on one hand while the other was holding up its index finger as if to shush you, “Who sleeps at a lofty twelve and a half inches above the ground!”

Sighing with an amused smile on your face, not getting to see this side of him all that often, “Listen, I am not ashamed. I slept comfortably when I got up into your bed and I’m sure you did too.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You know what, I wanna know,” you lean your back against the headboard, “How’d you sleep last night?”

Sighing, he answers, “That was the best I’ve slept in a while.”

Gasping, you whisper, “The king slept comfortably with a peasant in his bed!”

“I did not consent to this—“

“But my liege our love is forbidden,” you joke, laughing softly at his flushed ears and deadpan expression.

A/N: did I want to add more detail? yes. would it be just slightly out of place? yes

#rin’s 200 follower event [🧸]#rin’s shots 🤎#pjo x you #pjo x reader #pjo fanfic #pjo fluff #only one bed #nico di angelo #nico di angelo x reader #nico x reader

231 notes · View notes

lunarw0rks · 1 year

Text

Through The Ashes | Chapter Four

Summary: You've been given an offer to join the 141 Task Force. Upon taking it, you find yourself ensnared with the mysterious masked man who won't take his eyes off you.

Warning(s): brief mentions of sex (18+), swearing, blood, violence, injuries, Valeria being zesty towards reader

A/N: Giving y'all a long chapter as a thank you for the support on the previous parts<3 Also this isn't proofread lol | Word Count: 6k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter // requests | ao3 | playlist

New Players In The Game

The briefing the next morning couldn’t have been more agonizing.

This wasn’t a situation of trying not to look at him. No, he had that covered for you. You hadn’t even glanced at that side of the table, and you weren’t planning to either.

“I’ve made contact with a counter-terrorism leader by the name of Alejandro Vargas. He’s gotten a closer look at El Sin Nombre than any of our leads have given us.” Price passes out intel files on this new player, taking a huff of his cigar. “Read the files, you know the drill. And pack light.”

As everyone began to clear the room and begin their duties for the day, you remained seated at the table, tightly clenching the file in your hands.

Maybe a change of scenery would be better for everyone, and it would get your team closer to snuffing out your latest threat. On the other hand, being stuck on a plane with Ghost made you want to jump off a cliff.

You remained seated for a few moments before you finally got up and headed for your dorm.

You gave your bed a passing glance, instantly being reminded of what happened the previous night. After you cleaned yourself up, you couldn’t bring yourself to lay on it. You found it preferable to strain your neck sleeping on the sofa. Although today, the pinch in your neck was making you regret that decision.

You grabbed your duffel bag and packed a few extra uniforms, a jacket, and your toiletries. You zipped it up and set it on the sofa, having one less task to do today.

“I’ll pay you to pack mine like that. I’ve never been good at packing.” Soap’s voice brought you to his attention.

“I’ll keep that in mind, then.” You chuckled awkwardly, trying to hide the things weighing on your mind. That was one plus of Soap being sort of clueless about things like that.

“Who are you going to sit next to? Gaz already has dibs on the seat by Price.” Soap says as if to hint something.

He was lucky you weren’t even looking Ghost in the eye right now, so this could work out well for you. “I’ll sit next to you.” He looked like a child whose parents just said yes to ice cream. If only he knew why you were so eager.

—

You were the last to board the plane, having been running a little late that morning. You scanned all the occupied seats and finally spotted Soap.

“Might be cramped, this was the only spot left.” He stated, giving an innocent stare. You smiled as you approached closer to him, but it dropped just as quickly when you saw the seating situation.

Soap on the outside seat, and Ghost sitting in the window seat. You are in the middle of the two of them. You’d rather take your chances hanging onto one of the wings than have to sit like this for several hours, but here you were.

You squeezed past Soap and sat in the middle, feeling squished immediately. At least Soap was polite enough to keep his limbs on his side as best as he could. Ghost, on the other hand, made no attempt. His thighs smushed against yours, and his elbow was on your armrest.

He refused to look your way. He stared out the small window for most of the flight. Soap fell asleep on your shoulder about an hour into the flight, so there was no escape for you here. The best you could do was get some work done, listen to some music, count to a thousand - anything that didn’t make you think about what he did.

The hours couldn’t go any slower in your opinion, but they had passed nonetheless. You unbuckled your seatbelt and went to the bathroom, needing a few minutes to breathe - physically and emotionally.

You were craving the night alone you’d have, finally sleeping somewhere other than understimulating barracks.

—

“Enjoy yourselves. But remember, we’re heading out bright and early tomorrow.” The team looked around in awe at the decent hotel they’d be staying in.

“Military budget has its perks, eh?” Soap leaned close to your ear, grinning ear to ear. Luxury wasn’t something you or anyone working jobs like this got often, so it was a treat.

Everyone piled into the elevator, waiting for you to catch up to them. You made eye contact with Ghost, who was in front of the bunch. His eyes brushed over you briefly, but they hastily returned to the floor.

“I’ll take the stairs.” You stated, heading towards them with a clenched jaw. You did just that, jogging down the flights of them to reach your room.

You felt relief over you as you reached your suite. You dropped your bag and flopped onto the bed.

In truth, you wanted to scream into the pillows like a high school girl, but you wanted to handle it better than that.

You took advantage of the grand bathroom, letting yourself soak in it for an absurd amount of time as you worked on some files. For a second, you finally felt a bit of reprieve. But you knew deep down it was going to take more.

You weren’t hurt. You weren’t embarrassed. You were furious.

—

You put on some fresh clothes after your bath - some casual night attire. To say you felt overdressed was an understatement. Having been in uniform for so long, it was an uncanny sensation to you.

The boys were downstairs, surely taking advantage of the open bar and lounge.

It was strange seeing them let loose, laughing with one another. They sat around a card table, intensely playing their card game.

If Ghost weren’t at that table, you might have considered having some fun with them. You hated the sight of him. The way he chatted and played his cards with them like nothing happened.

You strolled over to the bar and sat on one of the stools. Might as well learn something from the man you despised and self-medicate when you’re down.

You stare over your shoulder every so often when one of them celebrates a win or loss. You decide to cut yourself off after a few drinks. Working with Ghost in a foreign country and being hungover on top of it was your limit, so you decided against getting plastered.

“Heading to bed?” Soap asked as he looked up from his cards. You nodded and headed for the elevator.

You stepped inside and pressed your button. Before the doors closed, an arm stuck its way between them. A very familiar tattooed arm. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

The doors opened again, letting him step inside. Of course, they had to close sluggishly before the elevator started moving.

The thought hit you about halfway to his floor. You punched the stop button with your fist and turned to him. “Tell me something. What makes you think you can get away with it?” He wasn’t going to budge easily, even if you tried to push his buttons.

He sighed and looked at the floor. You noticed he was swaying a bit more than the last time you saw him at the card table. Of course, you decide to give him a piece of your mind when he’s probably not going to remember it.

Might as well get it out of you, or you’ll implode. “You think you can fuck me and then just walk out? Who do you think you are?” You pressed the stop button again when the last timer ran out.

He finally met your eyes, but his look wasn’t what you were expecting. His expression looked pained, even underneath the glossiness of his intoxication.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” he slurred, staring at the numbers increasing closer to his floor.

You tongued the inside of your cheek and clenched the fist leaning on the wall.

“Oh, you’re gonna play that card now. I shouldn’t expect anything less from you, I guess…” You spat, continuing to stare at him as you spoke. “You act tough, but you can’t even face the problems ahead of you. All you know is how to kill and push everyone away!”

He grabbed your forearm tightly and leaned closer. “You… don’t know anything about me. Or anyone here, so keep your mouth shut.” You’d never heard him sound more irate to anyone, and you’d never expected it to be you on the receiving end of it.

You tore yourself out of his grip and took a few steps back, but didn’t break eye contact with him.

“You threaten me again, and I’ll kill you myself.” You snarled back, catching him off guard slightly. He never imagined someone giving it back to him. Luckily, or unluckily, it was you.

As if perfect timing, the doors opened, and you paraded out without looking back, stomping your way to your room.

—

You’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t feel good the next morning. The big confrontation didn’t go quite as you planned, but you walked away without a broken bone, and with Ghost - that was a success.

You were the last to meet everyone in the lobby. Price’s face lit up when you were finally there. “There you are. Let’s get going, big day ahead.”

Ghost was even more distant than he was the night he walked out on you if that was possible. That was fine with you. There wasn’t anything you could say to hurt him, he already had that deep inside him - and it was intertwined around him.

At least being in separate cars, you were able to catch up on some sleep. You seemed to never get enough ever since you took the job.

The vehicle jolting to a stop made you open your eyes, then rub them to get your bearings.

You looked around, finding yourself somewhere in the desert of Mexico. This must be where you’ll meet this “Alejandro” figure. Maybe he would be a good ally. But to you, it could be another reason to watch over your back.

Each of you climbed out of the SUVs, looking around at the base in front of you. Whoever he was, he had a decently sized unit he was commanding.

The door swung open and out walked Alejandro. He had his hands placed behind his back, keeping his posture straight. “Captain,” he reaches his hand out and shakes it with Price, scanning your team as well. “Did your team enjoy the hotel?”

Price maintained a friendly attitude as the chatter between them persisted, which made you ease up a bit. Alejandro showed you around his base, which was a sizeable facility. Definitely different than the barracks in Western countries, but not somewhere terribly cramped. He wasn’t running decaying barracks - he definitely had some reach.

“Not as cozy as you’re used to in the States?” Alejandro questioned with a chuckle deep from his chest. “Welcome to Las Almas.” With that, he left everyone to get settled.

Your “room” was more like a group of bunks in the corner of the base. Not as private, and surely something to get used to. You picked the top bunk, purposely waiting until Ghost decided on his so it would be the furthest from him.

You set your bag down to claim the bunk and caught up with the rest of the group as they headed out the door.

Alejandro briefed everyone on the intel he had. He knew a lot more about El Sin Nombre than your team could hope for. The problem was a lack of numbers - which he now had.

The sight of the country around you was a culture shock. You’d gotten comfortable with the way things were while being stationed in the States, you’d forgotten how complex warfare could be for other countries. Things were more rugged and lawless here.

“An ally of ours - Shadow Company, says they’ll have Hassan in custody by nightfall.” Alejandro climbed into the SUV and then followed your team. “We leave now, we’ll be there in time to get you your information, Captain.”

“You sure you’ll be able to shake him?” Price needled, giving him a skeptical glance.

Alejandro snickered and nodded his head. “It’s clear you haven’t met Commander Graves. He’ll get the job done.”

—

It was a long drive, with nothing but endless desert all around you. The sun had set, and the only thing you could see was the dirt illuminated by the headlights.

Finally, the cars came to a stop. You climbed out and stretched your legs, seeing a man knelt in the sand below you. And in front of him, a man with a head of blonde hair.

“Graves,” Alejandro barked, getting his attention. He motioned toward your team, “Task Force 141. They flew in this morning—figured you would appreciate the help.”

Graves turned his head, nodding instead of introducing himself properly. He tore the sack off of Hassan’s head and gave him some halfway threat.

“You are in bed with the cartel, Hassan. If you go missing, no one would look for the fuckin’ stain.” A hint of his accent appeared, the more deeply he blustered the hostage.

He inched closer to Hassan’s face, as the 141 watched in anticipation. “Where are the missiles going? You can start talking… Or become a part of the food chain.” Graves snarled. His voice echoed in the vastness of the wilderness.

Hassan wasn’t going to budge - and you expected as such.

Graves approached the laptop sitting on the hood of the truck beside him, virtually facing General Shepard. “Actual, let me finish this.” He pleaded his palms flat on the car.

“Without proof, we need to cut him loose, and see where Hassan leads us,” Shepard spoke, sounding just as disgruntled as the looks written on your colleague's faces.

Soap shook his head in disbelief, stepping forward. “You can’t be serious, Shepard. He’s right here.”

Unfortunately, rules were rules—even if you did want to execute the man yourself.

“This pissing match is getting us nowhere, Price.” You uttered to him. “He’s too hellbent on making us bleed to give us anything.” You gripped the collar of your vest in frustration.

Price nodded in agreement, tightening his brows at the headache this was causing him.

You burned your gaze into Graves’ back as you strode back to the car. Graves was going to be a problem, you already knew it.

You looked Ghost in the eyes as you passed him, opening up the car door, “I don’t like arrogance. It causes mistakes.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped back, giving you a scowl in response.

—

You’re perched on the rooftop alongside Soap, Graves, and Ghost, overlooking a large adobo-style mansion a few meters back.

“La Casa de Sin Nombre?” Soap inquired, squinting as he examined the building.

“No. One of his Lugartenientes.” Alejandro handed the binoculars to him, letting him see for himself.

The lights on inside the house looked like a lone star circling through the black hole that was the night sky.

A cartel lieutenant - one rank closer to your target.

Alejandro explains that the party will be full of cartel VIPs. It would be risky, but there was no other way to get this close. Your stomach drops at his words.

This wasn’t a celebration - it was a meeting disguised as a party.

The cartel is privy to your squad being in Las Almas, and it’s very clear you’re not welcome.

“Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?” Ghost finally utters a sentence. You almost forgot he was there entirely, and those were blissfully ignorant moments.

Alejandro shakes his head, keeping his mild demeanor. “No guarantees, but it’s our best shot. We go in carefully.”

Graves cocks his head to the side and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’ve got enough Shadows to take over the damn country. One house shouldn’t be a problem.”

“We need Sin Nombre alive.” Ghost retorts. It’s as if nothing anyone said could get through Graves’ thick skull. If you’re in the line of fire, he was not the man you wanted beside you.

Graves ignores Ghost’s tone and speaks again, “Well… Then we need to meet him.”

If it wasn’t obvious, you would’ve kept the scorn on your face visible to Graves. Terrorists were one thing, but the cartel was a deadlier force. This was far out of your element.

“Give them what they want. Intel.” He states matter-of-a-factly. “They wanna know who’s here. Let’s tell ‘em—in person.” His confidence only showed because he wasn’t going to be the one in the hot seat.

It was clear Graves never spent his days getting dirty—he just commanded others to get dirtier.

You knew what he was implying, and every part of you wanted to protest. However, you came here to assist, so that’s what you were going to do.

“Get someone inside, find the boss…” Graves put his palms together and scanned the group before him.

You felt your throat tighten at the thought. Graves looked at you a bit longer than the others, like he was about to volunteer you. You mentally prepared yourself for whatever was in the path ahead of you.

“I’ll do it.” Soap’s words were music to your ears. But deep inside, you realized he would now be at risk, face-to-face with the biggest cartel players.

“You go in there and they’ll kill you, hermano,” Alejandro spoke, staring at Soap’s unusually calm comportment.

“I’ll take my chances. We came here to stop a missile, so let’s stop it.” His tone grew stronger. He was right.

Tough decisions plagued each of your colleagues every day. Learning to accept the fact that it might be your last one was just another lesson to learn.

You took a deep breath, giving Soap a look of esteem. He didn’t need to do this, but he was ready to save countless innocent lives at the drop of a hat.

Alejandro spoke once more, “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. You’ll need eyes and ears, I’ll go too.”

Following, Ghost spoke, “I’ll take overwatch.”

“You,” A firm hand reached for your shoulder.

Your throat closed as you circled around, seeing the smirk tease at the corner of Graves’ mouth. “I want you in there with him, too.” He motioned toward Soap, whose lips formed a scowl.

Ghost hid any semblance of change to his face, but his eyes didn’t lie. You knew better than anyone when he was disturbed by something—and the decision to send you in disturbed him.

You were too busy digging your nails into the palm of your hand to notice. The fist clenched at your side couldn’t get any tighter.

At first, it was a simple dislike for Graves. But now, it was complete distaste.

“She ain’t going in there with me.” Soap retorted defensively, puffing out his chest at Graves.

You admired the gesture, but you weren’t going to curl into a ball and hide from this.

Showing weakness enables men like Graves to win. You weren’t going to allow that as you were still breathing.

You nudged Soap with your knuckle and gave him a nod to stand down.

“It’s too late to argue about this, I’m going in there.” Your eyes flicked to Graves, who almost looked shocked you didn’t fight him. That two-fisted look in his eyes only fueled your need to prove him wrong, even if took some small victories to chip away over time.

—

You fiddled with the Shadow patch Graves handed you as if it was a foolproof way to not get a bullet in your head. You begged to differ on that. It wasn’t going to be so simple.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Soap questioned, meeting your gaze.

You nodded, stuffing the patch into your shirt pocket. “Graves is just trying to show us how big he is. I don’t mind giving him what he wants.” You stated imprudently, walking down the hill with your partner side by side.

“Shadows on the station.” Graves chirped through your earpieces.

“Copy. All set here.” Ghost spouted, placed somewhere with his sights aimed at the guards roaming the property.

The both of you made it to the beginning of the driveway, hesitantly trudging down further.

“Alejandro, how you doin’?” Their radio chatter continued.

Both of you were a little more concerned with being inches from the cartel, so it blended into the music booming through the walls. The only saving grace was Alejandro waiting for the two of you. He, you could tolerate.

Ghost’s scope trailed the two of you as you approached the two armed men at the gate, both of them concealing their faces through ski masks. They could snuff you out right here, right now, and there was nothing Ghost could do to prevent it. That undeniably weighed on him.

You both raised your hands in surrender as they spotted you, instantly rushing over and questioning your presence. The both of you stuck out like sore thumbs in a place like this.

You fluttered your eyelids shut and kept your composure. You were trained for situations like this, you needed to act like it.

The guard on Soap’s side smashed the butt of his SMG into the back of his leg, forcing him to his knees. You were shoved harshly into the same position, your knees digging into the rigid cement. Both of you placed your hands on the back of your head, waiting for the next move.

At least they didn’t shoot us on the spot, the thought ran through your head. You glanced at Soap briefly, giving him a slightly unglued look, which you were trying desperately to hide.

The guard spoke into the headset, poised for his orders.

In a matter of seconds, you had a sack over your head and zip ties around your wrists. Both of you were being escorted inside, with the barrels of their guns digging into your shoulder blades.

You heard the ding of an elevator. As the sound of the door scraping shut ended, the sack was ripped from your heads.

“Alejandro…?” You asked in a hushed voice. You recognized the eyes showing through the holes of the mask he was wearing.

He placed a hand on your shoulder. “No time—give them the good intel in there. Don’t lie, tell them everything they want to know or you’ll die here. Mexican Special Forces, American PMCs, Shadow Company, and Philip Graves.” You give a simple nod, and so does Soap.

You prepared yourself for whoever would be facing you when you reached the basement level. Would it be El Sin Nombre?

The doors whirred open, revealing a bald man dressed in typical Cartel boss streetwear. Colorful button-down, a gold chain hanging around his neck, and most importantly, two holsters with two very loaded pistols.

He looked the both of you up and down as if sizing you up. His eyes stayed on you a little longer than Soap, which you noticed immediately. “These are the two who came to crash the party?” He spoke rhetorically. Alejandro nodded, passing you both along to him.

“You got a name, hawk?” His gaze shifted to the man standing beside you. You gulped as you hid halfway behind him, trying not to attract the wrong attention.

“They call me Soap.”

The captor guffaws dryly as he utters something in Spanish to Alejandro, something you couldn’t catch. You guessed it had to do with Soap’s name. It’s better he’s laughing at a name than your defiled corpses, so you’ll take what you can get here.

“I want to see El Sin Nombre.” You felt your muscles tighten, wanting to smack Soap upside the head. Neither of you was in a position to make demands.

Soap’s collar is gripped tightly by the man, who was growing curter by the second. “You’re only alive because you may have some information.”

The ties dug into the soft skin around your wrists as you tensed your fists.

He holds a finger up to Soap’s face, “And it better be good, Guero, or I’m going to scalp that hawk off your head, and make her watch.”

Your jaw tightened at the gruesome picture replaying in your head. Soap needed to be more careful with his words, as much as he desired to play the Tough Guy act. His stare grew defensive as you were shoved into a walk again, following the way the stone walls guided you.

You followed behind Soap, who was following the captor. “This is my house… That means you don’t see the boss until I say so. You don’t speak unless spoken to. And mas importante—tell the fucking truth. Cause if you lie? I’ll feed you to my dogs.”

His words were received loud and clear by you, and you could tell Soap understood as well.

Alejandro was right about one thing so far… The only weapon you needed to get out of this alive was the truth.

The door to the room you were being led to opened. A young woman, fashioning a short bob and a black tank top was stood there.

“Valeria. Two more, one gringo, one girl.”

“Sit down,” Valeria said with an icy glare, sharply examining the both of you as you were both shoved inside.

There were other men down there, some dead, others struggling against their restraints in torment. Based on the bloody tarps spread out below the chairs, you put together the pieces.

You did as your told, and landed yourself face to face with her. Soap, she was not phased by, but you, she was. You were probably the only other woman in the house aside from the dancing girls.

She stepped toward the man from the elevator. “They say they have information.”

She shoves him to the floor and holds a large blade to his neck, “we don’t know either of them, and they’ve seen our faces, Diego!” She bellowed, digging her painted nails into his chin from behind.

“We need intel—they could help us,” he struggled against her grip slightly, but he was obviously submitting himself to her. You found it strange. When you first saw Diego, he carried the demeanor of a boss and even looked the part.

But here he was, on his knees with a knife to his throat. Valeria played a bigger part in all of this, you knew that for certain.

“They better… Or I kill them—and it’s you in that chair.” She didn’t need to get into specifics to instill fear in those around her. She knew what to say, and just how to say it. You couldn’t screw this up if you wanted any chance of walking out of here.

“Who attacked us yesterday?” She turned her attention to Soap, keeping her pistol drawn at her side.

“It was the Mexican army.” He spoke plainly, looking deeply into her bitter eyes as if to ensure she believes him. “No. It was Mexican Special Forces.” Soap’s backtracking sets back any trust she had in his credibility.

Valeria swings her pistol and whips him in the forehead. Soap winced afterward, blinking away the blood running down his brow bone. “Fuck up again, and you’ll be drifting home in pieces.”

You didn’t doubt that threat for a second. You didn’t doubt how much pleasure she would take in doing it either.

Now, done with questioning Soap, she put her attention on you. “There were outsides helping the Special Forces. Who were they?”

Alejandro’s instructions replayed through your head as she waited for your response.

“American PMCs… Shadow Company, led by Commander Philip Graves. The proof is in my pocket.” You kept your voice as steady as possible, making sure it was clear you weren’t going to make the same mistakes as Soap.

She fingered through your shirt pocket and pulled it out, seeing the logo etched inside the patch of fabric. She looked pleased, which was at least a step up from her usual scowl.

She places the pistol back into her holster and pulls out the same blade she had digging into Diego only moments ago. You felt a lump in your throat as you watched the reflection of the sharp metal bounce of the fluorescent lighting.

With a quick slash, she sliced through the ties, freeing up your tender hands.

“El Sin Nombre will enjoy talking to you.” She grabbed your shoulder and forced you to your feet, a sinister smirk engulfing any confidence you had left.

You jerked your head backward and gave one last glance at Soap, which had an expression of worry so deep you hadn’t seen before.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to have a civil sit down with whoever he was, and then be free to go, to blabber to anyone you pleased. There was something behind that smirk, something you needed to brace yourself for.

You were brought to the top level of the house, and shoved into what looked like a meeting room, but fancier than any you’d ever been in before. One large table, but only a few chairs—only the highest up in the cartel were allowed in here.

You rubbed your bruised wrists as you looked around the room, expecting anything by this point. Did she kill Soap already? Was he being tortured at this very moment?

You reached for your earpiece, which was still filling your ear with gentle static.

It pained you to speak with him, but you needed the reassurance of his voice. “Ghost, how copy?”

“Quiet here. You still alive down there?” You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic tone, knowing the exact expression he probably had while saying that.

Your breathing hitched when the door behind you opened, making you act natural, as if you hadn’t been wearing an earpiece during this entire ordeal.

It was Diego, from the basement. He wasn’t El Sin Nombre, that was blatantly clear. What was the point of this?

Your eyes darted around the room, hoping to spot anything you could use if this went unsavory.

At least you had Ghost in your ear, to be a witness to anything that might happen in this room. Your sudden silence made his stomach tighten. He could sense something was wrong, and he couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

“Relax.” His demeanor made your hairs stand up.

