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raz-writes-the-thing · 1 year

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Helping Hand

Crowley x GN!Reader

(use of female anatomy and the term 'good girl')

NSFW 18+ ONLY / Requests are: OPEN

Summary: Crowley catches you reading a NSFW novel and gives you a helping hand.

___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

When Aizraphale had gone away for a few days out to the country on a hunt for some sort of first edition book he was desperate for, you’d not thought much of it. Aziraphale was always darting off here and there for rare books or conferences he thought might be interesting. He was always after the next bit of knowledge, or the next great novel.

He had to go further this time, and had let both you and Crowley know that he was going to be a couple days. The pair had always been respectful towards you, and the three of you were good friends.

You’d offered to look after the Bookshop for him while it was gone. Aziraphale had not wanted to put you out and promised to pick you up something while he was gone if he found something you might like as a thank you. It wasn’t necessary, but appreciated none the less.

And besides, you loved the Bookshop. It was homely and comforting- and the energy the Bookshop seemed to radiate felt, just… so safe. It was hard to express, but the point was: you loved to be at the Bookshop, and there was no way you were going to pass up a chance to be able to stay there for a week or with all those books. So many things to read, and if you didn’t make a start on your to-read list, you were afraid you’d never catch up.

Which is exactly how you found yourself in the position you were in now. Given how prone to distraction Aziraphale was, you’d been able to tell upon receiving the keys and Aziraphale shuffling off in the direction of Crowley and his Bentley who were parked across the street ready to take him to the train station- that Aziraphale had not had a chance to give the shop a once over in quite some time.

You’d started off with a quick vacuum, picking up bits and pieces here and there to move out of the pathway you were cleaning. And, of course- you knocked into a precarious pile of books that went tumbling to the floor. One of which caught you in the calf, causing you to bark out a curse before turning the vacuum off in a huff and picking up the offending book.

“Aziraphale,” you tutted, giving the cover a quick look over before turning it over to read the back. “Wouldn’t have picked you for a purveyor of cliterature.” You chuckle to yourself at the word, having seen it on social media somewhere before and absolutely loving it. Makes you laugh every single time.

You read over the back one more time, brow arching at the interesting themes presented in the book. Even for you, this was… something else.

Purely for curiosity's sake, you opened up the novel to give it a quick little read. Just to see what it was about. It was about twelve pages in before the first smut scene, and you had to wonder to yourself if this was only the first- surely it could only go downhill from here. The entire book couldn’t be this good, could it?

It didn’t take you long to find out. By the third chapter you were biting your lip- cleaning forgotten. Reading about the main protagonist being eaten out by Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome as if Mr. TD&H might die if she didn’t cum right then and there was, well, fucking hot. You’d have to make a point to look up the author later and see if they had any other books. Your question had been about why Aziraphale had this in his shop when it didn’t match with anything of his usual style, but that question was completely forgotten in the haze of cocks and fingering in the page-turner you held in front of you.

“Bit of light reading?” Crowley peers over your shoulder to read a few lines. “Mm- doesn’t seem your style.”

The voice snaps you out of the paragraph where the main character is currently enjoying something rather phallic from behind, and a sucking vibrator on their clit. The book falls from your hands and lands with an incriminating thud onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck- Crowley- uh, what are you doing here?” You exclaim, whirling around and pressing yourself into the bookcase in fright. The Demon in question drags his gaze up from the floor to your reddened cheeks and finally to your eyes. His lips are curled in a knowing smirk, and you clock the way his snake-eyes dilate just a little. “You scared the shit out of me!”

You raise a hand to slap him on the arm. He weathers the hit with a chuckle and a mocking pout. “Aww, darling- weren’t expecting me back so soon, is that it?” You splutter out a series of garbled sounds before he steps right into your space and noses by your ear.

“Imagine my surprise,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “when I come back from dropping our favourite Angel off at the station- to find the smell of sin in the air.” His tongue darts up to lick the shell of your ear, and you let out a real, honest-to-God whimper.

“In the Bookshop, no less,” he continues in a dark whisper. “Such a Heavenly place, I would have thought.” He punctuates the sentence with a bite to your ear lobe and your eyes flutter closed with pleasure.

“Mm- there it is,” he chuckles, pulling away to look over your flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. “Dunno if you knew this, darling- but given that I am, in fact, a Demon. Means I can do things. Great things. Interesting things.” He brushes a warm finger down your cheek to wrap around your throat lightly. You knew, of course that Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t human, but you’d also never pried too far for answers.

“One of the more interesting things,” he continues darkly, fingers pressing just a tiny bit tighter. “Is, well- I can sense sin. Sweet feeling, leaves tingles in the spine. If I’m attuned enough, I can even smell it.”

His fingers suddenly press harder and your head hits the bookshelf softly. You see his nostrils flare and choke out a whimper.

“Mm- I can sense how much you like that, Pet. Can smell it off you. Your sin…” he trails off thoughtfully, letting his fingers soften so you can suck a breath in. “Mm, smells like peaches and cream.”

“Now,” he says, letting go and leaning down to pick up the discarded book. “Tell me now if you don’t want this to go any further.”

You don’t know how to respond, and so therefore give him a soft nod. It’s all you can bear to do right now, though if you knew the plans Crowley had for you, you may have said no. Who were you kidding, you’d never say no to Crowley for anything he desired.

“Mm- good. Here, take this.” Crowley hands you the book and steps back into your personal space, raking a hand up your side and up to pull on your hair softly. “And read it.”

“You want me to… what?” You ask in a whisper.

“Read. It.”

You look between him and the book a couple of times before shaking your head. How embarrassing, you did not want to read the things that were in that book aloud to him. And what for? So he could revel in your embarrassment? Yeah, you didn’t think so.

“No?” He asks, arching a brow. “Oh, but darling, I asked so nicely. I won’t do it again.”

You feel yourself swallow thickly. And by the way his grin widens just a little, you know he notices it too. You pull the book up with one hand and flick open to a random page. Crowley makes a pleased sound. He lets go of your hair and uses one hand to grab your hip and the other plays across your lower tummy under your shirt, brushing the skin with feather light touches. He gives you a look to say ‘well get on with it, then.’

“Uh,” you stutter out as his forefinger trails circles above the waistband of your underwear. “His breath, smelling of mint brushes over her skin-” Crowley’s hand on your hip rolls down to your knee before hiking your leg over his, effectively pinning your legs apart but also pushes you back against the bookcase. Your breath hitches and his fingers stop moving.

“Go on,” he teases, mouthing at the side of your throat.

“And, he, uh, his tongue licks a stripe down her abdomen. With her-” you avert your eyes and Crowley tuts, trailing his fingers closer to your cunt. You try again. “With her tits heaving from heavy breaths, his tongue finds her clit- oh-”

Crowley’s forefinger reaches your own clitoris, and he chuckles mockingly into your throat at the choked off moan that spills from your mouth. He trails soft circles around with his fingers, testing the pleasure receptors and making sure it’s not too much for you. When you sink back against the bookcase, he lets out a disapproving grunt before grinding out an unappeased “that doesn’t sound like reading, Pet.”

You let out a breathy chuckle and Crowley clicks his tongue, rubbing his fingers just a little faster. He moves fast enough to start building you up, your hips bucking off the bookcase and towards him. His knee pressing you into the position he wants you in moves in a little closer, the muscles in your leg burning as it pulls taut over his leg.

“Right- what happens next then?” He asks, two of his fingers sliding down past your clit to rub your folds, collecting the slick he finds there. “Pretty sure you were saying something about clits and tongues?”

“Mm, oh, y-yeah,” you reply, swallowing thickly as those two fingers now rub around your hole teasingly. You can feel yourself squeezing- almost like you were trying to suck his fingers inside yourself. “-F-finds her clit- he licks against her sensitive-mmmh, fuck-”

Crowley’s fingers slam inside without warning, twisting and curling behind your clit just exactly where you needed it. He laughs, and stops moving, waiting for you to continue.

“-b-bundle of nerves. She pulls at his hair, and- oh, ah- he groans in satisfaction,” your head drops back as he starts to fuck his fingers into you in earnest. You whine as he hits a particularly good spot and bites down lightly on the join of your neck and shoulder. “His tongue presses down from her clit to- sh-shit, fuck, Crowley- to her entrance.”

The Demon in question pushes a third finger inside you, adjusting his fingers so that his thumb could bump against your clit with every push inside. Your leg over his begins to jerk with the pleasure- little spasms that you couldn’t control even if you wanted to. Your fingers were going white with your grip on the novel.

His fingers spread out and he rubs them against your inner walls, panting in your ear about how fucking tight and wet you were. Your spare hand wrapped around his neck to hold on for balance, and the Demon had the nerve to mock you for it.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Pet? Feels too good, huh? Gonna fall over if you don’t hold on?” To drive the point home he pistons his fingers in and out mercilessly, delighting in the shriek of pleasure that tears out of you. “Mm, that’s better, darling. Don’t hold back for me.”

You let the noises out easier after that, book almost forgotten in your grip. You’re sure there must be fingerprints imprinted into the cover after this. You felt bad about it, sure- but you could always just buy Aziraphale another copy later. Crowley lets you enjoy yourself for another minute or two, working you up closer to the edge, thumb rubbing against your clit just enough to send jolts of pleasure up your spine.

And just as you start to reach that peak, he slows down. You crack your eyes open- not even having realised they’d closed, and groan in frustration. He grins that charming, evil smile at you, and flicks his gaze towards the novel. “Didn’t tell you to stop reading, did I?”

“N-no, fuck- you will be the death of me,” you grind out, wiggling your hips on his fingers in the hopes it might spur him back into action. You look over to the novel, picking a sentence and continuing on. “With his t-tongue exploring her hole, she kn-knew she wouldn’t last long.”

Crowley let out a thoughtful sound, changing the pace and position again to rub against your g-spot. “Greedy thing,” he laughs out quietly, pressing his hips closer against yours so you could feel his dick against you. You widened the gap between your legs as much as you could given the fact that one was already spread out and over his taut leg. “Mm- good girl,” he growls.

“He knew s-she was close, and- oh, fuck, Crowley, I’m-” the demon grunted in acknowledgement, speeding up. “F-fuck- brought his fingers up to rub ah-against her- ngh- clit.”

You were so close and determined to see this through. You knew if you stopped reading, he would move the finish line for you, and so despite the fact you were moments from cumming, you found the focus to continue with the novel.

“W-with a cry, sh-she, oh-hoh, fuck- Crowley- she exploded around-d him,” a high pitched whine broke free of you, and he chuckled. “H-her pleas-ure rocked thr-through her in waves, but h-he did not let up,” you read between gasps of breath.

“Un-until she pushed h-him away, sat-isfied and sated-d- oh, oh fuck me, Crowley, I’m gonna-”

“Fuck, that’s it, Pet. Cum for me,” Crowley growls darkly, eyes boring heated holes through your skin, cock grinding up against your thigh- wherever he can get any friction.

He doesn’t even get through the sentence before you’re over that finishing line, book dropping to the floor so you can hold onto his shoulder for purchase. Your head slams back against the bookcase, sending a few novels tumbling down to the floor to join the first. Your leg spasms and dark moans and sharp gasps fill the Bookshop.

Crowley fucks you through it, fingers never ceasing until you- like the character the book, are trying desperately to get him to slow down, the overstimulation making you whimper and moan.

The Demon laughs, and gives your cunt a little slap before pulling his hand out and bringing them up to the light coming in through the window. His eyes flit over the slick he sees there, admiring how wet you were for him. When he’s done, he sucks them clean, forked tongue coming out to play.

He doesn’t fail to notice the way your gaze heats at the sight. He might have to store that one away for another time, he rather thinks.

Slowly, he lets your leg down- immediately filling the space with his hips rubbing into your own. You whine at the burn in your muscles and he laughs mockingly. Crowley grinds once, twice more before he’s groaning into your shoulder and cumming ribbons in his pants.

His mouth drops open, and he rubs himself up against you to ride out the high. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and you playfully tug at his hair, grinning at the way he lets out an honest-to-God moan. You think you might lock that away for future use.

Once he’s come down, he pulls a miracle up from below, cleaning himself up. He noses at your neck and pulls you in close.

“I think,” he says quietly, “we ought to make use of the spare room and take a quick nap, what do you say?”

You smile and press a kiss to his jaw, nodding in agreement. He humms contentedly and steps away from you to allow you to lead the way. You pick up the couple of novels that had fallen to the floor and put them away before taking him to the spare bedroom, the both of you collapsing down into the bed.

It doesn’t take long before Crowley is snoring softly, and you take the chance to snuggle up to him, watching the dust in the sunrays in the window.

Your pussy clenches as you think over the events of the last half hour, and you find yourself daydreaming about all the other ways you want Crowley to fuck you.

Next time, maybe you’d have to have him up against the bookcases and mewling under your touch.

Yeah, you rather liked the sound of that.

#good omens #gomens #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley good omens #one shot #aziraphale #smut #lemon #anthony j crowley #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #crowley x reader smut #crowley smut #david tennant #gender neutral reader #aziraphale brough you back an antique coin set btw

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screaminglygay · 11 months

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Rough day

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you had a shitty day, wanda is there to help you.

warnings: swearing a bit, not proofread

word count: 1.4k

an: i was feeling down, so here is some fluffy wanda

!MDNI!

It was a rough day; you knew it from the morning when your bed was empty, and your lovely girlfriend wasn’t there. Without Wanda by your side to warm your bed and your heart, today was bound to be a struggle, but you were determined not to let it break you. But oh boy you were put back into reality right away.

And to make matters worse, your day only went downhill from there. First, as you were getting ready for school, you spilled your coffee on the counter, instantly jolting you awake. To make matters even worse, you realized you were running late, and had to sprint outside without a jacket or umbrella, and of course, the weather decided to remind you of its ever-present cruelty, opening up the heavens with a downpour. It was definitely not your day, but you just had to hold it together somehow.

By the time you walk through your apartment, you are exhausted. You are hungry, thirsty, and shivering from the cold, and all you want to do is slip into the warm embrace of your bed, but not before a hot meal and a long, hot shower.

As you wearily enter your apartment, the scent of a delicious meal floats through the air, a comforting reminder that Wanda is back home and cooking dinner. The aroma fills your senses, offering a brief respite from the miserable day you had so far. The familiar scent, a mix of spices and warmth, wraps around you like a soothing embrace, momentarily lifting your spirits.

You peel off your coat and leave it by the door, feeling the chills running down your back, you move further into the apartment. Wanda's presence is like a beacon of light in the darkness of your day, and the anticipation of a warm meal and a hot shower is your lifeline.

You head towards the kitchen, where Wanda is busy at the stove, her back facing you as she works her culinary magic. The clinking of pots and pans, the sizzle of ingredients in the skillet, and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables fills the room.

Seeing her there, pouring her love and care into the meal, should fill you with a sense of gratitude and relief, but today is different. The tension that is building throughout the day seems to intensify, and your frustration and sadness linger, despite the comforting aroma in the air. You know that no matter how terrible your day is, Wanda's presence and her unwavering support could make things better, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to shake.

You can´t bring yourself to smile as you approach her, and although you wrap your arms around her from behind and rest your chin on her shoulder, the gesture felt more like an act of seeking solace than a display of affection. The scent of the simmering dinner mixes with the natural scent of her hair did little to alleviate the storm of emotions within you.

Wanda turns to you, her eyes fill with empathy and love, but as she gazes into your eyes, she senses something is terribly wrong. She places a tender kiss on your forehead before gently asking, "What's wrong, my love?" Her voice is soft, and she reaches out to cup your face with her warm hand.

The weight of the day, the loneliness, and your unresolved emotions finally overcome you. Tears well up in your eyes, and before you knew it, you were crying uncontrollably. The tears stream down your face, and you can´t hold back the emotions any longer.

Wanda holds you close, her arms wraps around you in a comforting embrace. She whispers soothing words and assures you that it was okay to cry, that you were safe with her. As your sobs grow more intense, you feel a surge of panic rising within you, your chest tightening, and your breathing becoming erratic.

Recognizing your distress, Wanda holds you even tighter, gently guiding you to sit down. As you cry and battle the panic attack, Wanda holds you close and whispers soothing words to reassure and comfort you. "Hold my hand, love. Squeeze it if it helps. I'm right here with you." Your girlfriend whispers.

You cling to her hand, gripping it tightly, seeking the anchor she provides, "you're safe, my love. I promise." She whispers again.

Her words were like a protective shield. "I'm right here, right beside you. Let it all out, my dear. You don't have to hold it in."

Your cries continue, but you find solace in her presence, in the warmth of her embrace, and the security of her words. Wanda's unwavering support and love provides a sanctuary in your moment of vulnerability, and you know that you can survive any storm as long as she is by your side.

After a while, your sobs subside, and Wanda continues to hold you gently, speaking in a soothing tone. “It's okay, my love. You are doing great. Just take slow, deep breaths. I'm here for you, always."

You focus on your breathing, gradually regaining control and finding comfort in her words, "that's it. You are getting there. You're so strong, and I'm so proud of you."

Feeling more composed, you slowly nod in response to her words.

"Would you like a glass of water, dear?"

You nod again, and Wanda gets up, to get you a glass of water. As she stands up you immediately grab her hand, “I´m not going anywhere, I´ll be right back, I promise.”

After literally a minute Wanda comes back and hands the water to you, you take a few sips, feeling better already.

"Do you want to talk about what happened today, or would you rather just relax for now?" She asks.

You nod, indicating that you do want to talk about what had happened during your difficult day. Wanda listens as you recount the events, sharing your frustrations and sadness, and the details of the day weighing so heavily on your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that, my love. It sounds like an incredibly shitty day."

You continue to speak, and as you did, you feel the weight of your emotions lifting. Wanda offers a comforting presence, her eyes filled with empathy and understanding.

"I'm here for you, dear. I am glad you are sharing this with me. It's important to talk about what's bothering you." Wanda, seeing that you need a mood boost, decides to lighten the atmosphere with some good-natured teasing.

And of course, Wanda is determined to see you smile. "Now, let me see the pretty smile of yours, malyshka." She says with a twinkle in her eye, using a term of endearment that made you blush slightly.

You try to resist her charm and maintain a serious demeanor, but Wanda had a way of breaking through your defenses, every single time. "Oh, I see, you're playing hard to get, huh? Well, should I just do this?" With a mischievous grin, she launches a tickling attack, her nimble fingers dancing across your sides and making you squirm and laugh uncontrollably.

You can´t help but laugh, caught off guard by her playful assault.

"There it is! That beautiful smile I adore so much,” keeping her eyes locked on yours.

You pout, still half-pretending to be serious, but Wanda's teasing is impossible to resist.

"Oh, come on, malyshka, don't be mad at me." She looks at you through eyelashes in a comical display of innocence.

You can´t help but burst into laughter again, realizing that resisting Wanda's infectious playfulness is a futile endeavor.

"That's my girl! So so so so pretty.” Wanda whispers into your ear.

As the playful banter and laughter filled the room, your girlfriend can´t resist but let her affection show. She leans in, her eyes lock onto yours, and then her lips meet yours in a gentle, sweet kiss.

The sensation of her soft lips against yours sent a warm and comforting feeling coursing through you. It is as if all the frustrations and sadness of the day are replaced by a comforting embrace of love and affection.

You felt your cheeks warm as you pull back, blushing slightly, but Wanda's eyes were filled with tenderness and care, "you're so beautiful when you smile, malyshka.”

You smile back at her.

"No matter what happens, always remember that I'm here for you. Okay?”

You nod.

“I need words, malysh.”

You nod again, but this time you whisper back, “I know. Yes.”

#adele writes #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wlw #fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel universe #wanda maximoff fluff

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deerlino · 3 months

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lost and found.

bang chan x fem!reader / you and chan are about to get married, but the day before the wedding, he just disappears. there’s a note on your bed, and from that point on, everything goes downhill.

additional tags / angst, hurt-comfort, emotional turmoil, wedding jitters, cold feet, open ending, love confessions, pre-wedding drama, visuals (text messages, letter), apologies — 963 words in total.

content warnings / abandonment, lack of communication, commitment issues, panic and anxiety (subtle), facing fears (fear of the future ?), some strong language (cussing), chan’s kind of an asshole (😅)

further notes / writing angst is so much fun, seriously my fave genre ever. 😝 been all about the fluffy stuff lately, but i had to dive back into my roots and whip up some tasty pre-wedding angst. what do you think? i'm totally loving it, heheh. hope you enjoy the ride! <3

The day before your wedding, you can’t help but feel a buzz of excitement and nervousness. You've waited for this moment for so long, and now it's almost here. You and Chan have been inseparable since you met, and tomorrow was supposed to be the start of your forever. But when you wake up that morning, something feels off.

You stretch out your hand, expecting to find Chan beside you, but the bed is cold. Frowning, you sit up, scanning the room for any sign of him. That’s when you see it—a note on his pillow. Your heart sinks as you reach for it, hands trembling.

You stare at the words, not comprehending. Had to leave? What does that even mean? Panic starts to rise in your chest as you read the note over and over again, hoping it will magically change or offer some explanation. But it doesn’t.

You grab your phone and dial his number, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Chan, what the hell is going on? Where are you? Call me back, please,” you plead, trying to keep your voice steady.

