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jinjeriffic · 5 months

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DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #dc domics #batfamily #no beta we die like danny phantom #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)#fanfic #congrats bruce it's a boy #clockwork loves melodrama

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princessbrunette · 2 days

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In need fathers day with baby daddy rafe, pretty pretty please princess 💕

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ ഒ zᶻ

you always felt nervous going to tannyhill. not that you felt unwelcome, everyone in his life made it clear that rafe’s baby was of utmost importance to them — so with that came the kind and supportive treatment toward you. however, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden. if rafe wanted to be around you and his kid 24/7, he would do so — hell, he’d get back with you. due to feeling like this, your palms were all sweaty by the time you’d reached the front door, card tucked under you and baby carrier weighing down your arm.

he looks surprised to see you when he opens the door. still in his shirt and slacks, it’s clear to you that rafe had buried himself in work today. it only then occurs to you that father’s day might be difficult for him, giving his circumstances at all. you inwardly wince.

“uh, hey.” he eyes you, itching his cheek and peering into the baby carrier.

you clear your throat, bashfully holding out the card. he takes it in silence and you place the carrier down, picking up your sleepy baby and holding her to your chest. “happy father’s day, daddy.” you smile, voice soft as to not disturb your child too much. he softens a little, blinking.

“that today?” he breathes and you stiffen a little. surely he knew?

“uh, yeah. we got you a card, wanted to let you spend some time with her today if you’re not too busy.”

“if i’m not too— listen i’m never too busy to see my kid okay? or you. i’m— i’m never too busy to… see my family… and stuff.” it’s awkward, the sentiment too soft for his liking and he looks down, staring at the sweet, milk-plumped angel in your arms. “let me…” he reaches out and takes her, her fat little fists immediately stretching for him and curling into the material of his shirt making your heart swell. he was always oddly a natural at this, handling her so well. it always filled you with a strange kind of sadness, one that regressed you slightly to something more scolded and childlike because your own father hadn’t offered you that same generosity. yet, you were thrilled your baby would receive that love even if you weren’t together with her father.

“come in, please.” he stands aside, holding the door for you before picking up the carrier in his other hand— effortlessly walking it with the baby to the living room. “you walked here?” he converses, setting the carrier down and placing the baby back inside, crouching down to stroke her tummy with the side of his finger.

“took the bus. no way im walking with that heavy thing.” you chuckle quietly and he swivels his head to glance at you.

“should’ve told me you were coming i would have got you. y’know i really don’t like you getting on the bus with her, it’s not safe alright, there’s all kinds of lunatics out there.”

“we survived.” you shrug, and there’s a short silence before he stands up, reaching for the card and opening it up. you fiddle with the hem of your dress awkwardly. you never quite knew what to do around rafe these days.

you watch as he reads the contents. ‘to daddy, thanks for being the best and always looking after me. can’t wait to be able to tell you myself how much i love you.’ you sign it off as your daughter, but his eyes linger over it, your sweet handwriting scrawled around the brightly coloured paper — almost for a moment like you were saying it yourself.

“and before you ask, yes she said all of that herself.” you joke to ease the tension and he snaps out of it, looking up at you with a chuckle.

“our little wordsmith, huh?” he smirks, wandering over to the mantelpiece and displaying the card. it filled you with some kind of pride, though it wasn’t about you. “look uh…” he strokes his jaw, glancing over at the baby. “let me take you both out for dinner, yeah? my treat.”

“your treat? rafe its father’s day, we’re supposed to be treating you—”

“i know, alright but… i’m supposed to be looking after you, right? looking… looking after you both.” he corrects himself, walking closer to you until he was basically looming over you, eyes wide. “and— and i know this is a hard day for you too, alright— shit, it’s a hard day for me. gotta bond as a family at some point, you know that right?”

you nod, feeling a weight off your shoulders a little at the way the tension fizzles out.