“Valeria wanted me to keep you company… But why keep lying to each other? You know she’s not some ‘Sicaria’… You’ve figured it out.” He taunted you, and he was right.

But you don’t just see the face of a cartel boss and walk away unscathed—things didn’t work that way.

He grabbed the back of your head, digging his fingertips into your scalp. You were slammed into the large oak table, palms parallel to each side of your head.

“I bet you think you know it all, huh? Is that why you came in with Hawk? To keep him from getting himself killed?” You gritted your teeth at the condescending mention of Soap, and swung your elbow backward, nailing him in the ribs.

You flipped around and inched your hand toward the porcelain ashtray, using all your force to bash the side of his head with it. He stumbled backward, holding the gaping wound he now displayed.

He tilted his head upright, giving you a devilish eye. “You fucking bitch.”

His speed overtook you, forcing the both of you to the ground.

You clawed at him, finding any way to weaken him, but it was difficult without any of your gear at the ready. He returned the grip he had on your hair earlier and used it to thump your head into the ground, attempting to stun you. Your defenses slowed, but they didn’t stop.

You were running off pure adrenaline. You clocked him on the temple, giving him three harsh wacks while using the force of your entire upper body, just like Ghost instructed you weeks ago.

His grasp weakened as your fist only irritated the laceration you gave him before, tearing open more of the skin.

The look of pure rage on his face didn’t diminish, even though his energy was beginning to.

He wrapped his large hands around your throat, squeezing with what strength he had left in him. Your legs were pinned with his knees, giving you no out.

You banged against his chest, pulling at the chain around his neck, but nothing would stop him.

One moment the last of your oxygen is being squeezed out of you, and in the next, you’re drenched in his crimson liquid.

The splatter cast all around you, and he was a dead weight laying on top of you. A leather boot kicks him off of you, relieving the strain he was putting on your bones.

Behind the smoking gun, was Valeria.

You choked in a breath, holding onto your burning throat with one hand, the other held up to the gun she’s holding—as if in one ditch effort to save yourself. You didn’t have any more fight in you after that.

That smirk returned as she holstered her pistol.

“Hope you didn’t mind. Had to make him feel big and strong before I got rid of him. Diego was always a pain.” She raised her hand and slowly wiped the blood spot that splashed onto her cheek.

Her eyes always seemed to be dug deep within you, like she had some sort of carnal feeling for you.

You sat there in disbelief, rethinking everything that led you to this moment. You were both the unluckiest and luckiest person on the planet right now.

“Your friends will be coming for me soon. It’s been a pleasure, Cariña.” She peered out the window, hearing the approaching chopper.

She rushed out the door to give Alejandro one more game of cat and mouse that this time, she knew she was going to lose.

Ghost’s voice coming through the earpiece startled you out of your speechlessness. “How copy? Are you alive?” His voice was frantic instead of sarcastic like the previous time.

He heard every bit of what Diego said, and the fray you got into with him. And through it all, you had barely made a sound.

For all he knew, you were laying in a pool of your own blood.

“Copy. Room is clear for now.” You croaked out, fighting the burning sensation that was filling your bruised throat.

You struggled to your feet, using the marble fireplace to pull yourself up.

You placed a palm on the ache your lower stomach had, from where it was digging into the table, and limped out to the roof, where Valeria was being secured.

Somehow, someway, Alejandro and Soap were also standing there, in better shape than you.

You approached Alejandro, swallowing away your discomfort.

“How did you get him out? I thought for sure he was…” You motioned your head to Soap, trailing off your sentence in bewilderment.

He shook his head, noticing how relieved you looked to see your friend alive, and so did Soap. How he managed it, you won’t ever know.

You just cared that you finally had the target your team had been chasing for months, even if the price were you receiving some knocks.

Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, scanning you for any worse injuries than what he could spot at first glance. “You fought a cartel Lieutenant, and you’re standing in front of me? What are we going to do with you?” He questioned playfully, climbing into the helicopter after helping you step inside.

Price’s eyes lit up when he saw you get inside.

“Thought we lost you, Private.” His tone was gentle, like a father comforting his child that fell off his bike.

You leaned your head back against the headrest of the seat, taking a deep sigh.

No one was injured, the target was secure, and you didn’t have the energy to kill Ghost at that very moment—for you, that was the closest you were going to get to a win.

“Next time you get into a brawl, you could at least give me an inch first.” Ghost stated, keeping his stoic composure as placed a bandage on your forehead.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I think about bashing your face in.” You peeked through the eye that was facing him, keeping your tone low.

You were partially serious, and he knew it.

TAGLIST: @neoarchipelago @ghostlythots @gothgirl6-6-6 @cloudyyjanee

#simon riley x reader #mw2 #simon riley #mw2 fanfic #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #call of duty

319 notes · View notes

witchybitchy222 · 2 years

Text

Azriel x Reader | Satisfaction Part 3

Alright y’all here it is! The third and final part to satisfaction! I hope you all like it! I know I asked in part 2 and some of you said smut from Az’s POV buttt it just didn’t flow well that way. I’m sorry! Send me any requests you have and as always, thanks for the support! 🫶🏻

WARNINGS: smut, oral both female and male receiving, rough sex, mentions of blood, 18+

——————————————————————————

It was already bright as you opened your eyes, the first rays of the early morning sun were breaking over the mountains and streaming in through your curtains. You sat up with a stretch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and the events of the night before came rushing back to you.

You’d told Azriel, no not just Azriel, the entire inner circle, that you fantasized about him. And not just that, you were also about 90% sure you’d called him pretty before he left your room.

You threw yourself back on the pillows with a groan, swearing you were never drinking again. Embarrassed wasn’t a strong enough word for how you were feeling right now.

You picked yourself up and got dressed. You were brushing your teeth and desperately trying not to think about how you were going to have to face Azriel in less than an hour, when there was a knock at your door.

You froze in place, your anxious brain telling you it must be Azriel there to tell you to stay far, far away from him.

“Y/N! Open up!” Nesta’s voice flowed in, muffled through the wooden door.

You sighed, pulling the door open for your friend.

“Hey, Cass sent me to see if you were coming to training, or if you were too hungover.”

“Don’t act all friendly like I’ll just forget you made me spill a huge secret last night.” You accused, plopping down on your bed as Nesta followed you inside.

Your friend sighed and sat down next to you.

“Don’t be mad at me, there’s no way he doesn’t know you’re into him. I mean, neither of you are exactly subtle about it.”

“Neither of us?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing

“Oh don’t act like the two of you haven’t been dancing around the subject for ages now. Hells, I’ve only been here a few years and I see it.”

“Azriel isn’t interested in me Nes. And that’s okay. I just really hope I didn’t ruin our friendship over something so stupid.” Nesta put an arm around your shoulder.

“If you honestly think he doesn’t feel the same then I’m sorry. But you know Az! Even if he isn’t into you at all, he’d never make it weird. Azriel is nothing if not a kind male. He’d take you aside and let you know he isn’t interested but still wants to be friends. I mean, that’s what he did with Gwyn.” She shrugged.

Your head shot up, “Gwyn had a thing for Azriel??”

“Uh, yeah. Massive crush. But after some self- reflection she realized she was only interested in him because he was the first male to show her kindness after her attack.”

You sat in silence for a moment. Maybe Nesta was right. Azriel was kind. And what’s the worst that could happen? You’d already embarrassed yourself, it couldn’t get much more humiliating than this.

You took a deep breath, asked your friend to braid your hair, and put on your leathers.

You found Azriel first thing, nervously asking if you could talk to him before everyone got started. He gave you a short nod and followed you to the edge of the roof.

“So,” you sighed, wringing your hands. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about how I acted last night… it was totally not okay to say all of that… stuff… and I’m sorry if I totally creeped you out.”

You made yourself stop fidgeting and bring your eyes to Azriel’s face.

His head was slightly tilted to one side, the only indication of confusion in his stoic demeanor. You mentally cringed at yourself for what felt like the millionth time today, wishing you’d just crawled back into bed this morning.

You started to stutter out another apology when Azriel’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Y/N, there’s no need to apologize. It was a game. You were drunk.” He shrugged, turning back toward the ring. “Oh” he started, looking at you over his shoulder, smirk still firmly in place “by the way, I don’t think you’re creepy in the slightest.” The shadowsinger shot you a wink before joining Cassian in stretching.

You were left momentarily stunned. Was Azriel… flirting with you? Holy shit…. It was so on.

You took a moment to collect yourself before leading your group of priestesses in their warm up stretches. You’d worn an oversized jacket to the training ring this morning, the early chill keeping it cool until the sun fully crested over the mountains. Feeling Azriel’s eyes on you from across the roof, you shed your jacket, stretching in the early morning sun, leaving you in your tight scoop neck tank top, the curve of your breasts exposed, and your Illyrian leather pants, daggers strapped to each thigh, material clinging to every curve. You looked over your shoulder at the shadowsinger and shot him a grin.

This game was fun. And you were good at it, your confidence soaring each time you felt Azriel’s eyes on you as you trained. You made sure to bend over more than necessary, giving him a view of your ass each time, winking when you caught him staring. For nearly 45 minutes you kept half your attention on your teaching and the other half on teasing Azriel.

As you wrapped up your defense lesson for the day, Cassian jogged across the ring, waving at you as he approached.

“Hey!” He called, “you still wanna do that self defense demonstration?”

You nodded, eyes sliding to Azriel, an idea forming. “For sure! Tell Az I need him to be my partner.”

“Alright” Cassian grinned as he situated the priestesses around the center ring.

You squared up with Azriel, a smirk on your face.

“Okay,” you clapped, turning to the crowd, “I know it can be intimidating when you’re attacked by a male twice your size” you gestured at the shadowsinger, “but just remember to calm your mind, sometimes being smaller is an advantage.”

You walked back to Azriel, placing your back against his now bare chest, making sure to wiggle your backside against him as he situated his arms around you. He leaned down and growled in your ear “your teasing isn’t funny, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” His voice was silky smooth, quiet breath sending shivers down your spine as you took in his words. It was hard to concentrate as you moved through the motions, and the demonstration passed in a daze.

You were grabbing a drink of water and calming your nerves as the priestesses filed out. “Up for a round?” Azriel asked, twirling truth teller in his hand as he smirked at you.

“You’re on, shadowsinger.” You winked, grabbing the daggers from your thighs.

He lunged for you immediately, striking with grace and precision, leaving you only seconds to dodge. You danced around each other, slashing and spinning in a deadly dance, evenly matched until you managed to catch him off guard. He knew you favored your right hand, so you led with it, making to swipe for his throat, while your left hand jabbed at his ribs, dagger hilt-first, landing a blow in precisely the right spot to knock the breath from his lungs. Quick as a cat, your leg shot out, sweeping him off his feet, but as tricky as you’d been, he was just as good, slashing out with truth teller and landing a shallow cut across your exposed chest before pinning you down underneath him.

You were both breathing hard as he stared down at you from above, your daggers still gripped in your hands as he pinned your wrists on either side of your head, his knees settling around your hips.

The look he was giving you was more intense than the fighting that had just taken place, so you were more than shocked when his lips met yours in barely a brush.

You gasped, staring up at him in shock before lifting your head and catching his lips again. He groaned as he leaned into you, kissing you harder. Your lips opened for him, letting him taste you. It was like your brain had short-circuited and all you could think of was him.

You started to lift your arms, wanting to reach up and pull him closer, but quickly realized your wrists were still pinned down. You whined in frustration and he pulled away, chuckling at you.

“I want to touch you.” You breathed, and he let out a groan “you’re gonna be the death of me.” Azriel’s eyes scanned your face before settling on the now healing cut across your chest. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as if he’d just noticed his knife had actually made contact.

He brought his eyes back to yours before leaning down and kissing your jaw, down your neck to the scratch his blade had made before dragging his tongue across it, licking up the blood as his eyes bore into yours. You let out an unabashed moan as arousal began to pool in your core, imagining his tongue all over your body.

He released your wrists and you immediately dropped your daggers, hands flying to his hair to pull him back in for a kiss.

Shadows enveloped you and a moment later your back was hitting the soft surface of what must’ve been Azriel’s bed.

He sat back and looked at you, “is this okay?” He asked, and you grinned in response, locking your legs around his waist and pulling him against you again.

He laughed and went back to kissing your neck, his hands wandering up and down the curves of your sides. You threw your head back to give him better access as you drug your hands down his chest, feeling every inch of defined muscles.

Azriel’s hands slid under your top and you sat up, pulling it over your head and exposing your breasts to him.

He stared for a moment, rough hands lightly tracing your chest and torso. You grabbed his wrist, bringing his palm to your mouth and planting a kiss in the middle, hoping to erase any hesitation. He gave you a small smile before dipping his head down and attaching his mouth to your right breast, licking and sucking on your nipple. You moaned at the sensation, his hand squeezing your other breast before switching.

Azriel kissed down your body, stopping at your hip bones to lick and suck marks on the sensitive spots. He pulled down your pants, underwear leaving with them, and groaned at the sight of how wet you’d gotten.

His big hands gripped your thighs, slowly spreading them apart, kissing up each side and stopping just before your core. You wiggled your hips, trying to get him to move closer. He took one finger and drug it up through your folds, bringing it to his mouth and sucking off the juices with a moan. You could’ve come undone at the sight.

Azriel spread your legs wider and dove in. Attaching his mouth to your aching pussy, licking and sucking like a man starved. Your back arched off the bed, hands shooting to his hair to pull him impossibly closer, eyes rolling back in your head.

He slid a finger inside you, curling and pumping it inside, hitting just the right spot that had you grinding down on his face, wanting more. He quickly inserted a second finger, nipping at your clit and making you see stars. Soon you were coming, grinding onto his mouth as his fingers pumped you through until your legs stopped shaking and you collapsed on the bed, breathing hard.

Azriel slunk up your body, planting a hungry kiss on your lips. You kissed him back with fervor, wrapping your legs around his waist and using your thighs to flip him over.

You sat up on top of him, admiring how sinfully beautiful he looked, eyes lidded with lust, full lips swollen, and wings splayed behind him.

You slid off of him, hands working to remove his pants. He lifted his hips and his cock finally sprang free. You practically salivated at the sight. Feeling no shame in how wet you got just by looking at him. He was big, thick and long, and pulsing with arousal, precum resting at the tip.

Azriel made to sit up and you gently pushed him down, sliding your body down until your mouth was poised above his cock. “It’s my turn to taste you.” You stared into his eyes as you wrapped your mouth around him, taking him in all the way to the back of your throat, gagging on the length of him. He let out a delightful moan as the tip hit the back of your throat, your hand wrapping around what wouldn’t fit inside you.

You began to move, sucking and stroking in time, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking as much of him as you could back down your throat. His hands flew to your hair, tugging at it as his hips began to thrust up into your mouth.

Your eyes were watering when he gently pulled you off, breathing heavy as you wiped the spit and precum from your mouth, licking your lips to get a taste of him. “I want to cum inside you.” He looked into your eyes before switching your positions.

Azriel lined himself up with your dripping sex, slowly pushing in, both of you moaning at the feeling. Your pussy stretched to accommodate every inch of his thick cock, filling you to the brim.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he bottomed out, the tip of him hitting you in just the right way. You thought you’d been completely blissed out until he started moving, slowly at first and then quicker with each thrust, pushing into you hard enough to make the bed rock. Your nails raked at his shoulders as you moaned uncontrollably.

Azriel leaned down, mouth attaching to the spot between your neck and shoulder, biting and sucking enough to bruise. You lifted one hand up, lightly running your fingers along the edge of his wing. His hips stuttered and he growled into your shoulder.

In an instant he was pulling out of you, you didn’t even have time to whine at the lost contact before he flipped you over and slammed into you from behind.

You let out a scream as he grabbed your braid, wrapping it around his hand and pulling your head back as he relentlessly fucked into you. His other hand came around to rub your clit and you were thrown into a mind-blowing orgasm. You were shaking and crying as Azriel continued to fuck you.

Your pussy clenched around him and he came undone quickly after you, pumping his cum inside you before pulling out and collapsing on the bed next to you.

You both laid there for moment, staring at each other in shock and catching your breath.

“Wow.” Azriel breathed, looking at you like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. You could only nod in agreement.

“Y/N…” he reached out, letting his hand fall to the open space between you, eyebrows furrowing.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You grabbed his hand, placing it on your cheek.

“Nothing could be wrong after that.” He laughed, “it’s just, I feel like I should let you know that as amazing as that was… I don’t want this to just be sex. I have… deeper feelings for you. And if you don’t feel the same that’s okay and I’ll respect your boundaries, but if sex is all this is to you I think we should stop here. It would be hard enough to keep myself away from you now, let alone if we do this again.”

You were stunned. Only this morning had you even let yourself think this male MIGHT be attracted to you, and here he was saying he had feelings for you? You felt like the luckiest female alive.

You smiled at him. “I have feelings for you too… I think we should see where this goes.” He grinned back and pulled you to his chest.

You lay there for a while, Azriel’s hand in your hair, the other wrapped around your waist as you listened to his heartbeat.

“So,” he began, the smirk evident in his voice, “did I cure your sexual frustration?”

You laughed, having completely forgotten about Ian and your crappy date. “I can honestly say I and 100% satisfied.”

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @chaoticpizzalawyerbiscuit @ruler-of-hades @cosmic-whispers @brekkershadowsinger @azriel-luvr @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @thesillyyogourt @a-little-disguised @hanasakr @morrie-rose @lahoete @orangecomfortfoods @safetypinxtales

@articulatecrow

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #witchybitchy222 #mine #azriel x reader #send me asks #azriel #azriel x female reader #acotar x reader

286 notes · View notes

lfcslut · 2 years

Text

quarter-final surprise

hakim ziyech x reader

words: 2.1k

summary: you surprise hakim by traveling to doha for the world cup semi-finals. loosely based on this request!

warnings: cursing, established relationship, kissing. that's about it lol. wholesome fluff!

You and Hakim had been together for almost a year now. Very few people knew about your relationship - your family and close friends, as well as most of Hakim’s teammates, but that was about it. With the World Cup approaching, Hakim had been spending extra time in training. You had wanted so badly to be able to go with him to Doha - partially because you had never been before, but mostly because you wanted to cheer on your man in what was bound to be one of the most memorable moments of his career. But between school and work, it was nearly impossible for you to take enough time off to be able to make it. You kept telling yourself that you would go for at least one game, but the timing just wasn’t working out right. By now though, Morocco had made it much farther than you, or anyone else, had expected - they were in the quarter-finals, and you knew that this was a match that you could not miss. You had managed to get the time off from school and work, and you had booked your plane ticket, but Hakim had no idea. You had only told his sister, who you were close with and who was currently in Doha, but you were planning to surprise Hakim.

“So, I’m flying in tomorrow morning.” You were on the phone with Hakim’s sister while also running around your apartment, trying to pack at the last minute. Your flight was in less than four hours, and your suitcase was completely empty. You guessed that you weren’t going to get much sleep that night.

“I’m so excited to see you, Y/N. And I know Hakim is gonna be over the moon when you surprise him,” his sister responded. You and his sister had become close ever since the two of you started dating. Even though she lived in the Netherlands while you were in London, the two of you spoke several times a week. Hakim sometimes joked that you were only dating him to get to her.

“I really hope so,” you said. “I hope it’s not too much that I’m surprising him during the quarterfinals with the whole world watching.” You were nervous because the public did not know about your relationship with Hakim. You had managed to keep your personal lives private, but this was one of the largest stages in the world. You figured that someone would likely see you there and connect the dots.

“I know he’s going to love it. He’ll just be happy to see you.”

You smiled and hung up the phone with her, just as you saw that Hakim had sent you a text.

Going to bed now. Big day tomorrow. I love you xx

Good night, baby. I know you’re going to do great. I wish I could be there. I’m so proud of you <;3

Hakim heart reacted your message and you turned off your phone. It felt weird to lie to him like this, but you knew it would be worth it in the end. You turned to the clock, saw what time it was, and then hurriedly continued packing. You couldn’t forget the most important thing - your number 7 Morocco jersey that Hakim had bought you shortly after you had first started dating. Can’t forget this, you whispered to yourself.

—

You landed in Doha early the next day. As soon as you landed, you turned on your phone and messaged Hakim.

Good morning, my love. Good luck today. No matter what, you made history and I’m so proud of you.

Thank you, baby. I love and miss you so much xx

You got off the plane and headed to baggage claim. Hakim’s sister was going to pick you up and take you to the hotel. You were hoping that Hakim didn’t suspect anything - if he did, he hadn’t let it on. You admittedly weren’t the best at keeping secrets. As you waited for your luggage, you thought about that one time you had tried to throw Hakim a surprise party, but had inadvertently revealed your plans to him the day before. Hakim had still pretended to be surprised the next day.

“Y/N!” Hakim’s sister called out as you exited the airport and spotted each other.

“I missed you so much! How was your flight?” She asked, greeting you with a warm hug.

“It wasn’t too bad. I didn’t start packing until the last minute though, so I got absolutely no sleep last night,” you responded after kissing her on the cheek.

“Let’s get you to the hotel so you can get some rest before the match, then,” she responded and led you to her car.

“How’s Hakim doing?” you asked as the two of you were on your way to the hotel.

“Well, you know Hakim. He’ll never let on that he’s nervous,” she responded, and you nodded. Hakim would never admit that he was nervous before a match, and to be honest, he typically wasn’t one to get nervous. Football was second nature to him at this point. But this was the quarterfinals of the World Cup - a historic feat, one that the whole world would be watching. You knew that even your stoic boyfriend was likely on edge.

When you got to the hotel, you said goodbye to Hakim’s sister, quickly checked into your room, and didn’t even bother changing before collapsing on the bed. You were exhausted, and as much as you wanted to go out and explore Doha, you knew that getting rest before the match was more important.

Heading to the stadium soon. How are you, darling? How’s your day been?

You couldn’t help but smile at Hakim’s message. Even on one of the most important days of his life, he still made sure to ask about you.

I’m good! I can’t wait to see you on TV later tonight! You’re gonna do amazing <;3

Once again, you couldn’t help but feel bad about lying. You wanted more than anything to go to his hotel room before he left and surprise him. But you didn’t want to mess up his pre-game ritual, and you knew that surprising him after a win would be even more special. So instead, you set your alarm and lay down for a nap.

–

“Shit!” You exclaimed as you woke up and turned to look at the clock. You had slept through your alarm and the game was about to start in thirty minutes. You jumped out of bed and started running around your hotel room like a maniac. You opened up your suitcase, grabbed your toiletries bag, and ran to the bathroom. You had about five minutes to freshen up and do your makeup. “Fuck it,” you said to yourself as you decided to do a very simple, no makeup look. You quickly changed into your Morocco jersey and some jeans, slipped on your most comfortable flats, and ran out the door.

As you entered the stadium along with hundreds of thousands of other people, you couldn’t help but begin to feel nervous yourself. You had been to plenty of Hakim’s games before, but this was the World Cup. You thought about the millions of people around the world who were tuning in right now. You couldn’t imagine how Hakim must be feeling. Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of pride for your man washed over you. You knew how hard he had worked to get to this moment and the challenges he had faced along the way. You were the one whose shoulder he had cried on when he was struggling on the team, and you were the one he had first told when he decided to quit playing internationally. When he decided to go back, you had encouraged him to not think about what people might say and follow his heart. And so he had.

“I’m sorry I’m late! I overslept!” You exclaimed as you ran up to Hakim’s box where his family and best friends were. Most of them were surprised to see you and embraced you in hugs and kisses.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” asked one of Hakim’s brothers incredulously.

“I know, I know, I’m here as a surprise to Hakim!”

You finally reached his mom. She embraced you and whispered in your ear, “I’m so glad you’re here. I know Hakim will be so happy.” You beamed at her words and sat down in between her and Hakim’s sister.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t suspect a thing,” said Hakim’s sister. “He came by earlier when we got here and told us how much he wishes you could have made it.”

You couldn’t help but blush thinking about Hakim openly telling his family about how he misses you. “I can’t wait to see his reaction.”