Hours pass, and still no word from Chan. You call his friends, his family, anyone who might know where he is, but no one has seen him. Every minute feels like an eternity, and the worry is gnawing at your insides.

By afternoon, your concern turns to anger. How could he do this to you? The day before your wedding, no less. You pace the living room, clutching your phone, willing it to ring. When it finally does, you almost drop it in your haste to answer.

“Hello?”

“Y/N.” It’s Chan’s voice, but it sounds strained.

“Chan! Where are you? What’s going on?” The questions spill out before you can stop them.

“I... I’m sorry, Y/N. I just... I need some time to think.”

“Think? About what? We’re getting married tomorrow!”

There’s a long pause, and you can hear him take a deep breath. “I know. I just... I’m not sure if I’m ready.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Not ready? Are you fucking kidding me, Chan? We’ve been planning this for months! Why are you doing this now?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly.

“Well, guess what? You did hurt me. A lot. And you could’ve talked to me instead of just disappearing.”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, but it feels hollow. “I just... I need to figure some things out.”

You hang up, tears streaming down your face. Why would he do this to you? You feel a mix of hurt and rage, your emotions swinging wildly. Part of you wants to find him and demand answers, while another part of you just wants to curl up and cry.

The rest of the day is a blur. You cancel the rehearsal dinner, making up excuses for why Chan isn’t there. Your friends and family try to comfort you, but nothing they say can ease the pain.

That night, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment you’ve shared with Chan. You wonder where it all went wrong. Was it something you did? Something you said? The uncertainty is maddening.

The next morning, you wake up to a flurry of text messages. One stands out—it’s from Chan.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of you wants to ignore him, to make him feel the pain you’re feeling. But the other part of you needs answers.

You arrive at the little park where you and Chan have shared so many memories. He’s sitting on the bench, looking more miserable than you’ve ever seen him. When he sees you, he stands up, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“Just... explain,” you say, keeping your distance.

He takes a deep breath. “I’ve been freaking out, Y/N. The thought of forever, it just... it scared me. I started doubting everything, and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you ran away instead? That’s real mature, Chan.”

“I know, I know. It was stupid. But I love you, and the idea of losing you terrified me even more.”

You can see the sincerity in his eyes, but the hurt is still too fresh. “You could’ve talked to me. We could’ve worked through it together.”

He nods, looking down. “I’m sorry. I should’ve. I was just so scared of disappointing you, of not being enough.”

You step closer, your anger softening a little. “Chan, we’re supposed to be a team. If you’re scared or unsure, you need to tell me. We face things together, remember?”

He looks up, tears in his eyes. “I remember. And I’m so sorry I forgot that. I promise, I’ll never run away again.”

You take a deep breath, the weight of the past day starting to lift. “This isn’t going to be easy, you know. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and it’s going to take time to rebuild that trust.”

“I know. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” he says, stepping closer.

You nod, feeling a small glimmer of hope. “Okay. Let’s start with talking.”

You spend the next few hours sitting on that bench, talking about everything. The doubts, the fears, the future. It’s raw and emotional, but it’s also healing. By the end of it, you both feel a bit lighter.

When you finally stand up, Chan reaches for your hand. “So, about that wedding...”

You give him a small smile. “Let’s take it one day at a time. We’ll get there when we’re both ready.”

And for the first time since you found that note, you believe it.

© deerlino (est. 110624) ༯ heyo, did you enjoy this piece? if you did, maybe you could reblog, drop a comment, or shoot me an ask to let me know your thoughts. also, feel free to check out my other stuff! thanks a bunch for the support! <3

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 months

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I Light the Match to Taste the Heat

Pairing: Scud x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Recreational drug use; poorly written smut

Summary: There’s really no plot. Just smut.

A/N: My writing has gone downhill but here is some Scud smut.

You took another toke, holding the joint between your thumb and forefinger while watching with an amused interest. Your bare legs bracketed your boyfriend’s hips, his baggy jeans sitting low and revealing the waistband of his boxers beneath. Scud’s shirt was off, his scars on display but you paid no mind to those—never really had—because the entertainment was further north where he stared intently at the length of soft shibari rope he had knotted into a ghastly mess before it had even touched your skin.

You nearly choked on your exhale.

Baby blues flitted over to where you lay naked below him and then back to the rope, the latter tossed over his shoulder with a shrug. “File that in the later folder.” He dropped forward, catching himself on his hands—arms extended—on either side of your head.

Turning your hand, you placed the joint between his lips and held it there as the paper lit up with his deep inhale. “Can turn a slinky into a bomb but can’t seem to properly tie up his girlfriend.” You clicked your tongue and shook your head, the smoke billowing from his nose and mouth to form a cloud between your faces. “You may have lost your man card.”

“Is that right?” He smirked, plucking the joint from your grasp to hit it again and put it in the ashtray.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished—!” You protested, the last word shaping into a low moan when Scud ground his pelvis against your core, his erection prominent.

“I’ll make sure you're finished, baby.” He cooed, pupils blown and sclera tinted red. When he began to close the distance—attempting to lower to his elbows—his hand slipped and your foreheads met roughly with a dull thud.

Face contorted in discomfort, you pressed the heel of your hand to the tender area. “Dumbass.” Even while pained, you laughed at his incredulous expression, as if something just so Scud was beyond his comprehension.

“Does that count as foreplay?” His grin was lopsided at best while your hands worked at his jeans, opening them and shoving them—and his boxers—down over his ass, grabbing his buttocks as you hooked your legs over his hips.

“It does if you fuck me right now.” He wasted no time. While feeling him begin to stretch you open, your walls clenching and releasing around the intrusion, you pressed your head into the mattress and dug your nails into his skin. “Oh, fuck, Josh!”

He chuckled, the noise muted against your skin as he sucked at your collar bone. “Just gettin’ started, baby.” He thrust the remaining couple of inches in roughly, shunting you straight up toward the headboard. “Always so fucking tight.”

The pace he set was delectably perfect, his tip hitting that spot inside of you in a rhythm that had your toes already curling and your mouth hanging up with a string of ah ah ah’s that were for his ears only but likely picked up by the keen senses of the resident daywalker.

“Damn, you’re hot like this.” Scud praised breathlessly, clumsy hand palming at your breast. “I mean, you’re hot all the time, but—”

“Shut up.” Your demand was immediately followed up with your hands in his hair, yanking him down until your mouths clashed in the most sloppy—yet perfect—kiss. Squeezing his hips with your thighs, you broke free of his lips with a deep inhale while simultaneously rolling him onto his back. Sitting up, you ground your hips at a brutal pace, chasing your high.

“Shit, baby. Slow down before you break—”

“I thought I told you to shut up.” You smirked at him. Hand leaving your hip, he made a zipping motion across his mouth and redirected both hands to your breasts. “Oh, no no. I want you to shut up, not be quiet.” Clenching your muscles around his cock drew out a guttural sound from the man below you, his hands squeezing at your chest.

That was enough to ignite the flame in your belly, to feel that knot pulling taut. Scud was panting below you, face contorted with pleasure. The twitch of his cock as it moved inside you was telling: he was close. Your thighs were burning, your stomach muscles straining but the payoff would be sublime.

“Cum with me, baby. I want you to cum.” You threw back your head, your hands coming to rest on top of his on your breasts. “I’m close.”

“Don’t stop.” Scud pleaded, his hips rising to meet yours with each bounce. “Fuck, m’gonna—”

“Oh. Oh, Josh!” Your orgasm was sudden but no less powerful, consuming you as if you’d been set aflame. You could hear your boyfriend groaning, feel his warmth spilling into you, your inner walls spasming and pulling him impossibly deeper.

The last dregs of your climax were dimming, the world coming back into focus. At some point you had collapsed onto Scud’s chest. His heart galloped below your cheek while his hand glided up and down your back.

“Goddamn, girl. You’re gonna be the death of me.” The warmth of his palm disappeared and the click of a lighter followed. The smell of marajuana wafted into your nostrils, enticing you to giggle and anticipate your turn for a toke.

“Definitely if you don’t learn to be quiet.” You balanced on your elbow beside him, accepting the joint with a waiting hand. Inhaling deeply, you opened your mouth to continue when a deep voice sounded from somewhere outside the door.

“You both need to learn to be quiet!”

Snorting, smoke flowing from your nose, you joined Scud in a quiet burst of shameless laughter before you spoke in unison:

“Sorry, B!”

#murda writes #scud frohmeyer #scud #scud x reader #scud x female reader #joshua frohmeyer x female reader #scud fanfiction #scud smut #scud blade 2 #joshua frohmeyer #Spotify

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luffyvace · 9 months

Note

Hello, could I request Feitan with a reader who looks innocent and angelic usually but is actually just as sick and sadistic as he is? (Aka it's like a secondary persona kind of)

And she's also part of an organization(that kills people) without him knowing (she was part of it even before meeting him)

Ouuuu an interesting reader we have here~

Seeing as though all the feitan gifs are generic fighting ones I’ve put my own picture :) I think it’s hilarious 😂

enjoy your headcanons lovely anon! 💗

(fem! reader implied bc you used ‘she’ in your request but I won’t imply female body just in case)

Feitan getting with an angelic and innocent s/o is certainly an oxymoron

Your such a sweetheart, so thoughtful and kind

you always try to help and encourage others as much as you can

But in reality no?? really your such a sick and twisted sadist who loves watching every moment of others suffering???

welp that went down the drain quickly

feitan might have picked up on the fact that it was all an act or your slightly sadistic tendencies

especially since he’s highly observant

Though I’m not sure how you revealed your in a organization or if you knew he was in the troupe but it probably went like

”your in a criminal organization? Oh…me too” 🧍‍♀️

“Wait what?” 🧍‍♀️

“so we’re both in criminal organizations of the sort?”

🧍‍♀️ 🧍‍♀️

well I guess its all out in the open now

as soon as he figures out your a sadist tho

its on

torture sessions become even more frequent seeing as though he now has someone to enjoy it with

he finds it rather fun to have someone laugh manically with him and not call him a loony 🤓

he’s grateful even

the victims really range from anyone off the street

to enemies from either of your organizations

maybe even someone who gave you a hard time

(they simply bumped into you, you apologized like the “sweet” person you are, but they had no idea what was coming for em that night)

(for fei, they probably mocked him)

you and feitan either have a dedicated torture room or have turned you basement/attic into one

and it definitely has a lock on it

feitan will recommend you some books and you likely do the same for him

(by some i mean you have a whole library shelf—who are you fooling 🤨)

you two make as much time for each other as you can

which yes torturing together counts as quality time

and y’all see it as a sense of normalcy too

wherever y’all stay you just be like

”hey wanna have a quick torture session then find something to eat for dinner?”

like it’s like going about normal daily activities for you two

it also feels good to have someone that gets you from the outside

like your both dangerous criminals,

that likely grew up in harsh conditions

(bc i mean come on mass murders have triggers/motivs they don’t just do things for no reason)

and now you have someone from outside your organization that gets you!

like, they even like torturing just like you!!

best s/o feitan could wish for

as time goes on you two would find out why you joined the organizations you did and if you genuinely enjoy it, just doing it for the money, etc

no matter the reasons or time, you accept each other :)

this also appeals more trustworthy to feitan!! Since your in one yourself, you can’t sell out feitan without selling out yourself!

😋

but…that could go downhill..

for example, your organization could be trying to target feitan/the troupe and is making you use him to get to them

As time goes on he shakes away the thought, it’s probably been years (when feitan’s down, he’s down for the count, he doesn’t do flings, in my hcs) since you’ve been together so he wants to trust you

basically the further things go in with you two, the more he trusts you

of course you have to make sure to give him reasons to trust you and don’t give him any reason not to

he’ll start getting suspicious of you even on the first slip up

(if it happens)

he has to protect the spider, there’s no way he can let it fall because of him

orrrr!!!

your organizations could meet! And form a alliance that may or may not be temporary/strictly business!!

it would be fun seeing all members together drinking and wrecking havoc!!

right?!

😊

LOL just imagine your all casually talking about such violent and socially unacceptable crimes 🤪

especially you and feitan

you guys are so silly

just a silly little group of friends :)

planning to commits fiendish acts together<3

honestly I like the last scenario the best

its so silly :P

I’m glad to see more feitan stans on my page!! thank you for requesting, hopefully you enjoyed!

💖

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redclercs · 1 year

Text

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iii. one for the money, two for the show.

— the one where you were never ready, so you watched him go.

warnings: war flashbacks to the miami gp, more insight into y/n (look i have to give a lot of context for my own sanity), not really proofread sorry, 2.4k words.

masterlist ✢ next

FROM “WHAT’S NEXT FOR AIDAN KIM?” POSTED IN THE US WEEKLY YOUTUBE CHANNEL MAY 2023

You are looking at the top comments.

aidanbabes nooo my baby😭 he looks so sad!

flowerbedkim I swear to god y/n better count her fucking days

halleyc don’t come at me but this sounds like he proposed

ynbby why is he talking about this though? y/n has been super private and he’s telling US WEEKLY THIS?

ynaidan i hate being a child of divorce😭

Miami, Florida May 6th

GRAND Prix number two with Elix, attempt number two by Mr. Stuart Schafer to get into your pants. Can it get any worse?

Yes, yes it can. Because as long as you have “a job” you don’t have to come to these sponsor events. Which sucks for you, not having an acting job for the moment has never felt more like a punishment from the universe.

Artists, from actors to singers are here promoting their gigs while all you do, again, is take pictures with men in jeans and loafers and try not to barf every time you consume Elix.

You’re watching your career crumble in front of your eyes and you can’t do anything to save it from burning when it hits the floor. Mildred has called you several times during the course of the weekend to inform you of canceled interviews, revoked invitations and “sorry we’re just looking for something else” calls from casting agents.

Part of you is in disbelief that a five minute interview from your ex-boyfriend is feeding the fire, part of you expected it all the same. Women are the preferred villain in the narrative, and if it means putting a man above them, the media has had the choice made for a while.

Did you really have it coming, though? There have been endless comments about how it was about time people realized the type of person you are.

But what are you? Who are you really?

You’re a coward. You tell that to yourself in the mirror first thing in the morning.

Many people have the luxury to say they can’t pinpoint the exact moment where they went wrong. You can’t afford the pleasure of such obliviousness, because the exact moment everything went wrong was when Aidan got down on one knee.

And when the question that left his lips went from "Will you marry me?" to "Why won't you?" You knew there was no turning back.

Marriage wasn’t a foreign concept to you, but while it is generally seen as a milestone, for you it was just another stepping stone. The roles of The Wife and The Mother were something you might eventually grow into, but on the night of your third anniversary, you realized you weren't even ready for that of The Fiancée.

Was it genuinely a surprise for Aidan that you had to close the velvet box he was holding in front of you, hiding the diamond ring from your sight, before he dropped his other knee to the ground and whispered 'Why?'

Never, in the three years you'd been together, had you seriously talked about marriage. It was another bridge you would cross once you got there, and in your mistaken calculations, you thought it would be around the time your relationship turned five. That's the limit for romantic relationships without a ring involved according to most women's magazines, and your own mom. At least neither know the ring was the cause of the breakup.

It's a little pathetic how lucky you consider yourself that the tabloids don't know you rejected an engagement. They're cruel enough as it is, things can only go further downhill, straight to hell.

"You good?"

Your best friend in the world, Victoria Presley, is able to join you in the VIP area of the Paddock thanks to a couple pictures on instagram where she tagged Elix. God bless the era of influencers. Or, family connections. Being the daughter of Sony Music executive Luke Presley and celebrity life coach Claire Walker can open many doors. Well it isn't Vic's fault being born into a rich and influential family, at least she's doing her own thing with her beauty products.

"Yes, I am," you shrug. Q3 is going on right now and although you try your best to keep your focus on the two red cars around the circuit, you find it hard to get out of your head. Plus it's so hot in here you feel sticky and gross.

"I lost you for a moment there," she insists, sipping her glass of champagne, the eyebrow raise she gives you after means she needs more info into what was going through your head just seconds ago.

"Not getting any call backs right now," you sigh, taking the flute from her although all it would take for you to get your own is a few steps. "I'm kind of frustrated."

"I'm sorry babe," Vic rubs your back, unbothered by your stealing. "You'll get something soon."

"And E! cancelled my interview, AND—"

Tires screech and an 'ooooh' goes through the grand stands before the screens show a red car embedded in the barriers. A groan of "It's Leclerc!" passes through the people around you in the VIP Lounge.

You grimace, focused on the circuit again as Charles leaves his car, shaking his arms before hitting the halo several times, frustrated.

"See everyone has bad streaks," Vic has gotten her own champagne again and is pointing to the screen, where the Ferrari driver is being followed on his way out. "It's his second crash, no?"

Other people's disgrace doesn't soothe your own, so you give Vic a stern look, causing her to shrug.

Q3 is done and Ferrari has mixed feelings about their two drivers' results. As for you, the faster you can get back to your hotel, the better.

─────────

Vic drags you to dinner with a couple of her influencer friends. Everyone and their mother is in attendance at Miami, and they’re here to have fun.

"They're here!" the girl to Vic's left whisper-yells, stretching her neck to look over at the entrance of the restaurant.

The place has been completely full the whole time you've been here, which has been a while, you're done with your dinner and have a few drinks on you, yet Vic has begged you twice to stay 'just a little longer'.

Of course Vic is having the time of her life, talking about promotion agreements and posting schedules, and although you hang out with lots of influencers and social media stars on your daily life, you're not clicking with any of them tonight. Have you become bitter? No, of course not.

"y/n knows them, she can just introduce us," another one giggles, and she cheers with her tequila sunrise to your own half-empty drink that's resting on the table.

"Hmm, what?" you chuckle, unsure of how you missed the part where you entered the story.

"The Ferrari Drivers," the first girl answers in that 'obviously' tone you hate when people use with you. "You're with Ferrari all the time lately, aren't you?"

"I'm with Elix," you clear up, best as you can as they're not really paying attention, their eyes following the group of men that are being escorted by a hostess to their table. "So you know, it's not really—"

"But you've met them,"

"Well, yes but..."

Yes but, you've seen them in scattered moments where they nod and smile at you passing by and the three times you've had to take pictures drinking Elix. You don't even get to the coworker level of knowing them.

"Well let's go!"

"Hold on Holly," Vic speaks up for the first time, "I mean, they literally just got here."

"Which is why we came here," Holly can't seem to get rid of that know-it-all tone, and it's frankly starting to annoy you even if she has a different target now.

It's time to use the angry eyes with Vic, again,in less than 24 hours. That's why she kept asking you to wait just a little longer.

"How did you know they'd be here?" you question, although you already know what a cleveage can do to get any information you want. Can't blame a girl for using her tools.

“I have my ways,” Holly says, and does in fact, fix her cleavage. Fair enough.

"Vic..." you whisper, as the rest of them regather in their own conversation. "What's happening?"

"I just– they said they really wanted to meet the Ferrari guys, y/n," Vic half whines. She's doing the most to impress the other girls, which is a very Vic thing to do, but still you don't like it. "And since you work with them, well it would be easier to approach them, right?"

Wrong.

"I- Vic, I don't work with these guys. We don't even work for the same people, and... it would be weird to approach them while they're trying to have dinner peacefully."

You are not a big fan of interruptions because you've heard enough of your coworkers talk about how annoying it is. As for yourself, sometimes you mind, sometimes you don't. It all depends.

You can barely distinguish their table with all the movement around the restaurant, but you manage a peek at Carlos' hair. Both of them are there, surrounded by a bunch of other Ferrari guys.

"So? Let's go," Holly is speaking again, downing the rest of her alcoholic Shirley Temple.

"I have to use the bathroom," you announce, dropping the napkin that covered your lap on the table.

"Right now?" the other girl—you feel guilty for not remembering her name— groans.

You refrain from replying, and try not to stomp to the bathroom like a toddler throwing a tantrum. If there’s anything that you hate is feeling used, and it hurts a lot more when it comes from Victoria.

It’s something else when she uses her doe-eyed stare and says “please, please, please” to get her way even with you, rather than set you up to impress her other friends.

You take your time to reapply lipstick in the bathroom and soothe your annoyance. You have told Vic before that she needs to ask for things, not just push you into awkward situations. At least she didn’t follow you to the restroom.

Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bathroom, wondering how to go on about this. It’s very likely that things get twisted and it is you who’ll look like she wants to brag about knowing the Ferrari guys, which you’re sure they’re used to—being bragged about. But you don’t want that.

There are many clichés that you have experienced, both as a character in RomComs where the biggest makeover that is done to your character is to apply a little mascara and remove the glasses (you hate that, what’s wrong with wearing glasses?). And in real life, with big romantic gestures like receiving a bouquet with a hundred roses and one is artificial… Blah blah.

This cliché is a little more ridiculous, though, as you crash into Charles Leclerc while leaving the restroom.

“Oh, sorry,” you half-smile back at him, he’s already smiling, showing dimples and everything. You see his appeal no matter how much you don’t want to notice it. Tall, green-blue eyes and those stupid dimples. Not to mention the fact that you suddenly find accents charming. Again, stupid.

“Hey y/n,” he says still smiling, “Did you just get here?”