“you sure? i don’t wanna take up your time—”

your incessant apologising makes his eyes flutter in irritation and he takes your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him as he ducks his neck down to be more at your level.

“you’re not… yeah? you’re not. so quit.”

you blink all dumb, not realising how badly you missed his hands on you even if it was just as an innocent gesture and you nod, not trusting your voice. you try not to overthink the way he leaves his hands there for a moment as he glances over at your baby, thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheekbone for a second before pulling away and patting his pockets. “has she slept?”

your brain malfunctions so it takes you a second, but soon you choke out a “y—yeah. had her afternoon nap she’s just still waking up.”

“good. i know somewhere quiet, got a host there who owes me a favour.” he strides to the carrier and lifts it before turning back towards you, blinking at you obviously. “well are you coming or— or what?”

“yeah. yes. i’m coming.”

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ ഒ zᶻ

#anon #babydaddy!rafe #rafe cameron prompt

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

Text

Eddie's at a party, lunch box in tow, and he's making a fucking killing.

He sets up shop in the crowded kitchen, but that doesn't stop him from spotting King Steve in the living room. Harrington's face is still fucked up from the fight with Hargrove, and he's tipping a cup almost vertically into his mouth. He's not too surprised when--the next time he spots the jock--he has a can of beer in each fist.

More customers flood up to him, and he can't help but be a little grateful for the distraction. Harrington is one unrequited crush he just can't kick.

Lunch box cleaned out, Eddie heads outside for a smoke. He's fishing his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket when he hears a snuffling sort of shuffle that sends his heart racing.

He edges forward, just enough to make out the heap of a person half-heartedly sitting up against the house. A person in fitted blue jeans, tight polo, and Member's Only jacket; swoop of chestnut hair catching in the flash of fire from Eddie's Zippo.

"Harrington?"

The guy startles, stability wavering, eyes blinking too much. "Munson?"

"You alright, man?" He asks, though he can already tell that Steve is most definitely not.

Steve shrugs. "Why do you care?" It's not mean, sounds genuinely curious.

Eddie gets it. He has no reason on earth to show concern about King Steve. In answer, he taps his boot against Steve's sneaker, giving him a small smile. "Not sure. But I'm here, so..."

"Just needed some air. Clear my head."

"How much have you had to drink?" Eddie asks.

"One or two,"

"Dozen?"

Steve laughs. "You're funny. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I've heard," Eddie says, can't help but laugh a little too. "Wanna talk about what's going on?"

Eddie thinks that'll be a "no," but then: "Nancy dumped me."

"Yeah, big news."

"Ugh, people are talking about it?" Steve whines. It's really cute and Eddie hates himself for noticing. Hates himself more when Steve loses his balance, tips onto Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie doesn't tip him back.

Eddie can tell that Steve isn't fully with him anymore. He's a little afraid to leave the guy alone, so Eddie talks about the latest Hellfire campaign. Sober Steve Harrington probably has no idea what dnd is, but the drunk version is kind of a rapt audience.

He's just explaining about owlbears when Steve's voice, soft and sad, says "I just want someone to love me, you know?"

The admission renders Eddie speechless for a second, his chest fucking aching for the jock. He says "Oh, Stevie," knows he sounds too sad, is sure of it when Steve's nose wrinkles (it's cute; it's so fucking cute. Eddie hates himself for noticing).

Before he can backtrack, Steve slumps over, body going limp as he passes out. "Jesus H Christ," Eddie barks.

With a heavy sigh, and way too much fondness, Eddie stands. "Let's get you home, sweetheart."

He gathers Harrington up in his arms--dude is heavy--and carries him around to his van.

---

Steve wakes up, head throbbing and tongue fuzzy, with no idea how he got home and into bed. Can't really recall anything after he stumbled outside, aside from talking to Eddie Munson. But maybe that was a dream? Either way, he's home, not really any worse for wear. It's enough to let him forget all about it; what's one drunken party in a life full of them?