–

It was the last minute of extra time and your heart was pounding. The entire stadium erupted into absolute chaos as the whistle was blown. At that moment, it seemed like the entire crowd was Moroccan. Everyone around you was hugging, crying, and screaming. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the noise. All you could think about was how much you wanted to see Hakim. Your eyes scanned the crowded field, but you could barely see anything amidst all of the people. Finally, you saw a familiar face running up to the stands. Hakim had the Moroccan flag draped around his shoulders, and your heart soared when you saw the joy on his face as he spotted you. When he reached you, he didn’t say a word and simply wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you said, as he buried his face into the nook of your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re here, Snoepje,” he said. He pulled away from you, and you took his face in your hands.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Before you could say anything else, the two of you were surrounded by friends and family piling up around you both.

The rest of the night was a blur. You spent most of it celebrating with Hakim, his teammates, and their families. The night ended with just you and Hakim alone in your room together, cuddled up in bed. This was the first moment the two of you were alone since Hakim had left for the World Cup. Hakim was understandably exhausted from the day, and so you simply held him in your arms and stroked his head.

“I still can’t believe you managed to surprise me. You’re so bad at keeping secrets,” Hakim grinned up at you.

“I’ve learned from my past mistakes,” you responded. “So, how does it feel? To be a World Cup semi-finalist?”

Hakim paused for a moment and then answered. “Honestly? It doesn’t feel real,” he said. “To think that just a few months ago I didn’t even think I would be playing for the team.”

“I’m so glad you came back.”

Hakim looked up at you and smiled. “Me too.”

The two of you were about to turn the lights off and go to sleep when you decided to pick up your phone and check your notifications. To your surprise, your phone had blown up since you had last checked it. You opened up Instagram and saw that you had been tagged in hundreds of posts and stories, all of them with the same picture of Hakim embracing you after the World Cup.

Hakim Ziyech seen hugging mystery girl after World Cup quarter-final defeat

omg is ziyech married?

i didn’t know he had a girlfriend! who is she?

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath.

“What is it?” asked Hakim.

You handed him your phone, and he began scrolling. Your stomach dropped. The two of you hadn’t spoken yet about making your relationship public. You knew how private Hakim was, so you weren’t sure how he would respond to this. After a moment, Hakim gave your phone back to you and simply shrugged.

“It was bound to get out at some point. And I’m glad that it happened like this.”

You looked at him, somewhat surprised at his reaction. “Really? So you don’t mind that everyone knows?”

Hakim looked up at you, and it was now his turn to look surprised. “Snoepje, you’re going to be my wife one day. Why would I mind if people knew about us? I just wanted to protect you for as long as I could. But I’m happy that I can finally show you off to the world.”

You smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. While the two of you had talked about marriage since the early stages of your relationship, when you heard it coming from him like this, it felt even more special. “I love you, future husband.”

He grinned. “I love you too, future wife.”

You reached over to turn off the bedside lamp and the two of you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

#it's a cheeeeeze fest up in here #hope you guys like this one :)#figured i'd do something a little different #hakim ziyech fic #hakim ziyech x reader #hakim ziyech imagine #hakim ziyech fluff #hakim ziyech fanfic #hakim ziyech one shot #football fic #football fluff #football fanfic #football imagine #hakim ziyech

155 notes · View notes

dollsonmain · 26 days

Text

I've forgotten how to sleep and startled myself when I looked in the mirror on my way to bed last night. The eye wells in my skull were very, very visible. Slightly less bad this morning.

So sleep hasn't happened due to both anxiety/stress and the AC having been broken for a while. AC was out for about a week and once it was fixed, I was too stressed about the absences thing at school to sleep the first night, and then too stressed last night because Son broke his school laptop yesterday and we have to tell That Guy today, AND That Guy had gone out partying with friends after work which means he drives home like that in the middle of the night and I always worry he's not going to make it. I can't sleep until I hear the garage door open. If he crashes, with the way he has our finances set up, Son and I are effectively homeless immediately. Part of why I am trying to work. Him not coming home until 1am also prolonged the anticipatory anxiety of having to wait to tell him the problem and get over the aftermath.

And then I woke up at 3am like always and couldn't get back to sleep.

Anyway.

Work stuff ish again

I will not complain about being expected to work 6 hours a day because that's less than a "normal" job anyway, but really at that point I'd rather work a full 8 and get benefits.

I very much think it should be illegal to schedule people juuuuuust under the cut off for benefits to be required by labor law. You should have to either schedule people 40 hours or 20 hours, no in between, IMO. Scheduling someone exactly 20 hours gives them plenty of time to go work SOMEWHERE ELSE for the other 20 hours without having to worry about being scheduled to work 60+ hours a week because both employers are cheapskates that will work you 30 hours.

I also need to completely change my daily routines AGAIN to get to work on time.

My current-new routine is:

wake up at 3:30 and get my morning coffee

sit around and wait for That Guy to leave for work which is usually 4-4:30

Son gets up and we have the morning together

Son leaves for school at 6:50

I don't get hungry until somewhere between 7 and 9 and will have breakfast then

depending on how exhausted I am I will or will not do chores between 5 and 10

leave to walk to work at 10:20

get to work at 10:40/10:45

work 11-3

That Guy picks me up on his way home from work, though I did have to walk home yesterday

do chores

dinner between 4-5 or so

vegetable time

Now, I'm going to have to skip my morning coffee because it makes me poop and I don't want to be pooping while I'm also the only cashier at work.

So it's going to be like....

wake up around 3 and shower OR shower in the evenings and deal with being gross from night-sweats at work so wake up at 3:30, I do prefer to show up to work nice and clean but it is a gas station...

force feed myself some sort of solid food while waiting for That Guy to leave for work around 4-4:30

make sure the boy gets up no later than 5

leave to walk to work at 5:20

get to work at 5:40-5:45

work 6-whenever (she hasn't decided when????)

leave work to walk to home whenever that happens to be and I'd rather it WASN'T noon because it's going to be stupid hot, then, but stop on the store's "porch" to put on sunscreen real fast... which means I need an opaque travel size bottle for sunscreen, and eat something so I don't pass out on the way home (yesterday I took a small bread roll and some jerky and ate that and drank a second V8 Energy while walking)

get home around 1 if I left at noon because the walk home is slower than the walk to work

eat a real lunch? finally have my poopin coffee?

chores

Son and That Guy get home at 3

profit???

I'm going to have to prep and take multiple sugar drinks so my blood sugar doesn't bottom out while at work. Right now I've been taking one bottle of water with a Real Lemon lemonade drink stick mixed in and I forget to drink it but it's there so I can slam it before leaving. I'll need to also take a meal replacement shake got sugar, salt, and other nutrients, I think, and an extra water.

Manager keeps trying to get me to buy something at work before my shift starts and I'm like no thanks those are MY monies, now, you're not getting them back on your overpriced bottled water.

Today I need to do laundry, deal with the fallout of telling That Guy that Son broke his school laptop, go to Kohl's and see if I can find some New Balance cross trainers to wear to work since I will be doing walking, standing, and lifting and I think cross-trainers would be the best option AND already know NB is the brand they primarily carry, need to find a hi-vis vest or couple of belts because I'll be walking to work in the dark, and That Guy said he'd take me to dinner today for leaving me to have to walk home from work Yesterday but what does that matter? That's going to be every day from now on.

A few more paychecks and I'll look for a scooter again. Or something. Still kind of like the idea of getting a cargo trike, ngl. Would be harder to steal than a bike anyway.

I don't know what I'm going to do in the winter.

Running a salary and income tax calculator and factoring in about $3k in short-term hobby income, even putting that no tax is withheld, it looks like I'd expect a tax return of $3k? Because there's about $3k in tax credits??? Whatever. I'll figure it out when it's closer to the right time.

7 notes · View notes

apparitionism · 1 year

Text

Tabled 7

And with this at-long-last final part, Tabled (my lengthy @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange offering for @barbarawar ) comes to an end. Does that end justify the tortuous (and torturous) trip? Probably not, but something something journey destination... it all began with “Myka sits at tables and tells lies,” and part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, and part 6 gave what I hope was a reasonable explanation for how Myka might have so fallen, as well as how she could have begun to scramble up (spoiler: with a lot of help). Anyway, she’s just got back to South Dakota—having come to a tentative understanding with Helena—only to find Mrs. Frederic waiting for her at the airport (!!).

Tabled 7

Myka has spent an evening, a night, and the entire subsequent day on her trek back to South Dakota, so her trip as a whole has now stretched to over thirty-six hours, during which she’s had emotional nadirs, shocks, and acmes; adrenaline overloads, ebbs, and re-overloads; minimal amounts of minimally palatable airport food; and far too much coffee, both interior and exterior. She desperately needs a shower, clean clothes, and, above absolutely all, some sleep lying down in a bed. Some sleep that way.

So she’s having trouble processing what she sees. Has Mrs. Frederic divined her ultimate intention and thus appeared here to prevent her from burning it all down? This possibility should strengthen her resolve; instead, it makes her want to turn and run away.

Unfortunately, she’s now through security, and she can’t turn around. Thanks a lot, DHS.

But please, she goes on to pray, not another table. And: Extra-please, not another lecture about children.

Can the people around her in the airport see Mrs. Frederic? They seem to be moving more slowly, less noisily, than reality usually offers. Or are they? It’s hard to know, here in this quiet, draggy little transit-place...

Mrs. Frederic puts a bow on the weird by pronouncing, “I have spoken with several people today. Yet you are my determinative interlocutor.”

That sounds like Myka might be a very few words away from being sent to a penal colony. Or, no: bronzed. The ultimate irony. Utterly Warehousian.

“I have for you the following salient information,” Mrs. Frederic continues, and Myka doesn’t even bother bracing herself, because she’ll have to take it, regardless. She might as well be rattled by the full impact. “I am prepared to have words with Agent Lattimer.”

She should have braced. “You are?” she asks, wishing she could sound indifferent about the prospect, wishing the idea of such words didn’t add fuel to her gut’s terror that Mrs. Frederic knows all about Myka’s meeting with Helena, a terror now compounded by the prospect of her telling Pete of it, and the further prospect that his having been told will be an additional, far higher bar over which Myka must clamber.

“Should those words occur,” Mrs. Frederic says, and now Myka does brace, “your brief liaison will seem but a dream to him.”

What... what? No bar, no clamber? Instead, deliverance? Myka, whiplash-befuddled, is struck dumb.

Mrs. Frederic waits. Her patience, as long as it lasts, is admirable, if surprising. Then she quirks an eyebrow.

It makes Myka think of Helena—and that allows her to breathe. To soften.

Mrs. Frederic softens too: she lowers the eyebrow. “Is that truly what you wish?” she asks, carefully, as if she’s prepared also to withdraw credit from the source who conveyed to her the substance of Myka’s wants. As if Myka, given one last beneficent chance, can surely be gentled into exercising her better judgment and choosing the certain path.

The sliver of solicitude allows Myka to consider Mrs. Frederic’s motives with a new charity: she may have been driven not by stereotype, as Myka has suspected, nor malice, as she has feared, but rather by a thoughtful assessment of availability—i.e., here are the Warehouse’s extant resources, and here is how they may best be deployed to ensure an acceptable balance of efficacy and safety.

Myka has spent a great many hours on airplanes and in airports preparing herself for the burn-it-down possibility, but the fact of the matter is that she, too, cares about efficacy.

She cares even more about safety.

The additional fact of the matter, however, is that she wants a future untethered from such calculations—except as reckoned by, and between, her and Helena.

So if Mrs. Frederic is willing to help fix what she had a heavy hand in breaking? There’s probably a downside, but Myka will suffer it for this unexpected upside.

“Yes. It is. Thank you,” she says.

“No,” Mrs. Frederic says, now differently severe. “Agent Jinks.”

“Steve? What about him?”

“Thank him.”

****

Myka finds the B&B dark and silent, lacking even a video-game glow and hum from Claudia’s room. Sadly, the quietude doesn’t yield sleep; rather than knitting up her exceptionally raveled sleeve of care, she tries and fails to keep “here’s how this might go” scenarios from playing in her head until she can reasonably go downstairs and begin making morning noises.

As the others appear, she tries to act as if nothing has changed.

Claudia enthuses, “Storms no match for you!” which is flattering but of course entirely untrue.

Pete is in his too-early-to-do-more-than-grunt mode, but he seems to care more about his bowl of Lucky Charms than he does about anything to do with Myka, which tells her that Mrs. Frederic has almost certainly had the promised words with him. The way that buoys her—her shoulders move down and away from her ears, where she hadn’t even realized they’d taken up residence—is probably unseemly, but she doesn’t care.

Then Abigail walks in, and her eye-flick between Pete and Myka suggests she knows everything, which she probably does, but even if she all she might have had were suspicions, they’ve probably been confirmed by Myka’s radical change in posture.

A twinge of guilt at having allowed her body to reveal her relief visits Myka... but she quashes it. That guilt is about parts of the past she’s supposed to be ignoring. Practice. Practice.

When Steve emerges, he busies himself with the first steps of making scrambled eggs. Myka reads this as a tactic, for on workdays Steve generally eats two unheated Pop-Tarts at speed. On lazier mornings, he might undertake toast, but eggs are the rarest of production numbers... and indeed, no one but Myka waits through his meticulous preparation.

“You want some?” he asks, but he’s already sliding his results onto two plates. “Airports,” he says, handing her one.

“So hard to find something normal,” she agrees, “and even when you think you might have, you’re still in a place that isn’t.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about every day here.”

His affect effortlessly encompasses both “perpetually surprised new guy” and “perpetually resigned old hand.” Myka loves him for that facility. “Not about these eggs, though,” she says around mouthfuls, “so thanks.” She pushes her empty plate away. “And, also, thanks.”

“I’ve never seen anyone eat food that fast, so thanks back for the demonstration. But also thanks why?”

“You’re welcome, and also you know why: I have you to thank. Or so I hear from someone who miraculously shifted her thinking about what’s best for me,” and she concludes, “you miracle.”

He gives a little smile and head-shake. “You said to protect you, so that’s what I did. Differently. Once I figured out you were telling me things had changed.”

His figuring? Correct, regardless of anything Myka might have intended to be saying. “Things did change,” she acknowledges, “like you said they would. But listen, what you did. The risk. You shouldn’t have taken that risk for me. In fact people in general should stop taking risks on my behalf.”

His smile grows wider. “We will when you will. Reciprocally.”

“No, no,” Myka says, “I need to take more. On my behalf and everybody else’s.”

“All the more reason you should have the right backup.”

“Well, so should you,” Myka says, fully aware, and fully remorseful, that she hasn’t provided any such thing.

Steve’s smile shifts in a way she doesn’t understand. “I think I’m going to. Maybe in not too long? You know Claud’s doing a lot more Caretakering now.” The doorbell rings. “Oooh, if that’s who I think it is, somebody’s timing is something.”

“Is it?” Myka asks. She trails, a confused duckling, behind Steve as he heads to the door.

“I think you’re about to meet my new partner,” he says.

Myka doesn’t bother asking “Am I?” as he swings the door open, because questions are not being answered sensically.

Her exhaustion is comprehensive, so it’s no surprise she’s hallucinating. She says it aloud, directing a slack-jawed “I’m hallucinating” at both Steve and the doorway-framed Helena as they stand before her, their smiles bizarrely rhyming blends of sheepishness and pride.

They don’t respond. This supports the hallucination conclusion.

Myka moves her right hand, minimally; in this way, she touches Steve, a little backhand to his torso. The purple cotton of his shirt is softer than her knuckles expect.

With her left hand, she reaches out, reaches through the doorway, and pushes, probably harder than she should, against Helena’s right shoulder. Nothing there is soft. The shoulder resists.

Fine. Not a hallucination. Not even a hologram. Everyone’s physically here, breathing and taking up space.

“Her timing,” Myka says to Steve. She’s not quite ready to speak directly to Helena. “It’s definitely something.”

Helena says, “Ssh. Let me reveal my shortcomings to my new partner in my own time.” She’s surpassingly beautiful, here in this moment: glowing with mischief and morning sun.

It’s too much. Myka squints and looks away, back to the comfort of Steve. “Your new partner?” she asks him. “Really?”

“Seems so,” Steve says, right as Helena offers, “As I understand it,” and Myka hears a harmony as their voices overlap. She hadn’t seen this coming, but she might have heard it, if she had thought to listen close enough.

But how could she have thought to, before today? “You both make the world turn a little faster than I’m comfortable with,” she tells Steve.

His smile persists. “Call me on that, no problem. But you really want to argue with H.G. Wells, who by the way is standing right here”—and he gives her a little “you really are, right?” look, which she answers with a minimalist palms-up “I suppose” shrug; more harmony—“about how time moves?”

“If history is any guide,” Helena says to him, “that and many other elements of the oeuvre.”

“I just didn’t think I’d be doing it this morning, is all,” Myka says. She’s trying to bring herself to speak to both of them, but Steve remains her direction of safety.

His brow wrinkles. “If this isn’t okay...”

It would be nice to be able to reassure him, but. “No idea if it’s okay.”

His face clears. “I appreciate your telling the truth. And I guess your voice is less agitated than it could be.”

This garners a snort from Helena. “My dear new partner. Your understatement is a balm.”

“We’ll see if I can keep that up,” he says, visibly nervous.

Myka is, now, able to address Helena. About Steve. “He can. Not always understatement, but the balm part.”

“I’m glad to know it,” Helena says, directing at Steve a formal incline of head.

That incline. Its sweet propriety. Glad. Glad. “I’m glad you’re here,” Myka tells her.

“Thank you,” Helena says. She doesn’t need to add “for saying.” Her hair is shining, here—here!—in this morning sun that illuminates the entryway. Such light visits this space every morning, but Myka has never before seen it ignite Helena’s hair.

This day: new.

“I have something in the car for you,” Helena goes on. “Wait.” She exits the doorway, moving out of the sunbeam’s path. A bright loss.

Myka turns back to Steve. “Wait,” she echoes, shrugging. “There’s not enough time in the world for me to explain to you why that’s ironic.”

“Your own private irony.”

“But you did spare me some waiting. Some not-knowing waiting. And way more than that,” she says, because it needs saying, “you spared me the hard part.”

“I don’t know her very well yet, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Myka says, because of course she’d meant detaching herself from Pete, but Steve is (also of course) wise and right: each day, however few or many she and Helena manage, will no doubt have its hard parts. Each day of those few or many might itself be the hard part. “But how did you... I mean, did you have this plan all along? Partner and all, and Mrs. Frederic started nodding along as you said it all out loud?”

“Oh god no. I was just trying to ease her away from the you-and-Pete thing, as gently as possible. Turns out she wanted H.G. back ages ago.”

No. No. “She what.”

Steve nods, looking sick. “But—and I hate to be the one telling you this—she thought you didn’t want H.G. back.”

Myka feels sick. The non-sense of this day... no: of these days. “She what,” she says again.

“Because you left her in Boone, she said.”

“Helena was forced to stay in Boone!” she protests, or tries to.

“But you didn’t fight anybody on it. So she thought you were okay with it.”

Of course. Here’s Myka’s inaction again, kicking her legs out from under her. “But if she wanted to bring Helena back, why didn’t she just... do that? Once she decided it was safe to let her out of Boone?”

“Like I said, she thought you didn’t want H.G. to come back. So she was trying to make sure it wouldn’t matter so much to you. If it happened. If you had something else to focus on.”

“Pete,” Myka says, the very idea a heaviness. “Kids?”

“I’m not saying I can read her mind, but yeah, I think that’s how that went. I can tell you she was really surprised to hear you were meeting with H.G. yesterday.”

“In a hotel room in an airport in Chicago,” Myka says. The base fact of it. “Do I want to know how you explained that?”

“All I explained was the airport in Chicago,” Steve says. “I didn’t know about the hotel room part.”

Right. Myka hadn’t said that part out loud. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Interesting utterance,” he says, cocking his head, like he’s waiting for more. “Not an immediate lie, But the eventual truth-value, plus my possible eventual headache, depend on what you think I think it sounds like.”

It’s a privilege, this glimpse into the complications of his gift; nevertheless, Myka winces. “I think you think it sounds like what I think it sounds like,” she says. “Like I wish it didn’t. Because I swear to you, it’s not that.”

She prepares herself to dig in and hash out the truth-values, but Steve says, “I get it. No dirty work in those words.”

No dirty work: it’s a diploma. In reverse. Disqualification.

“Anyway I don’t think I made a lot of sense explaining any of it to Mrs. Frederic,” he finishes.

“Enough to save me,” Myka says.

“Yes. Because if you could be happy.”

“You said that before.”

“I did. But now I mean, if you could be happy.”

“If... then?” she asks, logic being what it is.

“Then maybe I could too,” he says.

Myka wants to put an immediate stop to the idea that he would look to her, for that can’t help but end in abject failure. But she gets out only a weak “Don’t” before he continues, “Because I was thinking of a saying: ‘Happy wife, happy life.’”

“I’m not your wife.”

“Better for both of us. I’m just saying it’s a saying. About a person and somebody else. There might be a better word for where you and somebody else are—or, I guess, where you might be headed?—but it wouldn’t rhyme with life. And it’s probably important to rhyme with life.”

Myka’s heart hears him, but she shies away, scoffing, “That’s a leap. Not the rhyming. The saying.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“I don’t want to give you false hope.”

“But if we could both acknowledge that there is hope.”

She’s not sure. She’ll probably never be sure, but in the face of doubt and fear (and “endless wonder,” that misleading canard), she determines to acknowledge it. For Steve’s sake. “Okay,” she says. “In the full knowledge that you’re the one who made the hope possible.”

“No,” Steve says. Serious. Simple. Unfraught. “That’s not what I did.”

Myka has no counterargument. All she can do is say “thank you” yet again, quick and quiet, for suddenly Helena is appearing in the doorway, taking over the space. Myka suspects she’s been waiting for their conversation to end—speaking of timing, this reminds her of the hotel lobby—and she doesn’t know whether to hope Helena was eavesdropping their words or simply their tones.

She’s holding two cardboard coffee cups. Myka gestures for her to hand one over, but Helena shakes her head. “You haven’t texted me.”

So Myka dashes to grab her phone, and “Gh” says the message, the first purchase her fumbling fingers could find, sent as fast as she could remind those fingers how to do that.

Helena sets the cups down on the hall table when her own phone noises (and now Myka doesn’t know whether to be pleased or distressed that a text from her yields a generic ding). She extracts it from the interior of her jacket and smiles. “I bought these, in hope, in the Sioux Falls airport,” she says, “but they’re now cold. No doubt terrible.”

“‘Worth every penny,’ I once heard someone say about coffee,” Myka says.

“Fewer pennies here. In any event, worth to be determined.” Helena is jaunty; it’s very her, but on the edge of too her, hinting that she’s less certain than her initial doorway presentation implied. As Myka now meets Helena’s gaze, she imagines—but hopes she isn’t only imagining—that their vulnerabilities might for once be commensurate.

Helena doesn’t look away.

Steve says, “You know, ‘I was making eggs’ buys you only so much late-for-work in this job.” It’s a transparent attempt to excuse himself, but he does add, “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you, partner.”

“I hope to impress you,” Helena says.

He snort-giggles, then composes himself. Minimally. “H.G. Wells—who isn’t lying!—hopes to impress me. Okay.”

Myka can’t begrudge him his surprised delight, even if it does delay his departure. “Welcome to a world of endless... surprise. She kind of wrote the book.”

“A lot of books,” Steve augments.

Helena waves a hand. “That was Charles. So wordy.”

Steve’s brow furrows—which Myka reads as a bit of confusion over how to negotiate the Helena/Charles disjunction. He says, “Okay. I’m going to the Warehouse,” clearly (smartly) choosing not to start now.

This time he does leave, though Myka is tempted to stop him, to cling to the surer footing afforded by his buffering.

Coward.

But. Then.

Alone, precariously so, Myka and Helena situate themselves across from each other at the dining room table, their promised-coffee cups before them.

Myka supposes she should have foreseen this arrangement—table, coffee—and she should at the very least have queried the book as to what would ensue. Not that she’s had any time for that, which probably means she should now do that, should go and do that, before she finds a way to undercut its foreseen future and make blunders that will prove unsatisfactory.

“Surprise,” Helena says.

“Yes,” Myka concurs, trying for Steve-ish understatement. It doesn’t work; she knows she sounds distressed.

“May I explain?”

“I wish you would.” That comes out better, but Myka realizes that she is literally on the edge of her seat. She sinks backward, trying to make the movement look like relaxation. That probably doesn’t work either.