“Uh, no actually we’re leaving in a few minutes,” you move out of the way of a lady that wants to get into the restroom, she eyes you both for a moment before continuing on her way.

“Are you here with your friends? Or is it with Elix?”

“My friends. Thank God I get to be away from Elix for a few hours.”

Charles chuckles and the moment runs long enough to become awkward. You’re still outside of the bathrooms and another guy has too given you an off look as he made his way inside.

"Let me walk you back to your table," Charles offers as a way of breaking the silence and you shake your head no.

"You don't have to, my friends are probably on the way out already, anyway."

Are you being selfish by keeping Vic's friends away from him? It doesn't matter to you, not really. But really a small part of you doesn't want things to go their way.

Charles doesn't listen to your refusal anyway, and asks you to lead the way with a gesture.

"I didn't see you at the Ferrari Suite after Quali," he mentions as he follows you a step behind.

"I was in the VIP Lounge with a friend," you explain, "I'll be at the Suite tomorrow, though."

You stop at your table, where the three girls are still doing their best to ogle at the Ferrari guys.

"Hey," you get their attention back and not one in the three of them even attempt to hide the pleasant surprise that Charles' presence gives them. "Are you ready to go?"

It's Vic's turn to give you a look. One that tells you to not be unfair, things have just started to go as they planned.

While you return the pointed look to Vic, Holly strikes a conversation with Charles. Lightning quick.

"Let's go," you repeat, "Gotta be up early tomorrow."

"Can we get a picture, though?" the other girl—lord, if you could remember her name you'd feel a little better —adds quickly.

"Do you mind?" you ask Charles before he can reply. You don't want to make a fuss and have half the restaurant acknowledging his presence and his disposition to take pictures and sign autographs while he's trying to have dinner.

"Not at all," he shakes his head and waits patiently for everyone to be camera-ready while you stare. "Aren't you getting in the picture?"

"I'll take it," you hold your hand out for an iPhone, and get Holly's bedazzled one. Charles frowns but you just say 'okay, ready?' before pointing the camera at them.

No one else argues the fact that you're not in the picture.

A chorus of 'thank you's' passes quickly as you return the iPhone and the three influencers start checking the picture. They're probably better photographers than you, you can accept that.

"So I'll see you tomorrow, y/n," Charles leans towards you, leaving the group to their own thing after he pleased their request. "Right?"

"I'll be the one drinking Elix," you joke, half-whining.

"I'll be the one in the red car," Charles jokes back, a wide smile spreading on his face.

You laugh, fighting against the sudden shyness caused by the familiarity.

"Goodnight," he calls quietly, and the girls wish him a goodnight and good luck for the race before he snakes through tables back to his friends.

Not another thank you is directed at you as your group leaves the restaurant to wait for the Uber back to the hotel.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! thank you for reading! I'm really grateful for everyone who has interacted with this story, I hope you're enjoying it so far ♡❞

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you

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ode2rin · 1 year

Text

slowly yours

pairing. chigiri hyoma x gn!reader

content. 1.2k wc | part 2 of this one (it's chigiri's pov yey!) | idiot bffs finally into lovers | this is me trying to comfort chigiri lovers ;)

at the reckless age of 16, chigiri hyoma had come to understand that invisible lines existed.

lines that, once crossed, could change everything.

he had seen the consequences play out in novels, the heartache and longing that followed ill-fated confessions, imprinting upon him a cautiousness that would shape his actions.

and usually, he loves lines that draw the thrill of victory. he relished the sensation of crossing finish lines with his unparalleled speed.

not this one, however. this one held stakes that were too high.

it was the line that separated friendship from something more, the delicate boundary that stood between him and the unspoken emotions that pulsed between you.

would it upset you if he told you he knew?

he knew about all the times you stayed behind him, felt the weight of your quiet affections hanging in the air whenever you were together. your subtle gestures, stolen glances, and tender moments whispered of a connection that ran deeper than what you claim you two are.

he knew about it.

and yet, he hesitated. because he also knew what it meant to be in love with someone you call your best friend.

but as days turned into months and months into years, the line between friendship and something more blurred. chigiri couldn't help but wonder if his hesitation was costing him something greater. he yearned to bridge the gap, to pause for a moment and truly see you, to cross that line and explore the profound depths that lay beyond.

he had come so close, so very close.

until time stood still for chigiri hyoma, and everything went downhill from there.

“hyoma, please slow down. you will hurt yourself. the doctors said –”

“leave me alone,” chigiri's voice cut through the air, his stubbornness unwavering.

with every stride, his pace quickened, leaving you struggling to keep up. the worry in your voice went unheard as he pushed himself further.

“alright, i won't stop you,” you said, your voice tinged with a mix of desperation, “but let me be by your side. please, i need you to wait for me.”

the words left your lips in a pained and choked voice, as if you were begging him not just to slow down physically.

for a brief moment, chigiri almost stopped in his own tracks, as if compelled to hold you, to acknowledge the depth of your plea, to hold your heart that has been breaking for him.

but he didn’t, not when he was drowning in his own sorrow from his now broken dreams.

he can’t afford to cross no damn line, at that time. it wasn’t just right to be with you when he’s becoming half a soul.

he knew you’d understand; you always did. but he just can’t find the right words to articulate how hellish it felt to run faster than everyone else only to meet an edge of the cliff. his pain was his alone, something he couldn't burden you with.

and so, he looked away, even when he wanted nothing more than to let his eyes wander in yours. letting go of your hand that wasn’t even his to hold, yet.

it had been years since that aching chase, the echoes of your pleading voice still resonating in his memories. the image of you, determined and breathless, calling out his name with a mix of determination and yearning, remained etched in his mind.

but he couldn't help but think of himself as pathetic — for hoping that even after all those years, it would still be you and him in the end.

as the memories of that fateful chase played in chigiri's mind, he found himself transported to a different scene— the bustling stadium filled with cheering spectators. the air was electric with excitement, and the sound of the crowd echoed in his ears.

was he being greedy for wishing you were here?

it didn't matter if your cheers were swallowed by the surrounding multitude, drowning in the sea of sounds. you didn't even have to scream his name for your cheers to reach his heart. as long as you were there, watching him, nothing else mattered.

the stadium was filled with a frenzy of cheers and anticipation as chigiri stepped onto the field. his focus was on the game ahead, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, oblivious to the presence of a familiar figure in the crowd.

but fate, as it would have it, intervened.

chigiri's gaze met yours, and for a fleeting second, time seemed to stand still. in that instant, you could see a hint of recognition in his eyes—a spark of connection that transcended the noise and commotion around you.

it was as if the world fell away, leaving only the two of you locked in a silent exchange.

in that shared moment, words became unnecessary.

because to him, in that one single profound glance, he swears your eyes look like coming home. and it’s everything he needs to know.

he was damn well going to cross that line.

minutes turned into hours, and as the final whistle blew, marking the end of the match, chigiri's gaze sought yours once more. amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, your familiar eyes were all that he could see.

and there you were, just as you had always been.

“hey there, striker.”

“you came,” he whispered, surprise coloring his voice.

a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped closer, the distance between you diminishing. “of course i did,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth and a hint of self-deprecation. “i’m a bit late, though. you know me, i'm always a bit slow.”

chigiri's lips formed a gentle smile, a silent acknowledgement of the parallels that danced between past and present. “i know,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

in the midst of victory and the deafening cheers, neither of you could bring yourselves to look away.

with a mixture of trepidation and determination, you asked, “is it okay?” if i was late? if i was slow? if it took me time?

all of these questions hung on your lips, but there was no need to voice them. something in your eyes told him that you weren't just referring to your late arrival to his game.

your eyes have always been so damn expressive, it’s hard to not know what you were thinking. it was as if your eyes held a language of their own, one that he longed to learn.

“it never bothered me. i could wait, if it's you i’m waiting for.”

the years of pining and longing were encapsulated in those simple words, their double meanings understood by both of you.

“we have a lot of lost time to make up for,” you said, searching for reluctance in his expression.

he didn’t respond right away, instead, he started making his way towards you. with each step, the invisible lines that had held him back faded into insignificance.

and now, he’s standing in front of you. chigiri hyoma was finally in front of you, facing your heart laid before his eyes.

and in that single, profound moment where your eyes finally met, the weight of unspoken words melted away. the stadium faded into the background, and it was just the two of you, suspended in time.

“no need to rush. we have all the time…” he reassured, his voice steady and brimming with a gentle warmth.

softly smiling at you, he continued, “we'll take it your way, we'll take it slow.”

note. maybe i got a bit carried away w these friends/bffs to lovers trope all around my fyp and decided to fool around to make this, it's not the best but i really love pinning :( and wanted to write something abt it :( this wasn't proofread at all pls tolerate my laziness (also also i was listening to gold rush and run by ts for thisss)

to that anon, here you go!

#☁️ my ode to you #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri x reader #chigiri hyoma #chigiri hyoma fluff #chigiri hyoma x y/n #chigiri x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #hyoma chigiri x reader #hyoma chigiri

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netherfeildren · 1 year

Text

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter VI : Sisyphus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence; Blood and Gore; Explicit description of injury; Use of misogynistic language; Threat of SA but none occurs; Ass play; Anal sex

A/N: It's all downhill from here, baby!!!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VI : SISYPHUS

DEATH: Why the bow, if you’re breaking no laws?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

You’re in the dark again, warm and sated, together. He’s propped up on one elbow, practically half on top of you while you lay on your belly, pressed into the soft blankets and the blistering heat of his body; your cheek, smooshed into the ball of his shoulder while you let him explore your skin at will. He’s been biting and licking and kissing all over for what seems like hours after having fucked you halfway to delirium, and you can do nothing more than hum and whimper when his teeth get too hungry, his bite too sharp, listening to the sounds he makes. Low rumbles of appreciation deep in his chest that you feel vibrate into the bones of your back, breathy huffs where he takes in your scent, mingled with the flavor of his own sweat and come. You’re damp and sweaty and a little sticky in the soft crevices between your limbs, and maybe it should be disgusting, but he tastes you everywhere anyways.The tip of his nose dragging down the line of your spine, a soft nip to your waist, a sharper one to the inside of your bicep, that vulnerable and ticklish swell. He rolls you slightly further towards him to expose your breasts to his explorations, and you feel the tickle of his armpit hair on your cheek where your face is tucked into his side. He sniffs below the damp line of your hair at the nape of your neck, mouths wetly at the satiny skin, and you drag your fingertips up his arm, barely there, pulling a shiver from him and a soft moan. “What’s your favorite place in the galaxy?” Your voice barely a break in the silence, the soft song of your breathing.

A wet suck to your nipple, “Balls deep inside of you,” entirely serious in that monotone way of his.

“Disgusting.”

“Nuh uh, delicious,” a long swipe to the other nipple, pad of his thumb brushing over the dip of your navel. A whine of his name, and he gives you a laugh, the sort of laugh that changes the trajectory of a person’s life, the sort of laugh that is so real it could almost be confused as imaginary. He moves up, lets you savor the sound of it, and there is no better taste than this: someone else’s laughter in your mouth. You twist your fingers in his curls, run your tongue behind his teeth, belly pressed to belly. “I’m being serious,” you remind him.

He buries his face in your neck, a soft hum, “Here, on the ship.” With me? You want to ask. “What about yours?”

“I like water.” You always had, had always been a swimmer when the moment allowed.

“Then we shall have to find some water for you, won’t we?” His fingers have snuck down to your bottom, and he kneads your soft flesh, the line of his once again swollen erection trapped between your bodies. Yes, you’d like that, you think, to be in water with him. You dig your fingers into the rock hard muscles of his shoulders as his mouth resumes its explorations.

“I want a loth cat,” you tell him next.

Mhmm.

“Din?” His mouth is once again latched at your breast, and his cock has begun to thrust and grind against your belly, sticky tip drooling against your skin.

“Please, be quiet,” he says with your breast still in his mouth. “I’m very busy.”

You ignore him, twist your fingers tighter in his curls, arching your chest further into his mouth. “Will you get me a loth cat?” Voice all soft and breathy and breaking as you lift your thigh around his naked hip.

Distracted: “A what?”

The man really, really does not listen. “A loth cat. Will you get me one?”

Finally, he pulls his head back. “No. What is that?”

“You’re saying no, and you don’t even know what they are!”

“You’re not bringing any animals on my ship,” and even though he can’t see it, you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s a pet. Not an animal.”

“Explain the difference to me.” He bends his head to your breast again, all teeth now.

“A pet is fluffy, and I will love it.” But he brings his cock back into the mix then, and there are no more allowances for ridiculous requests for quite some time after that.

“Now you’re going to be good and stay here like I’m asking you to this time, right? Where you’re safe.” He’d landed the Razor Crest a conservative distance away from Niima Outpost; didn’t want you too far isolated in the sand dunes while he left you to go out and fetch his bounty, but not so close you’d be easily noticed.

“Oh, you are soooo stern,” you pout up at him from where you’re curled up in your bed.

His only response: a long suffering sigh, hands on his hips. You roll your eyes at him, nuzzling into the pillow that smells just like his hair. “Yes. I promise I’ll stay on the ship this time. Where it’s safe.” He comes to one knee beside your shared bed, he’d never crawled back into that tomb of a bunk again after that last time together, this was your shared place now. He brushes a gentle thumb over the pout of your bottom lip, tipping your chin up to the dark tee of his visor, “What a good girl you can be… when you set your mind to it, little one.” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him again, but feel your cheeks heat and your lower belly go tight and fluttery. Your pussy clenches with a slight twinge, and you feel the slow thick drool of his come seep out of you. He’d taken you hard earlier, savage and rough and without restraint – like he was angry at having to leave you and taking it out on your cunt.

“Only when I try very, very hard,” you tell him. He dips his chin once, and then unfolds to his great height above you, another nod, another paused moment to take one last, long look at you, and you want to beg, so badly, for him not to go. It feels like the first time he’d left, all those weeks ago. Your first experience staying on the Crest without him while he went out to hunt his bounty, and at the same time, all the worse. You know him so much better now, you need him, you… You what? No, you can’t think of it now. It’s a non possibility, something you aren’t capable of. But a pesky, perilous corner of your mind whispers, like the Force healing? A non possibility of that sort? You want to ask him to take his helmet off and kiss you before he goes, you want to beg him to stay, you want to ask him why he’s not called you that sweet name again since that last time, the only time, in the heat and damp darkness of the fresher when he’d whispered it into your skin, cyar’ika, and you want to cry, just a little bit, if you think on it too much. On the fact that he’d not repeated it, at the possibility of it having been a mistake or a slip in the heat of the moment. But you say none of those things, and ask for no kiss, and look after him with regret and an inkling of unsettled trepidation as the broad expanse of his back lumbers down the lowered plank and then disappears with the closing of the hatch into the scorched badlands and marching dunes of Jakku.

The hull is left dark and serene with his departure, quiet, and yet it sends a small shiver up your naked spine, bare and wet beneath the warm covers like he’d left you. He keeps the space meticulously clean, but now it’s littered with small signs of your presence in his life, of your life together. Your tunic thrown over the lone stool where he forces you to sit when you take your meals with him crouched at your feet, obsessively watching to make sure you have your fill, strange and lovely man that he is. He has a complex about the food you consume, as if it’s imperative to him that you eat as much as you can, that you’re always satisfied in the ways he cannot, or will not allow himself to be. He doesn’t eat enough, never as much as you know he’d probably secretly like to, and for a man of his size and brawn, surely not enough as he needs to, and it’s slowly fostered an angry kernel of resentment within you. He should always have all the things that he needs and wants, as much food as he desires, always, and anything that would keep those things from him you’re bitterly coming to detest. It even, in a strangely convoluted way, makes you angry at yourself, that your presence here with him prevents him from freely and comfortably discarding his helmet to take his meals. If you weren’t here with him he could eat as much as he wants whenever he wants without worry of being seen, and sometimes, try as you might, you can’t let go of the thought.

He’d left the pair of his thick socks you’d appropriated for yourself draped over one of the steam pipes that are warm to the touch, so that when you’d put them on they’re nice and toasty for you. The sight of them makes your heart kick and flip and burn in your chest, and you turn over to face the other way, towards the wall so that you’ll not be forced to look upon the empty hull and the warm socks and the Din-less space and remind yourself how much you hate when he goes away. He’d said he’d be back quickly, only a few hours he estimated, and you comfort yourself with this as you tuck your hands beneath your cheek and slowly drift off into a restless sleep.

“Hello, beastie.”

You’re thrashed into wakefulness by an agonizing grip twisting in your hair trying to rip the very strands from your scalp. You screech, disoriented trying to kick out, get your bearings, but the hull is still darkened from the way Din had left you. You feel another pair of hands trying to grasp at your ankles, and you kick out savagely, bracing yourself against the cold floor, and then the sickening crunch of the bones in your hand as a heavy boot slams down on your fingers, agony, agony, what is happening? An alien dialect in a language you can’t discern, rough and grating is spit back and forth between several voices, and then the first voice comes again and an old, hunched female steps into the dim light from the shadows. You recognize her reptilian Thalassian aspect immediately, and your heart drops into your stomach. Slavers. You double your efforts, kicking and screaming and trying to claw at the hands in your hair, to rip yourself away while your crushed hand screams in agony. The old female comes closer, beastie, beastie, we’ve caught ourselves a beastie, she sing-songs in a hollow voice. Another boot to your belly, kicking the air out of your lungs, sending fire through your ribs and bile up your throat, but when you turn your head, you make eye contact with one of the old crones henchmen, another Thalassian, and with a single thought you send him slumping to the ground, brains oozing out of his ears in a melted, bloody mess.

“Murderous little beast!” the female screeches, and she’s unraveling a whip from around her forearm, and before you can even brace yourself, snapping it at you so that it’s splitting open the meat of your cheek. Searing agony spreads across your face, your vision goes in and out, and you try and shake it away, but then more of that guttural unknown language and an order from the crone, and your arms are being jerked forward so harshly it feels as though your bones will be wrenched from their sockets, and they’re clamping something around your wrists. Something cold and sucking and terrible. You slump forward, tangled in the soft blankets of yours and Din’s shared bed, still naked beneath, and you try to reach for the Force, for your strength, for Din’s mind out there in the desert, but there’s nothing. Acute silence, unbearable nothingness. All your strength zapped and stolen away in the blink of an unguarded moment, like an amputated limb.

The female is hunched over the body of the one you’d killed, leaning heavily on a thick walking stick, spitting hissing sobs, and when she turns back to look at you, you can see there are tears marring her ugly, wrinkled face. “You killed him! Creature! Dark creature!” She spits. “Pull her back, let me look at the little whore’s face.” Unforgiving claws in your hair again, and your head is ripped back and angled towards the weak light of the fresher, the blanket covering your modesty slipping to reveal your nakedness beneath. Fear and shame and fury curdle and burn within you like acid. If he comes back and finds you gone, or worse dead, he’ll be devastated, so hurt, so angry, he’ll blame himself. They can’t – they cannot put him through that. You have to think, calm yourself, get out of these binders they’ve put you in, some sort of Force suppression technology at work. The things glow a sickly purple color, nothing like the lovely warm violet of your saber. But before you can even get a firm grasp on your thoughts, collect yourself, the woman slides the walking stick in her grip, and pulling it back behind her shoulder, swings it forward with all her might to hit you in the face with the heavy, bulbous end of it, right over the split from the whip. You feel the very mass of your brain jostle within your skull, a sickening crunch, the vision in that eye going completely dark. Maker, they’re going to kill you if they’re not careful. A terrible sound rips from your throat, something worse than a mere cry, going slack jawed, whacked further into the pit of unconsciousness. One of the others says something to the old Thalassian and turning away from you, she hisses something back. She goes still for a few moments, leaning on her stick heavily once again, the sound of her wet panting breath, and when she seems to have finally collected herself she turns back to you again. In basic she says, “I know what you are. I’ve heard what they’ve been trying to do to your ilk. How they mine you for that sweet little nectar that runs through your veins, through all of us – the Force. There are rumors of you circulating the Outer Rim, did you know? We heard of you and came searching. Received word from our Huttese friends, whispers of a Mandalorian mercenary and his dark pet roaming about the dunes of Jakku, an old gunship spotted lurking where it should not be. We’ve been searching for you, beastie,” she whispers, coming closer to inspect you, voice maniacal with cruel glee. The pain in your face, your head is a numb throb sharpening to acute fire, vision fading and then glowing bright white and burning. Your head, Maker, they’ve knocked it clean off your neck. “There are many clamoring to get their hands on you. Tell me, what does it feel to be whittled down to nothing more than the worth of an invisible and illusory thing? The Force,” voice contemplative and disgusted, all the same. “To be worth nothing more but that unseen ether flowing through your veins. How does it feel to be nothing? Look at you – playing the whore to some Mandalorian brute. Pretty thing…” She pushes back at your shoulder with the butt end of her stick, “Before you went and made me angry. Hmm… perhaps, I shall sell you with that same offering, as well? Would you like that? I wonder what will fetch a higher price, your blood or your cunt.” She laughs and her thugs join around her. You can feel the wide split in your face drooling blood, throbbing in agony, the sound of their raucous and cruel laughter creating a painful symphony above the pounding of your blood in your ears. “A magical whore!” She cackles, flashing her rotting grimace. “Yes, I quite like that idea. Stealing you away from that murderer – mercenaries, the lot of them, those Mandalorians. They hide behind the conflated righteousness of their Creed and their failed history, but they are nothing but another murderous cog in the wheel that would subjugate those of us they deem lesser.” The laughter leaves her suddenly, going serious, and you feel such fear in that single pause of silence. He’s going to

be so angry when he finds you gone, and you– you cannot be enslaved again, you can’t, you won’t. You’ll kill yourself before you allow it. “Monster,” she hisses, “This is nothing worse than what a thing like you deserves after the sort of evil your ilk spread. Imperial slut,” she spits at you, and her saliva lands like a glob of acid on your bare chest, burning. “Grab her. We’re going before her Mandalorian brute returns and kills us for taking his pet.” Her underlings say something in that unknown language, gathering to grip you under the arms and around your ankles, and a frenzy ignites in your heart. Through your broken and torn face you begin to howl, writhing and kicking your legs with as much strength as you can muster despite the broken ribs. “No, no! I will not go!” You screech, getting one in the face. He jerks away and lets your bottom half hit the hard floor with a harsh thud. “Let me go! I will not– I will not go!” You won’t be taken from him, you won’t, you won’t. The one holding your upper half shoves you painfully to the ground, your poor, battered head slamming once again, and another brutal kick lands to your ribs. Maker, you’d not missed beatings like this. The crone begins to scream at them, garbled sounds you can’t make out, and you lay your head on the cold floor. You just need a second to breathe, that’s it. You can endure much, much more than this, it’s only the binders stealing your strength, you just need a moment, and then you’ll fight again or break out of these terrible things and kill them all, but your head, Maker, your head feels as if it’s been split open down the middle. Their yelling reaches a crescendo, an added shrillness to it that was not there before, and then one of the henchmen is toppling painfully over your prone form, a heavy knee to your spine as he lands diagonally over your body, but his weight is instantly ripped away from you. More screaming and oh, the sound of blaster fire, the piercing screams of the old Thalassian, you turn your head slowly, slowly to the side and there, through the bloody and matted strands of your loose hair, that bright and familiar gleam, a flash of burnt red. You bring your manacled wrists slowly up to your chest, hunching into as small a ball as you can make yourself, cradling your broken hand to yourself.