That Wednesday, he opens his locker after the final bell, and a Hershey bar falls out. He picks it up, flipping it over to see a note on the foil wrapping, "thought you might need something sweet to cheer you up." It's not signed, and Steve slips it into his backpack, knowing he's got a silly smile on his handsome face.

The little gifts continue to show up once or twice a week. Candy, plastic vending machine toys, sketches of the school grounds, caricatures of classmates and teachers. Sometimes they even come with a note in handwriting he doesn't recognize.

Along with the little treats, he starts seeing Eddie Munson kind of everywhere. And it's not like Steve hadn't seen him before--guy was hard to miss--but he was never around this often. Wasn't around this often and he and Steve had never shared a smile, a quick bob of the head, a quiet hello.

It isn't long before they're talking. Nothing much, nothing serious. Complaining about teachers, about classmates; sharing weekend plans. Only now Steve can't pretend to not notice the way Eddie dimples up when he smiles, the subtle muscles that bunch under the sleeves of his Hellfire Club shirt, the long litheness of his legs. Steve knows he's attracted to other guys, it's just that he didn't realize he'd be attracted to Eddie.

The gifts keep coming. Once, he opens his locker to find a plastic ring fashioned into a golden crown and a note that says, "made me think of you, Stevie." There's something about the "Stevie" that catches deep in his brain, but he can't make it connect to anything.

A few months later, Steve opens his locker and pulls out a drawing. This one--it's of him. He's gazing out into space in a way that managers to be dreamy and wistful. The Steve in the drawing is lovely, and it makes something clench deep in his gut, that someone sees him like this.

Steve tries to be more aware of the people in his surroundings, to figure out who his admirer is. He's not very good at it, even as more sketches of him--all depicting him as a gorgeous, ethereal thing he definitely isn't--show up in his locker. Especially when, so often these days, the person he sees the most is Eddie.

---

The presents in his locker continue into April, and would probably last until the end of the school year, but Steve's got a migraine starting. He keeps aspirin in his locker, gets a hall pass out of English to get some.

When he reaches his locker, though, someone is already there, with the door open. Someone in ripped black jeans, heavy black boots, a black leather jacket, and patch covered denim vest.

"Munson?" He asks. His heart beats so hard it reverberates in his ears, making it hard to hear.

Eddie jumps back, hands fluttering, face flushing bright red. "Ste--Harrington! I--uh--," he's backing up, his hands held out from his body, like he's pushing Steve away even though they aren't touching.

"Were you--?" Steve tries to ask, but the words won't quite come. There's familiar warmth low in his stomach, a twisting that has nothing to do with his impending migraine.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear," Eddie says. He's breathing hard, eyes too bright, and Steve thinks he might be about to cry, but then the metalhead is turning away, starting to run.

"Eddie, wait!" Steve calls, chasing after him without much thought. "Please!"

Eddie doesn't stop until after they've crashed out one of the side exits, are alone outside.

"It was you? Leaving the--?"

Eddie nods, presses his hands to his eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Harrington. I just--"

"Don't be sorry," Steve begs. "It's been--I liked it."

"Even now that you know they're coming from the freak?" Eddie spits. He still hides his face behind his hands.

"It's sort of been the best part of my year, if I'm being honest."

Only now does the metalhead remove his hands, blink back at Steve, dark eyes wide with shock. "Really?"

"Yeah. It made me feel-- important, I guess? Like, maybe someone saw me as something more than King Steve."

Eddie smiles now, looks down at the pavement. "I just didn't want you to think that you weren't--" he stops then, presses his mouth tight.

"Didn't want me to think what?"

"That you weren't loved, Stevie."

The statement hangs between them, Eddie's face pinking again, as the words wrap their way around Steve's heart. Loved. That he's loved. It clenches at every part of him, and he surrounds himself with the truth of it, what all those little presents were saying without words.