“The invitation from Steve,” Helena begins, but upon saying his name, she stops. “Before I continue: ‘H.G. Wells who isn’t lying’?”

“He can tell if you are,” Myka says, and she’s gratified to see in Helena’s ensuing eyebrow contortions that she’s conducting the “what exactly have I said to Steve” inventory everyone does when introduced to that fact.

Its result: “Well. Then it’s fortunate I haven’t. To him.” She seems inclined to reflect on the revelation’s full compass.

Myka does love (love!) to watch Helena think. But right now... “Explanation?” she prompts.

“It isn’t complicated,” Helena says.

“That’s unusual.”

Helena bows her head; she smiles, from that bow, up at Myka. It’s flirty. It’s beautiful. “It is,” she says, and she seems to be affirming Myka’s words and her thoughts. “Steve and I had a conversation during which I explained how you and I had left our... situation. And then, a bit later, came his invitation, which I understand was extended at the behest of Mrs. Frederic. The opportunity—the freedom—to be myself again? It was too enticing to refuse. Of course I never would have accepted in the absence of our rapprochement, but given that? Steve was so convinced, and convincing, that all would be well.” She raises her head fully now. “And it cut short the waiting.”

“I said I would hurry,” Myka says, resentful, unsure of why she’s jumped to that.

“Your return required so many flights. Any number of delays might have ensued.”

“Due to the flights?” Myka asks, but she can’t unhear the clear disjunction between those sentences.

“And everything else,” Helena acknowledges, with a head-duck.

Myka knows that duck; it’s worry. “You didn’t trust me?” she asks, but in the question she finds the reason behind her resentment: offense at the idea that Helena had such worries to begin with.

“Can you blame me?” Helena asks this with a little flinch, as if Myka’s judgment must be harsh.

“Yes I can,” Myka says, but soft. “You were supposed to be ignoring all that.”

Her answer causes Helena to raise her head again and smirk—or, no, this isn’t her smirk; rather, it’s a lip-twist that’s more... conspiratorial. She says, “And yet the foundation of trust is past experience. If I ignore the past, on what basis could I trust you?”

Playful, but a jab. Myka retreats into sarcasm, acknowledging it hit the mark: “There’s a flaw in my big idea? Shocking.”

Helena nods, slow with a sigh, as if in sadness at Myka’s imperfection. But she turns serious to say, “In any case, after all that’s happened, I certainly didn’t trust fate either.”

Fate. How they’ve been subject to it... but are they now trying to chivvy it, in a way that will backfire? Myka pushes her fear into words: “What if it’s too soon?”

“Then regret will haunt us to the end of our days,” Helena says, and Myka has to nod to the truth of it. “But consider this: rather than wasting precious time on such questions, shouldn’t we rather be grateful that, after such complications, there is even a whisper of a chance that it may not be too late?”

Too late, too late, too late. Those words have truly haunted Myka. Miraculous that they might not apply. “I don’t want coffee,” she says. Truly.

“What do you want?” Helena asks, like she might really not know.

Well, maybe she doesn’t anymore, given the vast conceptual distance between Myka’s initial saying and now. “I did tell you. I don’t know how many hours ago; I haven’t counted. I’d have to use my hands.”

“Save your hands, but tell me again. I challenge you, however: change the vocabulary.”

Myka can do that. Only a little, here and now, but she can do that. “To save the world. Our world.”

They are breathing at each other and the table is in the way; Myka ideates the drama of grasping its edge, flinging it sideways, clearing her path—but that’s not who she is. Now, more than ever, she needs to be herself.

She stands up and steps decorously to the side and around, slow, savory, even as her body threatens to effervesce.

“Can we do this?” she asks, but she knows, through her inexorable movement, with all its effervescent potential, that they will. Regardless now of consequences.

“I have no idea,” Helena answers.

These could be words of delay, but not here and not now, because regardless, regardless, they will—and at once they’re both moving, as if pressure from a familiarly heartless authority will relegate Helena yet again to disembodiment if they don’t make this fast, and thank god, god, god this once they’re fast enough; they meet and hands are at waists but they’ve touched with hands before... even so, the infinitesimal pause they both take before those hands pull and define is understandable but then over, and their at-last kiss begins as an action but swiftly transforms into a state of being: pressure, presence, soft, sharp, warmth, weight, low, lasting...

After some time—how much time? is this kind of time measurable?—they break apart into staring silence, in the stunned after of the prospect they have spent so long before.

“I can die now,” Myka is moved to murmur, even as she feels its banality as a response to this experience, this knowledge. Because she has at last truly gained the knowledge: she had hoped to gain it, and yet she now understands she had never fully believed she would, if only because fundamental questions—e.g., “what would it feel like to kiss Helena?”—aren’t often answered.

“You most certainly cannot,” Helena ripostes, bracingly practical. “One kiss is no culmination.”

Myka might object to the description of what just happened as “one kiss,” but she’s too busy being unable to process how an actual culmination might feel.

In fact she’s unable to process anything. “I have to sit down,” she says. Of all things, lightheadedness had not been among her expectations. It should have been: because of course her blood is nowhere near her brain.

Passing out will help nothing. Probably. So she backs awkwardly around the table, her logic, such as it is, being: I have to sit, and that is my chair; if I reach it, then I can sit. Fortunately, her reasoning bears out. She breathes into the relief, as she sits, of still being conscious.

Helena says, “If you can’t stand, then I’ll sit beside you.” More logic, here spoken as indulgence.

She situates herself in the closest chair and scoots it nearer, inch by accommodatingly sweet inch, and then she’s in fact sitting beside Myka, like they’re on a carnival ride together, and now they’re both turning sideways—with Myka devoutly grateful for her continued (seated) consciousness—as they steal (back) these kisses, these presses and exultations, that should so long before this have belonged to them.

“This is not enough,” Helena breathes, sultry against Myka’s mouth.

Myka makes a noise of agreement, and she moves for more, to start the movement to more.

Her hands have made their way to Helena’s shoulders, and are anticipating her hair, when she and her hands are startled by a crash-clatter from across the room.

Myka wishes she could simply ignore whatever such noise signifies... but that wish is unrealistic. She removes her hands and opens her eyes.

Claudia is standing in front of the sideboard. Much of the china that had previously adorned it lies around her in ruins. “I swear to god, this is not what it looks like,” she says. She glances down, then shakes her booted foot. A teacup handle falls from it, producing a tiny clink of pain as it hits the floor.

“It looks like you were trying to blink in but got the coordinates wrong,” Myka says. “That’s happened before. But this time you got tangled with the plateware?”

That yields an eyebrow-raise and a finger-point, then: “What I should’ve said was, ‘This is not what it looks like even to someone who knows all the words to my extensive back catalog of Caretakery mistakes.’ The thing is, I blinked in, saw something I was in no way supposed to be seeing, turned my back on that—faster than fast, and I swear I would’ve tried to blink back out but I can’t reset that quick—and I guess I did Wonder Woman arms, because...” She waves down at the china. “This stuff. Or ex–stuff. Unless you’ve got a lot of glue? Which you might. You were pretty stuck to H.G just now, like in a way I’ve never seen before and like I said was in no way supposed to be seeing, but it’s the most spectacular news of this century or any other because all the feels I can’t even!” She clasps her hands up high and squeezes her eyes shut, as if the scene Myka and Helena are presenting is too glorious to behold.

Myka turns from this emotional show to look at Helena. A half-beat later, Helena turns to Myka. Lacking any ready response, they both turn back to Claudia, who opens her eyes, drops her hands, and says, “Your faces are telling me all those words happened out loud.”

“Unfortunately,” Helena says.

“Hi?” Claudia offers, with an apology face.

Helena smiles. “Hello, darling,” she says, warmly.

Their interaction is lovely to witness, but: Warm, Myka thinks, because that’s how Helena’s body is, next to hers. Why, why, why has Claudia appeared now?

“I’d run over and hug you,” Claudia says, “but I see that seat’s taken. Instead I’ll just say I missed you.”

Myka can’t help herself; she accuses, “Not enough, you spy.”

“She called me. Was I supposed to be like ‘oh, it’s H.G., I better not pick up’?”

Myka’s immediate thought is YES. She says in its place an umbrage-laden, “You could have told me.”

“Maybe you don’t understand what you looked like every time you came back from seeing her,” Claudia says. “You think I wanted to make you look like that?”

Helena shifts position beside Myka, legible as a “you are failing to ignore the past” caution; Myka adds to it a self-admonitory on this day of all days. “Fine,” she says. “Not fine at all, but fine.”

“Anyway Artie’s already shouting about how you’re both late for work,” Claudia says.

Myka sighs. “Artie. Shouting. So everyone knows?”

“Well not about this. Which I double-pinky-swear I never meant to know about, even though it was always something to hope about. All Artie knows about, and probably even hopes about, is who works here. There. At that place. And is late. For it? So I guess we should get going?”

Myka can easily imagine agreeing that yes, yes they should get going: result being that she and Helena would proceed to the Warehouse. That place. Additional result, as history has shown, being that something would happen to once again put the promise of this day out of reach.

She sees, now, that she has to act against such results. Act against them. Act.

And she sees something else, something both sickening and enlivening: all her lies, those interventions against truth? They were acts. Sinful ones, but her agency in telling them has fortified her with the necessary heft for this moment.

Her lies were practice.

Morally inexcusable practice, but: she was a feral little fabulist. Now she must put ends before means. Use the muscle; ignore the exercise by which it developed.

So. “No,” she says.

Her refusal disturbs the space, shaping it into a new kind of silence.

In its wake, Claudia offers appraisal: eyes narrowed, jaw tilted. Eventually, she says. “Not entirely sure who I’m talking to now.” She squints tighter, sly-red-fox. “By the way,” she says, calculatedly casual, “your book buddy says hi.”

If anything could knock Myka out of her certainty... certainly, it’s guilt. “Oh god,” she says.

Claudia’s narrow tension relaxes. “Steve and I figured out you were the one doing ‘unauthorized use.’ And it took us a while, but we also figured out what you were unauthorized using.”

“Thanks for not telling on me,” Myka says.

“I literally would never. And neither would Steve.”

Silence again, until Helena breaks it with, “Myka used an artifact? Was this for personal gain?” She doesn’t look at Myka.

Myka wants to say Could we ignore that too. Instead she confesses, “For personal... desperation.”

Now Helena looks. “So at last you understand,” she says. It’s a softer condemnation than Myka might have expected, not that she had expected anything, because until this moment she hadn’t made the connection. Not through the clean line of “so at last.”

But then a new connection, or rather consequence, strikes her: “What’s its downside?” she asks Claudia.

“You don’t know?”

“I didn’t care.” At that, Helena grasps Myka’s hand, tight, and Myka knows she’s going to have to think very hard at some point about this newly realized kinship between them. Right now, though, she’d rather think about the fact that Helena is holding her hand. But for that niggling consequence. “Do I need to care?” she asks.

“It’s a downside, so yeah? But with this guy, it’s a downside-with-a-twist.” She pauses, as if waiting for... guesses? Applause? When neither Myka nor Helena responds, she says an aggrieved, “Anyway, it’s the same as the upside.”

This baffles Myka. “Seeing the future? How is that a downside? I mean maybe in the Cassandra sense, if nobody believes you, but—”

Claudia interrupts, “OOC of you to get that wrong. But I guess OOC is your new IC thing, Ms. ‘No’? Anyway I don’t think you grokked what the artifact is.”

“A book,” Myka says, because... it is? “A future-seeing book.”

“Book, schmook. And future-seeing... schmuture-seeing? It’s an oracle. It doesn’t see the future; it predicts it. Literally, it says in advance: you ask it a question about the future, and it answers. It says it. In advance of that future.”

Helena chuckles. “Etymology strikes again.”

To which Claudia nods. “Right?”

“I still don’t get it,” Myka says. “Saying versus seeing? In my defense, I’m very tired.” She is sorely tempted to put her head down, heedless, here on the table, but she feels Helena tighten her handhold again, a press intelligible as Stay with me. She breathes deep and refocuses.

“Its answer is a decision,” Claudia says. “About the future.”

Helena looks at Myka, then at Claudia. “Now that is power.”

“Also right,” Claudia says. “But it can’t make that decision if nobody asks it to. Myka.”

“I did ask it,” Myka concedes, “but now my head hurts. Are you saying that if I hadn’t asked, then none of this would have happened? Would be happening?” She can’t argue with the outcome, but: upside, downside? Her head does hurt.

Claudia’s face empties. She says, “Asking questions has consequences, Agent Bering.”

Has Claudia been taken over by... something? Myka can’t help it now: “What?” she asks. The word rings a little less desperate, here at home, as a thing she tends to say. But she’s no less lost.

“Sorry,” Claudia says, turning back into herself. “I was trying on my spooky-Mrs.-F suit. Bad fit so far.”

“The art of the gnomic utterance,” Helena intones. Her own utterance doesn’t quite rise to gnomic, but Myka can see more clearly than ever the helios toward which Helena-as-Caretaker might have troped. Losses. Gains. How can Myka place herself in relation to so many competing ledger columns?

“Did you just insult Mrs. F?” Claudia asks, her obvious confusion breaking into Myka’s reckoning. She might as well have said her own Myka-esque “What?”

“What?” Helena then asks, thus squaring that circle.

“The red hat?” Claudia says, gesturing at her own head. “And doing magic or whatever in your garden?”

Sense at last. Myka doesn’t quite suppress a laugh. “Gnomic,” she says. “Means terse. Mysterious. Not gnome-related... or actually, it is, but not those gnomes. Different derivation.”

“Etymology strikes yet again,” Helena says. She suppresses her own laugh—Myka hears it behind that overly serious observation—but not her smile.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Myka tells her. The fact and experience—correct, appropriate—of their speaking together. “Claudia,” she says (and Claudia is looking at them like they’ve both lost their minds, which they probably have, but not about this), “go to the Warehouse. Keep everybody there. All day. Please.”

Claudia brings her hands together once again in a dramatically audible clap. “I get it. I mean I’d say something about a booty call, but I know that’s not it. You need your day.”

Our day? Our days. Our days, our weeks our months our years.

“Yes,” Myka says.

Helena follows up with, “We do.”

“Hey, but I’m no oracle,” Claudia says. “No predictions here.”

Myka and Helena give her incomprehension again.

“Not ruling out booty call,” she clarifies, laughing, but she backs away as she speaks, now blessedly making her exit—unlike her entrance, through the B&B’s front door.

That means Myka and Helena can—must—make their move. And they do, rising from the table, stepping toward the stairs—but not yet up them, for Myka can’t wait; her hands are at last finding Helena’s hair, and as they do, as she touches and feels, she says, in wonder, “It’s just us. It’s never been like this.”

“Why would you comment on it?” Helena demands, as if Myka taking even an instant to reflect threatens to make the entire situation evaporate. Her hands are busy too, running along Myka’s arms, not quite grasping, but then grasping, and then Myka can’t comment on anything, because her lips are busied, back in that new state of being.

The journey to her bedroom: she had in the past allowed herself to imagine such travel, but carefully, the fantasy within strictures. Policed possibility. The walk, but not its end... not, in fact, the culmination, the sense of which had increasingly eluded her, a frustratingly constant receding of possibility, as if her body were teaching itself over time to echo Helena’s incorporeality, her sensation waning, from body to limbs to fingertips alone, until all vocabularies of touch became words not near enough the tongue.

But now everything is nearing, nearing and blurring, boundaries dissolving, everything her body, her body everything, the stairs the hallway the room the clothes the hands the lips the skin the stumble the fall...

****

Myka slow-motions into consciousness, unable to discern where she is, knowing at first only that wherever it is, she was exhausted before she got there. Got here.

That’s mostly because she can’t remember the preceding events, and experience has established that extreme fatigue is one of the few states that interferes with her otherwise reliable recall.

So she begins to sort it out, blinking sleep-weighted eyes. Her initial perception is that she’s lying in a bed—a bed blessedly recognizable as hers—yet she also seems to be perceiving something else, something absurd: that Helena, of all people, is speaking to her. Speaking unclear words, near to her, while she is in this bed that is hers.

I’m dreaming.

The words resolve: “Are you all right?” Helena asks, and Myka snaps to.

Not dreaming.

She is in her bed, and Helena is here. Their skin is... together. Helena, propped on an elbow, is regarding Myka in full recline.

Myka wants to answer Helena’s question with a strong “yes.” But she isn’t at a table and she doesn’t want Helena to be reminded of her feral fabulisms, not here not now, so instead she dares to ask, “What happened?”

“I believe you fell asleep,” Helena says. “In the middle of things.”

Myka’s first thought is that she can’t imagine a worse blunder. Her second is that of course she can. Her third, which she formulates second by second and piece on piece as her memory returns, is the one she says out loud. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Helena shakes her head. “I brought you coffee. That was all.”

It’s a damning pronouncement. “You’re saying I could have caffeinated, but instead I ruined everything.” Myka raises her left hand to cover her face. She’d use her right one too, but Helena’s body is trapping that arm. Move, she wants to say. I need both hands. To cover her shame.

Helena uses her free, unpropping hand to remove Myka’s, revealing her face. She interlaces their fingers. “Your sleep has addled you. I’m saying that I brought you a small gift, but in return you’ve given me a far greater one.”

New bafflement. “I have?”

“Witnessing your fulfillment of a bodily need.”

What could possibly be sufficient penance here? “Not the right one.”

Helena offers a considering head movement, a cerebral back-and-forth. “Isn’t it? Proof that you trust me enough to lose consciousness—in this way—so near. Differently meaningful, but meaningful all the same. Particularly to someone who, as you know, occasionally forgets to ‘ignore it.’”

Her words have such depth, in sound and meaning, that Myka can barely process any of it. Particularly given that they are lying down in privacy... and far more.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asks. Blunder some more, the book would no doubt reiterate... but she’d rather get her guidance, here in this moment, from Helena.

“Enjoy it.” Helena says, and she laughs—this sound not deep but high, high and so happy.

Myka has never heard this laugh from her. It’s as much a directive as her words are. “Enjoy it—I didn’t know,” she says. That comes out more terse than she intends... because she can barely speak. The joy in the room—occasioned by everything, but especially by that new, new laugh—is so thick, interior and exterior to bodies and souls, that forcing words through it takes great effort.

“Know what?”

Myka would worry about her answer sounding too intellectual, if this were anyone else. In her bed. But it’s Helena. Thank god, it’s Helena. So she feels safe to say, “It’s a corollary. Follows from ‘ignore it’? I think?”

“Yes,” Helena says, gratifying Myka immensely, “yes, ignore it, about the past; enjoy it, about the present; and thus one additional corollary, this one about the future.”

“Ask an oracle about it?” Myka tries.

Helena frowns—exaggerated, comic. “That doesn’t follow, either poetically or epistrophically.”

“It does follow epistrophically.”

“Minimally so,” Helena sniffs. The acknowledgment, itself minimal, further pleases Myka, even as Helena goes on, “But it should scan as well. My proposal does.” She pauses, doubtless for effect. Myka tries to think out what the teased proposal might entail, but she doesn’t get far before Helena pronounces, “Absolve it.”

“That does scan,” Myka acknowledges.

“Thank you. This next doesn’t, but I know you’ll want to take on blame for how our future unfolds, so I add: absolve yourself as well.”

Ignore it; enjoy it; absolve it. These strategies—despite Myka’s having insisted on the first—are all antithetical to her way of being in the world.

But she’s been unhappy, being in the world. Unsatisfied.

Now she is being satisfied, a new state that only this skin-to-skin with Helena could possibly have brought about.

She deliriously doesn’t care whether Claudia has kept, did keep, is keeping everyone else away.

This is hers and she can and will enjoy it.

This is hers and Helena’s and she can and will see to it—she can and will ensure—that they both enjoy it.

She has never before ideated such power—could never have, but here it is, in her hands, in her body, in giving and taking: power. And if she’s still too tired to remember, on next waking, that she had it, it’s all right. She’ll have another occasion to exert it. More anothers.

“Did you just say ‘more anothers’?” Helena asks, speaking and breathing with exertion.

Apparently there’s still room, in and amongst the joy and the power, for embarrassment. “Out loud? Are you sure?”

Helena calms enough to say, with indignation, “My hearing is quite good.”

“Evasive answer,” Myka says, recovering a little. “I’ll take it as a no.”

“Evasive?” More indignation.

“It wasn’t a yes,” Myka points out.

Helena runs a hand through her hair, as if in preparation for more argument. “I propose we table this debate,” she says instead.

“Good idea,” Myka says. “Because instead of talking, or asking about talking, you should be kissing me.”

“So should you. Vice versa. Me. Kissing.”

Transportingly charming near-incoherence... “You’re right,” Myka says, her heart overflowing. “So be quiet.”

“You first,” Helena ripostes, with what sounds suspiciously like a giggle.

Myka wants to keep that sound active, so she doesn’t comply. And they continue to speak together. Through it all.

This time, Myka stays awake. That’s probably a blunder too—but it’s most satisfactory.

****

In the weeks and months that follow, Myka takes time, as she finds it, to visit the book. Often, its pages ruffle and sigh, their invitation clear: Don’t you want to know? To know more?

The temptation is real, compounded by what she feels as an exertion of pressure from the volume: Did I not gift you this future? it seems to whisper. Surely you could gift me the opportunity to exercise. To provide still greater definition.

Then again, that could simply be her guilt—her ongoing struggle to absolve it—talking.

On one such occasion (though not the only one), she hears footsteps. The rhythm, the particular ring of heel-strikes: she knows the confidence of those strides. The knowing is calming, if not itself absolving.

“Back already?” she asks without turning around.

“Absurdly simple retrieval,” Helena says. “Steve found the entire exercise an insult to the considerable intelligence he and I bring to bear on any mission we undertake.”

Helena’s interpretations of Steve’s thoughts are often baroque—often, seemingly, more suitable to her own thoughts. But when she offers such interpretations in Steve’s presence, he doesn’t wince. “Really?” Myka says, just to make sure.

“He said aloud that he was bored.”

“That’s something,” Myka concedes.

“And you?” Helena asks. “Have you contrived to place new parameters on the future?”

“I keep telling you I won’t.”

“And yet I continue to find you here,” Helena says. More seriously, she offers words that have become customary: “If you could be happy.” Steve’s utterance, shared among the three of them, has become a mantra.

“You know that’s a work in progress,” Myka says, and although that’s customary too, it’s also true: while she knows she can be, and while at certain times she genuinely is, she is by no means consistent in that achievement.

Nevertheless she has to admit, now as always, that the book has been right. The blunders—the many, many blunders, even as she’s perpetrated them, even as she’s dealt with their aftermath—have been satisfactory. Such are the components of that work. Of its progress.

Helena nods. She lays her hand upon the book, as it lies there on the shelf, as if swearing an oath. “Everything is,” she says.

****

Myka sits at tables. She tells lies. But the sitting and the lying, as activities, are now uncoupled.

Coffee, too, has shed its significance; it’s a beverage, not an event.

However: she keeps a stained shirt in her closet as a reminder of earlier, pained, connected times—of, also, the work that was even then in progress, even as she was failing, spectacularly, to recognize it as such.

She needs the reminder, because with regard to the past, “ignore it” doesn’t always work. Nor does “absolve it,” as the future unfolds.

But on the best of present days, ignoring and absolving intersect. And on those best days, Myka does, in fact and in practice, enjoy it.

END

Instead of shoehorning thoughts into tags, here’s what I’ve got:

Did both Myka and Helena get let off the hook too easily? Your call... but I’m inclined to embrace the idea that instances of grace might manifest as the reward for hard work, and acknowledging culpability may be the hardest work of all. I mean, Elton John wrote a song about it, so put that on whichever side of the ledger works for you. Also, I like it when people help Myka in ways she doesn’t know how to ask for. She seems (to me) to be very bad at asking for help. Or maybe I mean that she seems disinclined to ask for help even (or especially) when she should.