He’s here.

He’s here, it’ll all be okay now.

You let your eyes flutter shut and listen to the Thalassian’s screaming reach a crescendo, and it sounds a little like that long ago familiar sound of flesh tearing from flesh. You don’t want to see. You don’t want to see him commit atrocities in your name. It’s a funny thing, you think, the nature of his violence. He is a Mandalorian, and like the Thalassian had said, yes, perhaps, mercenary, and so it would stand that he is a man who commits violence, but you’d found – Maker, you hurt – you’ve found… that a thing that commits violence is not always also, or at once, a violent thing by nature. The moment makes of us what it needs us to be, but that does not always indicate our true selves. Violence committed in an instant of necessity, the peril of threat, does not always mean that we are bad or violent in our hearts, and Din… your Mandalorian does not have a violent heart. Beneath all of that uncompromising beskar is a soft heart, a good heart. It’s why you–

The scream stops.

No, no, no, no, no– “Look at me, look at me, cyar’ika. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here now. They’re gone, it’s okay.” You’re a crumpled, bloody, broken heap on the ground. He’d left you. He had left you here alone for this to be done to you. There is something hot and terrifying crawling its way up the inside of Din’s chest, searing his throat, turning it to char. He turns you over with all the gentleness he can muster, his shaking hands slippery with blood, the broken, dead bodies littered around the two of you as he pushes your bloody hair from your face and takes in the way they’d savaged you.

And Din– Din feels a fury the likes of which he’s never felt before in his entire life. And in the wake of a sort of fear he’d never experienced previously either, not even at the sight of his child self watching his mother and father murdered, the image of their crumpled and broken bodies becoming smaller and smaller as he was taken away into the unknown by the Mandalorians who’d saved him, it leaves him unbalanced and of tremulous control as he pulls you into his arms. You’re cupping one of your hands strangely in the other, and when he takes your manacled wrists you let out a painful, garbled sound. Your hand is mangled, fingers darkening already and bent sickeningly in incongruous angles, and he wants, very badly, to look away from the sight of your pain. It causes a physical ache inside of him, nausea and fire and thunder, like a blaster bolt to the belly, a knife to the lung. “Look at me, cyare,” and your eye blinks open, the darker of the two, the one that whispers silently at him when he looks at it too long, the other, the bright one like a scream, is too swollen to open, but you, miracle of miracles, for you are a miracle wrapped in the shape of a girl, give him the tiniest of attempted smirks; something like the creation of myth unfolding before him. The side of your face not broken and bleeding, lifting into a crooked little half moon, and bloody smile full of sharp, menacing teeth you croak, “I knew you’d come.”

Din knows in this instant that he is going to love you for the rest of his life. It is not a question, or an uncertainty. It is simply fact. Truth like his Creed, like The Way.

“I’m here. I’ll always come for you,” he tells you in lieu of saying that which sits heavy on his tongue now, which is that he’d let you eat his very heart out of his chest if you so desired it, that he belongs to you intrinsically. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now.” The hand not mangled grips the fabric around his throat and Din feels a sob in the shape of your name build in his chest. The Mandalorian, on the verge of tears. He gently presses you closer, tries to breathe, tries to swallow his howls. They were slavers, he’d marked them from the moment he’d spotted them through the open hatch of the Crest, dropping the long dead bounty he’d found half buried in the sand to sprint towards you. He’d worried about the possibility of this for some time now, the threat of someone coming for you, recognizing what you were, thought he’d prepared for it. Rumors were difficult to avoid or quell and despite his attempts to keep anyone from getting too close to sniff you out, you attracted attention. It was inevitable. Too beautiful, too alive, too alluring. He’d been afraid of something like this happening, and he’d thought the best way to keep you safe was to keep you here, hidden away on his ship, security system set and impenetrable. He’d been a damned fool.

He takes in the sight of your bare limbs, the beginnings of nasty bruising over your naked abdomen. The idea of someone taking you from him, severing his claim, keeping you away from him… and like this, when you were supposed to be safe here in this place the two of you’d made a home of together, while you were bare and waiting for him as he’d left you, when you were still full of his semen, potentially full of his–

He swallows the thought. There are certain things you believe about yourself that Din is doubtful to agree with just yet…

“Take them off,” you whisper up at him, “I’ll–” a pained swallow, “I’ll heal. It’s okay, Din. Don’t be afraid,” you say with such earnestness, a tiny life of an eyebrow, but he is anyway. You shouldn’t be the one telling him not to be afraid right now, split open as you are, but you do anyway, and Din is deathly afraid – of this, of you, of everything, of not being fast enough, strong enough, good enough to protect you, to keep you. Din feels more afraid now than he has ever felt in his entire life.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad,” and at the same time, your words make him so angry. At what life had made you believe, at what the galaxy had made you believe was okay. This is not fucking okay. Seeing you hurt like this is not okay. He moves to gently, as gently as he can possibly be, disengage the binders from around your wrists, careful to not jostle your broken hand too much.

“It’s not okay.” He looks at your mangled face, the blood running into your hairline, your swollen eye, that lovely and luminous eye that makes his heart feel split into a million different pieces, all engraved with the etching of your name, “This is not okay.” And then his gaze lands on the blood splattered gem of your earring. This sight he must close his eyes to, he cannot bear it. That tiny sparkle, the significance of your relationship made material, covered in your own blood and his failure to protect you.

He opens his eyes again to take in your wet gaze, unseeingly staring up at him, dark and fathomless. It shutters closed, long lashes clumped together in the sticky mess of your blood and tears. “It will be. I’ll heal soon. This is not the worst that’s been done to me,” voice thin and reedy, as if you’re embarrassed, ashamed to say the words out loud. As if you recognize them for the travesty they pose. He has to look away, swallow another sob. Din can’t remember the last time he cried, the last time he felt like crying, but he feels it now. Eyes hot and pinched and uncomfortable.

He should have never left you. He will never leave you again.

Wrapping you in the blanket, he makes sure your modesty is covered, and with as much care as he can, takes you in the cradle of his arms and moves you back into your bed.

“Where’s your bounty?” You croak.

“That doesn’t matter now. Rest. I’m going to–”

“Of course, it matters. It’s–” a pained swallow.

“Don’t talk, cyare. It’s okay. We can–”

But you press on, cut him off. “That's the whole reason we came here. We’re not going to let this be a waste.” This being your savaging, split open, almost stolen. Din feels his heart drop down into his stomach. He nods once, swallows, tries to cough up the knot of agony lodged in his throat.

“I dropped it when I saw them. They did something – fucked with the system and deviated the signal so I wasn’t alerted when they broke in. The bounty was already dead. Beacon signal still going. I found him and came straight back – saw the open hatch and knew something was wrong–” You give a soft, pained moan, brow folding into an agonized frown. Maker, he’s not going to survive this. He feels like a fucking coward. Terrified, sick to his stomach, angrier, weaker than he’s ever been in his entire life.

“Slavers. Thalassians,” you whisper, resting your head against his chest plate, broken hand clutched against your chest. “I need you to reset my fingers before they heal wrong.” Fuck, he’s never had a panic attack before, but he worries he might be having one now. He tries to swallow the scream for you, thinks he whispers something like, alright. Shifting you in his lap, he pulls his blood soaked gloves from his hands, and when he reaches for your hand he takes in the tremor of his own fingers, feels a humiliating wash of shame curdle inside of him. He’s a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake, a warrior, and yet the sight of your pain, your hurt, leaves him unraveled, as frightened and green as a child. He has never experienced the dilemma of having someone he– someone that matters, hurt. Carefully propping your back up against his bent knee he pulls you in close so that your hip is tucked up against him, he grasps your wrist tenderly between his fingers, soothes the pad of his thumb against the soft inner slope of your wrist, the webbing of blue beneath the thin skin is comforting somehow, you’re alive. He made it in time, he’s going to fix this, take care of you. “It’s okay, Din,” you whisper again.

A sharp jerk of his chin, “I know. I’m going to make this right.”

He smooths his thumb up the base of your palm, trying to settle, comfort you, the both of you, he rubs a gentle circle into the center, feels you tremble and jerk against him, and he hums low in his throat, a deep sound to remind you that he’s here, he’s got you. “It’s alright, little one. It’s alright, it’s alright,” keeps murmuring low reassurances in your ear, unsure whether they’re more for you or for himself, as his fingers slide up slow and light and grip your ring finger first, grasping it at the base to hold it securely and pulling on the tip to straighten it out, quick and efficient movements, a muted snap. There’s one. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”. Moves to your pinky next, so tiny gripped between his own large, rough fingers. He has to grind his molars together, bite the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. He holds the base of that vulnerable little finger, the fine bone almost nothing beneath his touch and straightens that one too, listens to the hollow pop of the joint righting itself back into place. That one pulls a swallowed screech from your throat, you turn your face sharply away, and he sees your legs shuffle and kick in his periphery, your breathing fast and shallow.

“Hurt– That one hurt,” you choke, and he watches a single tear squeeze out of your swollen eye and make a slow, devastating track down the slope of your mangled cheek, losing itself to the shredded gash.

“What did that to your cheek?” He grits at the same time that he rights your index finger into place, tenses his knee to keep you steady and upright as you jerk. Panting wet breath hiccupping, trying to swallow back your cries for a moment, he cradles your bruised hand in his, wishes he wasn’t wearing this fucking helmet so that he could kiss the back of it, lick your wounds. He feels like screaming.

“A w– a whip.” You don’t turn back to look at him, and Din feels his blood turn to frost. Something so painful moving through his chest he struggles for breath.

“They whipped you in the face?” He looks at the pieces of Thalassian surrounding the two of you and curses himself for killing them so quickly. He should’ve been smarter, more patient, drawn it out. Made them suffer.

“It’s okay–” voice short, tense. “I’ll heal.” Face still turned towards the open hatch and the hot Jakkuian night, he watches another tear fall.

“It doesn’t matter–”

“I’ll heal. I’ll–”

“That doesn't matter–they hurt you. You can be hurt. Just because you can heal, just because you don’t care about what happens to you doesn’t mean that I don’t.” He cups the back of your head, begs you to turn back towards him with his touch. “You being hurt hurts me, do you understand me?” Voice soft as he can make it go, trying to make you see what he’s saying in the only way he thinks will penetrate the fog of your painful history.

And you do turn back at that, finally, thank you, thank you, he can see the edges of the wound start to knit themselves back together. A girl and a miracle and a myth all woven into one. “Do you understand me?” He asks again, cupping your chin, gathering the wet of your freely falling tears now, pressing the pad of his thumb to the corner of your eye.

“No, no, I don’t understand,” face crumpling, you press your forehead beneath the edge of his helmet. They hurt me, they hurt me, you cry over and over, and Din knows that you don’t only mean the Thalassians. He wishes he possessed the hand of the Maker. That he could reach across to the far corners of the galaxy, the most shadowed depths, the blackest pits, and wipe away any speck of darkness that’s ever touched you, anything or anyone that had ever done you harm. He wishes he could give you his very heart as an offering, anything that would settle the sound of your anguish. But then he thinks that an impossible sort of thing, for his very heart is held right here, sobbing in his arms, living on the outside of his chest.

After he insists on you allowing him to spread bacta along your cheek and hand, despite your protestations that it’ll close on its own, that you’re fine, you remind him that his bounty is still lying dead and forgotten out in the sand sea beyond the ship. He goes out to retrieve the pitiful thing, felled by the wrath of Jakku, most likely, and you make an agonized attempt to stand and dress yourself. Your ribs and back ache, the line of your spine feels on the verge of fracture from the last blow you’d taken, and you shuffle about slowly, trying to force yourself to hurry and get yourself covered before he returns, not wanting him to see the extent of the damage done to your ribs and back. You manage to get on a pair of underwear and one of his shirts before he’s stomping back up the gangway, dead bounty slung over his shoulder. He bends to shuck the thing off, the limp body hitting the durasteel with a harsh thud that snaps your mind into focus for a millisecond so that you’re taking in the carnage surrounding you. The release of gas from the carbon freezer sounds around you as you find the old Thalassian – her head seems to have been ripped clean from her neck somehow, you cock your head slowly, taking the sight in. He’s moving about, dragging the pieces of the bodies and chucking them out the hatch, and your mind feels like a piece of elastic snapping far out and away from you, and then shooting back in a painful reverberation, vision going hyper focused, too bright to bear, and then murky, as if viewed through a broken pane of glass. You hear the whirring, metallic shifting of the closing gangway, and your head swoops, belly twisting with nausea. There are pools of blood coagulating thick and disgustingly viscous on the floor, and you reach out for the wall to steady yourself as your blood rushes in your ears, but he’s immediately there, gentle hand to the curve of your waist and the bend of your elbow to pull you to himself. “It’s okay,” he says again. And he keeps saying so, but seeing this, what he’s done for you, something feels distinctly not okay.

You think of the Corellians who’d attacked you all those weeks ago, the Corellians you'd slaughtered for him. And the memory somehow makes the sight in front of you worse, some sort of horror. You’d turned him into you. You’d forced him into repeating your own horrible actions. In a moment of startling, sickening clarity, you’re confronted with the reality that he is only encased in beskar, he is not made of it. And one day they will go through him to get to you. Because there will surely be more, there will surely be another day, another time, another planet; more slavers or dark siders or someone of equally low measure will come for you again, and he can’t protect you forever, nor you him.

This time, please, let it end differently.

It’s all you ever do, you think, beg and plead for a different sort of fate. The duel of the fates, over and over again, but it is only ever you, alone, at odds with destiny itself. Fighting against what must be, what already is, what always has been. Your own sick ouroboros; eternally destroying and recreating yourself and the things around you.

He leads you back to bed, grabs his socks from where they’d lain draped over the warm steam pipe, and you return his own past words to him while he kneels before you, pulls them over your cold feet, looking over his shoulder the world seems inverted, mirrorlike, the black puddles of blood filled with dark mercury. They would have taken you from him. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.” Your voice sounds hollow and cold, unlike yourself.

He pauses his care of you, helmet tipped down, and you wish you could see his eyes right now, you feel, strangely, like you need them, like it would make everything better, more clear and stable. Taking one small foot in hand, he wraps his fingers around the entire thing. “You’re right,” he tells you, and your stomach flips with bile and fear again. “I shouldn’t have had to do it because I never should have let it happen. This is on me. I shouldn’t have left you alone for this to happen.”

You reach for his wrist, wrapping your fingers around the thick of it to feel his pulse beat against your fingertips. Something furious in the fluttering thrum of it; something of a monolith about him, steadfast, unmovable, the strongest thing in the entire galaxy. There’s a tinge of crimson rage swallowing him, and you can tell he’s doing everything in his considerable strength to keep it under reign for your sake; the proof is in the strew of bodies he’d littered the floor of the ship with. “They’ll always come for me, Din. As long as I’m alive, as long as the dark exists, as long as The Force exists they’ll come for me. They’ll never stop.”

The helmet snaps up, the yawning tee of dark transparisteel whispers its rage at you. “Then I’ll make them,” he grits. “I’ll find a way. I’ll protect you. We’re going to fix this. I’m going to fix this.” And you feel so–so strange. So sad. Devastated. The wave of fate swallows you whole, and that dark red thread crumbles to dust. You feel so unbearably sad for the both of you that your tears are renewed. Sad and old and at the end of your line.

And again: A person without a soul cannot cry. And so this must only be proof of the fact that you still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must.

It’s his now. Undoubtedly. Whatever of your soul has bloomed back into life belongs to him now. You bring your trembling fingers up to the face of his shining beskar helmet, warring wishes wrapped into a strange tangle for what you know will not be the last time: that it wasn’t there, that you could have all of him, and, at the same time, that you too had something of such strength and conviction to protect you as his Creed protects him. What a comfort it must be. “I know you will.” Lie.

He goes to initiate takeoff and get the ship into hyperspace after that, and you can hear the uncharacteristic frenzy of his movement echoing in his rushed steps as he flits about the cockpit. Settling into your nest of blankets, you face the wall so you’re not made to look at the mess that’s been left, and when he returns, you listen to the sound of him divesting himself of his armor, the rustle of falling clothes, you can feel his panic now up closer, pressing against the confines of your skin like some living thing, trying to sneak its way into whatever break in you it might find. He was frightened, he is frightened. For you. If you weren’t struck stone cold you’d perhaps laugh at the idea of it, but strange memories flash in your mind, highlighted by painful bursts of bright light behind your closed lids, memories of darkness and pain and being so alone another person, a real person, existing in the entire galaxy seemed too far fetched a thing to be true. The sort of loneliness that forces you to forget that other living things exist. You curl in on yourself, still tucking your now halfway mended hand close to your chest, cupping your other palm over your eyes to hide yourself away. Shocked into a subdued, humming terror. A peripheral thing, the reality that you should be afraid or shaken, and you are, kind of, but interrupted by that memory of similar or much worse things that make this small mishap seem inconsequential in the shadow of all the rest, all the past.

You listen to him move towards the fresher to throw the two of you into darkness, and you panic, “Don’t turn the light off, please,” you murmur, still hidden behind your palm. If you cannot see the world, perhaps the world cannot see you either. “I’m sorry to ask – I won’t look, I promise.”

He pauses, silent for a moment. “Don’t apologize. Don’t. It’s okay. Anything you want.” What you really wish he’d say is that he doesn’t care if you look or not, a selfish and rotten and horrible feeling rolling in after the thought.

He crawls in behind you, sliding up against you bare and burning hot; an entire sun held inside the heart of a single man. He keeps his hands to himself at first, and you enjoy the brush of his chest up against your back on every one of his inhalations, the symphony of his breathing, but eventually he braves the salted earth and passes a gentle hand down the line of your spine.

“What do you need?” His voice is the deepest thing in the entire galaxy, you think. Space has nothing on it.

You press your hand tighter over your eyes. “Nothing.”

“You are strong and capable,” he says after a moment, and you worry you might vomit. “But you don’t always have to be. I don’t want you to have to fight when you’re with me. I only want you to be comfortable and cared for and well. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” barely a sound breathed through the part of your lips. And it takes several hours, but eventually that thing they’d come for, the very thing they’d attacked and tried to take you for, heals you. The Force. What is it to hate the very thing that makes you up, the very marrow of you, the sustenance of your life? Agony, madness, bitter, bitter resentment. Loneliness. To be alone within yourself. Terrible pain. Every bad thing that’s ever come to you throughout your entire life has been done in its name. And you’re angry at the fact, you think. For years and years things were done to you to honor that invisible giant, and it built an anger within you that is incoherent, unidentifiable, inconsolable.

You ache like you’re recently made.

But he holds you so gently while you knit yourself back together, seam by seam, so that the possibility of pain is removed entirely from the equation. He holds you like he loves you, and you want to ask him if he does, if he thinks he could ever love a thing like you, even if you do not deserve it. Even if he does not deserve it.

You fold it away instead.

Tell me, what does it feel to be whittled down to nothing more than the worth of an invisible and illusory thing? To be worth nothing?