"Eddie, I--" he's overwhelmed by the gesture, the meaning, the reciprocal buzz in his chest, because Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson, loves him, and this fact is turning Steve's world on it's head in the best way.

"I'm sorry, Steve, really. Please don't hate me, or--or--"

"It means so much to me," Steve says, his voice a little broken. He reaches a hand out, slow, telegraphing the movement. "Can I?" He whispers.

Eddie nods, and Steve strokes the skin of his face with his thumb. "Thank you."

The metalhead nods, leaning into Steve's touch, they shift close, until their foreheads meet, until they share the same air. They stand that way for a while, long enough that they hear the bell ringing, and only then does Steve break their quiet. "Eds?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"You wanna hangout some time?"

Eddie laughs. "Yeah. I really, really do, sweetheart."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #one shot #secret admirer #fluff #a tiny bit of angst #friends to lovers #feelings realization #feelings confession #pining eddie munson #oblivious steve harrington #mutual crushes #high school au #eddie is in love with steve

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alexisomnias · 8 months

Text

— "HEY, HEY CLASSMATE!" . . .

⤷ you’re their seatmate!

angels notes: can be read as platonic or romantic

featuring the DORMLEADERS

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

—riddle as a seat mate is kinda a pain in the ass

—Especially during his first year; boy would scold you for breathing too loud!

—Upon second year though he’s a lot more mellowed out

—Your one of the only people who WOULD take a seat next to him, and in exchange he helps you with things you don’t understand.

—He also won’t speak a word if you copy off his homework… just don’t make it too obvious!!

—He’d also save you if your late to class by making up an excuse or such, but shh don’t tell him you know how down-bad he is for you.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

—goodluck getting him to even show up to class

—if he does he’s literally only coming for you. he’ll ask you to take notes for him and stuff but wont complain if you don’t

—in the end he does only show up to class because your next to him, so be sure too show up yourself!!

—if he catches someone else in the seat next to you he is LEAVING, or kicking them out, no way is he sitting through the class without you by his side

—he’s not that awful of a seatmate: he’s familiar with the material so if he's in a particularly good mood he’ll help!

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

—boy probably made a deal with some student to ensure he’s always sitting next to you. doesn’t matter what class he’s there

—totally believes in unassigned signed seating so will talk off someone if they take HIS spot next to you

—definitely helps you with your homework. in fact he encourages you to come to him for help (he wants you to know you can use him as a shoulder to lean on)

—also will make up an excuse on why your late, except its hella valid

—probably shares a textbook with you ngl, and definitely shares his notes

—definitely will share his school supplies. need an eraser? he has 3! a pencil? heres a newly sharpened one!

—probably will try extra hard to show off, he wants to impress you

—(he’s also extremely vigilant on whether his handwriting is neat or not when your next to him!!)

KALIM AL ASIM

—he’s such a fun seat mate. though he’s very distracting LMAOO

—definitely gets you both in trouble for talking during a lecture (he doesn’t care though, its you!)

—completely forgets about taking notes because he just wants to chat with you

—probably has been moved in class

—will buy you a thousand pencils so you never have to sharpen one LMAO

—drags you into group projects with him and stuff, he’s pure at heart, really!!

—actually pretty insightful, he’ll exchange answers with you, and go into convo about how you came up with such an opinion or answer

—“hey this is [name]’s seat!” he says to this poor clueless student. he’s your desk warden aha!

VIL SCHOENHEIT

—Vil is actually a good seatmate! he shows up on time, always hands in his work. has academic plot armor (has he ever failed??) and he’s willing to help! though he’ll still make you do it yourself

—he brings you snacks during class! only healthy ones of course, but he feeds you and he’s super sweet about it too! Literally that one friend that always shares their food for lunch

—definitely someone to look up too, and he’ll teach you concepts or help you catch up if you fall behind. He's your personal free tutor, he uses these sessions as excuses to see you, not gonna lie!

—he may occasionally scold you based on how you present yourself, especially if you are lazy with it, but its all out of care! He'll fix it himself anyway. He personally loves running his fingers through your hair.