Generally the only way to come out the other side of the hard stuff is to go through. But sometimes you do have to set some things aside if you want to move forward... and that’s what this story, at base, has been about. I hope. I offer all gratitude to @barbarawar for giving me the impetus to think it through in this particular way, at my snail-in-a-school-zone pace. Finally, if there’s a timeline in which Helena becomes an agent again and she and Steve don’t become partners, I don’t want to know about it. The potential perfection of their pairing thrills the bejesus out of me.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Tabled #B&W holiday gift exchange #part 7 #barbarawar #at least it's done now #certainly did not intend to focus on this for over half a year #but I'm sure it happened because I needed to learn some lesson or other #and a narrative takes as long as it takes #now back to work on other tales #which are obviously taking as long as they take #Confection Run Propagator Sound I see you

37 notes · View notes

restlessmaknae · 11 days

Text

until i found you // hyunsuk

When a cute, handsome stranger helps you out at your favourite 24-hour bookstore, you have no idea that he’s actually a rookie actor from Korea who is currently shooting a drama in Taiwan.

➳ Characters: rookie actor!Hyunsuk x last year uni student!female reader/you

➳ Genre: meet cute, fluff

➳ Words: 3k

➳ Warning: mentions of food, drinks, unhealthy sleep schedule, thesis stress

➳ A/N: This story is the third and final installment of my 'love map' multifandom series which features 3 different idols and 3 different stories that take place in 3 different countries. The stories can be read on their own though.❤️

Header taken from this cover, title is because the 'until i found you' song reminds me of this story

➳ Dedicated to: @dat-town ❤️

➳ Taglist: @s00buwu, @tsunchani, @wccycc

As a busy university student, your sleep schedule was so messed up that your favourite pastime activity was going to the 24-hour Eslite bookstore at the crack of dawn when you couldn’t fall asleep, and your first class wouldn’t be until the afternoon.

People said that you needed to have a life outside of uni classes, assignments and working on your thesis, and you did have one, but your self-care activities usually included crying to your favourite singer’s new album at 4PM, having dinner around midnight or as mentioned above, going to the 24-hour bookstore to chill and read something that wasn’t an overly referenced academic article. It was definitely not healthy and not sustainable, but you just needed to pull through the next month, and you would be done with your thesis either way.

Besides, if there was something that you liked about this nocturnal life, it was having way less people around you at this time than during the day. The convenience stores were open but way less busy, the underground might have run less frequently but it was still running, and your favourite bookstore was also not as crowded as during the day when tourists often flocked in.

That day (or well, night) was no different. You wandered down the enormous and well-structured aisles, looking for something to pick up after getting some tea from one of the three cafés of the bookstore (see, you were trying to squeeze something into your system other than coffee), but that specific book just had to be on the top shelf. Usually, there was a small ladder beside the shelves which you could use to reach the top shelves, but today, there was none in sight.

Letting out a huff, you tiptoed before the shelf and reached your arm as high as possible, but it was not enough to grab the book, only the bottom of the upper shelf. You tried to make the book fall with your piercing gaze, but to no avail… It didn’t budge at all.

You were ready to admit your defeat when a long arm reached above your head, and casually grabbed the book before reaching it out to you. You blinked up at the stranger in awe, taking in his warm, chocolate-brown eyes, the fringe that fell into his orbs, his tall built and model-like proportions. The only thing you did mind was not being able to see the rest of his face because he wore a black mask that covered most of it. You wondered if he was smiling because his eyes seemed to be.

“Oh, thank you so much,” you bobbed your head gratefully before reaching out and getting the book from him. That’s when you caught sight of the vlog camera in his other hand, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “Oh, are you filming something?”

Now you were really curious how he might have looked without the mask because his eyes turned into little crescents as if he was shy, and you had a feeling that his cheeks would be turning pink, too.

“Ah yes, it’s for a vlog,” he explained in a surprisingly deep voice, and maybe it was the weariness getting to you or maybe it was just his charisma, but he appeared so dreamy, for a moment, you wondered if you made him up in your head.

“Are you a Youtuber then?”

“No, no,” the boy shook his head after letting out a little giggle. It was cute, his giggle. It sounded so joyful yet shy. “I’m actually a rookie actor, so it’s for my agency’s channel,” he explained coyly, scratching the back of his neck.

He looked so adorable, but all the social skills you had abandoned you right then and there, and you didn’t find it in you to speak up. So you just stared at him and his crazy proportions, inwardly squealing like a child because oh my gosh, you were helped by a rookie actor! Maybe one day, he would make it big, and you could say that you knew him from the start. Only if you got to know who he was, but you were too shy to ask about it, and also, you didn’t want to inconvenience him.

“Well then, I won’t bother you,” you blurted out after much thinking, and gestured for him to go freely, you wouldn’t mind. “And thanks for the book, again,” you added, your cheeks flushed when you caught sight of another eyesmile of his. Gosh, why did he have to have such beautiful eyes? Aaand he even had a mole under his left eye, how cute!

“You… didn’t bother me, but… don’t mention it,” he replied equally shy, and it was just so amusing that there you were as a 20-something, giggling and blushing as if you had never interacted with a boy before, and there he was with all his probably 180+ centimetres, his face covered with a mask, but you could also feel the same kind of awkwardness radiating off of him.

You couldn’t even keep yourself from glancing as he walked away, talking quietly to his vlog camera while picking up some books. On the other hand, you didn’t want to be a creep, so after buying a book, you headed back to the student hall instead of stalling there because you were afraid that you would keep staring at him if you didn’t leave.

Another day, another visit to the 24-hour bookstore.

This time though, you arrived closer to 8PM than the break of dawn because you had just submitted the final draft of your thesis, awaiting your thesis consultant’s feedback, so you could finish earlier that day. You didn’t necessarily look for a certain someone, but you did look around and snap your head back when you heard people walking by because you were curious if the cute boy from before came by again. Maybe he had a schedule though. Maybe he was already sleeping. Who knew? It’s not like Taipei was small enough to definitely run into him again.

However, when you were turning a corner, you stopped dead in your tracks when you caught sight of a tall figure in a beige coat, wrapped up in a big scarf. He was trying to balance his vlog camera on one of the shelves, but it kept falling down, so without thinking twice about it, you walked up to him.

“Can I help?” You inquired with a friendly smile, but the poor boy got so startled, he literally jumped a bit in his place and a sentence in a foreign language came out of his mouth. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want to scare you,” you pointed out, desperately holding onto your handbag as if it could save you from further embarrassment.

“Oh no, it’s okay. I just didn’t hear anyone coming,” the actor justified sheepishly, running his hand through his ruffable hair. He let out a little giggle, and although you heard it last time as well, it was just as adorable as before.

“So do you need help with your camera? I could hold it for you,” you suggested after pulling yourself together for a coherent sentence. You realised it was difficult to function like a normal human being beside him, but you tried to cover it up by acting confident. You could only hope it was working.

“Ah… yes, thank you. That would be great,” he gave in, and so he instructed you how to record him while he was browsing the bookshelf. You could guess that he wasn’t from around here, and not only because of that sentence that left his mouth when he got surprised, but also because he was looking for the right words to say when talking about the camera. Either way, you got what he was trying to say, and recorded him from the back and from the side.

In the meantime, you tried to focus on the smaller version of him in the frame, not his real-size version because you were already malfunctioning as it is. You didn’t even know what took a hold of you to walk up to him, you weren’t usually this proactive. However, you weren’t even looking for boys at bookstores much to Allen’s - your best friend’s - dismay who said that meeting the love of your life at a bookshop would suit you so much.

“Thanks. That will be enough, I think,” the actor walked up to you after a few minutes, bringing you back to reality, and you handed the camera back to him swiftly. Your fingers touched for a brief moment, and as short as it was, you had a feeling that your whole face lit up like a torch.

“Do you… have some time now? I would like to get you a drink in exchange for your help,” he offered gently, and you just gaped at him like a fish because what was going on? Was it real life? “If you don’t, that’s okay, too. I-”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I have some time now,” you cut him off before he could overthink your silence, and so you went to one of the cafés within the bookstore. You got yourself a lemongrass tea and he got himself a decaf latte, and only when he got rid of his mask to take a sip from his drink, did you catch sight of his features.

He had those squishy cheeks that grandmothers would like to pinch, and when he smiled, his dimples popped off, something that always melted your heart. He had distinctive features, and they were both boyish and manly as he seemed to be dancing between his teenage features and his adult ones. He didn’t even wear any make-up, and even though you could see some pimples and darker circles under his eyes, no one had ever looked as ethereal yet humane to you as he did then.

You don’t remember who started asking questions, but you talked about your major, your thesis and your classes, and he told you that he was here to shoot a drama where his character was a Korean exchange student coming to Taiwan. So even though he had to learn Mandarin for his role, it wasn’t perfect, and he offered that you could correct him anytime. You both laughed when you realised that you had met last time at the crack of dawn because of similar yet different circumstances; he had just finished shooting and couldn’t go to sleep, and you had just stopped writing for your thesis and couldn’t sleep either.

He was a fun company, and somewhere along the way, you blurted out that if he needed any recommendations for places to check out here, he could let you know. You wouldn’t take advantage of it and have his fans come by, something that he mentioned was unlikely since he was just starting out in the industry.

“Oh, come on! I’m sure you’ll make it big,” you encouraged him with a thumbs-up, and there it was, that shy smile playing on his lips, something that you had only fantasised about before when he had been wearing the mask. It was even more beautiful than you would have imagined, and you couldn’t help but blush seeing his reaction.

Time flew by so fast while you finished your drinks, and you said goodbye at the metro station, but only after exchanging social media handles. Seeing him again was already like hitting the jackpot for you, but even having his contacts?

You were floored.

Hyunsuk was the loveliest guy, you swore. He held doors for you, he pulled you closer to save you from cyclists passing by, he helped you carry your bags, and of course, he continued to help you reach for books (or rather, instead of you).

Even though the 24-hour bookstore was your secret little getaway at first, after a while, you started going to other places - some more, some less popular -, and even came by the bubble tea place where Allen worked. He and his friend (plus co-worker) - Nicholas - couldn’t stop teasing you about never bringing a guy to their place before. They even said it out loud in front of Hyunsuk, the audacity!

Despite the fact that Hyunsuk wore masks sometimes in more crowded places, you didn’t mind because his company mattered more than his face. Though when you could see his adorable moles and even more adorable dimples from up-close, you melted inside. You didn’t know that you could feel this way before, but beside him, it was easy to feel so light and cared for. Before you knew it, you were falling for him, and there was no stopping it.

You didn’t want to pressure the boy into going to places with you because he was the busier one out of you two once you finished your thesis, and started looking for jobs. Yet, you couldn’t hide your excitement whenever he suggested something, let it be a stroll alongside the Tamsui River or a drink at a café. You didn’t mind where you went or when you went, you just enjoyed your time together for as long as it lasted.

Though you couldn’t deny that there was this looming uncertainty regarding his departure and where you stood, what would happen next if he left. You didn’t even want to think about it, but after Hyunsuk shared with you the date of his departure, you found yourself wondering about it more and more often. In front of him, you tried to act like your usual self, but at nights, your thoughts circulated back to your worrywart questions: what if he doesn’t want to keep in touch with you; what if this is the end for you two, and what if you just made yourself believe that you were someone special, but it was all in your head?

Hyunsuk might have taken note of the change in your behaviour the day before his departure because when you sat down at your usual bench by the riverside, he asked you if you were okay. At first, you contemplated whether you should lie to him and say that you were totally fine, but then, you decided to share with him what was on your mind.

“I’m okay, it’s just… it’s a goodbye, you know. And I’ve never been good with goodbyes,” you admitted with a feeble smile as you stared at the tranquil waves in front of you.

“I mean, it doesn’t have to be a goodbye,” Hyunsuk counterattacked, his voice gentle and soothing. You averted your eyes from the river to the boy’s face, and there was a bittersweet smile playing along his lips when your eyes met. You had a feeling that he was feeling the same way as you did, and since you didn’t protest, he continued.

“Sure, it’s a goodbye in a way because you won’t be there tomorrow to bid me farewell at the airport, but it doesn’t have to mean that we won’t see each other again,” he added before you could fall deeper into the pits of uncertainty, and for the first time in a while, your heart heaved a sigh.

“I want to see you again, and not just on the screen, watching your drama,” you told him with a lighter tone, and his lips curled upwards at the shift in the atmosphere.

“You can see me in interviews as well, and not just in the drama. Oh, and the Youtube videos, too!” He teased you with a grin, and you reached out to push his shoulder playfully. You didn’t mean it like that, but fine, you could play along with him.

“I hope you will give credit to your camerawoman.”

“Of course. I will specifically ask my agency to do so.”

“Now we’re talking!”

It was easy like this with him, before and now, and since you knew he didn’t want this to be a definite goodbye, your heart was lighter for the rest of the night. You walked alongside the river, shared some snacks and chatted about anything that came to your mind - from childhood bedtime stories to constellations. You only realised how much time passed by when you unlocked your phone to show Hyunsuk a photo from your gallery, but it’s not like you haven’t met close to midnight for the very first time.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” Hyunsuk announced when he checked his own phone, and received some messages from his manager. You purposefully didn’t want to accompany him to the airport because you didn’t want to get him into trouble if his manager didn’t know where he went when he was seeing you (though you had a feeling his manager knew). Plus, if he got famous, you wouldn’t want to give anyone a chance to use your farewell moments at the airport against him.

So you had your farewell at a metro station, heading in two different directions, and when he stepped closer to hug you, you melted into his embrace. The first teardrop rolled down your cheeks when he let go of you, and even though he teased you about being a crybaby, you could see that his eyes weren’t completely dry either.

“Take care until we meet again,” you wished with a genuine smile, your heart feeling light and heavy at the same time.

“Take care. And don’t forget to watch my content!” Hyunsuk reminded you as if you could ever forget. He kept waving with that adorable dimpled smile of his as you hopped on the metro and took a seat, feeling like you were in a movie because gosh, everything happened so fast! Both meeting him and saying goodbye to him, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

You needed this night, you needed him to act like his usual self to be able to let him go, carrying a piece of your heart with himself until you would meet again.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

Click here for my CIX masterlist

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for CIX or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

#cix scenarios #cix imagines #cix x reader #cix x you #cix fluff #hyunsuk scenarios #hyunsuk imagines #hyunsuk x reader #hyunsuk x you #hyunsuk fluff #yoon hyunsuk scenarios #yoon hyunsuk imagines #yoon hyunsuk x reader #yoon hyunsuk x you #yoon hyunsuk fluff #love map series

4 notes · View notes

karmatheprowlthra · 7 months

Text

Apologies if today's post sounds like insane rambling. 3.5 hours of sleep and a long day of the army ruining my mood have not been fantastic for my mental health x3 Today I think I'm gonna talk about Karma's main snak Space! He was mentioned in the last post under the name Vasya, so if you're confused, don't you worry! Since it's a long post, I'm gonna put it under a cut x3

This is Vasya Kayashi! His nickname is Space because he has ADHD and has a lot of trouble focusing on any specific subject for too long. You could say he spaces out *wheeze* Okay sorry, bad joke. Space stands at 5'9" or 1.75 meters tall. He weighs about 170lbs, mostly muscle and a lil bit of chub (he cuddly boi :3). He is a sand cat, particularly known as a Runecian sand cat because that's where he is from. Like Karma, he (and everyone else in my worldbuilding) has a different anatomy than you might see most of the time, but lacks most of the abilities that the bigger felines like Karma have. Space, like Karma, is a soldier by trade! Being much smaller, he is far less aggressive than his large companion, but also far more methodic with his work. While Karma uses his strength to outright destroy his enemies, Space prefers to engage them from medium distance, or in ambush attacks.

Space's personality is a blend between introvert and extrovert. If he gets to know you well, he will happily talk your ear off about both his favorite subjects and yours. He loves to hear about the stories and things that people create, and enthusiastically encourages you to make the best that you can! However, if he doesn't know you well, he'll be very hesitant to engage in a conversation. He hates talking to authority figures aside from Karma, it gives him butterflies in his tummy.

Space is fond of video games, indoor rock climbing, writing and playfully fighting with others. He also enjoys betting, particularly with small prizes like who pays for dinner one night while everyone is on leave! He strongly dislikes tomatoes, excessive amounts of melted cheese, useless military regulation and running. Space was raised in the suburbs of his desert city and lived a relatively sheltered life. He decided at 17 years old that the military life was something he wanted to pursue and enlisted, joining the new specialized corps that were being introduced at the time. By sheer luck, he was assigned under Karma's leadership! The big feline quickly took Space under his wing, adopting him as a tiny and protecting him fiercely (I have some cute art I will share soon :3). At 19 years old, Space has served dutifully for upwards of two years. He has had many close calls that flare Karma's protective instincts, most notable of which was an encounter with an IED that left a deep scar over Space's right eye. The little sand cat was traumatized by the event, but ultimately recovered thanks to Karma's comforting and some quick medical treatment. Space is Karma's go-to snak for multiple reasons, among them being:

Space is a very tasty boi

Space needs comforting and seeks out Karma almost nightly, resulting in him having more belly time than every other Karma snak combined. The warmth and soft cozy flesh feel like a very comfortable weighted blanket to him, and he cozies right up without a care in the world :3

Space likes to squirm and massage Karma's soft tum from the inside, knowing how Karma enjoys internal belly rubs

Space is by far the least likely to complain if Karma eats him unwarranted. Even annoyance will quickly dissolve into purrs and nuzzles once he relaxes into the warm soft fleshy muscle!

That's about it for a simple description! Feel free to ask questions if you wish :3

(Important note! None of my characters respond well to teasing, and any preyish characters tend to be prey only to my other characters unless I know whoever wishes to do the nomming thoroughly! Please get to know me first if you wish to nom/be nommed by anyone uwu Also please refrain from making comments regarding these characters too vorish, I don't know exactly how to respond-)

#e-a/t #extreme cuddling #nsx vore #eaten alive trope #nonsexual vore #aiyk worldbuilding #Karma's Characters #OC: Space

10 notes · View notes

knightofmidnightsun · 1 day

Text

The both of us are no good [epilogue] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: As you and Helmut confront the events that had shaped your journey together, it's time to face what awaits for you.

Warnings: Angst. a lot of angst again, as always so be ready. and, well, no more I think? Maybe reference to mental illness if you squint your eyes? Consider it the chapter more chill when talking about warnings.

Word count: 18K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2], [3], [epilogue]

Notes: Well, that's it!!!! So sorry for getting so long to write it, I just got into a internship!!! (SCREAMS) and have been really busy with my scientific research, so yes, my life has been a hurricane. BUTTT, im finally had time to finish reader and Helmut's journey, or the first part of it. I hope you enjoy it!! We will met again!!

The steady hum of the aircraft blades droned on in the night, blending with the quiet breathing of Sam and Bucky as they slept nearby. The dark sky outside was only occasionally broken by distant, flickering lights below.

You sat in your corner, a book in your hands, but the words blurred as your mind wandered elsewhere. Sleep had been impossible ever since the morning’s events.

Every time you closed your eyes and dared to go to sleep, you could hear his voice. Faintly, but you did.

You moved away from your seat with Helmut soon after risking sleeping off your plans, claiming one of the empty seats near the window—hoping the view of the night sky might distract you, keeping your thoughts at bay.

But even as you tried to focus on the passing darkness outside, the steady churn of your thoughts returned. The weight of it all—the missions, the memories—struggled around you like a vice.

Not only because of what had happened today, but for what would happen in the next morning, in less than eight hours.

Five years by Helmut’s side, through every mission, every battle, and now, tomorrow, you were supposed to hand him over to Wakanda. A final goodbye after all that time.

The thought had been tormenting you ever since Joaquín arrived to rescue you all and announced that the Dora Milajes had demanded your presence in Wakanda. All of you were aware of what it meant, you didn’t need to say a word or ask for clarification.

Since then, you tried not to look at Helmut as he sat in the shadows, sleeping so peacefully. He hadn’t said much since Joaquín announced the news, and part of you wished he had.

Helmut could have changed along the last five years—but he still was Baron Helmut Zemo.

God forbid he tells you what he's thinking, how he’s feeling, knowing now that after five years, he'll be back in his cell.

You tsked, also angered at yourself for not gathering the courage to question him.

You had courage enough to trap your demon-father in your mind but not to face Helmut’s departure.

Sometimes, you wished you could slap yourself.

You turned your gaze back to the book in your lap, forcing your eyes to scan the page, but the words might as well have been in another language. None of it made sense, none of it stuck.

Your mind kept returning to the past, thinking about the first time you had seen him, when you watched T’Challa imprison him—the baron’s words forever stuck into your consciousness. There was also the moment Bucky decided to break him out of prison, all the time you spent together in the serum’s mission and, then the aftermath: Helmut being escorted to Wakanda’s prison.

Then, there was the night after the cookout in Sam’s community—the same night that Bucky had suggested breaking Helmut out again. It had been so surreal, for sure, the idea sounded too delusional at first.

If someone had told you a few years ago that Bucky Barnes would be the one to advocate for working with Zemo, you’d have laughed. And there you were, in a world where the impossible seemed to happen every day.

Back then, you and Sam had exchanged disbelieving looks, waiting for Bucky to backtrack or admit it was some kind of joke. You didn’t believe that Bucky was the one to come up with the idea, specifically him of all people, and Sam didn’t believe in what their friends were suggesting.

But he wasn't joking. He’d been dead serious, and after the initial shock wore off, neither of you had argued against it.

Because deep down, you knew he was right. Helmut Zemo had become more than just a means to an end to the three of you. He had proven himself to be… More than you had thought about him at first, time and time again, even when none of you had expected him to.

After the fight with the Dora Milajes, as soon as Helmut disappeared, he came back. At the time, you didn’t understand why. At the time, he reasoned by saying it was to finish what you all had started. But, after some years, all of you knew that wasn’t true.

He had grown as attached to you as you had grown attached to him. And neither of you could admit it five years ago.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen tomorrow when you reached Wakanda. Would this be the end? Would Helmut go back to his cell and fade into the background of your lives, just another chapter closed?

You refused to believe that this would be it and that was it.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention, and you looked up to see Joaquín approaching. He wasn’t as good at sleeping on missions as Sam and Bucky were. A habit he hadn’t quite grown into yet.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice hushed, though there was no need to whisper in the quiet of the cabin.

By the sound of their snores, you doubted that Sam and Bucky would even awake if the aircraft fell.

You gave Joaquín a small smile, even though your chest felt heavy.

“Sleep isn’t coming easy today, but why are you awake?” you asked him back, “Shouldn’t you be asleep like the others?”

It was way easier to deflect from further questions than elaborate your answers.

Joaquín shrugged, “I’ll sleep when we land,” his eyes drifting to the sleeping figures of Sam and Bucky. “I noticed you were awake, though. Seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

That, for sure, was an understatement.

You felt his gaze upon you, but you looked down at the book in your hands, fingers tracing its worn edges. It was better to ignore what he meant by his words than to consider them.

“I guess I do,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual, “A lot happened today.”

You weren’t about to tell him everything—the things that had been plaguing you since you left the temple, the many scenarios that ran through your mind. How your own thoughts corrupted your conscious and subconscious after every second, the more you dandred about tomorrow.

When you closed your eyes, trying to find some peace, you could swear to hear Chthon’s voice, a faint whisper. But never far enough away.

I’m still here, you can’t ignore me forever. However, you could try and you would.

Joaquín raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering,” he crossed his arms, moving closer to you, “They didn’t tell me much when I came to get you. Just that... It was big. And that...” He hesitated, then lowered his voice even further. “Is it true? The whole thing about you being a... Witch?”

You bit your lip, even now, you were incapable of processing it yourself. Wonder about tomorrow? Yes, that was painful but easier than thinking further about the fact of who you truly were, with the words altogether.

After everything that had happened, it felt strange to hear it out loud from someone else’s mouth.

It didn’t sound real.

“Yeah,” you sighed, closing the book and placing it on your lap. “It’s true. I guess I’ve always been more witch than mutant. I just didn’t know about it until recently.”

Recently slash hours ago.

Your whole life, you had grown believing you were a mutant, and now… You had discovered you were a witch. Maybe, you could have some mutant genes from your ancestors, but it had no effect compared to the bloodline of your biological parents.

Joaquín’s eyes widened, his curiosity barely contained as he sat by your side.

“So... You have magic?” You could truly see how the young man was doing his best to hold back his enthusiasm. “Real magic?”

A soft chuckle escaped you at his amazement.