Like spitting salt through an open wound, the agonized phantasma of an amputated limb.

You’re nothing.

And Din? He’s everything.

From behind your hiding spot you tell the quiet: “Sometimes it feels like I haven’t been happy my whole life. But I know I feel it with you. I want you to know that.”

“Do you?” His hand slides up the line of your vertebrae to cup the back of your neck, and you tremble beneath his heat, as if he were anointing you with the power of a sun.

“Yes.” You wish you had the courage to say more, to say everything. A real confession, the cutting sort: I was made to be nothing more than a weapon, but now I am a human, now I am alive. Now I am only myself. And I hurt, and I wish I were a girl again: only half savage, unmarred and free. But despite all of this, I am still only yours.

“I know already.”

Cyar’ika. Cyar’ika.

And so what does it matter if you hurt when he calls to you so sweetly? And yet, a quiet and unused part of you whispers back that it should not be so, that the thought is not quite right. Focus, focus, call them growing pains if you must. Focus only on him. And you realize that there is something about him that makes you fragile in the face of his strength, for some reason and most importantly, in a way that you like, in a way that is appealing to you like nothing else you’ve ever experienced before. Something that tells you that you need him to be strong in ways you’ve never had or needed to be strong before, a strength that is soft, something that is unyielding for the vulnerability you allow yourself with him. You can’t understand it.

“And I will let you take care of me.”

“I’m going to. This means something,” he says very quietly, the words bouncing off the back of your neck, and you know it is true. “This means something.”

It does. Everything. The two of you mean something together.

You finally turn to face him again, eyes closed, seams more securely knitted together and press your forehead to the notch of his throat, cracking your eyes open to look down at the expanse of his abdomen. You run a flat palm down his belly, feel the strength of him. If there is nothing else, perhaps, there can be Din.

“Close your eyes,” he threads his fingers through the back of your hair, “Let me kiss you,” and you feel your heart break and melt into desperation all at once. You press your eyes shut tightly and tip your face up towards him, parted mouth and bated breath, ready to receive the taste of him. He licks into you, pulling a moan from your belly and onto his waiting tongue, and you wish there was something more you could give him, something deeper, more significant that could translate all you feel for him. “I need you to forgive me,” he licks the words into your skin. “I need you to tell me you forgive me for letting this happen.”

“Don’t say that. There’s nothing to forgive. There’s nothing–”

“I should’ve been more careful. Smarter, more prepared. We shouldn’t have wasted time in that fucking desert for so long.” But you’d distracted him, kept him from going out, seeing to his responsibilities.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you say again, tipping your head back to bear your throat for him.

He licks a line up the slope, tasting your pulse, the proof you’re still alive. Plants a kiss at the hinge of your jaw and then presses his forehead there. “I’ve failed you,” he whispers.

“Din, listen to me, listen to me. You could never do that. Never. Do you understand me?” If he only knew all you’ve not told him, all the ways in which you’ve failed him. You’re sure he’d see you in a very different light.

“It’s not going to happen again,” he promises, and you’ve not the heart to tell him again that they’ll never stop. That the life of a hunted creature is the only sort of existence you could ever live. You pull his mouth back to yours, kiss him with a renewed fervency. If you cannot give him anything more you’ll put everything you have into this.

“Just kiss me, please,” you beg, twining your arms around his neck and opening to him. He drags his mouth along the inner slope of your bicep, ending at the dip of your elbow and laving his tongue at the sensitive dip. Gripping the bend of your knee he hitches it against his hip and rolls the two of you over. Settling between the cradle of your thighs, he levers himself up off you, careful not to demand you bear his full weight, and finally, you feel ready for the dark again. With a single thought you submerge the two of you into the almost dark again, a weak stream of light coming from the fresher, rattle of the Crest moving through hyperspace sounding around you. He prepares you to take him softly, slowly, with intention. The gentle pad of his thumb to the slick seam of your cunt, parting your folds to get to the wellspring of your desire for him. A single finger and then another hooked against that place inside of you that seems now branded with his ownership over you. Nothing like this has ever existed, and you press the thought into his mind as he tastes your tongue, brings you to orgasm for him with slow and exploring fingers, the slick slide of his thumb over your swollen clit, and the whisper of your name to the shell of your ear. When he feeds his cock into you, slowly, so that you’re made to feel every curve and ridge and then meeting the end of you, so deep you can’t tell where he ends and you begin, it brings tears to your eyes and all sorts of confessions to your tongue that your more rational mind knows should be kept in the shadows. But very like the sun, he shines a light on all the dark and derelict parts of you better left unseen.

When you come for a second time, thick cock splitting you in half, there’s a screaming desperation for more urging you on. “Remind me–” you beg him.

“Of what? What do you need?”

“That I’m yours. That I belong to you. That I’m alive.”

“Do you need reminding of that?” He squeezes your bottom, presses you tighter to himself, his wet mouth sliding against the slope of your shoulder. “Don’t you know always? No matter what?”

“Yes.” Soft, soft, soft, but you don’t need it like this – you need it more– “Remind me anyways.”

You’re as close as can be, but he tells you anyway: “Come here, come here. I’m going to take care of you.” He pulls out, a wet and sucking sound, and turns you in his arms so you’re back to belly, and pulls you open again, thigh thrown over his hip. He runs his hands over the hills and contours of you, cups and squeezes your breasts, rough fingertips softly at your nipples, and you feel your cunt clench and gape, hungry for filling. He cups you over that soaked, ravenous place, slides his hand back and forth over the wet, swollen mess, and then further back, his fingers pressing and prodding gently at your ass. “I’ll have you here now, little one. Yes?” All you can do is nod back against his shoulder where your head is propped, a tightening so intense it’s almost painful strangling your throat, your heart, your cunt. Nothing more than a knot of abandoned want. A thing that doesn’t know how to take without devouring, and you do, you want to devour him. You think he might even let you. He presses a slow finger into the knuckle, and you go tight, bearing down around the invasion, spitting his name out in the shape of a wail into the quiet hull.

“It’s alright,” he gently thrusts that probing finger, hooking and wriggling it. Making space within to fuck you open on his cock. “You’re so tiny here, little thing. But you’re going to take me so well. I know you are.” He pulls his finger out entirely, and then there are two pressing back in as slow as possible, petting first, stretching second. “How’s that? How does that feel, my sweet girl?”

“I don’t– I don’t know,” moaning and shifting, trying to plead for more with little hitched arcs of your hips. “More, please.”

“You want my cock?”

“Yes–”

“How badly do you want it? Tell me–” He twists his wrist, stretching, claiming, all while the hill of his palm rubs against your cunt, so wet you can hear the slick sound of its desperation echo in the quiet.

“So badly,” you moan and sob, “More than anything.” He pulls his fingers from you and grips the root of his cock, fat head at your ass and starts to press in slowly, slowly, stretching you open around the incredible girth of him. Your breath comes in puffs and gasps, an unbearable heat flushing through your body, pulsing in your face and swirling in your belly, tightening the tips of your breasts into painful knots. You moan out his name, please for more, for harder, for faster until he’s buried to the root and you’re strangled into a hiccuping silence. Overwhelmed and overwrought by the feel of him buried in your ass so deeply. There’s no space for anything else inside of you, stretched to the brim and so full you can barely breathe. He’s everywhere. Gripping your hip you feel his breath against your cheek, the sweating, curling hair around your ear ruffled as he pants and groans, gritting his teeth and rumbling deep in his chest as he starts to thrust slowly into you.

“How’s that?” Voice strangled. His other hand comes around to thrum gently at your clit, the swollen mass of bundles pulsing with each punch of his hips. Your cunt leaks down to where the two of you are joined, and he picks up his pace, fucking up into you harder, faster, that strumming thumb flicking more quickly. He flattens his fingers against you, rubs at the length of your leaking sex, and you’re beyond words. Impaled and cock drunk. All you can give in return is an approximation of his moaned name, and he gives a quick, sharp slap to the top of your mound. “I want you to tell me how it feels,” voice ragged, almost broken. You tighten almost impossibly at his roughness, clenching down around him so he’s gasping, shocked ah, ah, ah’s, ending on a ragged groan. He brings his forehead to your shoulder, and you listen to his overwhelmed sounds. The first time you think you’ve heard him so close to the precipice of losing control. “Most perfect fucking ass in the entire galaxy,” he grits. All mine, mine, fucking mine.

“Feels–” His fingers resume their exploration of your cunt, “Feels so– so good,” your voice is nothing but agony made pleasure.

“Yeah? Feels good?” The sound of his hips slamming against your ass, wet and lewd, the press of his heavy balls to the round of your bottom. “What about this?” He begins to slowly press two fingers into your gaping, grasping cunt, and oh, it’s too much, your orgasm hits like an exploding star, singing all coherent thought along the way. You feel your pussy gush, go tight as a knot, and he snarls at the curve of your ear, bites down on the line of your shoulder, not halting the thrusting of his fingers inside of you. “Fuck, yes–fucking come for me. Come for me while I fuck your ass–”

“No–no, I can’t anymore, please, I can’t,” you cry.

“You can–you can. I know you can. My fierce little cyar’ika, soft only for me. Aren’t you?”

And how can you deny a man such as this anything. One that holds you so, one that fucks you like he loves you. You’ll lie to yourself, like so many other lies you tell, and pretend that this is the touch of love, that it’s something you deserve. His fingers, his cock are ruthless within you and they force another soaked orgasm out of you, shaky and weak, before he’s following suit, fucking the searing heat of his spend deep inside of you. He rolls you over onto your belly, levers himself up over you and slows his thrusts until you feel the last spurt of his cock kick inside of you, the low reverberations of his pleasure sounding from his chest. When he pulls out he spreads you apart, thumbs at your swollen skin. “It gapes so pretty for me,” he murmurs as he plays with the milky white drool, smears it into your slick, stretched skin. “This is how you should always be, covered in my come, beautiful thing.” All you can do is bury your burning hot face in the blankets.

When the two of you have finally settled later, cleaned yourselves up, and he’s made sure you’ve had enough water and a snack, when your panic has gone dormant, you remember your earlier request. A sniffle, and then voice broken and wet, just for added insurance: “You’ll get me my loth cat now, won’t you?”

A long suffering sigh, but he squeezes you tighter to his chest, presses a kiss to the crown of your head you feel sizzle all the way down to the tips of your toes. “I’ll get you anything you want, anything.” You smile into his skin, a miracle all of its own, that after everything he still provides you the ability to smile.

But later, right before he falls off the precipice of consciousness into the ebony deep and serene lake of sleep, you whisper into the thrum of his life force right at his neck: “We will take care of each other, won’t we?” Again – the both of you, together.

“Always,” he says, and it rings with such promise, in a way you know only someone such as he could swear, and you’ve always been a liar, but you do not want this to be a lie.

This time, please, let it end differently.

Chapter VII

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sanyu-thewitch05 · 1 year

Note

I got this Yandere imagine that's based on The Heathers from the Heathers musical:

Honestly never told anyone about this before but this fandom does need more appreciation

So we got Darling who's meek and shy,but she's smart and overall a good student, though she can't say she hates the jocks,she would rather not associate with them. Until the main Jocks trio in the school took notice of her,specifically their leader,Hunter

Let's say Hunter is a dominant man,he just suddenly show up more in front of her after she helped him with a school project

Sure he thinks nerds are boring but Darling is an exception,like she's a introverted,unsociable girl but she takes no shit from others

Hunter thinks Darling is very cute and she needed a makeover~

After the makeover, Darling did like her new look,it got some guys to catcall her which is annoying but it wasn't that bad. She still didn't like the jocks much,she only hanged out with Hunter afterwards bcuz of the favour

However,Hunter started to get more touchy, putting his arm on her shoulder or her waist,she even heard the rumors of her being his girlfriend. She decided to avoid Hunter so as not to take it any further

Hunter didn't like it at all, why is she walking to another guy and talk to him when she should've gotten to him like the good girl she is?!!! She shouldn't talk to some stupid unimportant guys!!!

Hunter is rich and famous,his family owns a big company and he's the future CEO. As his future wife,she should get close to him instead of other guys

He couldn't bare the obvious intentional ignorance towards him so one day he just dragged her into a classroom and snapped at her

He said how she belongs to him and she shouldn't even think of leaving him,she won't escape even when they graduate and go to college, because he will attend as the same college as hers. Things got sexually heated there, I'll leave that part to you

Let's just say afterwards,Darling has to be the obedient girlfriend to Hunter. He even force her to sit on his laps right in the school cafeteria to show up his good little honey and no guys should lay hands on her cuz she's his

Sorry, this took so long to answer. I’m out of school for Labor Day weekend.

All characters in my works are 18+

TW: Noncon, stalking, dubcon, catcalling, sexual harassment

Oh God, not again. Here they come.

It was only the third month of school, and everything was going great so far. You were getting A's and even joined the local majorette team. That's when everything went downhill. For some reason, Heath and Henry were at the town's Halloween festival. The best friends of Hunter McClaire. The best football player in school. They were also the best quarterbacks in school. You were on the angel side of the team, and your white uniform glittered in the moonlight. Not only that, but the white boots helped add to your dance routine. You were squatting down, preparing to do a death drop, and then you saw Heath and Henry. Their smiles made you sick. You continued the routine as usual and quickly walked away once finished. You tried to avoid them, but they stopped you as you walked home.

"Hey, Angel! Where are you going?" Heath catcalled, following close behind you.

"Home," You hissed, walking faster.

"Oh, don't be like that. We enjoyed the performance. I wish you showed more of that ass around the school. I honestly didn't think you had any good qualities besides your brain," Henry commented, making you growl.

"Listen, jackass! Leave me alone before I rip your nutsacks out!" You yelled, finally facing them.

"Ok! Ok! Ok! We'll leave you, nerd girl," Heath says, stopping at the sidewalk to watch you walk away.

They focused on your butt and smirked.

"God, I wish I could tap that ass," Henry murmured, hiding his boner.

It only got worse when you went to school after that. Hunter was there asking for your help on a history project.

"Look, if this is something Heath and Henry told you, please don't tell anyone. I just want to stay out of the spotlight and graduate," You said, trying to walk away from Hunter.

"Uh, they haven't told me anything like that. Anyway, I came to ask for help on my 20th-century history project. I got assigned the topic of fashion, and Henry and Heath said you might be able to help," Hunter said, sitting next to you.

"Fine, I'll help you," You begrudgingly agreed, tying your hair up.

For two nights, the two of you worked on Hunter's project. When he turned it in, he got an A+ and even brought his grade in history class a couple of points. As a thank you, Hunter gave you a makeover. You thought you looked fine, but you'll accept the spa treatment and new clothes any day. Wearing the jeans that hugged your ass and the lace corset top to school earned you unwanted remarks from other students. But it wasn't that bad.

You went about your school day and made friends with Hunter. Surprisingly, Hunter and you got along pretty well. You didn't like Hunter's friends. But you didn't hate them either. After a week, Hunter started to get more touchy. His hands roamed your back, his arm always around your shoulder. It even got to the point where rumors were swirling around that you were dating. You couldn't deal with it anymore, so you decided to avoid Hunter for a while, which is how you got into this current predicament.

"Hey," Hunter greets, sitting next to you at lunch.

You ignore him and continue eating your food.

"Why are you ignoring me? What did I do?" Hunter says, his arm around your waist. "Is it because you didn't like the panties I set you? They seemed like your style."

You didn't say anything, but Henry puts a hand on your thigh to make you pay attention to Hunter. His thigh moves towards your crotch, and you pack up your stuff. You get up, throw your tray away, and leave for your next class. You did the same routine of avoiding Hunter and his friends for the next two weeks.

"Charles, are you ready for the next book club?" You ask your tall, freckle-faced, white, black-haired friend.

"You bet! I'm so glad you joined! Are you sure you can handle it while being on the majorette team?" Charles asks, closing his locker.

"I'll be fine. Besides, my practice starts at 6 pm. Book club should be over by then," You respond, smiling at Charles.

"Cool! I'll see you later!" Charles exclaims, hugging you.

You reciprocate the hug and wave goodbye to Charles. Unbeknownst to you, a furious Hunter is watching you.

"Damn, dude! You're practically breaking the wall," Henry laughs, looking at his friend.

"Why is she even talking to him?! Sure, she's a nerd, but she's not fucking boring like the rest of them! Not only that, but it's Charles! The dude who can't even throw a dodgeball straight! Why talk to him of all people!" Hunter rants, punching the wall and glaring at you.

"You need to do something, Hunter. Soon enough, she'll be spending all her time with him and none with you," Heath comments, looking at your smile.

"You're right. I'll show her I'm the right choice. She'll have no choice but to see it," Hunter replies, secretly following after you.

You walk by an empty classroom and get pushed inside. You fall to the floor and hear the door lock.

"Don't even try to scream for help. Heath and Henry gave me the keys and are currently erasing the security footage," Hunter says, twirling the keys around his index fingers.

"Hunter, what the hell?" You yell, rubbing your butt and standing up.

Hunter picks you up and places you on top of a desk. He strokes your cheek and puts a strand of hair behind your ear. Hunter suddenly roughly kisses you and holds your body still. You try to get away, but Hunter is too strong. He grabs your hair and forces you to bend over onto the desk.

"Hunter, what are you doing?" You scream, squirming in his hold.

"You need to understand. You're mine!" Hunter growls, fiercely spanking your ass. "Always mine! You! Belong! To! Me"

"Oh! Ouch! Aw!" You groan between each spanking.

Hunter suddenly flips you over and lets go of your hair.

"Strip. Now," Hunter commands, pulling out his dick.

"I-"

"NOW!"

You whimper and slowly strip your clothes.

"Now then, you'll strip a piece of clothing for every sentence I say. You're lucky I'm taking it easy on you and speaking slowly. Got that?"

You nod your head, but this only irritates Hunter more.

"I need verbal confirmation," Hunter barks, grabbing a ruler and slamming it on the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Hunter!" You squeal, trying not to collapse to the floor.

"Good."

Hunter pulls up a chair and sits in while stroking his cock.

"Now, let's begin. You are my girlfriend, and you belong to me.”

You take off your shirt.

"Don't even think of leaving me because we'll always be together! Even during college when we go to the best Ivy League school! And don't even try to apply to some small liberal arts school because we both know we can do better!"

You quickly take off your bra and shorts.

"I'm rich. I'll inherit my father's company and become CEO. I'll take care of you as my future wife," Hunter finishes, watching you strip your panties, socks, and shoes. "Come closer. I need to teach you how to serve me."

You walk to him, and he pushes you down to his crotch.

"You know what to do," Hunter says, rubbing your head softly.

You put his cock into your mouth, intimately licking the body part. Hunter shivers, and soon, you're both high on pleasure.

"Oh, yes~ Suck it more! Earn hubby's cum!" Hunter moans, pushing your head up and down on his dick.

You kiss the base of his cock, and he spills his seed all over you. Some of it ends up on your face, and most of it ends up in your mouth. You stand up and try to leave, but Hunter grabs your hand.

"I thought you only wanted me to suck you off?" You question forcibly straddling Hunter.

"If I only wanted a blow job, I would only want your shirt off. I want more," Hunter says, pulling his pants down. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

Hunter kisses your cheek and puts a condom on. You hold onto him for support. He sticks his dick into you and moans, throwing his head back.

"Oh, baby!" Hunter moans, making a slow but steady thrust pattern.

Your breath hitches as pleasure flows through your body. Hunter kisses your lips, and you start to melt into each other.

"Faster!" You moan, barely holding onto Hunter.

Hunter immediately follows your plea and starts thrusting faster. You both moan like crazy and eventually, you yell that your climax is coming.

"I'm cumming too!" Hunter yells, rapidly thrusting into you a couple more times. "Hah!"

Hunter cums into you, and you shiver. You relax onto Hunter's chest and let him rub your back.

"So, can I still go to book club?" You ask, looking into Hunter's green eyes.

"Nope. You're staying with me for a while," Hunter replies, smacking your ass in response to your question.

~~~~~~~~

"Yo! Dude, how's the relationship with your darling?" Henry asks, high-fiving Hunter as he sits next to him during lunch.

"Pretty good. I taught her a lesson, and now we're the perfect couple," Hunter replies, sitting you on his lap. "Charles won't even go near her."

"Hunter, please," You say, feeling his boner.

"Oh, sorry, darling. You're going have to deal with this dick for a long time," Hunter replies, kissing your cheeks. "Keep complaining, and I'll have to make sure you'll know to appreciate it."

You are stuck with him. Forever, and ever, until the day you die.

#asks #inspired by heathers #yandere jock #yandere smut #yandere noncon #yandere dubcon

252 notes · View notes

chelleztjs18 · 1 year

Text

I Just Feel You (W.M)

Avenger Fem Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: When things go downhill after a mission but revelations arise.

Warning: hurt/comfort. pain description. Let me know if i miss anything.

A/n: Hello! I'm back. This fic is from 2 requests combined. I tried to write it as short and fast as i can but turns out it wasnt that easy. hahaha. I didn't really proof read this fic so i'm sure there'll be some errors in it. Thank u @honey-sweet-hiraeth for helping me brainstorming. Thank u my curious george anon for the summary line. :D Thank you @stonemags for helping me checking and give me some corrections. These are the requests for this fic. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist

The snow surrounding is mostly untouched. The further it is and the higher it is up to the mountain, it looks all perfectly sparkling white. Silence dominates the air.

That was a little while ago, before you and your Avengers team mates came to attack one of Hydra secret labs and warehouses and the fight has been on for a while.

The sounds of gunshots, the screaming Hydra's army try to fight all of you and even some explosions are now breaking the silence.

“Okay, we already got all the vibranium they have here. Everybody try to get back to the jet now.” Steve instructs everybody through the comms.

“I still need to go into their computer system in the north building to hack the bomb that they set in Sokovia's main city.” Stark explained as he flies in the air at high speed.

"What about the detonator? One of Strucker's guys has it and he's running away with it to the east side." Natasha reminds everybody followed by a grunt as she fights the enemies in front of her.

"Somebody needs to get him before they blow it as their plan." The blonde super soldier directs his thoughts in the middle of throwing his shield at the gunman who tries to shoot him. “I can go to where the detonator at as soon as I’m done moving the vibranium to the jet. “ Pietro offers his help as he runs super speed, knocking down three more Strucker’s guards.

“Y/n, why don’t you teleport there?” Yelena mentioned.

“I got Strucker locked in my target. I’m ready, Cap.” Clint informs through the com while pulling his arrow back and ready to shoot as he waits for his cue on the west part.

“Yelena’s right. I can teleport to get the detonator. I’m almost done with this big guy here.” You agreed and fought the last tough enemy you got in your assigned part of the building.

“No, y/n. Your power is new, you don’t have the control on teleporting where you want to go yet.” your girlfriend reminds you about your new power.

“No, don’t worry, Wands. I have been practicing with Yelena and I have been controlling it pretty good.” you disagree. “Y/n, don’t listen to my sister. Listen to your girlfriend.” Natasha backs up her best friend, Wanda.

“Y/n, don’t do it. I will fly to him now.” Wanda tries to leave you no room to argue no more.

“Wanda’s right, y/n.” Tony sided with your girlfriend as well and just like that, the comms line gets chaotic with the team agreeing and disagreeing with the plan while fighting whoever comes in front of them, kicking their ass.

“Trust me, y/n has been doing good. It’s about time to try it in the real field. What worse can happen right?” Yelena expresses her support for you.

“She can get hurt! Y/n, you better not do it!” Wanda warns you in a stern tone this time.

“Cap, what do you wanna do with this bastard? A helicopter just landed, he’s running away. Shoot him now?” The archer asks once more. Your and your teammates' voices overlap each other.

“Yeah, shoot him.” Steve answers.

“I’m gonna do it now.” you decide despite Wanda’s warning.

Clint let go the arrow, targeted the running Strucker and just like Wanda said, you showed up in the opposite direction you wanted.

You gasp as you feel Clint’s arrow force through your upper abdomen near your ribs, luckily the new technology on your suit managed to block his arrow before it hits your vital organ. It was impressive but it hurts you good. “Wait, y/n! What the hell just happened?! Clint asks in such shock and confusion of what he saw from the top of the hill.

"I just got hit by your arrow, Clint. Fuck! That hurts." You tried to get up but you couldn't.

Confident that none of the Avengers are close enough to get him now, Strucker noticed what happened and looked down at the wounded you now. “Ah, I remember you. You finally got your power. Teleporting, not bad. I’ll come back for you, to finish what I started on you.”

His heavy voice in a malicious evil tone made its way to be heard by you causing fear to show up out of nowhere in you. Your body starts to shake a little and you feel colder than a few seconds ago. Your legs weakened from your trauma. Vivid images of memories flash rapidly, sending shivers to your bones. You were one of Hydra’s experiments before The Avengers saved you and recruited you to join them.

The wound makes it hard for you to move and all you can do is respond to him in agony. “No, you won’t! We will get your ass, Strucker! And stop you from doing more experiments on those poor people, you son of a bitch!”

“Can anybody go where they are? Clint, can’t you shoot more arrows?” Tony talks in concern.

“That was my last one.”

“I’ll take care of y/n.” The Maximoff twins said the same things at once.

Strucker didn’t say anything else and walked away shortly after he left with a confident smirk on his face to get onto the helicopter.

Pietro and Wanda came at the same time but too bad Strucker got away.

You hear a thud as Wanda lands. "Detka, what were you thinking?? You are hurt now." She sounds upset as she leans to you to check your wound.

"Hey, Wands. I'm okay. Don't worry. Ouch!" You replied as you flinched when the red magic tendrils wrap you and lift you up.

"Come on, ya goose. We gotta make sure you are okay before my sister gets mad at you." the silver haired twin teases you, knowing how angry Wanda is right now. He knows how protective and possessive she is of you.

"Love, are you mad at me?" You ask as you are floating into the quinjet as everybody else is already waiting in silence, they know better not to say anything when Wanda is furious.

“Not now, Y/n. We’ll get you first aid at the compound first, then I’ll talk to you.” Flat yet irritated was the red haired witch’s tone. You can see Natasha hit her sister’s arm as soon as she tries to talk to avoid more tension that she caused earlier.

“We’ll be at the compound soon in less than an hour.” Clint announced.

_____

Big thanks to Stark’s technology inventions, your wound will get better faster than usual. Wanda walks out of the meds room as soon as you are done and scurries to your shared bedroom. You try to catch up with her steps. “Wands, are you mad? You didn’t say a word to me the whole flight back” She ignores your question and keeps walking. You keep following her.

As soon as she walks into the bedroom, she slams the door before you even get the chance to get in. You open the door and walk in. “Seriously? Slamming the door? What’s your problem, Wanda? What did I do?”

She turns around to you and glares at you before she finally breaks her silence. “What the hell were you thinking?! Teleported when you can’t control it yet! You could’ve died, y/n!”

”But I didn’t, did I?” Trying to loosen up the tension, you joke around a little bit but oh boy you realized it was not the smartest thing to do right now. Wanda’s annoyance flares and she simmers with anger. “You seriously did not just say that, y/n! Argh! You never take anything serious, don't you? You don't take me seriously, or our relationship or even your life! I thought you would change but I was wrong." she snapped. Her voice started to raise. Her heart pounding and her muscles quivering.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Where the hell did all of that come from? I don’t take you seriously? And our relationship? Wands, I’m committed to you. You said that you thought I would change? change to what? You never mention anything about this. You are all over the place now babe.” You responded as confusion showed up in your face.

“Oh don’t you babe me, y/n! I’m not all over the place!” Wanda refuses your words after stopping herself from walking back and forth. Tension is for sure escalated.

“Oh yes you are. First you didn’t talk to me in the quinjet, then you got mad because I was being reckless in the mission and then about me not being serious and never changing? What the hell?!” you added.

"You are childish, y/n. You know that, everybody knows that. " Wanda keeps arguing back at you. Rage bottled up inside her.

"I am younger than you but I'm not childish! What did you mean everybody knows that?" You deny her upsetting words wholeheartedly. "Well, if you weren't childish, you would’ve not listened to Yelena and teleported then get shot with Barton’s arrow! You always put your life in danger! You didn’t care about yourself or me.” Both you and Wanda start to yell at each other.

Anger clouded the two of you and mixed feelings slowly built up. “Always?” You genuinely ask but to Wanda, it’s like gasoline to her fire of rage.

“Yes! Always. You seriously forgot you almost got killed when you tried to kill the giant alien by yourself just so you can win your stupid bet with Yelena?! You know what, y/n, I’m dating you but I feel like I’m more babysitting you and I’m sick of it! I can't do this anymore." Wanda rambles in frustration as both her hands shoves her hair back off her face.

Your heart drops when you hear the last words she said. Tears start to pool in your eyes but you try hard to keep it in and swallow the lump in the back of your throat. "W-what did you mean? Are you breaking up with me?"

This time it was Wanda's stomach turn to churn hearing your question. She is as speechless as you are and doesn't know how to answer you but unfortunately, her silence was enough for you. WIthout saying a word, you walk away from you and proceed to pack your backpack.

The now bewildered Sokovian twin looks at you and asks “Y/n, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here. Apparently, you need some time to think and so am I. I’m going for a walk. Do not wait up.” You answered with a shaky tone, avoiding any possible eye contact to happen as you pick your pace filling up your backpack with your clothes and belongings.

"Do not wait up? So you are not coming home? Where are you going to stay tonight? Y/n, don’t go." Wanda rambles her questions while trying to hold back her tears and anger at the same time..

"Natasha is staying at her parents house. So I'll stay there and hang out to clear my mind." You answered and in a split second, it turns Wanda’s sadness back to anger again.

"Oh I see. Yelena is there too. That's why you are going there tonight, right?" Another accusation forcing its way out through Wanda's words.

"What are you talking about? I'm going there to think and talk with my best friend, Nat and also for you to have your space to rethink what you just said. I'm starting to think, what is the main issue here? Is it about you being overprotected, about me being childish, or what?"

You wait for her answer but Wanda’s lips are shut. She refused to say what her main issue was. “I guess we both really need some time to calm down so we can discuss this together.” You quickly turn your head away from her so she wouldn’t see your tears and with heavy footsteps you leave Wanda alone.

_____

The next morning, Wanda looks for you as soon as she wakes up. She rushes to any room in the compound yet she has no luck in finding you.

Her steps bring her to the dining room, hoping that you are there having breakfast with the other teammates like usual. She catches the two Russian sisters in her eyesight instead of you. Her heart shakes and her stomach churns. Her instinct tells her something is not right.

“Nat, where is y/n?” puzzled yet alarmed, the brunette Avengers asks the redhead.

“I don’t know. Why? Didn’t you two go to your room together after we got back last night? Wands, is everything okay?” Natasha answers in perplexion. Her eyebrows furrowed.

“We uh had some argument last night and she said she needs space to think so she told me she was going to your parent’s place last night because you were there.” Wanda explains while avoiding eye contact with Yelena. Her throat feels thickened.

“No, I didn’t get any text or call from her and she didn’t come to see me either.” concern starts to rise inside both Natasha and Wanda.

“That’s weird, she didn’t answer my text last night and this morning. Did you try to call her yet?” Yelena chimes in.

A quick deep glare from Wanda goes straight to Yelena. “I’m still not talking with you because of yesterday.” Wanda responds coldly.

“Wait, what–” Yelena quickly questioned Wanda’s statement but was interrupted by Natasha right away. Natasha understands her best friend's reasoning on getting mad at Yelena.

“I’ll inform the others to start searching for her. Something is off.” Wanda nods at the idea as three of them get up and start doing what they know what should do next.

_____

Like an hourglass that is almost running out of its sand in it, the hours of the day are almost over. All the Avengers have been doing their part to find you but they still got no luck until this second. Wanda has been worried sick. Tony has been doing the best he can to hack anything he could to track you.

“Barton, did you find anything?” Steve asks Clint from the comm who is looking for you from an aerial view in the helicopter. “None, Captain.” Clint answers right away.

“I’m sure it’s all Hydra’s doing. Clint told me that Strucker talked to her before he ran away that day.” Wanda lets out her thoughts, her eyes red from crying for you.

“Not to mention she was one of his experiments.” Natasha added.

“Why doesn’t she at least try to teleport?” Yelena asks genuinely in confusion and gets another sharp stare from Wanda, as sharp as a dagger.

“Strucker probably use this thing that can block our power or weaken it if it’s put on around our neck. They put them on Wanda and I before and trust me, that thing hurts a lot..” The speedster Maximoff twins explains as he recalls the traumatic past of theirs.

“Then it will be hard to find her, we gotta hurry up so we won’t be too late.” Iron Man adds with a concerned tone.

Everybody forces their brain to think so they can find a way to get you back. Silence roaming around at the compound, Wanda’s heart wrenched and her body leaden. She keeps thinking and thinking but then she remembers one thing. One thing that only you and Wanda know about.

“I know a way to find her. I will try to telepathically communicate with her.” Wanda breaks the silence and everybody turns their heads to her instantly.

“Y/n can telepath?” The blonde captain asks.

“She has telepathy power this whole time and she didn't tell us?” The Stark company CEO looks surprised.

“We weren’t sure if it was a new power she developed or not. We thought it was more of a connection we have. She didn’t want to tell everybody until she was sure and knew how to use it.” Wanda backs you up with her response as tears roll down on her cheeks..

“Boys, that’s totally understandable. I’m sure she would eventually tell us about it. Now, Wanda, can you try it now? Try to feel, or talk to her or whatever you can do with it? We need it, to save your girlfriend.” Natasha endeavors in cutting the conversation short, leading them to focus on the most important thing. Her green eyes locked with Wanda’s as she holds the side of Wanda’s arms and tells her to start trying to feel or sense where you are at but mostly, if you are still alive.

With that, the brunette witch nods and she closes her eyes, focusing her mind on you.

_____

You were woken up with a huge splash of ice cold water to your face and a heavy voice startled you at the same time.

“Wake up! You call yourself an Avengers but you keep passing out and can’t handle the pain?” A mocking laugh and tone echoes. You slowly open your eyes, your vision is blurred as your eyes are adjusting with the bright light from the lamp above you.

Intense aching claws every single of your nerves. You flinch from the pain on your neck when you move your head to look around. You realized you are still at the same dark underground facility with the last time you were at. You have lost count how many times you passed out from the torment you are experiencing in just one night.

You are still sitting on a chair with your wrists and ankles are all tied up to it. You weakly try to get yourself out of it but it was all in vain.

“Let me go!” You demand with the last bit of the energy you have left. Your lungs painfully try to get some air for your whole body. A mix of blood, sweat and water flows from your head and rolls over your face.

“I told you, I will come back for you.” A familiar bone chilling male voice with a thick accent made its way to be heard. You know whose it is. All the coldness in the air wakes every little hair on your skin, the smells around you, the stinging pain forcing most of your pores and Strucker’s voice definitely takes the role as if it’s a time machine that brings you back to your traumatic life history.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” You grunt in agony.

“You and your power. I made you, I gave you the power you have now so you will serve Hydra but you joined the Avengers instead and that pissed me off!.” a hard slap lands on your cheek and jaws.

You spit the blood from your busted lips. With the last drop of vigor you have in you, you try to teleport but shortly you scream in such agitation from the collar electrocutes your neck and you hear Strucker’s maniac laugh as if he is enjoying what he sees and hears.

“Aw, where are you trying to teleport? You can’t run away from me again.This collar can prevent you from using your power.” A fake sympathy wrapped with a mocking tone flows between his words.

The tall man turns his back on you and yells a command in a foreign language you don’t understand and shortly after that, you are injected with a substance that brings out a lot more affliction in your body.

In a split second, your whole life flashes in front of you. Your sad childhood, your painful past after Hydra kidnapped you for the first time, the time you joined the Avengers and the time you saw Wanda’s green eyes that made you fall for her hard and helplessly.

Vivid images of her smiles parading in your mind with her laughter filling up your memories, the way she calls your name and all the pet names. You need her, you regretted that you left last night. You wished you didn’t and solved the argument with her. You tried your best to fight all these with exertion. You want to…no..you have to come home to your girlfriend.

You scream your lungs out, forcing yourself using your power to teleport even though the collar strikes you hard with a high voltage wave and forcing more harm to you but a soft soothing voice in your mind speaks to you and it stops you from screaming. “Y/n, can you feel me? Where are you?”

“Wanda?” You mumble her name weakly under your breath. Your chest rises and falls. You look around slowly trying to see if Wanda came. Her voice sounds crystal clear yet her presence isn’t anywhere near you..

You try to focus on listening to listen to everything you can and you hear something that gives you a clue where you are at. You close your eyes to try to connect your mind with hers.

_____

Red magic wisp lights up Wanda’s eyes as they are flooded with tears. Wanda can feel how you feel. She heard a faint answer from you. It drags her down when she hears how weak you are and it all comes together when she feels your pain.

“Y/n…” sorrow closes up her throat and plunges her into despair. In one blink, her tears escape.

"Wanda..what's wrong?" Natasha asks in such an anxious tone.

"Sestra? Is y/n okay?" Her twin brother lets out a question right after Natasha's.

"Please tell me she's still alive." Yelena's slavic accents disguise her worry about your safety.

"She's okay but she is in great pain, the same pain we had." Wanda's glistening eyes look at her brother, showing her vulnerability to him.

"So it's true, Hydra has her. Did she tell you where they keep her?" Pietro digs more information through his words.

Wanda nods in acknowledgement and says in a low voice. "She said Liberty."

Tony quickly commands his A.I to search for the clue Wanda got. “Hydra has an underground facility under the liberty statue, way under it. It will take at least four hours to hack all their security systems and connections before we can invade them and save Y/n.”

Wanda marches her way to the door.

“Wanda, where are you going? We have to wait.” Steve indirectly lets out a command to her. Wanda turns her head and she clenches her fists and with gritted teeth she refuses his order “I’m not going to let them lay their hands on my Y/n any longer, not even a second!” as she continues her steps.

_____

You almost lost your consciousness once more but you can feel Wanda more and more as if her presence is coming close. You close your eyes, focusing on your mind. Doubling your effort to telepathy with her. “I love you, Wanda. I’m sorry.. Please don't get hurt.”

You can feel heartache, her heartache to be exact. The only thing that keeps you up at this moment is her anger that you are feeling and her high hope for you to be still alive until she gets there.

As your head slowly faces down with the energy you have left while Strucker’s men do a lot more research on you, you hear a lot of terrorized men screaming. It caught your attention. The more you try to hear it, the more other sounds you hear. Sound of automatic guns’ ammo fired in the distance and a more screaming voice followed with many loud thuds echoing through the darkness of the facility.

You start to notice everybody who is doing the research on you starts to panic and more of Strucker's army come out with their firearms.

A blanket of fear covers them even though they are prepared for what’s coming or perhaps who is coming.

A few of the armed men are being thrown to the walls and to the enormous iron gate that stands tall protecting the room you are in right now. Some shots fired even a little explosion sound passed through the barriers shortly before more guards got thrown even harder. You are sure that they are all dead.

Silence takes over the air all of a sudden and everybody around you watches in fright. All the front row guarded men even take a step back. The wicked scientists start to undo everything that’s on you to take you away from whoever tries to save you.

The shadow that’s reflected on the wall moves closer and closer to the gate as steps keep repeating, showing that someone is coming.

You weakly chuckle. You turn your head to the men on both of your sides. “You are all screwed now. My girlfriend is here and I’m sure she is pissed right now. Trust me you don’t want to pissed her off.” you coughed between mocking words that you said.

“Shut up! We're gonna take you away. She will die before she can save you.” The skinny man disguises his fears with his threat as he unties the straps to move you to the gurnee bed.

The huge iron gate bent and flew abruptly to the guards that was caused by the strong impact of the red wisps and crushed most of them to death easily.

Guns, weapons and men are flying around. Some of them are slammed to the stone walls. Some of them are thrown so hard to each other and knocked down to the ground.

Then there she is, the woman you love walks closer to you as soon as she sees you. You never saw her this furious, her eyes light up in crimson.

"Hands off!" In such fury, she commands and before you know it the red tendrils cover her hands then go straight to the two scientists next to you.

You see them scream fearfully for their lives as they are floating under Wanda's power above you. In a millisecond you hear a loud crack from their bones she crushes.

Without a doubt, they are deformed and die. Wanda throws their body to the ground like they are just a crumpled paper trash.

You feel her pain, anger and sadness yet there's a relieved feeling in her that makes you smile when her eyes slowly turn green again and catch your gaze. In a quick flinch of her finger, the collar on your neck broke and fell off your neck. You try to walk to her but your legs give up on holding your weight and you fall.

Wanda quickly catches you in her arms then lets you lay on her lap as her arms prompts your body up. "Detka? Oh my god, are you okay? I'm here, you are safe now. I will get you out here." She hugs you tight and rocks her body gently with you in her hugs, in a glance of hope it will make you feel better and safer.

“Wanda, did you find her? Clint, Yelena and I are coming with the quinjet to help you.” Natasha informed her through the comm.

“I took all the guards down. I have her with me now.” Wanda replied shortly.

After she responds Natasha, she looks at you and runs her hand on your hair. “I’m sorry, malyshka. I should've not let you go that night. I should've told you that I was so jealous of how close you are with Yelena." Her cry sounds shaky, full of regret and guilt.

You grunt in pain after you let out a little laugh. “Wanda, Yelena likes Kate Bishop, a lot. I– I’m helping her to set up a date with Kate.”

She looks at you perplexed. “What? She likes Kate? Not you?”