You couldn't blame him, your references to magic were full of big names: Magik, Nico Minoru, Dr. Strange, Wanda… In short, it was a long list. It would take you a while to get used to the idea of you being one of them, not on the same level, but part of the same world.

The daughter of a witch and some demoniac god known for his use of chaos magic. What a reputation to have.

“Yeah, magic. Chaos magic.” You agreed, merely nodding as you shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Joaquín leaned back slightly, taking in the revelation. You almost laughed at the light that lit up in his eyes, like a child who had gotten the train set he had been looking for for years.

“And all this time, we thought you were the other big one from the Big Four,” he muttered, his mind somewhere else.

And you had no idea where it was or what he was talking about.

“Big Four?” You asked, “Isn’t it the Big Three? Androids, aliens, and wizards.”

Unfortunately, spending day after day with the boys meant you knew weird and useless things like that. No one referred to the threats you usually faced by that term, but Bucky, Sam, and Joaquin had a strange list of inside jokes and that term was included in it.

Bunch of weirdos.

“No, Big Four,” Joaquín corrected you, as if it was the most obvious fact in the whole world, “Androids, aliens, wizards and superhumans.”

You raised a brow, the term catching you off guard. Superhumans. It made sense since there weren’t only supersoldiers now, but mutants.

You didn’t know what was weirder about it: knowing that behind your back, the boys referred to you as a superhuman or that you would have to grow used to being referred to as a wizard now. As if you were one of the majestic magic users that you all knew.

You didn't even believe you could be labeled as such, you didn't have the same level of knowledge, control over your magic and, well, nothing at all.

The best term for you was: a time bomb that needed experience to not explode. Not 'wizard' nor ‘magic user'.

Joaquín seemed to sense your hesitation, glancing away as if giving you a moment to digest it, “I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who can do what you do. Chaos magic and…”

You offered a small smile but said nothing. Joaquín’s reaction was almost refreshing—his curiosity a welcome distraction from the heavier thoughts weighing you down, whether you liked it or not. Relieving the stress that plagued your mind, the thousands of thoughts that kept you from closing your eyes… Your heart felt a little lighter.

Joaquín had that effect sometimes. You liked to believe that it was because he was still a kid in this world of heroes in villains in comparison with the rest of you.

He had some of that big shining light you all arrived with when you stepped into that world.

“And Helmut?” Joaquín’s question caught you off guard, the shift in topic unexpected. But unavoidable.

And quickly, that peace was gone.

“What about him?” you asked, though you knew what Joaquín was getting at.

At least, now calmer, you didn't feel the ties in your heart every time you tried to put into words what you were thinking. What you were thinking about that subject.

You had more courage to talk about it with Joaquín than with the subject himself.

You looked over at Helmut again, still seated in the shadows, his figure barely moving, as if he were part of the night itself. In deep sleep, you almost smiled at him, he looked so serene.

Joaquín tilted his head, his gaze following yours as you glanced back toward Helmut, "You don’t just spend five years with someone and walk away like it never happened, right?"

The air seemed to thicken at his words, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at Helmut’s still form. Soon, he would be behind bars one more time, and you doubted you would see him again after that.

Today and the next morning would be the last time you would have to see him, talk to him.

“No,” finally, you said, your voice barely a whisper. “You don’t.”

Five years was a long time, you’d seen sides of Helmut no one else had—vulnerabilities he would never admit to others, not even to himself. But you had seen them since day one, or suspected what they were.

The Baron was a man who hid who he was, layers beneath the cold, calculating mask. Never showing the cards he had under his sleeves, never opening his chest and showing if he had a heart. Always too far away, in his own thoughts, back to his past.

You had never thought that man would disappear. That mission after mission, conversation after conversation and glance after glance, he would start to tear away the pieces that made him the Baron. And after all this time, his mask was nothing more than cracked wood and that there would be Helmut behind it, showing who he was to you and only you.

By you, you meant you and the boys, of course.

Joaquín nodded slightly. He shifted on his feet, "Doesn’t seem like you’re ready to say goodbye."

You let out a bitter laugh, though it lacked humor, "I guess no one ever is."

Joaquín gave you a look, sympathy and understanding behind his gaze, and you could almost hear the words stuck in his mind but unable to be said: But it’s harder for you, isn’t it?

You didn’t need to answer it. The silence that followed was enough.

The aircraft's hum filled the space again, giving you both a moment to let the conversation breathe. Joaquín shifted again, his hand absently tracing the edge of his seat, clearly unsure of what to say next.

He tilted his head, glancing at you with a softness that almost made you feel exposed.

"You don’t have to explain it to me, you know. Whatever’s going on with you and Helmut—it’s yours. I just... I just wanted to know if you’re okay with all this.”

Were you okay with it? Could you ever really be okay with letting Helmut go? Be okay about closing this chapter of your life? The thought made your chest tighten.

You didn’t need to ask any of these questions to yourself. Since the moment Joaquín had told you what was coming, you already had their answers.

After a long pause, you exhaled.

"I’m not sure,” the words slipped out before you could fully process them. “I don’t think I ever will be.”

As soon as the words left your lips, you felt a strange sense of relief. You didn’t need to pretend with Joaquín—not here, not now. He wouldn’t push for answers you didn’t have or felt uncomfortable sharing.

Joaquín offered you a gentle nudge with his shoulder, "Well, you’ve got some time to figure it out. Just... Don’t beat yourself up too much, okay?"

That was a hard thing to ask.

“I know,” you just didn’t know if you would be able to.

Still, you smiled at him, trying to reassure him. He didn’t need to say anything else, his presence alone was enough to help you, to remind you that it was okay to not be okay about it.Joaquín stood up slowly, stretching before giving you one last, knowing glance.

“I’ll leave you to your book,” he said lightly, before making his way back to the cockpit, the conversation fading into the soft murmur of the aircraft blades once more.

You watched him go, your thoughts still following you wherever you went, but they were less noisy now. You were left alone with the book in your hands, the words blurring on the page as your mind stubbornly wandered to the man sleeping in the shadows.

There was no peaceful way to resolve what lay ahead.

Would this be the last time you saw him like this? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you already knew it would be, but it didn’t hurt less.

How could you just let him go back to a prison cell? How could you pretend it wouldn’t change everything?

Your fingers traced the edge of the book in your lap, the worn leather cover a poor distraction from the churning thoughts that refused to settle. You tried to focus on anything else, the dark expanse of sky outside the window, the steady rhythm of your breathing—but it was futile. Your mind always circled back to the same question.

Did Helmut still want to go back there? Five years ago, it was his only wish.

He hadn’t said much since Joaquín had mentioned the Wakandan's request. He had stayed silent, as he always did, keeping his cards close to his chest. Part of you wanted to ask him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. But the other part—the part that had always been cautious—feared what his answer might be.

“You’ll wear yourself out thinking like that.”

You blinked, startled, your gaze snapping to Helmut, who was now very much awake and sitting beside you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. His voice was quiet, soft.

But there was an edge to it. The kind of edge that came with knowing.

He knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Helmut..." Suddenly, all the questions you had been avoiding felt impossible to ignore, “You… Are awake.”

It was the least stupid thing you could have said among the others begging to be gotten out of your mind.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes sharp, even in the darkness.

"So are you,” he said, his gaze fixed on you in that way he had—like he could see through every wall you put up, “and quiet, that’s not like you."

"I could say the same about you," you replied instantly.

He let out a small, humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat.

"I’ve learned to be quiet when it matters."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you thick with unspoken things.

"I just..." you began, hesitating, unsure how to put the thoughts swirling in your head into words. "I keep thinking about tomorrow. About what will happen next."

His gaze didn’t waver, but you saw something flicker in his eyes—something he tried to hide.

"You mean my return to Wakanda?" he asked bluntly, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something beneath it, “I always knew this day would come. That I would have to go back.”

"But do you want to?"

You felt raw, exposed, but you needed to know.

After everything you had been through together, did he still want to return to that cell?

His silence stretched between you, the only sound the steady hum of the aircraft. When he finally spoke, his eyes set upon you.

"What I want..." he began, his voice low, "isn’t what matters. There are things we cannot change and there are debts we must pay."

You glanced at him back, not taking his answer as true. Why did he have to be like this? So enigmatic.

It was a yes or no question, why did he always have to make it difficult?

"You’ve always believed that," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "How people should pay for their sins."

"And they should," he replied, his gaze locking with yours. "Do you disagree?"

You hesitated, remembering everything that had happened over the last five years—every battle, every sacrifice.

Sam and Bucky flashed in your mind, the moments where each of you had faced impossible choices, where the lines between right and wrong blurred. You had seen foes who were more than villains, people trapped in cycles of pain, anger, and grief—reminders of the complexity of it all.

"I don’t disagree," you said slowly, "but I don’t think it’s that simple either. People aren’t always driven by bad intentions, Helmut. There is anger, injustice, loneliness, guilt…"

His expression didn’t change, but you could sense the shift in him, "You still see hope where others see ruin."

His fingers briefly brushed against his temple, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his expression—a hint of a smile that never fully formed. The tension between you felt heavy, like a palpable force, but there was also something softer there now.

You held his gaze, refusing to let him retreat into himself like he so often did.

“And what makes you think you’re beyond saving?” you asked quietly, the challenge in your words unmistakable.

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly, and for the first time, you saw the uncertainty in his eyes. It was subtle, just a brief hesitation, but it was there.

Helmut, always so sure of himself, was suddenly unsure.

“But for the last five years, you’ve been helping us—choosing to stay when you didn’t have to. And why? Why did you stay?” You continued, nonetheless, your voice steady. “None of that makes you seem like a man who’s given up.”

He sighed, his fingers brushing lightly over his knuckles, a gesture you’d come to recognize as a sign of his restlessness.

"Perhaps I stayed for selfish reasons," he said, his tone more contemplative. "Perhaps I needed to believe that I could still have a purpose. That all of this—everything I’ve done—wasn’t for nothing."

You leaned forward slightly, refusing to let him retreat into the walls he always built around himself.

"You stayed because you cared,” You brought your hand closer to his, letting it rest on his knuckles. He frowned at you and would say something before you interrupted him, “Don’t tell me I’m lying, you know I’m not. You care, don’t pretend it doesn’t matter, it does."

Helmut’s gaze dropped to where your hand rested on his, the touch gentle but grounding. His fingers twitched beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. His expression softened, a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.

But with you, lately, it was becoming a habit.

"I don’t know if it matters," he said quietly, almost as if he were testing the words.

You squeezed his hand lightly, urging him to continue. "It does, Helmut. You didn’t stay because you had no choice. You stayed because you wanted to. I know you, you don’t do anything you don’t want to."

His eyes met yours again, and for a brief moment, you saw a crack in the armor he wore so carefully. He took a deep breath, as though he was trying to find the right words, trying to find a way to explain what he himself hadn’t fully processed.

"I don’t know what I want anymore," he admitted, "For so long, I’ve been driven by a single purpose. Revenge, justice and now…"

He trailed off, his voice dipping, and you could see the conflict in his expression, as if standing at a crossroads and not knowing which path to follow into.

"You’re not the same man you were," you said, tightening your hand in his. "And you don’t have to be. You’ve proven that you’re capable of more than just revenge."

Helmut let out another brief, humorless chuckle, "You make it sound so simple."

"It’s not simple," you corrected yourself, gently. "But it’s a choice. And I need to know if you want to stay, or if you want to go back." You paused. "I need to hear it from you."

His breath hitched slightly, and he shifted, clearly grappling with the question.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes scanning your face back. You were looking for an answer while he… You weren’t sure, relief? Courage? Whatever he was searching as he gazed at you, it looked like he had found it.

"You ask me what I want," he began slowly. "But wanting something doesn’t mean it’s possible. I want to believe I can move past what I’ve done, I want to believe I can help you, Sam and Bucky without my past dragging me down."

You pressed your lips into a tight line, you could see the internal battle raging behind his eyes—everything he had done and his desire to find peace. True peace, not the temporary one.

It wasn’t easy for him to say these things, to let his walls down. But you knew that admitting it was his first step. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded rougher than before.

"I lost everything when I lost my family," he said quietly, as if the words were for him more than for you, "My wife, my son, my father, my home... It wasn’t just Sokovia that was destroyed—it was my whole life. I didn’t see a reason to keep going, I didn’t think I could live in this world anymore."

His voice cracked slightly, and you could feel the depth of the wounds that loss and grief had carved in him, "They were my purpose, and when they were gone, I thought there was nothing left for me."

"You’ve spent so long believing that there’s nothing else left," you whispered, the sincerity of your words cutting through the lingering silence. "But there is, Helmut. It may be hard to see it, it takes us time, but I hope you find it someday."

You waited, watching him closely as your words got into the machines working inside his head. His brows furrowed and you almost could see smoke escaping from his ears, as if he was resisting the idea.

But you could see the cracks forming in his resolve. For so long, he had those weights binding his feet and holding him back, it was difficult to imagine anything different. Or to confess any of the ideas that he entertained in his imagination.

“And who said I hadn’t?” he asked, holding your hand back, “I just don’t know if I deserve it.”

He had built walls, brick by brick. And now, here you were, trying to crumble it down and suggesting there could be more for him.

“I’m not asking if you think yourself worth it, Helmut. I’m asking if you want to stay."

There was a long pause, his gaze locking with yours as he processed your real question. You could see the gears turning and squeaking in his head, the past pulling him in one direction, while another thing pulled him in another. Hope? Yearning?

For a long time, he had clung to the idea that there was nothing left for him, that his path had been set in stone the moment he lost his family. The notion of moving forward was foreign to him. But you could sense his hesitation, the slight crack in the armor he had kept around himself all these years.

And then, you saw it. There was the man behind the armor with all his bruises and scars.

It wasn’t a brief vision, he was in flesh and bones behind those brown eyes.

"I don’t want to go back," he admitted, his voice resolute. You saw the walls around him falling, piece by piece. "But we both know that I can’t stay."

It panged your heart, that was true. The world had been too cruel to him, had taken too much, and even though he had found a place with you, with Sam and Bucky, the burden of his past was a heavy one.

There was nothing that he or you could do about it, no matter how much you could try. His actions had brought him consequences that would follow him even if he no longer was the same man who had orchestrated them.

"You can’t, but I don’t want you to go either," you whispered, your heart racing as the distance between you seemed to close. "I wished that you had changed your mind and wanted to stay, even if it meant you would wish for something you can’t."

That was the least you could do: to not leave his side until it was time.

Helmut’s gaze softened, his hand moving to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin. There was a tenderness there, something you had come to recognize in him, but only when the world around you had quieted. It was in these rare, quiet moments that he allowed himself to show the sad happiness that harbored in his heart.

Once, you had thought his tender side was something that he only revealed to you after the airship, inside the hut. However, the more you pushed your mind back through the past five years, the more you realized he always had shown you.

Since the beginning. You were just too blind to see it, or believe it.

"I stayed because I wanted to believe I could be more than what I was," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Even if it meant that once I had achieved it, I would be sent back to my cell. I just do not know if I achieved that."

"You had, Helmut," you replied, your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. "You always had the potential to be more than a man with thick skin."

The silence between you thickened with what you had stuck in your throats, the tension palpable in the air. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze, as if caught between saying it or not, all the words tangling in his chest.

For the briefest moment, a flicker of something crossed his face—you were still unsure if it was hope or yearning. A quiet feeling he had long thought lost.

But it was fleeting behind his eyes, as a flame resists the wind. And then, you saw it, he traveled back to his past and a sob escaped from his throat.

"I… I do not know if I will ever stop missing them," he confessed, his voice fragile, like the words themselves might break him. "But I am starting to understand… You were right. They wouldn’t want my life to be consumed by their loss. They would want me to be more than that—way more."

You smiled softly, your thumb gently stroking the back of his hand, “They must be proud then, because you already are, Helmut. Believe me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his thumb continuing to brush your skin, a gesture that felt as though he was grounding himself in your presence, making sure you were real and still there. When his eyes opened again, the guardedness that usually defined him had completely faded, leaving something softer, something freer in his gaze.

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your cheek comforting, and you felt the tight knot of tension in your chest slowly begin to loosen as well. Helmut had become a presence you never anticipated—steady, constant, and grounding.

From the beginning, there had been something between you. A strange sense of familiarity, like you’d known him far longer than the years you had spent together. Usually, you were someone who kept your walls high, when someone asked what had happened, you were incapable of putting into words—so you lied. But with Helmut… It was different.

With him, everything was always different.

Since the mission in Madripoor, then Riga, those walls had started to crumble, day by day, piece by piece. For some reason, with him, you had no fear of admitting fractions of what was rushing inside your mind. You had let him in more than you realized at the time.

And now, after all you had been through, here he was, letting you see the vulnerabilities he had kept so tightly guarded, exposing parts of himself that even he might not have understood.

In the quiet between you, a thought settled into your mind, clear and undeniable: you had trusted him long before you ever admitted it to yourself. Long before that night in the hut, long before Wakanda, before Riga. It had always been there.

Helmut broke the silence first, his voice so quiet you almost had to strain to hear it.

"I need to say it," he began, the vulnerability in his tone startling, "I didn’t think I could ever care about anything again." He paused, his hand trembling slightly against your cheek. "But being here, with you, with them... For the first time, I believe there’s more out there for me to explore."

"There’s always more, Helmut. And you deserve to discover it all." You whispered, the intensity of your emotions swelling inside you, “I just wish I could discover it all with you, if you had me.”

The man who had once believed in nothing but vengeance felt so distant now. The man in front of you was miles away from the bitter, angry figure you had first met. But even as he opened up to you, that core part of him remained—the part that believed people were corruptible, that power could expose the darkest parts of someone's soul.

Helmut still clung to that philosophy: justice was blind, and sometimes, someone had to guide it.

Yet, it wasn’t as absolute as it had once been. His encounters with you, Sam, and Bucky had cracked that certainty. You could see it in his eyes, a subtle wariness.

He had once believed that his way was the only way—that destroying those who wielded power would bring balance. But now? Now, there was something softer, something that questioned the starkness of his past views. He didn’t regret all of that, just small acts that he could have prevented.

The thing was, for the first time, he was starting to believe that there were people who could change for the better. Including himself.

"I do, I would," he whispered back to you, his voice barely holding together.

A weak smile tugged at your lips as you whispered, "Maybe one day."

His eyes locked onto yours, searching, as if testing the truth of your words. Slowly, you saw the tension in his frame begin to melt away, like a weight he’d carried for too long finally easing. The guarded man you had come to know was letting himself be vulnerable in a way he hadn’t before, finding a kind of peace that hadn’t existed in him for years.

You could almost hear the sound of an armor falling against the ground, the metal banging against the floor in a prolonged ring.

"For as long as you have me, mein schatz," Helmut breathed, his voice barely reaching your ears.

The question lingered in the air, even if it was not made as a question, for sure sounded like one.

"And for as long as you have me," you whispered back.

His gaze was unwavering, holding yours in that silent exchange you both had come to understand. For so long, words had gone unsaid, and yet, in this moment, everything felt crystal clear.

Helmut’s hand moved to rest over yours again, his touch hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of what this moment could mean. You felt a surge of warmth bloom in your chest, your heartbeat syncing with the tension that crackled between you both.

You could also hear your own armor falling against the ground beneath your feet, echoing between your ears.

Helmut’s breath caught, his thumb brushing across your knuckles, the tiniest gesture, but it sent a ripple through you. You had never been good at letting yourself feel this way—vulnerable, exposed. But with him, everything was different.

You leaned in slightly, your forehead pressing gently against his, your lips hovering just a breath away. Neither of you had to say it out loud, but the silence spoke volumes itself.

This was the culmination of five years, of quiet, unspoken truths lingering between every step you took, every decision you made.

"Six hours..." he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, bittersweet smile.

"Then let’s not waste another second," you smiled, the tension between you two finally snapping.

And then, as naturally as breathing, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. It wasn’t hurried, nor was it desperate, just an honest expression of everything you’d held back for so long.

For once, on that night, you didn’t worry about what you would see or hear once you closed your eyes, you just did—you closed your eyes and let yourself finally feel.

Helmut’s hand cradled your cheek tightly as the kiss deepened, the years of restraint melting away in the warmth of the moment. There was a softness to the way he held you, as though afraid you might disappear when he opened his eyes again.

You could taste the ghost of his past in that kiss, feel the heaviness of everything he had carried for so long, but there was something else too—yearning, a desire to seize the life he had once believed he would never be able to appreciate.

When you finally pulled back, just a fraction, your forehead rested against his once more, your breaths mingling in the space between you.

"Whatever time we have," you whispered, your voice shaky, "it’s enough."

Helmut exhaled softly, his thumb still gently caressing your cheek as if reassuring himself that you were still there. His brown eyes, once so wary, now softened with an emotion he had spent years hiding away. You could see it all now—the regret, the hope, the silent promise that he would stay, even if the world was pulling him in another direction.

It wasn’t one emotion, but a collection of them ready to be shown, all of them in their due time.

In the quiet, as the aircraft hummed around you, the future felt uncertain, but for now, in this moment, you had each other. And that was enough.

Until six hours passed by the clock and the air inside the interrogation room felt stifling, even though you sat calmly at the long table, flanked by Sam and Bucky. Across from you, Ayo and the others Dora Milajes stood firm, their expressions unreadable, but the tension was there. An inch away from all of you.

Helmut sat at the far end of the table, his posture composed as always, though you could see the subtle stress in his frame. His eyes flickered toward you for a moment, but the pressure of the situation pinned down any silent communication you might’ve shared. This was it—the moment when he’d be back to his cell while you, Sam and Bucky would continue with your lives.

You clenched your fists under the table, biting back the sense of helplessness. It didn’t matter what any of you felt; this had been inevitable from the start. You had known this when you’d second broken him out. Still, that didn’t make it easier.

Joaquín was right, you didn’t just spend five years with someone and walk away like it never happened. You would continue with your lives but you would forever be followed by the millions of memories that you had created together. Something that the elders never tell you was how a friendship forged from hate to companionship was the one who hurt the more once parted away.

You were hurt, but Sam and Bucky? They could have told you little about the subject, but you knew all too well how they were wounded. More than you, neither of them thought they would grow attached to the ex-criminal, and there you were, incapable of dropping his hand.

And there you were.

Ayo’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and direct. “Baron Zemo will be returned to Wakanda to serve the remainder of his sentence, as per our agreement. Are there any objections?”

The words were final, like a judge laying down a sentence. You glanced at Helmut, waiting for his response. But he stayed quiet, staring down at his hands, his composure unbroken.

But then, he spoke.

“If there were a way…” Helmut began, his voice measured, calm, yet filled with reasoned fear. “If there were a way to continue with them—Sam, Bucky, and... Her—would you consider an alternative?”

Ayo’s expression hardened at his words, her lips pressing into a thin line as she weighed the situation. Her eyes flicked to Sam and Bucky, then back to Helmut. The straining in the room rose another notch, a silent warning.

She was seconds away from shutting him down, reminding him of the agreement, the promise they had made to return him to Wakanda. But Helmut didn’t back down.

His voice remained calm, respectful but firm.

“I understand the weight of the agreement, Ayo. I know what I owe.” He paused, his gaze unwavering as he met hers. “But if I may, I ask for just a moment to speak.”

You frowned, this wasn’t just another calculated move. There was something rough beneath it. Ayo, despite her stoic demeanor, seemed to catch on to that as well. She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing further as she considered his request.

“Speak,” she finally said, her voice cold, but she gave him permission. “But make it quick.”

Helmut exhaled softly, and you could see a hint of relief cross his features before he masked it behind that familiar calm exterior. He straightened in his seat, his posture shifting ever so slightly as he began.

“I know what I did. The sins of my past cannot be undone. I once believed that what I was doing was the right thing, avenging my family, tearing apart the Avengers, seeking balance where there was none.” His voice was low, measured, but you could feel the weight of every word. “But time... Time has a way of showing you things you didn’t expect to see.”

He glanced at you for just a heartbeat, the moment fleeting, before his gaze returned to Ayo.

“When I first worked with them, it was out of necessity. I had nothing left. I was a man driven only by the need to end what I believed was a threat. But over the past five years, I have learned there is more to this world than pain.”

Ayo’s expression remained steely, but she didn’t interrupt. She was listening.

“I regret many things,” Helmut continued, his voice softening. “None of them related to the avenge of my family, but little actions that I could have prevented or went in another direction. Including the death of your king.”