You smile weakly, holding the pain as you nod slowly. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. You got hurt because of me.” Her eyes show a huge remorse. “Sssstt.. It’s alright. You could never hurt me. I just feel you.” You stuttered in comforting her.

In a cry, Wanda nods quickly. Her lips quivered, her tears dropped onto you.

"I love you, Wanda."

"I love you too, detka."

You heard an explosion, breaking the old walls to make a quicker exit path to the quinjet for you. Natasha rushed to the both of you.

“Oh my god, y/n! Are you okay? We gotta get you out of here. Steve and Tony already take down the rest of the guards.” Natasha asks and carefully examines your injuries as soon as they get to you.

“I’m okay, Nat. Don’t worry.” You smile, deep down you feel that you gradually gain your energy back after seeing two of your closest people are with you now. Wanda carefully elevates you with her magic and takes you to the quinjet as Natasha and Yelena watch the surroundings.

You float in the air passing Yelena as you get into the jet. “Geez, y/n, you look like hell. We should get your ass back to the compound.” Yelena comments with casual remarks, trying to cover how worried she is about you then follows you and Wanda.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a date with Kate tonight?” You joked around as your face weakly forms a smirk at her. Your joke lured an eye roll from Yelena.

“She canceled it.” Natasha casually answers while busy giving medical treatment to some of your injuries.

“Why?” you curiously asked.

“Because you were nowhere to be found and were in danger. Don’t worry, Kate understands the situation." Wanda hears Yelena's answers. Her eyes jump around between you and Yelena.

“Don’t worry, Yelena. I will help you set up the date for you and Kate.” Wanda’s words suddenly jump into the conversation before you can even reply.

Wanda looks at the blonde and smiles as her way to subtly fix the tension that was created between them by her jealousy.

“Really? Thank you, Wanda!” excitement is in Yelena’s tone as she smiles back.

Natasha and her sister leave you alone with Wanda on the flight back. Wanda stays next to you the whole time, holding your hand and loving you with all her heart. She looks at you dearly.

You pull her hand and lay it on your heart shortly before you ask "Tell me what do you feel, Wands."

She smiles and says "I just feel you."

A/n: Welp, that's it for today. Let me know what you think. Reblogs and comments are appreciated. Follow me for more and see you in next!

Cheerio!

Taglist: @madamevirgo @musicinourlips @unstable-sapphic-hoe @fanboy7794 @chloe7076 @b0mbdotc0m @trikruismybitch @ichala @californianwhiterabbit @honey-sweet-hiraeth @imfuckinggenius @sxfwap @chaekhan @daenerys713 @luvmcgrath @stupidsapphicsstuff @pattypavo @stonemags @frvny @franfineashell @heyyoweveryone @ygtft-chen @yaaskasey @sweeet-likeeee-cinnamonn @paumxmff @dopeyouth @beaniejennie @ineedafinghug @idkwhatimwriting @lucydiibi @mainly-rebloging-fics-i-like @gloriousfoxruins @grxvitye @mcubreakdown101 @aos22 @wandanatstan @paulawand @yeeterthekeeper @femalehomosexual666 @snowdrop1026 @modernmonalisa @nothingisrealanyway @idamaemann @sweeterlust @royalityofmultifandom @playboysaleen @peabrain112 @gwhaley127 @harleyswanda @bodhi-j @darth-rain @cristin-rjd ,

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #Wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff x imagine #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel au #marvel fic #the avengers #avengers au

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wolfscarr · 1 year

Text

Crimson Knolastname: Greedy Loving Heart. Character Analysis.

So been thinking about this for a hot minute and I’m probably guessing that Moxxie’s dad isn’t going to get anything beyond just being shitty....because he’s shitty.

Now given my love for Mafia aesthetic and Helluva Boss(as much as there is left anyway), I figure I would see about adding something to Crimson as a character as it relates to both his relationships involving his wife and son, as well as giving the location of the Greed Ring some kind of purpose, so let’s get into this.

So let’s start with the Greed Ring here. I think many overlook the fact of how certain Hellborn are shaped by where they grew up, or at least don’t take into account of certain things., I mean yeah some of it is obvious, such as with Millie being all tough and strong and that’s basically in our face with the fact of her being part of I.M.P, with Crimson....I feel like it’s not as obvious and people just jump to conclusions that he’s just an asshole because....he’s an asshole.

Now obviously yeah he’s an asshole, but folks think for a minute here. The Greed Ring is all about....well obvious Greed, so now Crimson grows up with this lifestyle of making money, getting things, all of this just further fueling his greed which corrupts him further and further. Then he joins(or was raised in) this Mafia within the Ring, which he eventually takes over. So now his Greed is only further multiplied as not only is he rich from his own ventures, he now controls everything, he now has immense power within the Greed Ring and he has reach throughout Hell.

^ Credit to Chii(LittleMissChii on Twitter, Helluva Boss Animation Lead).

So at some point, Crimson and his wife meet(still waiting for an official name) and they hit it off, Crimson woos her with that smooth talking and charm of his, he introduces her to the lifestyle that he lives and soon enough they are married. With the addition of having a wife, now his Greedy heart is just further consumed, now he loves his wife....but at the same time it’s also more he’s greedy about it, like he doesn’t want her attention to be on another person. He wants to keep her attention as much as possible, he doesn’t want her to focus on anyone else but him.

Everything up to this point for Crimson is going pretty well, we of course don’t really have any info of his past granted, but it soon all goes downhill anyway. So then we finally get to both Crimson and his wife, having their son Moxxie.

Now at first Crimson seems fine with Moxxie, because now he has an heir to all the stuff he has built up. He can mold Moxxie into basically a miniature version of himself, to carry on what he had built and maintained. Now surface level, this isn’t a bad thing, it’s not like wanting Family to take over a business is anything new, even in real life this happens. The problem with Crimson however, his heart is basically saturated in Greed by this point, he wants to just keep everything close to him....EVERYTHING, he doesn’t want anyone to leave or make their own choices.

Which leads to Crimson’s wife, trying to steer their son away from the lifestyle that her husband is trying to impose(or at least let him make the choice later on, if he really wants). But even moreso than just that....Moxxie is taking away Crimson’s wife from him, her attention isn’t nearly as focused on him like it was before they had their son. So now this hits Crimson hard, not only is his son being taken away from him, but his wife is as well...a bit obviously unintentional by Moxxie as he’s just a kid. Thus the fighting starts between the parents and eventually well, he ends up killing his wife in order to keep his heir and thus the security of what he has built. No one is going to take away his wife’s attention away, if he can’t have her attention, then no one else can.

So now years later, we see that Crimson has raised Moxxie and inducts him into the Mafia Lifestyle. For a time Moxxie is just going along with it, we still see at this point Crimson isn’t looking to harm Moxxie, in fact he seems rather proud of him. But then of course....Moxxie ends up leaving his Family and obviously we all know what happens after, with Crimson being obviously pissed at his son for ditching everything.

Crimson is rightfully upset, because he put basically everything he had into Moxxie, to mold him as best as he could into his heir. But Moxxie is clearly not like his Father and Crimson isn’t doing this for Moxxie’s benefit, he’s doing all of this for his own selfish Greed. When his son completely ruins that.....well obviously we see later what happens in the episode.

==========

The long and short of it, is this folks. Crimson’s heart was corrupted heavily by Greed, I believe that Crimson did in fact love his Family. But he didn’t love them in a manner that wasn’t having something to do with Greed, first and foremost Greed took over any sort of love that he had for them. Which makes sense given where Crimson clearly grew up in, Greed affected him and had him spiral down a destructive path.

I’m not saying this excuses his actions or anything, I mainly went through this character analysis to give something to his character as far as depth goes. Because I have a feeling he’s not going to get any of that sort within the show itself, plus again I’m a bit of a sucker for Mafia aesthetic and I feel like his whole ‘character’ was just wasted and he came across as really dumb.

...Also give us an official name for Mrs. Knolastname already!

#Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss Crimson #Helluva Crimson #Crimson Knolastname #Helluva Boss Moxxie #Helluva Moxxie #Moxxie #Helluva Boss Critical #Helluva Character Analysis #moxxie's mother #moxxie's mom #Helluva Critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critique

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bitethedustfools · 6 months

Text

TWST Story Idea (13)

Warning: Spoiler

We are all aware that Yuu did not speak too much, and if they do, whatever dialogue Yuu picked, the result is still the same. Yuu will still get strung along and deal with the troubles and the overblots.

One may not think much of the part they play, merely a person that talks on the other side of a screen where the characters wouldn't heard you.

However, small and worthless as it looked, Yuu's words and existence are significant enough to push the story we all know.

Without Yuu, Grim will never attend NRC. Ace will not go to Ramshackle Dorm and consider Yuu's words to apologize to Riddle, nor will he have that kind of friendship with Deuce. Riddle's tyranny continued, Trey still remained the same just like Cater, and their relationship with the rest are within arm's reach.

Who will take the role of an investigator when there are accidents during the Spelldrive Tournament and foil the Savanaclaw plan?

Who will save them from the repercussions of striking a deal with Azul? Jamil succeeds in going through his plan and reaching his goal but not without a cost. Nobody will be able to return Vil's appearance back to normal if Malleus were not invited. The same goes for the rest.

That is the world without Yuu. Only if Yuu exists will the story move forward where everyone is saved and has come to peace with their issues even if the first meeting wasn't that great.

However, that does not mean everything will turn out okay if Yuu exists. It's all about their personality and how the people favor them.

Everything turned out to be even worse than ever if the others dislike Yuu, who is indifferent, or Yuu has the aura and personality that people immediately hated them on first sight.

There's something irritating when they were looking at Yuu. Something that caused them to loathe Yuu even though Yuu hasn't done something that garnered their unreasonable hatred. Plenty of people here are villainous in some traits, from tyranny down to pure selfishness.

However, although Yuu had not shown these traits, one can agree that Yuu is simply… dislikeable.

Just that feeling alone, and they avoided Yuu. Some mocked them, but Yuu did not take it to heart.

Yuu does not understand how they are disliked. They mind their own business, mindful of others, and only joining when it needs to. Yuu tried to be considerate and laying low. It's people's fault who are refusing to understand them.

Grim was not as close, preferring to look down at Yuu and make them work. Ace and Deuce were not Yuu's friends; the statue did not burn nor did the expensive chandelier ever fall down. Ace merely mocked Yuu and passed by as they swept the floor, and Yuu never met Deuce.

Yuu is alone during break time, and Trey and Cater never get to know them. Maybe Trey did send pitiful glances, but that's it. There's no need to get involved if you don't know them.

Riddle, however, knew Yuu but only by face and a title "magicless janitor". He got a worst impression of Yuu during the ceremony, and they never talk to each other after that.

Yuu and Grim were never present during the unbirthday party; the Mont Blanc was never made, and no one knew about Riddle's issue of how he came to be a tyrant.

Nevertheless, overblot happened, and it went downhill.

There were deaths and the wounded, and the hierarchy changed. Trey became the 'Queen of Heart', and Cater his right-hand man card soldier. Trey blamed himself and the people that contribute to Riddle's overblot which then bred dissonance and defiance amongst the card soldiers.

The dorm known for its countless rules became lawless; anarchy became the norm.

Yuu did not bother. As sad as it was, it was not their business which making people capable of sympathy dislike and avoid them even further. Yuu is a magicless janitor after all; it was also their job to clean up, and Yuu can't afford to feel when he's busy working.

Spelldrive tournament still continued, and most of the greatest players in Heartslabyul Dorm joining the tournament were almost non existent. The accidents of people falling and accidentally hurt themselves still happened and Yuu, despite being a janitor, was asked to investigate and found nothing due to people being uncooperative.

Nothing was done to oppose the plan Savanaclaw came up with. Although the intended target is not affected, many were still injured during the stampede. No one was able to point out the culprit behind this.

But still, overblot occurred before the audience, and on the screen across the world the moment Savanaclaw lost to Diasomnia.

Leona was saved after that in just a matter of time, but he was ashamed. Not because he was thinking of Malleus' downfall and Malleus had saved him despite everything, but rather because he was being exposed to the world. The eyes of his lackeys that trusted his words lost its gleams, and Leona was alone.

He is but an undignified cub unworthy of the throne.

He tarnished the school name and the royalty. He did not become a king, nor did he become part of the family, and instead, he was expelled from school and banished from his pride, never to be seen again.

That is the only mercy they can give, to let him run and live. But they will not forget what they cannot forgive.

The housewarden position remained absent. Lying became unacceptable. Selfishness and unruliness grew. Despite that, they are all a pack and they don't need a king at all.

Ruggie had to resort to scamming and stealing others' food, and Jack's sense of justice wavered at the sight. The scale slowly leaned towards a grey area, and before long, Jack found himself unbothered by the mess around him.

Gradually, once everything stabilized, the exam month arrived, and almost all students got caught in a net that Azul threw strategically. Grim was no exception. He made a deal with him about something, and Yuu could have left him behind, but Grim was vital, so Yuu had no choice but to save him.

Yuu saved only Grim, no one else.

They got off rather easily with a few challenges here and there, and Azul did not overblot, but plenty of students either dropped from fatigue or developed resentment to the point of overblotting. Naturally, everything comes to light.

Yuu did not bat an eye why Azul was forbidden to do business and anything that required him to steal everyone's power. Unfortunately, Azul does not react well. Forbidding him all of these means his power is taken away.

He instantly overblotted. Nobody is able to fight back as Azul was stronger from all the power he stole. But using those powers eventually leads to getting his life force drained, and that's what happened.

It does not end there sadly. Although Yuu was not dragged into the future overblots and the mess that comes with it, Yuu was still involved in cleaning the aftermath.

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst #twst yuu #writing prompt #Janitor!Yuu #Haven't seen a story where everything falls apart #Salute to people who notice the Savanaclaw part #You guys ever meet someone for the first time and instantly hates that person without any reason?#Thats what I meant #twst grim #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #diasomnia

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cameronsprincess · 8 months

Note

Happy 1k babe! So happy for you 💗

Can I get 🥥 with JJ, nsfw. Reader has a long day at work and he knows just how to cheer her up?

thank you babe!!!🩷🩷

— warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, nipple stimulation.

your day had been as expected. shitty.

work had been long, and exhausting. customers walking all over you, your boss in an extra bitchy mood, everything making your day completely go downhill from the moment you walked through the doors.

but you knew jj would make you feel better, he always did…

… and that’s exactly what he was doing.

“jj, ‘m so close. don’t— don’t stop” you beg, hands dug into his messy blond hair, pushing his face further into your sopping cunt.

he flattens his tongue against your folds, dragging it upward, flicking the muscle over your clit a few times, pulling loud, pornographic moans from you.

his tongue drags back down, pushing in and out of your tight hole while his thumb finds your clit, running slow and sloppy circles over your puffy sensitive bud.

he runs his free hand up your side, fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. his fingers instantly find your bra clad chest, forcefully pulling the lacey material down, exposing your tits.

skillfully, and without even having to look, he finds one of your nipples, pinching it between his fingers, rolling it around before he cups your breast fully with his large palm.

he works his tongue up the length of your pussy once more, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking at it softly.

you’re clenching around air, orgasm fluttering and your toes curled, back arching up off the bed. “jj, p-please!”

he pulls his head back, letting your swollen clit fall from his lips with a soft pop, “does my sweet girl wanna cum? want my fingers inside that pretty, soaked pussy?”

you weakly breathe out an “mhm”, a smirk playing at jj’s lips at how fucked out you already were, and he wasn’t even close to done with you.

“mmm, i dunno baby. doesn’t seem like you really want it that bad”

you whine, lifting your head slightly to find his eyes, “j, please! todays already been shitty! don’t make it worse” you pout, throwing your head back into the pillows with a huff.

jj chuckles, “alright baby, ‘m sorry. lemme take good care of you, yeah?”

before you can even respond his mouth is back on you, lips wrapped around your clit while he runs two fingers slowly through your arousal slick pussy. you squirm under his touch, a fire igniting inside you as you impatiently waited on his fingers to fill you up, stretch you out as best they could.

he shoves one finger in slowly, teasing at your hole with slow thrusts, nearly pulling it all the way out before pushing it back in. you cry out, hands finding your own tits and squeezing harshly when he adds another finger, curving them up and hitting at your spongey sweet spot.

you’re clenching around him uncontrollably, toes curled and legs shaking as he sucks on your clit, fingers moving at a steady pace inside your poor cunt.

you feel the band inside your stomach tightening, a burning feeling in the pit of your stomach. “jj! ‘m gonna— ahh ahh shit, mmph”

your orgasm rushes through you, legs shaking as jj continues to fuck you through your high, not stopping until he knows you’re completely satisfied.

your mind goes blank, body going limp under jj’s hold as he pulls his fingers from inside you, his head lifting, bright blue eyes finding yours.

he places a kiss on your inner thigh, making you shudder, “did so good f’me, princess. but there’s still more fun to be had, gotta make sure my girl forgets all about her shitty day”

all 1k moodboards/blurbs here!

#kay’s 1k celebration #jj maybank #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank smut #jj maybank brainrot

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blossom-works · 1 year

Text

His Sunshine

Agent Leon S. Kennedy has been through hell after hell. Never having a break from the chaos. His heart has hardened over the years since Raccoon, leading him to turn to alcohol for temporary release. Who would have thought that fighting bioterrorism was the reason that Agent Leon S. Kennedy found his peace and comfort?

Warnings: Mentions of child/human trafficking, death of children, alcoholism

*OC is Asian cause let's face it, Leon has a thing for Asians (Ada and Shen Mei)

When He First Met the Sun

"Hunnigan, what the hell are you trying to say?"

Through the heavy-duty phone screen, a woman with brunette hair has to inform her long-time friend and co-worker of the horrors of his upcoming assignment.

"We have intel that whoever is in charge of creating this strain of the virus is using children to spread the disease. Trafficked children..."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Instead of taking another shot of pure liquor, Leon opts to drink straight from the bottle. The burning liquid glides down his throat, numbing the man even more.

"The president has created a specific team for this assignment. He wants you and the BSAA to partner up with an agent from the FBI. She was specifically asked for by Chris Redfield."

"Chris is on this mission too?"

"The president wanted his expertise in this. It'll be a four-man team. You, Chris Redfield, Jill Valintine, and the FBI agent. Chris said that he'll be picking you up at your current location. You are to meet the FBI agent at 1500." Hunnigan hangs up the call, leaving the drunken man to his own endeavors.

Just when the hell is this hell going to end? Since '98, things have only gone downhill. It seems that all Leon ever does is fight these bio-engineered monsters while losing people by the hundreds. This is hell. Leon is living in hell. A never-ending cycle of death and carnage.

By the time Chris gets to the bar, Leon has already finished one entire bottle of tequila. Lord knows how Leon's liver is doing. Stumbling, Leon leaves the bar to stumble in Chris' car. On his way out he forgot to pay his tab, which Chris had to pay for (but not forgetting to make a mental note that Leon owes him).

"You reek of alcohol." Chris grimaces as he rolls down the back windows.

"Yeah, so? You smoke."

"Not as much as your drink."

Chris opens the glove compartment to pull out a file. "Here, you can go over the mission on our way to the FBI headquarters. That is if you're sober enough to even read."

Leon snatches the file from Chris, mumbling how he can read "Thank you very much". He has to shake his head to get his eyesight to work. The contents of the folder are gruesome. Pictures and names of children that have gone missing fill the thick folder. Some of the last few papers are of what is suspected to be people in charge.

"Hunnigan told me that you recommended an FBI agent to the president."

"Yeah, she's the youngest sister of one of my buddies back in the day. She works in the department of human trafficking and child exploitation. She's only worked there for about two years, but she's one of the best in the field."

"Hold on, you said she's only been employed for a little less than a year? She's a rookie!"

Chris scoffs. "And? As I said, she's currently one of the best agents that specialize in this field. If we're going to accomplish this mission, we're going to need her expertise."

"And how old is this chick?"

Doing some quick math in his head, Chris answers "23".

"She's a kid."

"And she's one of the best the FBI has to offer. That says a lot, Leon." Chris further defends. He must really believe in this chick's skills to defend her like this, Leon concludes. Shutting up, the two men travel to the agency in silence.

FBI Headquarters:

In a small room sits three people. DSO agent Leon S. Kennedy. BSAA operator Chris Redfield. BSAA agent Jill Valentine. Each of them has folders and folders of information that was apparently collected by the FBI agent they will be working with. Impressive for a woman who only has less than a year's worth of experience.

The door clicks open and reveals a woman of Asian descent with a short stature wearing a basic black and white suit, with three-inch stilettos. Her black hair is tied into a high ponytail that stops at the nape of her neck. Her features are soft and the color of her skin tells people that she most likely came from a bloodline of Southeast Asians.

"Apologies for the wait. The president sent someone to deliver some useful information."

Jill asks what that information is.

"That we are given almost all clearance to the highest level. With the president's approval, we can obtain Pentagon-sealed information. Not even the CIA can tell us 'no." You sits down at the last empty seat.

"Woah, it seems he really wants us to catch these guys."

Lean speaks up, "Then we should get started."

You go over the contents of the mission. For a woman who has been working as a federal agent for less than a year, your work ethic is top-tier. Even Leon silently admits that you are well-equipped for your job. And you are sort of a cutie. You talk about how the FBI and CIA are certain that BOWs are stemming from trafficked children. Any questions they have, are answered a couple minutes later during your presentation.

At the end of your presentation, you address the elephant in the room. "So now that I've told you everything that I know. It's time you tell me how to deal with BOWs."

Chris is the first to speak up. "Shoot them in the head. It's the only way to kill them." You nod.

"Are you up for it?"

To you, it sounds like Leon is challenging your competency. He wants to know if you will be a hindrance on this mission. Sure, you are a smart cookie but how will you hold up facing a human-turned-monster? Can you hold yourself in battle? Or will you need to be babysat along the way? In truth, Leon wants to prepare himself when he eventually loses another person in this cycle of hell.

"Agent Kennedy, I understand the reasoning behind your question. In truth, I don't know. Unlike the three of you, I have never encountered a BOW." A sufficient and honest answer. You go on further. "This mission is a give and take. I give you my expertise on human trafficking and child exploitation, you give me the galls to kill those things. You teach me how to kill BOWs, I give you the information you need to outsmart these bastards and get these kids out of hell."

Standing up, you tell your team that you will meet up here again tomorrow, at six sharp. Only this time, it will be at the FBI's helipad. The rumored place of operation is near the Mexican border. The four of you will be stationed in a remote area in Southern Texas for the duration of the mission.

Texas:

"Hey, why do you wake up so early in the morning? Are you getting some extra work in?" Jill asks as the four of you are eating some take-out.

On day two, your teammates kept asking you why they were waiting before barging into the supposed hideout. You understood that for them, barging in with the information you have is a norm for them. But they forget that they are not just dealing with BOWs but human trafficking. If any piece of the collected information is wrong, it could jeopardize the entire mission. You told them, "I'd willingly turn into one of those mutants before compromising the children's chance of freedom."

They stopped bugging you after that. The three of them stepped back to let you take the reigns. They really did forget that there is another part to this mission other than to exterminate BOWs.

"Sort of. I wake up early to do my morning workouts."

It is no surprise that you work out. Everyone in this damn house works out, but to do it so early in the morning and not take a nap during the day is crazy.

"Why so early?"

You shrug your shoulders. "I usually wake up early to go running at the park near my place, but since we're not in D.C., I'm extending my workout to make up for it." The conversation is then directed to how you know Chris.

"My brother was his junior in the Air Force. Redfield once came to our home back in Georgia for...was it Christmas or Thanksgiving of '93?"

"It was Thanksgiving. Your mom invited my family to come over."

"Wait a minute...You were born in '87, so that would make you either six or seven at the time." Jill says.

You and Chris hum before Chris starts teasing you. "She was so infatuated with me at the time that she kept calling me her 'boyfriend'."

Groaning, you throw a pen at Chris who ends up catching it. To further your embarrassment, Jill and Lean start laughing. You can feel the tips of your ears getting hot.

"Dammit Redfield, I was six at the time! Stop bringing up old shtick!" You huff.

"What? It was cute how you would want to sit next to me. You even 'fought' your own mom because she sat in 'your' spot." Chris turns his head and whispers to his other colleagues, "She was so cute I still have photos from that day", making them laugh even more. "Side note: Why do you keep calling me by my last name? We've known each other since we started 'dating."

"Because we're on the job. When we aren't working together I'll start calling you Chris again." You say as you roll your eyes. Getting Chris to stop embarrassing you is equivalent to getting a pig to fly. It is never going to happen. "Plus given the age hierarchy, you're the oldest one here, grandpa."

"A grandpa you once called your boyfriend," Chris smirks. To an outsider, it might seem like Chris and you are flirting, but you are not. One, because it would basically be pedophilia considering you two met at the respective ages of six and twenty. And two, because you and Chris see each other as siblings it would also be a case of incest if the two of you were flirting.

Half-joking you say, "I guess I've always been into older men."

To get the attention off of you, you then ask how Jill and Leon know Chris. Like they did, you sat and listened to their (less embarrassing) stories. By the end of the night, you find yourself getting a bit closer to Leon and Jill. Chris excuses himself to take a call and Jill excuses herself to take a shower. Leaving you and Agent Kennedy on the ground floor.

Leon is the one to break the silent barrier, albeit, not in the greatest way.

"So, you're into older men huh?" You can practically hear his smirk from behind the laptop.

You decide to humor the man and play along. "What's it to you?"

Leon shrugs. "I don't know, maybe after we finish this mission we can go grab dinner sometime?"

"Are you asking me on a date Agent Kennedy?"

"Depends on if you say yes."

"What if I say no?"

"Then it could be two friends having dinner together." Leon shrugs again. You chuckle and shake your head in amusement. You close the laptop and place your intertwined hands on top of it.

"I don't do flings, Kennedy." You tell the man honestly, making sure to make direct eye contact to show Leon how serious you are. Leon holds his hands up in surrender.

"Then we can go out as friends." He compromises. "There's nothing wrong with two friends hanging out over a meal, and it wouldn't count as a fling."

You are not opposed to the idea, but you do want to poke fun at the legendary Leon S. Kennedy. "I'm afraid not. I don't consider us friends, Kennedy. We're co-workers."

"What if I believe that we're friends?"

"Then I guess we're at a standoff." You tease.

Leon takes the challenge. "Then I guess I'll have to convince you otherwise."

You stand up and throw away your takeout container. Grabbing the laptop you head upstairs to where the rooms are. "I guess so," you call out from the stairs.

When He First Felt the Sun's Rays

Your apartment is filled with the scent of different herbs and spices. A harmonious smell that you hate the fact that you have to open your balcony door to let some fresh air in. Your hair is held up by a clip and you are in a white shirt, a thin flannel, and a pair of jean shorts. Classic "girl next door" look. You take a piece of laffa and dip it into the hummus. You have music playing in the background as you finish grilling the chicken kabobs.

You get a notification on your phone that there is someone at your front door and not a second later, they are knocking. Wiping your hands on a kitchen towel and turning down the heat, you answer the door.

"Hey, Leon." Your old colleague greets you back with a bouquet of parchment-wrapped flowers. Thanking him, you let him inside of your apartment and find a place to put the flowers. Walking into the open concept room, you yell out to the DSO agent.

"And don't forget to take off your shoes!"

Leon immediately kicks his shoes off and is hit with a waft of comforting spices. "Smells good in here."

"Thanks, I hope you like Middle Eastern food 'cause that's gonna be dinner. If you're a bit hungry I left out some hummus and laffa out on the island counter."

"Laffa?" Leon asks but still takes a piece of the bread and dips it into the bowl of pureed chickpeas.

"It's a flatbread. Think of Indian naan."

"Did you make it yourself?"

"No, I bought the hummus and bread from a local Middle Eastern restaurant nearby. Everything else though is from scratch."

Leon tries to go around the island to offer you his help but his left foot steps on something soft. A loud "arf" scares Leon and forces him to look down. A body of blond hair scurries across the floor towards you, scratching at your legs.

"Oh shit, I didn't mean to step on your dog." Leon apologizes. The medium-sized dog is now in your arms, seeking your comfort.

You wave off Leon's apology. "Don't worry about it. Shiloh always gets so excited to meet new people that she forgets to stay out of the way. It was an honest mistake so no biggie."

Leon manages to walk around without stepping on a dog this time. He reaches his hand out to pet the top of the dog's head as another apology. It accepts his apology and their tail starts wagging again.

"Her name's Shiloh, huh? What breed is she?"

You put Shiloh on the ground so you can put the kabobs on a platter. "An English Cocker Spaniel. I got her while I was still living in Georgia."

Leon is too busy with your dog to listen to you. He is bent down on one knee and Shiloh is climbing onto him. Begging him to keep petting her.

"Leon!"

"Huh? What?"

You roll your eyes and place your hands on your hips. "I asked if you could help me set up the table."

"Oh, yeah, sure." He spits out in embarrassment.

Together, you get the table ready for your fourth date in a row. Since you got back from Texas, Leon has not stopped pestering you to agree to go on a date with him. The first date was the unofficial date and the second was the first date. Making this date at your apartment the third official date with Leon. To your surprise, Leon is a total gentleman. You thought men like him liked to "date" women for a while in the name of fun. So far, Leon has only been able to change half your mind about him.

The unofficial date was a simple walk in the park followed by lunch at a diner. The second (first) date was at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History where you could geek out. Leon found your dorkiness cute. The third (second) date was a nice dinner at a steakhouse. Leon found out that you gave the waitress your card and told her that you would be paying for yourself. When you parted ways, Leon told you that he would get back at you for your little stunt. And the fourth (third) date is dinner at your apartment.

During your dates, including the unofficial one, the two of you have been getting to know each other a lot better. The two of you talked about your childhoods, hobbies, and stupid shit you did as a kid. Leon is a little confused as to why you failed to mention you have a dog.

Leon hums in delight. "The food is good. Didn't think you would be such a good cook."

"All thanks to my mom who would drag me and my sister to the kitchen whenever she would cook." You shiver at the unpleasant memories. "What about you? Do you cook?"

"Not like you," Leon answers honestly. "Just basic meals."

"Mmm...sounds sad." Leon laughs as he agrees with you.

Dinner went by wonderfully and Leon even helped you clean up. You purposefully put some food in a separate Tupperware for later. After the table is clean and the dishes are done, you propose that the two of you play a couple games of Smash Brothers, igniting the competitive side of Leon. Sitting next to each other, you try to kill off the other's character. After some 1v1 games, you paired up to play against bots in 2v2 games. To further challenge Leon's competitive side, you switched to Mario Cart. You end up getting a text from one of your neighbors to quiet down.

The reason why you two are now cuddled on your couch, watching an old Barbie movie. Why is the famous Agent Leon S. Kennedy watching an early 2000s Barbie movie? Because you wanted to. That is all the reason Leon needs to watch the damn cliche, animated movie about a doll. Shiloh has plopped herself on the other side of Leon. Like you, she has nuzzled herself into his side. When the movie finishes, it is close to ten.

"Think it's time to call it a night?"

Reluctantly, Leon nods. For the duration of the movie, Leon has been petting Shiloh's head, lulling her to sleep. By now, your dog is fast asleep in doggy dreamland. Getting off of your date, you head to the kitchen to grab something. Stretching his legs, Leon gets off the couch and heads to the foyer. When he turns around to say "bye", Leon is surprised to find you standing behind him with a cloth-covered item.

"Here, it's some leftovers from tonight's dinner. Just heat the bread in the oven so it won't get soggy."

For some reason, the gesture warms Leon to his core. Never once has he had a woman pack him leftovers. Not even his own mother. The sweet act touches Leon so much that it sort of scares him. Like scares him, scares him, and scares him because he wants more of you this. Your soft face and sweet eyes. Fidgeting your feet because you are embarrassed. The soft smile on your lips is just screaming at Leon to kiss you.

"Thanks...I'll remember that." Grateful, Leon takes the meal from you and the two of you awkwardly stand in your foyer. "So, uhh...I'll be off now."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll walk you out."

The two of you step out of your apartment and hug each other. Unlike your previous hugs, this one is tighter and longer and more intimate. You have to force yourself to release the hug or else you risk never letting go of the man. You whisper a "good night" to Leon and he returns the favor. Deciding that life is too short, you pull Leon back to you. Cupping his cheeks, you bring his face to yours and you kiss the irritatingly attractive man.

There are a few times Leon has been surprised. Both good and bad surprises and Leon is more than happy to count this feat as a good, no, a wonderful surprise. He purses his lips and uses one hand to hold onto the widest part of your hips, bringing the two of you closer. The new closeness gives you a burst of confidence. In the silence of the hallway, you can hear the faint smacks from your lips on Leon's. Your left thumb rubs over the growing stubble on Leon's cheek.

Leon always thought that your lips looked supple and soft. Finally able to feel them the way he wants to, your lips are supple and soft with a dash of chapped. Who knew kissing you could feel so addicting? To calm the animal inside of him, Leon compels himself to pull away. His mind is going haywire when he feels a string of saliva break.

When you open your eyes, you look too good. More attractive than usual. Too attractive to the point where Leon has to chant "Not now. Not now. Not now." in his head. What puts a crack into Leon's self-control ability is when you peck his lips a few more times.

"Goodnight Leon."

Out of it, the only thing Leon can do is nod, making you laugh a bit. That is before you look over his shoulder, which is still hunched over from having to bend down to your height.

"I can see you two."

Your neighbors that have been nosily watching, quickly pop their heads inside their apartment and close the door. You smile and roll your eyes. "Neighbors." You kiss Leon's stubby cheek and shoo him away.

Leon gives you a charming smile and tells you that he will text you later. When he is a couple of steps away from the elevator, Leon hears you call out to your neighbors again.

"I can still see you two!"

When the Sun Knew He Would Clear the Dark Clouds to Let Her Shine

With his wrists tied together, Leon manages to use his legs to kick the infected away from him. JD is too inexperienced to aid Leon, so he needs to hurry or else they will both die in this hellhole. Before Leon can get the upper hand two shots are fired, killing the two infected. JD checks himself to make sure he is not bit or injured anywhere. Leon sits up and looks around to see who is responsible. It could be a friend or foe.

"You know when you said you'll wait for me to finish my case, I didn't think to find you in an underground bunker."

A part of Leon is relieved to see you, knowing that he has at least one person he can trust. The other part of Leon is PO-ed that you willingly threw yourself back into fighting BOWs. The DSO offered you a position for your extraordinary work back in Texas, but you declined. "I'm crazy to be doing what I do, but I'm not that crazy to fight BOWs for a living."

"What the hell are you doing here? How'd you find me?" Leon demands as you cut the restraints on his wrists.

Sarcastically, you ask him if that is how he greets you after you saved his ass from getting infected. "Hunnigan told me about your little stunt so she gave me your last known coordinates. I called your cell earlier which gave her a few seconds to find your general area. I followed the corpses, which is how I ended up here."

Before the conversation can go anywhere else, JD interrupts. "Woah! I knew American women were hot but seeing one of them in person is a whole lot better!"

You look at the punk male in disinterest. Comically, the guy tries his best to look cool but in fact, does the opposite. "So, you single?"

"Umm...I'm flattered but I'm actually getting married in a couple of months."

JD hunches over himself. "Awe man! Why are all the hot chicks always taken!"

"Probably 'cause she's with the hot guy next to you."

Confused, JD looks to his side and is face to face with Leon's brown sweater. Looking up, Leon is staring down at the short man with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Almost like he is challenging JD to say another stupid thing. The Eastern Slavic male nervously scratches the back of his head and whispers an apology to the American male.

Sighing, Leon tells JD that when he does decide to use the gun, to shoot the infected in the head for an instant kill. JD leads you and Leon further down the bunker and into a narrow hallway where a metal door is. Leon and JD try to pry the door open while you watch their backs. The grunts and noises from the door gain the infected's attention.

What creeps you out is that one of the infected's head slits open to reveal flesh-like tentacles. Leon calls out to you, telling you to get yourself on the other side of the door. A little annoyed that JD cannot force himself through the crack, you plant your foot on his back and manage to push him through the door. Leon tumbles inside the room after you and chains the door within a couple of seconds.

If you were not creeped out before, you definitely are now. When the three of you reach the surface, you end up witnessing how the citizens of this country are being infected. Like a scene from a sci-fi movie, an alien-looking creature is forced down a person's throat. Truly a parasite. The three of you take a quick break before reaching the cathedral. Uncharacteristically, Leon starts to once again, complain that he was shipped off here without anything to eat.

"Are you really that mad they didn't provide you with any breakfast? I get why you're pissed our vacation got cut short, but over breakfast?"

Leon shrugs his shoulders and looks at you like you are the crazy one. Then again, you are not surprised your fiance is bitching about not eating. The man gets hungry as fast as he gets hot. Seriously, if you are not blasting the AC at home, a puddle of sweat will form around Leon. Reaching into your vest, you pull out a wrapped snack.

Tossing it to him you say, "Here. Protein bar. Should hold you over for the next couple of hours." Leon thanks you a million times over, happy to finally have something in his stomach. You offer another bar to JD and he too thanks you for your generosity. You ask the two of them to fill you in on the missing details since you basically came to the country blinded.

When you and Leon eventually leave the cathedral thanks to JD's help, you end up meeting the woman who had Leon's heart long before you met him. A couple of minutes before meeting her, you told Leon to go ahead and go inside the parking garage. You will stay behind for a bit to make sure neither of you were followed. When you eventually go inside the parking garage, you spot Leon talking to a woman with short, black hair.

"So, shall we continue from that night?" She flirts.

Yes. You know who this woman is. In fact, you knew about her before you met your soon-to-be husband. Claire once told you about Leon when she used to crush on him. She would rant about how the DSO agent was practically wrapped around some other woman's finger. Who is this woman in question? Why, none other than the infamous Ada Wong. The woman that brings the ugly insecurities out of you.

"I don't think so, Ada. I don't know if you've heard but I'm getting married soon. Don't plan on fucking that up."

Ah, so the rumors are true. Who would have thought that the puppy she leashed years ago would slip off of its collar and run off to someone else?

"I heard. She must be something if she was able to steal you away." Ada taunts.

"She is. She's more than I could ever want and even a little more than that. She's the reason my endless cycle of hell has stopped. I'm not losing her." Leon wanted to add "And I was never yours to begin with," but he knew that was a lie. For the longest, Ada tugged at Leon's heart and even his soul. He could never get her out from the back of his mind even if he tried.

When he met you, that annoying gnat slowly started to disappear. You taught Leon how to live again, not just how to survive. When he was actually in D.C. and not somewhere else in the world, Leon looked forward to running with you and Shiloh every morning. Five days a week. To put it simply, Leon's hardened heart started to crack the more time he spent with you. There is no possible way to ever thank you for the light you bring to Leon's dark and lonely life.

Ada, as much as she hates to admit it, knows that Leon is telling the truth. He truly does cherish this woman. His eyes hold that conviction. She guesses that her game of cat and mouse with the former RPD is officially over. They both knew their past together would always be there, but now they would truly be going their separate ways. Her heart tugs a bit at the fact. Not that she would admit it out loud. She bids farewell to Leon before using her grappling gun to escape through the hole in the roof.

When Leon hears another pair of footsteps, he points his gun to his right, ready for another fight. He does not expect the love of his life to tackle him with so much force. Unknowingly, Leon cleared all of the insecurities you had about Ada. In fact, Leon would never know that you knew about his past with Ada or about her in general. Not even when he died as one of America's greatest heroes at the age of eighty-three.

When He Knew He Could Not Live Without His Sunshine

Leon knows how shitty his life has been since '98. Nothing seemed to be going right. In fact, it seemed that everything was going downhill since Raccoon. His apartment was bare as a result of how often Leon had to get up and leave at a moment's notice. Leon would drink his sorrows and pain away. He relied on alcohol, but now, he relies on you. A little too much he thinks but you do not mind. You know the shit he has seen and done. You know the shit he has to do to protect the innocent. You know the burdens Leon has to carry.

You make doing what he has to do a little bit easier every time he comes home. Leon used to wake up in an empty bed but now he wakes up to you sleeping next to him. Sometimes Shiloh will sleep between the two of you or favor one person over the other. On the rare occasions that he does get to sleep in, Leon loves to be woken up by you and Shiloh. You would have finished your morning workouts and have made breakfast. While Shiloh licks Leon's face, you kiss the one spot she missed, his lips. Probably because getting kissed on the lips by a dog is pretty gross, but you take what you can get.

Leon loves the quiet moments with you. The one where it seems like the world is in perfect harmony. No BOWs or maniacs wanting to turn the human race into the living dead. No orders from the president or the people under him. No guns. No explosions. Just you, him, and a cocker spaniel in the comforts of your shared home.

Leon loves it when the two of you cook together. You always seem to get a bit bitchy when things are not done your way in the kitchen (a trait that was passed down from your mother), but Leon deals with it. He tries to follow your instructions to the letter to make you proud. Even more so, he loves the end result. Sitting together at the table with delicious food the two of you made together.

Leon can list hundreds of reasons why he loves you, but it would never be enough. No list will ever be long enough for Leon to write down the different things he loves about you. About the things you bring into his life. His heart pounds whenever he thinks about you. He gets all giddy when he knows he is coming back home to you. He mourns the days when he has to leave because of some stupid assignment. It scares him whenever you put yourself in a battle against BOWs because you always have his back. Even if you hate BOWs as much as the next person.

The first time you shared an "I love you", Leon wanted to take you away to a secret location and live the rest of your lives there. Leon wants to be selfish and keep you all to himself, but then his sun will not be able to shine as brightly. Leon loves you. He desperately loves you. He will do just about any and everything to keep you by his side. Leon Scott Kennedy is hopelessly in love with you. It is the whole reason why he is at your childhood home in Georgia.

Knocking on the front door, he waits for one of your parents to open it. He called your parents a few days ago to tell them that he was coming to visit and asked if they could not tell you about it. Leon has just gotten back from a mission overseas so he looks a little roughed up, but he cannot let this opportunity slip. Your mother answers the door and lets Leon inside.

He is welcomed to a homemade meal, family style. A table set for three people. During the meal, your parents ask Leon what the hurry was. They worry that something has happened to you and Leon is here to bring them the horrible news.

"No. No. She's doing fine." Leon looks down at his watch. "In fact, she's probably on her way back to our place right now." The DSO agent knows your weekly schedule. He memorized it so he would always know the general area where he could find you if a disaster happened.

Leon looks directly at your father. "I came here to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter."

Yes, in the two years of knowing you and the year and a half of dating you, Leon Scott Kennedy wants to be with his sunshine for as long as time permits. His sunshine that gave his life anew. The sunshine that he loves dearly. His sunshine.

---

P.S. I wrote this in two days when I should be focusing on my class work. Whoops...Stay focused kids.

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