The name of the Wakandan king—T’Chaka—hung like a blade among everyone in the room, heavy with the reminder of his loss upon the reign. You could feel the palpable shift in the atmosphere, the ripple of emotions passing through Ayo and the Dora Milaje at the mention of their king.

T’Chaka’s death was a delicate wound, one that had never fully healed for Wakanda. There was a reason for Helmut's obligation to return to his prison.

“I was blinded by my grief,” Helmut continued, his voice steady but lined with regret. “I wanted to destroy those responsible for my family and home’s death, and in doing so, I became the very thing I hate most. The pain I caused… It’s something I carry with me every day. And I am truly sorry for the part I played in your king’s death.”

Ayo’s eyes flickered, a small crack in her stoic exterior. Her grip on the table tightened, “You were the whole part, Baron.”

“I know,” Helmut sighed, his torment never leaving his voice nor eyes, “I am not asking for forgiveness. I know what I’ve done, and I have paid, and will continue to pay for it.”

The silence that followed his admission was thick, fuming over the table like a storm about to break. Ayo’s gaze remained fixed on Helmut, her expression a stone mask of discipline.

She was listening, but there was no forgiveness in her eyes—only duty. If Helmut gave her an excuse, she would kill him in his very seat.

“In the past, I believed that I was serving justice,” Helmut continued, each word deliberate, as if measured against the inevitable consequences. “I see now that I was blinded by my own pain. The death of your king, of T’Chaka, is something I will carry with me until my last breath. And I know that I can never undo that, it was a means to an end that I can only wish I had never opted.”

He paused, glancing at Sam and Bucky, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. You noticed how Sam’s expression was unreadable, while Bucky’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. The room was brimming with tension, with all eyes locked on Helmut.

Every one of you was waiting for what he would say next.

“I believed I was correcting a wrong,” Helmut continued, furrowing his brows. “But all I did was create another. And for that, I am deeply regretful. But... If there is one thing I’ve learned in these past years, it’s that sometimes redemption isn’t found in isolation. It’s found in what we do next, in how we face the challenges ahead.”

He shifted his gaze to Ayo, his expression unyielding but sincere.

“That is why I ask—if you will allow me—to remain with them,” Helmut’s voice was low, silently pleading. “There are still threats in this world, dangers that we have only begun to confront. I can still be of use to them, and in doing so, perhaps find some semblance of redemption.”

Ayo’s eyes narrowed, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She stood silent for a long moment, her fingers curling tighter around the table’s edge, her posture rigid.

Her gaze flickered briefly toward you, Sam, and Bucky, then back to Helmut. The decision she faced wasn’t just about law or justice—it was about the future, the bigger picture, and whether or not to gamble on the possibility of redemption for a man who had taken so much from her people.

You had shared your time with Helmut, you had seen his true self. Wakanda hadn’t. And, honestly, even if they had, would it still be right for them to erase the loss of their king only to free a man who wounded their reign?

“No matter how sorrowful you are now, Zemo,” Ayo said, her voice cold but steady. Her jaw clenched, her eyes locking onto Helmut with a fierce intensity, “You have committed a crime against Wakanda, and you must pay for it. I allowed you to assist them, not because of mercy, but because I understand the depth of your expertise against forces that threaten us all. But know this—your debt is far from paid. The selfish forces you’ve helped defeat don’t absolve you of what you did to us.”

Her words echoed through the room, cold and final, and you felt the sharpness of them settle in your chest. Helmut remained silent, though you could see the hope leaving his eyes, replaced by something quieter—acceptance. His expression didn’t falter, but there was a resignation in the way his shoulders subtly dropped. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. He had known all along that he couldn’t escape his past.

He had always known this moment would come, that the weight of his past sins wouldn’t be easily cast aside. The loss of King T’Chaka, the devastation he’d wrought—not even him would be able to let him go, the pain all too familiar.

In the silence, you caught the faintest tremor of doubt in Helmut’s eyes, the kind that comes when a man realizes he might never outrun the ghosts of his past.

It was inevitable, but you had wished that it wasn’t. The pain in your chest carving you apart despite your will to hold yourself upright.

“Wait,” Sam’s voice cut through as a dagger would cut flesh. The suddenness of it jolted everyone, pulling the air from the room. His tone was calm, but there was an undeniable intensity behind it. “Ayo, with all due respect, the deal was that Zemo would stay with us until we dealt with the threats. But the threats aren’t over. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, and we need all the help we can get.”

Sam’s words weren’t just a defense of Helmut—they were a reminder of the larger picture, you still had to go back to Strange and tell him more about what had happened in the last days. You had already sent him a message summarizing everything but you were sure that soon he would require your presence for a better conversation about everything that had happened.

Far from what you all knew about the world of wizards and magic and everything related to it, there was always more.

So, there was no denying the truth in Sam’s statement—the world wasn’t safe yet, not by a long shot.

Ayo’s jaw clenched as she narrowed her gaze at Sam’s interruption. The room was buzzing with tension, everyone waiting to see which way she would lean. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but laced with ice.

“The deal was made to serve justice, not prolong his freedom,” she said. “The threats you speak of have been defeated. Zemo served his purpose. His place is in a cell.”

For a moment, it felt like the verdict had been decided, that nothing Sam, Bucky, or even you could say would change her mind. But something clicked in your head—a realization.

You took a breath, stepping forward and gathering your courage, “We never specified what those threats were.”

Ayo’s eyes snapped to you, her brow furrowing as if you’d just insulted her, “Come again?”

And you went. How, until today, you don’t know.

“When we made the deal, we didn’t list the exact threats we wanted to eliminate. We left it open. Chtolon was only a part of a much bigger problem. We still don’t know if there are more threats out there, and if we send Helmut back now, we will lose a valuable asset in that fight.” you clarified, already fearing that your words had been the sentence for the Dora Milajes to behead you and your friends.

Her face tightened, the hard lines of her expression deepening as she processed your words. For sure, she was pondering to behead you indeed.

“The threats we face aren’t just the ones we’ve already fought,” you pressed. “There are more out there. And Helmut has the knowledge we need to stay ahead. If we send him back now, we’re weakening our chances.”

Ayo remained silent, but her eyes were burning with an intensity that made it clear she was not easily swayed. She glanced at Sam and Bucky, then back at you, and finally, her gaze rested on Helmut.

“You speak of unspecified threats,” Ayo said, harshly. “But that does not absolve him of his crimes.”

“I’m not asking for absolution,” Helmut added, his voice quieter now, but no less sincere. “I know what I’ve done. But if I can use my knowledge to stop what’s coming, then perhaps... I can start to make up for it.”

Ayo’s gaze remained sharp, but there was hesitation in her eyes. She took a breath, and when she spoke again, you felt like a blade was near your neck.

“The deal may have been unclear,” she said slowly. “But understand this—Zemo’s freedom will not be indefinite. The moment these threats are dealt with, he returns to Wakanda. No exceptions. And if he steps out of line even once, we will take him ourselves.”

Ayo’s final words settled heavily over the room, but there was a shared sense of relief, a small victory—Zemo’s fate wasn’t sealed, not completely. The tension that had been straining the room seemed to ease slightly, but the pressure of the responsibility loomed larger than ever. You couldn’t ignore the tight knot of uncertainty in your chest, knowing this was only a temporary solution.

Helmut, for the first time, allowed a breath of relief to escape his lips. His eyes flicked toward you, then to Sam and Bucky. Though he didn’t speak, there was a silent acknowledgment, a gratitude that passed between you all. And yet, you felt the stiffness beneath his calm exterior.

“I think we’re done here,” Ayo said firmly, stepping back from the table. The Dora Milajes remained poised, ever watchful, but it was clear that—for now—there would be no further argument. “But remember, this is not a pardon. This is a postponement.”

Sam nodded in agreement, though his expression was hard to read.

“We appreciate the consideration,” he replied, but you knew Sam too well. He was just as aware as you were that this wasn’t truly the end of the conflict.

The larger battle was still up, not just with external enemies but within yourselves—especially for Baron Zemo.

As Ayo’s gaze lingered on Helmut, you couldn’t help the sharp pang in your chest. You had spent so much time alongside him, seeing past the man who had once only been driven by vengeance. But now, in this moment, you realized how fragile his freedom truly was.

You didn’t know how long you had before Wakanda’s patience would run out. That knowledge settled over you like a heavy weight that you didn’t know you would ever be able to lift.

The Wakandans left the room in silence, the door shutting with a soft thud. Only the four of you remained. The tension, while less intense, didn’t fully dissipate.

Helmut exhaled slowly, his hand resting on the edge of the table, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood absently.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever breathe free air again,” he said in a whisper, almost to himself.

You glanced at him, a mix of relief and concern swirling inside you despite the pain in your chest. You had fought for this moment, but even now, you weren’t sure what came next. You wanted to believe that Helmut could find his way, that he could become more than what he once was.

But part of you feared that the world wouldn’t let him.

Sam’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Well, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

All of you were well aware of that, you weren’t the only one with those thoughts eating you alive.

“No,” Helmut agreed, his voice low. “But I suppose I have you all to thank for delaying the inevitable.”

Bucky, who had been silent for most of the conversation, piped up.

“Don’t thank us yet.” His voice was gruff, but you could hear the softness beneath the rough exterior, “We’ve still got work to do.”

A lot of work you had indeed.

The towering bookshelves of Strange Academy stretched up to the ceiling, each one filled with ancient tomes of magic, knowledge, and power. You’d been here before, but this time, the air felt different. There was an unmistakable thickness, a reminder of the power that lay within the walls.

Raw magic all over the place. And, for the first time, you could feel all of it in its true form.

Joaquín’s face had been lit up in excitement when you first returned after the conversation with the Dora Milaje. He suggested celebrating, but that idea quickly faded as Strange called you to meet him here, in this very room.

It was difficult for any of you to have a single moment of peace for too long.

Beside you, Wong was explaining something about the Darkhold. Strange, always poised, was going through a series of magical texts, muttering under his breath as he examined their contents. Wanda stood nearby, quietly observing, her presence a reminder of just how far you had come from the battle in Sokovia, a young adult still trying to understand what was your place in this world to the woman who had fight and trapped the eldritch demon-god slash father and discovered the truth about your powers.

Yet, what lingered from the young girl was the uncertainty of what you should do next in your life.

“Wait, let’s see if I’m understanding this correctly,” Bucky interrupted Wong, his brows furrowed in confusion. His expression mirrored your own—Wong might as well have been speaking an entirely foreign language. “There are other pages from the Darkhold scattered around the world? I thought you destroyed the whole book.”

He turned to Wanda, who was stoically reading from what looked like a very old journal. Bucky’s tone wasn’t accusatory, and Wanda, knowing him well by now, didn’t take it as such. She glanced up briefly, her expression unchanged.

“I did,” she confirmed, her Sokovian accent adding a distinct weight to her words. “But after everything you told Stephen, we started looking into records—anything with even the smallest connection to the Darkhold’s history, trying to understand what could have happened.”

“It seems,” Dr. Strange chimed in, his voice thoughtful as his eyes briefly met Wanda’s before turning to the group, “Some of the pages acted as a sort of... Exhaust valve. Only the ones used in imprisoning the Elder Gods were affected.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as he continued. “Though ‘imprison’ isn’t the right word—those pages were more like gateways. They allowed humans to contact these beings and try to forge pacts with them, no matter where these gods resided.”

Helmut crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he shot Strange a skeptical glance. “What do you mean by trying? Sounds like a dangerous game to me.”

Wong took a step forward, elaborating,

“Take Chthon as an example. He isn’t someone you can control. These gods... They're dangerous, unpredictable. Anyone trying to make deals with them is playing with their life. They won't just get hurt; they'll lose everything."

As Wong spoke, you remembered the feeling of Chthon almost consuming you. Facing that, you’d seen how close you were to losing control, to losing yourself. Knowing others like him could still be out there—that someone could try to summon them—it sent a shiver down your spine.

Wanda moved closer, flipping through the pages of the old journal before holding it up for you to see. Her fingers traced the images of twisted figures, their monstrous forms etched into the parchment.

“There are others like him,” she began. “Others who see humanity as tools, as playthings. And through the enchantments in these pages, they can be bound. Their power is available to anyone reckless enough to seek them out.”

Sam stepped forward, brows furrowed, “So what? These pages are like some messed-up genie lamp?”

“In a way,” she said, handing you the journal. “But this is worse. These beings can’t be controlled—only bound temporarily.”

“This I think all of us were capable of catching,” Helmut muttered, walking up close to Sam, taking a glance at the pages the man was reading as well.

A chill ran down your spine as you processed what was being said. The gods you had encountered, the darkness that had nearly consumed you—this was no mere game of wishes. It was something much more sinister, more insidious.

Helmut’s eyes narrowed, clearly deep in thought.

“And these pages are still out there?” he asked quietly, his gaze drifting from the pages to Strange, Wong and Wanda.

Strange nodded, “Unfortunately, yes. We believe the pages are scattered, lost across dimensions and realms. They’ve been hidden for a reason, but with the right tools—or enough desperation—someone could still find them.”

You exchanged a glance with Helmut, then Sam and Bucky. The room was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages as Sam flipped through the book in his hands. The reality of what lay ahead was starting to sink in.

“Well, who wrote these enchantments?” you asked, turning to Wong, “I assume it was not Chthon, he would never write something that put himself at risk of being caught in a pact that would not be beneficial for him. If we find the person, perhaps we could discover how these valves work and how to locate them.”

Wong’s silence was loud. His eyes flickered briefly to Strange and Wanda, as if he was weighing if it was a good idea or not to say what he was about to say.

“Chthon didn’t write these specific enchantments,” he agreed, clearly reluctant, “They were added later, by someone else.”

Your heart stilled. The ominous in his words encouraged you into trying to decipher the insinuation that lingered there.

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze softening as if she was preparing you for the blow, “These pages... They were written by your mother.”

That was a punch to the gut, leaving you momentarily breathless. The room seemed to blur around you, your world narrowing down to those words.

Your mother.

When Wanda said your mother’s name next, it was like listening to the beginning of a ghost story. Because, that was always how you had pictured your real mother in your life: as a ghost. An unknown face and person.

And, now? Now, her name carried an even heavier haunted aura than before.

“My mother?” The words slipped out, half-question, half-disbelief. How could the woman you barely remembered—the mother you'd never really known—be even more tied to all of this? “She wrote the enchantments?”

Wanda nodded slowly, "She didn’t mean for this to happen. Chthon tore at her mind, twisted her intentions, but her goal was to protect us. To protect you."

The silence that followed felt too loud in your head. When you were young, sometimes you would play pretend and imagine how your mother was.

She was a figure in your life you’d held at a distance, a ghost from a past you’d long decided to forget. But now? Now you had her magic inside you. Her choices had shaped the very chaos you fought against, even if it wasn’t intentional.

There was nothing that you or her could have done, it just happened.

Wong interjected, sensing the initial distress in your face,“She didn’t write the entire book, but the parts about the escape valves that govern the Elder Gods. She was one of the most powerful witches of her time—one of the last white witches beside your late aunt—but toward the end of her life, her mind... Broke.”

White… What? It was a really good question but, now, you were too sunk in your own thoughts to consider it.

The more you thought about it all, the more you felt the air leave your lungs completely. You were incapable of facing any of your friends, you only maintained your eyes to the Scarlet Witch and Supreme Sorcerer.

It made you feel less judged. Even if a great part of the judgment you felt over your shoulder came from yourself and no one else.

All that mess, all the problems you had been facing and would face in the future, it was your family’s fault. You couldn't stop yourself to wonder what your friends were thinking about you. Your mother hadn’t just disappeared from your life—she had left behind a legacy of destruction, one you and your friends were now tasked with unraveling.

Helmut, who had been standing quietly next to you, reached out. His hand settled gently on your shoulder.

“She was caught in something beyond her control,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. "Don’t let this consume you."

Yet, it was easier than done. Helmut’s hand remained steady on your shoulder, but your thoughts felt anything but.

The revelations about your mother—that woman you had never met until today—was unraveling everything you thought you understood about your past. It was almost impossible to wrap your mind around the idea that her actions, intentional or not, had led all of you to this tangled web of chaos.

Every time you figured that a fraction of your past was a lie, the world around you became smaller and smaller.

"I don’t know if I can..." you finally answered Helmut, gathering the courage to say something to him, anything really.

"You can." His hand tightened just slightly, offering a reassurance that was hard to ignore, "This is not a legacy, nor a burden. But, it's your choice what you do with it now."

But how could it not be any of that? Not a legacy? Not a burden either?

Your mother had written those pages, had created the very spells you now had to hunt down. Everything page you thought you had turned was suddenly crashing back into your life, and the ink of each one was tainting your hands.

The journal you held was heavier than before, not just because of its age, but because of what it symbolized—a link to the past you never fully understood, and now had to confront. Your thumb traced the worn edges as you tried to absorb everything Wong, Strange and Wanda had said.

The truth was undeniable.

"Your mother didn’t want this," Wong reminded you, sensing your turmoil. "She did everything she could to stop Chthon. But now, her attempts to protect the world are also what could also doom us if they fall into the wrong hands."

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with dread. Every second felt like a countdown, the ticking of an unseen clock reminding you that every moment spent debating was a moment wasted. But the fear of rushing into something so dangerous, so unknown, kept you tethered to the spot.

It was very clear that they would ask you to hunt those pages. All of them had their own troubles, in the same level of danger as this one. The obvious thing was to task you with this mission.

Yet, there was something unsaid hanging among you. Wanda, Strange and Wong were acting as if they were circling around a specific topic. But, you could already assume what it would be.

The original caster of these enchantments was gone, you were the only one left of her family. The conclusion after that was kind of obvious.

But it didn't ease your thoughts.

What were they actually expecting you to do exactly?

You were her daughter from what they had said, okay. And, that also made you a ‘white witch’, even if you had no idea of the meaning of it. Okay… What did all of that mean exactly?

Strange’s sharp voice cut through your thoughts before you could go further, "The longer we wait, the more vulnerable we become. These pages won’t stay hidden for long."

"So we’re running out of time," Sam spoke up, his tone laced with concern, more aware now of the gravity of the matter you were discussing. Honestly, in the beginning, you also had assumed that Wong’s monologue about the Darkhold was a bunch of weird and complex concepts for your mind to grapple in. "When should we go?"

Wanda, who had remained quiet up until now, stepped forward. Her gaze stayed fixed on yours, steady and strangely gentle at the same time, as though she understood what you were grappling with.

"Well, that's what makes the task complicated," she said quietly, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "It's not only about finding the pages... It’s about making sure you’re ready to face what comes with them, ."

Her words echoed in your mind, pulling you back to the core of your fear. You knew exactly what she was leading too, but you thought that ignoring it would make it untrue.

"So, you're saying..." Helmut began, his voice quiet as he glanced at you. Just like you, he was well aware of what Wanda would say next.

The Scarlet Witch slowly nodded, turning in your direction, “You are a white witch as her mother and her aunt were, and all the witches before them, these enchantments were written with white magic, order magic. Only a white witch can find the pages and undo their enchantments.”

Which meant: you.

You blinked, trying to absorb the enormity of what she was saying by this little implication. The heritage you had never fully known was now over your head, pouding as a drum, urging you to take responsibility for something that had been decided long before you were even aware of it.

How could you, a day or two after you discovered exactly who you were, take the reins and steer that runaway carriage back onto the road? Easy, you couldn’t.

"I don’t know if I can," you admitted out loud, "I’m not ready."

It was a subject that Wanda, Strange and Wong were avoiding, and you weren't stupid, it was pretty obvious why. They had barely mentioned what it was, only mentioning how it was complicated to discuss when you should go.

"None of us ever are," Wanda replied instantly, stepping closer. "But you have more strength in you than you realize."

That didn’t answer the question, how were you supposed to go there immediately ready for what would come next? There wasn’t, not if you wanted to prevent the problem before it could bite you in the ass.

"I don’t want to waste time," you said, your voice quiet but more certain.

"Then we won’t," Sam reassured you, his voice calm. "We’re ready when you are."

But you didn’t mean that you were ready. Quite the contrary. You just didn’t want to lose any time, who would guarantee that while you were training in a safe space, the world would stop and wait for you?

“I still can find them, I will figure out a way,” you reassured them, closing the book and clutching it close to your chest. Honestly, you were more reassuring yourself than them. “You said I’m a white witch, whatever this is, so that means I can figure out a way, nonetheless.”

Wanda nodded, but her face didn't seem to agree so much, “And a red witch, yes.”

There was no hesitation in her words, but a layer of caution. The same caution was present in Strange and Wong’s eyes as the three of them exchanged glances.

“Your mother’s magic was a force of protection, very powerful, but yours has become…” Wanda hesitated, trying to look for the words again, “Different. You carry both the light and the darkness within you now, order and chaos. It’s a rare, dangerous combination in a witch.”

The Scarlet Witch sighed, taking a final look at Strange’s direction. Wong shook his head up and down, as to motivate her to say what she should say.

“It’s difficult to say how your magic will manifest. Before, you only showed glimpses of your mother’s powers. Now, you have access to all of it—and the chaos magic.” Her eyes locked onto yours one more time, “It will be hard to tell them apart, especially when you need it most.”

“But it is possible,” you interjected, your voice firm, holding onto a sliver of desperation.

You needed assurance that despite everything—this was a battle you could fight and win without waiting for the inevitable. Without being stuck in a school for a couple of months, as if the danger would wait for you to learn what was the power inside you.

Wanda paused, before nodding quietly, leaving you to face Strange’s strong will.

“Yes, it’s possible.” He agreed, shaking his head. You already could hear the disapproval. “But only if you learn how to control both forces without letting either consume you. That’s why If you choose to stay here, in the Academy, we can help you. Wanda can teach you what she learned about chaos magic to get to where she is today, while Wong and I help you understand more about the history of your ancestors, everything that may be necessary for the mission.”

His words echoed in your mind, but it was hard to focus on them. Your thoughts kept drifting back to the journal in your hands. It felt heavy in a way that had nothing to do with the physical weight of its pages.

“And when will I finish my lessons?” you asked, looking at the three of them.

No one of them seemed excited to get the short end of the stick about giving you the answer.

“Hm,” Wong gulped, driving his eyes away from you, “If we are lucky, two months.”

Two? And that if you were optimistic?

The urgency inside you churned, making you feel restless. Every second seemed to be slipping away from you, and the idea of staying behind to practice, to learn, understand… All of that felt absurd.

“I don’t have time for this,” you said, “I can’t stay here while something can go wrong as we speak right now.”

Unlike you, Wanda, Strange and Wong remained calm, as if they’d expected that reaction. It made you hate the situation even more.

“We understand,” Wanda said, sympathetically, or trying. Did they, though? “But you also need to be prepared. You’re not just dealing with the chaos around you; you’re dealing with what’s inside you.”

The reminder made you chill, as if something was crawling off your pores. There was the faint voice again, far away from you since the last time you saw him.

But, there wasn’t a moment that you didn’t feel him or hear him. He wanted to make sure you wouldn’t forget him.

Wong stepped forward, looking at your friends.

“This isn’t just a mission to retrieve some lost artifact. You’re going to be facing forces more ancient and powerful than anything you’ve encountered.” He glanced at the journal in your hands. “If you go out there without knowing how to control what’s inside you... It could destroy you.”

Strange joined in, his voice pragmatic and weighted with experience. They were truly teaming up against you.

“And let’s not forget the threat already within you—Chthon,” When did they? That was… What? The third time? You’ve lost count,” He’s not just waiting for you to find those pages. He’s waiting for you to slip up. Every moment of hesitation, every decision you make, he’ll be there, trying to influence your magic, your choices.”

Your jaw clenched, trying with all your might to understand their point of view, to believe that what they were saying was true. And it was, it was true, but the problem was that at no point did they deny the likelihood that danger would arrive and it would be too late for you to fight it.

And then what? What would have been your training for? Nothing.

It would never have mattered.

“I’ve faced chaos before,” you stated, taking a step closer to the three members of the Academy, “I’ll be able to handle this.”

But the doubt had already dipped in, curling around your words before they left your lips.

Could you handle this? The uncertainty that clawed at your chest made you wonder if you were trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. You had fought against your father, but you didn’t win. If you had, he would be out of your mind and never to be heard again.

That was not the case. And after that, your mind was in tunnel vision as you used your magic to do exactly what you wanted. You were still running on adrenaline, too distracted to think about what had happened. Summing up, you have gotten lucky.

If you tried to do the same thing now, would you be able to do it again on the first try? You doubted it, really.

You weren’t quite sure, but what better choices did you have left? Either way, danger would be following you in every corner.

Wanda’s expression softened again, her gaze never leaving yours, “Surviving isn’t the same as controlling.”

You knew where she was coming from.

After Sokovia… Things had been hard for Wanda, you felt bad even thinking about talking about it whether she was in the room or not. For so long, she had a sad history, and now that she was finally enjoying a peaceful life, you felt like talking about the past would ruin it.

“Your magic is different now.” Wanda muttered, leaning her head as she spoke, “Stronger, yes, but also more dangerous. Chthon’s influence is like a shadow—always there, always lurking. You’re not just fighting what’s out there, you’re fighting yourself, Strange is not wrong.”

The truth of her words struck hard. But before you could respond, Sam stepped forward.

He seemed more frustrated than you, his brows drawn as he frowned.

“She’s right,” He met your gaze, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to look back at him, truly see him.

You closed your eyes, your face turning to a random corner rather than his figure. You were brave, but not enough to face a friend about to shove in your face that the grown-ups were right and you shouldn't disagree.

“You’re not invincible,” Sam continued, “And you don’t have to be. Whatever you choose, we will go with you either way.”

Quickly, your eyes opened as they snapped back at him, you glanced at Bucky and Helmut’s direction as well, as if to believe he and the others were serious. They all shared the same passion in their eyes, a sense of trust that had always been there, but only now were you aware of it.

The mere thought of it made your heart melt.

The words were at the tip of your tongue, but something held you back. A nagging thought that had been building in the back of your mind.

“I thought... I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to go,” you admitted in the silence, hoping no one would listen.

But of course they did. You wished they wouldn’t, saying it out loud made you sound so stupid.

Bucky’s blunt tone cut through the room like a knife, “After everything?” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady.

His voice made you feel stupid for thinking such a silly thing.

“You really think we’d follow you this far just to walk away when things get tough?” His arms crossed, and there was a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Whatever you decide, we’re here. We’ll go when you’re ready. Not a second before or after.”

Helmut, who had been silent until now, stepped closer. His hand never left your shoulder, not once, a silent anchor in the storm brewing inside you.

“This isn’t about rushing into danger,” he said quietly, caughting your attention. “Whether you stay or leave... We’ll follow you, wherever you go.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. It has always been your instinct to bear the responsibility alone, to carry the burden of your duties on your own. But here they were, offering something you hadn’t realized you already had, for a long time.

Their belief in you.

It just took you a long time to realize it fully.

“I don’t want to waste time,” you said again, your voice quieter than ever but still filled with the urgency you couldn’t quite shake.

Sam smiled softly, his hand joining Helmut’s on your other shoulder, “Then we won’t waste time,” he reassured you. “Wherever you go, we’re right behind you.”

Wherever we go, you whispered back in your mind. For a moment, you would allow yourself to do what was right for you, choosing to forget the fear of making a mistake pounding in your head.

Darkhold was written by your father, your mother had written the enchantments that chained him and the other Elder Gods into some of the pages. Now, it was up to you now to stop it once and for all. Well, you and Sam, Bucky and Helmut. And, a little of Joaquín as well.

You could know almost nothing about being a witch or controlling magic, but you were smart, you could still figure out a way before losing yourself.

At least, you should try. You would never say it out loud, because you knew how immediately the boys would change their mind, but you rathered danger, cornering you and you only than the whole world.

If the scattered pages were the future ruin that would befall you, they would have to first face you and your lack of control before they could find anyone else. You would ensure that they reached no one else, even if it doomed you.

Strange, sensing that the decision was made, rubbed his temples, already preparing for the inevitable consequences. You were well aware of them too.

“Fine,” he muttered, resigned, “If this is what you’ve decided, we won’t stop you.”

Wong, still unsettled, stepped forward. Sighing, he shook his head, he had also given up from changing your mind.

Even if any of them tried to convince you otherwise, they knew how stubborn you were. The most impossible thing in the world was to stop you from doing something once it stuck in your head.

“At least,” the Sorcerer Supreme said, his shoulders slacking, “Let us offer you a place to rest. You’ve been in the air for days—you must be exhausted.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Then Wong added, “You can stay in the Academy until you’re ready to leave. So rest, regroup… And about your Falcon friend,” he glanced at Sam, “he can land here, rather than continuing in the aircraft. It’s safer.”

You hadn’t realized how much the fatigue had settled into your bones until he mentioned rest. You had been running on sheer determination, your parents’ legacy pressing down on you like a vice. Now, in the quiet aftermath of the conversation, that weight felt even more suffocating.

Helmut’s hand remained on your shoulder, grounding, though the silence that followed Wong’s words made it harder to keep your own thoughts at bay. Rest, you repeated in your mind, the concept almost foreign. You’d been on edge for so long, fighting battles—both internal and external—that stopping, even for a moment, felt unnatural.

But perhaps it wasn’t just rest you needed. Perhaps, what you needed was time to process everything, to sift through the chaos that had become your life.

The room began to clear, Sam gave you a reassuring nod before he quietly followed Bucky out the door, along with Strange and Wong. Leaving you and Wanda in a silence that felt both heavy and comforting.

You held the grimoire in your hands, its weight somehow tormenting what was left of your thought, but even as the room emptied, you were still aware of Helmut standing by your side. He hadn’t said anything since Wong’s offer to stay and rest for the night, but you could feel him—his presence, solid and unyielding. His hand, which had remained on your shoulder for what felt like forever, suddenly tightened, just slightly.

There was a warmth in his touch, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t in this alone, no matter how much the world demanded of you.

You turned to meet his gaze, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, a mixture of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place. There was always a guardedness about Helmut, but now? It felt like the walls between you were thinner, as if something had shifted in the space between you both.

And had, hadn’t it?

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching out. Then, with a tenderness that caught you off guard, Helmut leaned down, pressing a kiss to your cheek. It wasn’t hurried or rushed, but soft, lingering, as though he was savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, his voice was low, almost a whisper, “I’ll be waiting for you outside.”

The words, simple as they were, carried a weight that settled in your chest, mingling with the exhaustion and the uncertainty of everything still ahead. But somehow making the storm inside you a little less overwhelming.

Helmut’s fingers slid away from your shoulder, and as he stepped toward the door, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned and left the room. The quiet sound of the door closing behind him was soft, but it echoed in the space he left behind.

You stood there for a moment, your cheek still warm from the brief touch of his lips, the weight of the grimoire in your hands grounding you once again. But now, you felt a little steadier, knowing that when you left this room, when you stepped out into whatever came next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

Your fingers tightened even more around the edges of the journal Wanda had handed you. The cool, worn leather felt solid in your hands, but the reality of what it represented was anything but… Only to remind you that you weren’t alone.

"I understand you, more than you know,” Wanda said softly, breaking the silence as she approached, her gaze soft but focused. “When I first came to understand my place in this world—my powers—it felt like everything that happened, everything I had to face, was my responsibility to fix."

You turned to face her, your grip tightening on the book. There was an odd comfort in hearing her say those words. She had lived through chaos, walked through fire, and here she stood, offering understanding that no one else could.

“At least you’ve realized something I hadn’t,” Wanda continued, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at her lips. “You know you’re not alone in this. It took me much longer to figure that out.”

Her words settled over you, heavy with truth. She was right. You did have support, even if the weight of the responsibility still felt unbearable. The boys were with you—Helmut, Sam, Bucky. They had followed you this far, and they weren’t turning back now. But still, the burden of your lineage felt like something only you could truly carry.

“You’ve come far, too,” you said quietly, looking back at her. “You’ve learned how to balance the power inside you.”

Wanda’s expression shifted slightly, the smile fading as she nodded.

“It took time... More time than I wanted to admit. But I got there eventually. And you will too.” She stepped closer, her eyes filled with that same sadness she often wore—a sadness of someone who had lost much and gained little in return. “But you have to be careful. Chaos magic... It doesn’t play by the rules. And mix with order magic? It’s difficult to predict what will happen.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the truth of her words settle in your bones. Chaos magic wasn’t something you could tame easily. It was wild, unpredictable, and you weren’t entirely sure how to navigate it yet. The thought of staying behind to learn more gnawed at you, but the idea of what could happen with those pages in someone else’s hands… It haunted you even more.

“Do you think I made the wrong choice?” you asked, your voice low as the question finally slipped out. You needed to hear her say it, even if part of you already feared the answer.

Wanda sighed, stopping by your side, taking a look at the journal that you held before responding, “I guess there isn’t a wrong decision, if that’s what you are truly asking me.”

Relief flowed through your body momentarily, your limbs relaxed at the same second the answer arrived to your ears.

“It’s just that…” You hesitated, cracking your fingers one by one, “I don’t see the point in training when, meanwhile, someone can already take their hands in one of the pages. There is no guarantee of safety while I’m training, are you sure there aren't any more white witches out there?”

The witch offered you a sad smile, “No, there aren’t, I fear. They were already few back then, your family is the only one that remains. By what we had consulted with America before you arrived here, you might as well be our only option in the whole multiverse.”

How ironic that was? Were you truly the only variant alive that was a white witch?

You scoffed at the idea of it, how unlucky you were? The last days had proved to you that you were a lot, in fact.

“In the end, what does it mean exactly?” you lifted a brow in curiosity, “Being a white witch?’

Wanda walked away toward the towering shelves, her fingers lightly brushing against the spines of the ancient books.

"Being a white witch isn’t about just using your power for good or for protection,” Wanda explained, pausing to pull a dusty volume from the shelf. She turned back to you, "It’s about maintaining balance—within yourself and the world around you. Your family was one of the last to truly understand what balance is.”

“You said something about order as well,” you mentioned, seeing the witch taking some of the books from the shelves and piling them over one of her arms.

“I did,” Wanda agreed, glancing at the books she had gathered. She placed them on the table by your side, the weight of each one making the surface creak slightly. “Being a white witch means understanding the balance between order and chaos. There must not be too much or less, just enough. Your family knew that without balance, magic can consume you.”

She paused, her eyes scanning the ancient texts in front of her.

“Your mother, your aunt—they were both remarkable in their own ways. They strived to protect the world from forces they knew they couldn’t fully control. But that’s what being a white witch is—recognizing the danger and facing it anyway, trying to keep the scales even.”

You furrowed your brow, still trying to wrap your mind around everything Wanda was saying. It felt like every answer brought more questions, every revelation only deepened your uncertainty.

“And what happened with my mother?” you asked, “Why did she try to cage the gods? Was she under Chthon’s influence before?”

Wanda’s expression darkened for a moment as she considered your question, “Your mother’s intentions were pure, but... Chthon had sickened her mind, he corrupted every thought of hers. She didn’t realize that by trying to stop him and the other Elder Gods, she was upsetting the balance herself. She thought she was preventing chaos, but in doing so, she brought it closer.”

You felt a chill run through you, the realization settling in.

“So, all of this… The chaos, the Elder Gods, everything—are because of her.” It wasn’t a question anymore, you were only looking for confirmation, no more excuses. No more ‘no intentions’. That was it, she had done it.

Wanda nodded slowly.

“She didn’t mean for it to happen.” she told you, her lips pulling in a half sad smile, “She was trying to protect you, to protect the world. But the problem with magic is that even the best intentions can have unintended consequences.”

You stared down at the journal in your hands, its pages filled with knowledge you hadn’t even begun to grasp. There were other Gods in your world worse than Chthon in many ways.

You had faced your father less than three days ago and you were already facing the fact that he wouldn’t be the first, there were more, just waiting for a selfish or disparate soul to get their hands in one of the pages and have their mind corrupted.

Did you have to be the last white witch? You asked yourself, staring at one of your hands as you slowly summoned a little of your magic only to see the white, black and now red energy flowing through your fingers.

"Why white, though?" you asked, eager to change the subject before your thoughts spiraled too far. "There’s black in the way I manifest magic. So, why call it 'white'?"

Wanda chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to echo through the quiet library. She opened one of the books she'd laid on the table, her fingers tracing the old, weathered pages.

"Originally, their name in Latin was 'veneficae concordiae in tenebris'—witches of harmony in the dark," she explained, her voice gentle but precise. "It referred to their understanding of both the light and dark forces within magic. But over time, people started calling them 'White Witches' to avoid the fear or suspicion that often comes with darkness. It wasn’t about purity—it was about balance. Your family, the witches of harmony, knew that true magic requires both light and shadow. They held the order in our world long before books were written."

You blinked, processing what she was telling you. "So, it’s about bringing harmony in darkness, in the literal sense?"

Wanda nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Exactly. Your family’s magic was never purely light or dark. It was about ensuring one didn’t overwhelm the other. That’s why their magic is both black and white. It’s a reflection of the order they maintained—within themselves and in the world around them."

A silence settled between the two of you as you absorbed this new information. It was strange, hearing that your family, that you, were part of something much larger than you had ever realized. All this talk about balance, light and dark, made your role feel bigger than just fighting Elder Gods or stopping dark magic.

And yet, that same sense of responsibility weighed heavily on your chest.

"Your mother was part of this balance too, I know I had said that many times now, but I must be sure that you understand that" Wanda continued, her tone softening. "But when your mother tried to stop Chthon… She didn’t realize how deeply his influence had rooted in her mind."

The mention of your mother again brought you back to the reality of the situation. You bit your lip, eyes flickering down to the journal in your hands.

"Do you think I’ll make the same mistakes?" you asked, not looking up. The question lingered in the air, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded.

Wanda paused, considering your words carefully.

"I don’t know," she admitted, a sad and strange smile adorning her face again. "But what I do know is that you’re different. You’ve seen what unchecked power can do. You understand the stakes now. And you have us."

Us. What a strange word to use, you thought.

In part, you knew she was telling you the truth, because it would be the same thing that Helmut would tell if you had asked him the same question. Everytime you would ask why his morals didn’t apply to you, he would say that you were different.

That despite the power you held, then and now, you would never be the type of person to let it consume you. Even if you wished in a twisted future, you were incapable to, in your soul. And, deep down, you suspected that he was right.

There was a reason why you had resisted Chthon.

“You’re not alone in this.” Wanda’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, grounding you once more. “You have us. You have Helmut, Sam, Bucky, and me. And... You have this.” She made a gesture and, by a twist of her hand, a red energy entangled her fingers and a book was summoned in her hands.

“Go on,” she handed it to you, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she tried to hide it, “Take it.”

You left the journal about the Elder Gods over the table so you could pick up the new book Wanda had given you. The weight of it was different—not heavy, but dense, like it carried centuries of knowledge within its pages. Its cover was a deep, muted red, worn and cracked along the edges, as if it had been passed through many hands before reaching you.

The intricate, faded designs on the cover seemed to shimmer faintly under the dim light, the patterns twisting in on themselves like spells hidden in plain sight. A subtle pulse of energy emanated from the book, almost like a heartbeat.

As you held it, you felt a warmth spread through your fingers, not unlike the sensation you experienced when your magic first awakened. It was... Welcoming. A strange comfort in a world that had been anything but.

“This is no ordinary book,” Wanda said, watching your reaction carefully. “It contains notes from your aunt, but also from me when I first started to understand my own powers. It’s not just a record of spells—it’s a guide, a roadmap to understanding yourself. There’s even space for your own thoughts and creations, for you to make it yours.”

You turned the book over in your hands, feeling the texture of the leather, the way the edges of the pages seemed to hum with untapped potential. You traced your finger along the spine, feeling the faint pulse of magic running through it, as if the book was alive in some way.

“So,” you hesitated, looking up to the woman, “Is it a grimoire?”

My grimoire? It was what you wished you had asked, but you were too shy to dare to do so. The question sounded too silly to get out of your thoughts.

“Don’t know, maybe,” Wanda gestured toward the last section of the grimoire. "Go ahead. Open it."

You hesitated, the grimoire heavy in your hands.

It wasn’t just a book. It was a symbol—a connection to your family’s legacy, to Wanda’s journey, and now, to your own. If someone had told you years ago that this would happen, you for sure would have admitted the person to the mental hospital. The whole idea was crazy even now, as you opened the book.

The pages crackled softly as they turned.

The first few pages were filled with your aunt’s careful, precise handwriting—notations, diagrams, sketches of magical symbols you didn’t yet recognize. Some pages were devoted to protection spells, others to the delicate balance between chaos and order, her ideas and theories. But as you flipped further, you found notes written in a more familiar hand—Wanda’s.

The ink was darker, bolder, but the messages were clear. There were all her enchantments, spells she had created herself or learned on her own.

You could see her struggles, her fears, her questions, written in the margins. It was as if she had left pieces of herself in the book, to guide you, to warn you, to reassure you that even she had once felt the weight of this responsibility. She and your aunt as well, all of them there to help you in your own journey.

And then, as Wanda had said, the pages became blank.

Your pages.

You paused, staring down at the empty space, the crisp paper waiting for your words, your thoughts, your own runes, spells and enchantments.

“This grimoire,” Wanda said, her smile widening, “is yours now. It carries the past, but it’s yours to shape. Whatever path you choose, it will guide you to your own person.”

A map to your place, to where you will fit in this new world that has opened its doors for you. Your heart jumped with the thought, comforted by the gift as if Wanda had just hugged you. Without you noticing, a smile creeped out of your own lips.

You looked up at her again, "Thank you," your voice barely audible.

She shrugged, the smile never leaving her face.

"It’s not about what’s written," she said, placing her hands over your shoulders, "It’s about what you’ll write next."

You glanced down at the blank pages again, your heart beating steadily, though your thoughts were a storm of uncertainty. In a way, the empty pages felt like a mirror of your life—unwritten, waiting for you to fill them with your next choices.

There weren’t wrong decisions, only attempts to do the right thing. And, while it was an attempt, it was enough. In a way or another, you would find the right path.

“Take it one step at a time.” she reminded you, “You’re not alone in this.”

Her words echoed in your mind as she slowly turned away, leaving you alone with the grimoire in your hands. The grimoire and your thoughts. And that voice.

Whether you liked it or not, it would always be there from now on.

You made your way to the upper floors of the Strange Academy, feeling the ancient energy pulse in the very walls around you. After winding through several quiet corridors, you finally found Helmut standing by a large, arched window that overlooked the academy’s training grounds.

The scene outside was almost serene—students practicing their spells under the watchful eye of a professor, their magical auras creating bright flashes of light against the twilight sky. The view was mesmerizing, but Helmut seemed lost in thought, his focus elsewhere.

He himself looking like this, his thoughts straying away and eyes working their way around his mind, was quite the view as well.

You approached quietly, noting how his posture was tensely calm. His hand rested lightly on the window’s frame, his eyes followed the students below.

"Do you regret it?" you asked in a whisper, breaking the silence.

Helmut glanced at you but remained silent for a moment longer, his gaze drifting back to the grounds.

"Regret?" he echoed, his voice thoughtful as he gazed at you, “Regret what?”

“Never going back?” you looked away, focusing on the little kids trying to levitate light and heavy objects, “Not in Madripoor, not in Riga, or in the last five years?”

Helmut turned his gaze back to the students, watching their movements with an intensity that contrasted with the serene scene. For a while, he didn’t answer, letting the weight of your question settle between you both.

The light from the window cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the lines of experience and reflection etched in his features. Not that you were looking at him, of course, you were not.

“I thought about it,” he finally admitted, “In Riga, Madripoor, there were moments where it would’ve been easier to go back and just… End everything. To let things play out the way they should have. But…”

He trailed off, his fingers drumming lightly against the window’s ledge. You could sense the conflict within him—how deeply he wrestled with the choices he had made. You waited, not pushing, knowing he would continue when he was ready.

“But I didn’t want to return,” Helmut continued, turning his gaze toward the horizon. “Not after everything I had seen. Not after you.” His voice softened, losing the edge of calculated detachment you had grown used to, “Somehow, leaving felt like a betrayal of everything I had begun to understand. Of who I was becoming.”

You felt your breath catch slightly, his words weaving between the delicate threads of your emotions. He had always been a man of precise decisions, but hearing him speak so openly now about a choice that felt deeply personal—about staying with you—shifted something inside you.

“And after Wakanda?” you pressed on, stepping closer. “After all that happened?”

Helmut’s gaze flickered for a moment as though recalling the events—the battles, the loss, the redemption that never seemed fully within reach.

“That was different,” he said, quieter now, “There, I thought for a moment that perhaps I had finally paid the price. That I could put everything to rest.”

“But you didn’t,” you concluded. “... You can’t.”

He nodded slowly, his expression solemn, “No. Because even after everything, I realized that there’s still more left to do. More for me to understand.” He paused, then looked at you, his eyes searching. “And more to protect. That’s why I stayed.”

A comfortable silence lingered between you, the need for words fading. Helmut stood beside you, his presence steady, and for once, the air wasn’t filled with tension or questions. It was just the two of you.

You glanced out the window at the students, their laughter and lightheartedness contrasting with the heaviness of your conversation.

“We’ve been through a lot, haven’t we?” you mused.

Helmut smiled faintly, “We have,” he agreed. “But we are still here.”

Turning to him, you asked the question you’d been avoiding for a while, “So, what now? What's next?”

Helmut didn’t hesitate this time.

“I thought our promise was still valid,” he lifted his brows at you, a small smile taking hold of his face, “I will be by your side as long as you will have me.”

As the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the window, you couldn't help but notice how it bathed Helmut’s face in a soft glow, highlighting the sharp planes of his features. The warmth of the light softened the intensity of his gaze, casting an almost ethereal glow around him.

Somehow, it made his brown eyes shimmer, reflecting the warmth and depth that had always drawn you in. The sunlight danced in them, as if the very essence of the sun resided there.

Without thinking, your hand reached up, gently cradling his face. Your thumb brushed lightly over his cheek, the warmth of his skin bringing you some life.

The small smile he wore widened just a little, seeing him like that was no longer a rare sight.

“As long as you’ll have me, my dear,” you whispered as you gazed deeply into his eyes, drawn into the light that seemed to radiate from them.

In that instant, everything fell away—the worries, the chaos, the uncertainty. It was just the two of you, standing together, connected by something unspoken yet profoundly real.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you closed the distance between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was tender, soft, and full of quiet promise. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, it never was, but rather a gentle affirmation of everything unspoken between you. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you just a bit closer, as if anchoring you to him.

For a moment, the world outside the window seemed to blur, the sounds of the academy and the distant echoes of training disappearing. It was just the two of you in that warm, golden light, sharing a moment that felt like the beginning of something more.

As you pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and for the first time in days, you felt a moment of stillness wash over you. It was a fragile peace, one that you knew could shatter at any second, but you clung to it, savored it, for just a little while longer.

“I guess we have a lot ahead of us,” you whispered, still close enough to feel the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. “More than we know.”

Helmut’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly, his voice low and full of quiet understanding, “We’ll face it together then.”

You wanted to believe him. At that moment, you really did. But as the golden light began to fade and the shadows stretched across the room, you felt it—just the faintest hint of something cold creeping at the edges of your mind.

Him.

The voice was barely a whisper, but it slithered through your consciousness like a serpent, wrapping itself around your thoughts, tight and unyielding.

You haven’t forgotten me, have you?

Chthon’s voice.

The dark presence that had been lying dormant, waiting in the corners of your mind, was stirring again. You felt it, like a distant echo, just enough to remind you that no matter how much peace you found in this moment, the chaos was never far behind.

Helmut pulled back slightly, his brow furrowing as if sensing the sudden change in you.

“Are you alright?”

You forced a smile, nodding quickly, though the lingering whisper of Chthon’s voice made your heart race.

“I’m fine,” you lied, pushing the dark presence deeper into the recesses of your mind, locking it away. At least for now.

But as you leaned into Helmut’s embrace again, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep it there.

How much time would you have until the bomb detonated?

You can’t hide forever, the voice whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

He will be waiting.

#helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x you #zemo x you #zemo x reader #marvel cinematic universe #mcu x you #mcu x reader #bucky barnes #sam wilson #mcu fanfiction #tfatws

3 notes · View notes