—not seatmate behaviors :P he cares

IDIA SHROUD

—hes more of a text mate tbh

—bro will send u messages on twstcord and get you caught 😭😭

—he doesnt even show up in person hes just there to listen atp

—even then he ADORES listening to you talk, and although he really doesn't need help with homework since you know he's there?? he'll still ask you to bring homework to him because he's petty and he wants to see you.

—and if he invites you to a "study session" its really just him stammering over his words and playing video games

—oh god, he also imagines physically sitting next to you in class, and reenacting scenes from a shoujo! actually, nevermind... too many people...

MALLEUS DRACONIA

—Malleus finds you interesting. you have enough courage to sit next to him? how interesting

—literally the only one in class who doesn't sit like 5 kilometers away from him. He immediately grows a liking to you because of that.

—he’ll talk to you in class unknowingly getting you both caught LMAO, except your the only one getting in trouble unfortunately.

—he’ll have in dept conversations to you about certain topics, and almost always has an answer to give you in class

—he’s an encyclopedia, and he LOVES helping you! ask and hes already explaining.

—probably gets distracted by staring at you in class. Not sneaking glances, full on dazedly staring at you (in a totally not menacing way). he just likes looking at you! don't mind him!

—a sweetheart really, also super possessive over your seat. he ensures he's always on time to class so he can see you and sit next to you, and he’ll get all pouty if he cant.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #suns pencil.

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scarletlizzard · 4 months

Text

Valentines Day

Pairing: wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: fluff, tooth rotting fluff, smut, fingering, strap on use (R receiving), oral (W receiving), blink and you'll miss it parent trauma, love ×4, reader being a hopeless romantic

Masterlist

A/N: Happy Valentines Day, my loves!! I hope everyone has a wonderful day filled with love. And if you don't have a Valentine, you do now! ❤️ Just remember you're loved beyond what you think 😊

Thanks for reading! Be my Valentine?

□ Yes

□ No

■ In a delusional relationship with Wanda Maximoff

(I totally understand, you picked correctly)

❤️❤️❤️❤️

Valentines Day was a special day for you.

You loved, love. The idea of being in love, the idea of someone loving you. Every year it came around, you wished you had someone to spoil with love and flowers and notes. To feel the butterflies in your stomach.

Thankfully, love came in many different forms.

10 Years Old

"What's a Valentine?" You hear from across the room a girl ask your teacher. The class was working on Valentines Day cards during art. You quickly looked up from the card to see the teacher walk to the girl.

"Well, you can ask someone to be your Valentine, or someone could ask you," she says softly and leans down over the brown headed girls' desk. "You see a valentine can be anyone special to you. A friend, a love, anyone you admire."

The small girl nods thoughtfully and looks back towards you. With wide eyes, you blush and look back to the card you were working on, coloring in a crooked heart on the front.

"Who's your Valentine?" The boy sitting next to you asks, causing giggles from the classroom.

"My valentine," she thinks for a moment and looks around the room. "Well, all of you, of course!" The class laughs again, and you can't help the smile on your small face.

"And who is your Valentine, Pietro?" The teacher smirks at the boy next to you. He doesn't move or cower, but with confidence, he stands and looks at the table next to you.

"Mary, will you be my Valentine?" Pietro asks a tiny girl with glasses and blonde pigtails. Her face turns red as the class laughs.

You can hear them talking as you continue to work on your card, putting extra care into the portrait inside. To anyone else, it was a child's drawing, but to you, it was your best work. You finish coloring, and with your best handwriting, you sign the card, adding a few more hearts.

Pietro nudges your shoulder, causing you to close the card quickly.

"That was easy! Who is yours?" he smiles and tries to grab your card.

"Pietro, stop!" You groan as you push him away, the two of you laughing as you play. He finally gives up, and you hold the card to your chest.

"Fine, don't tell your best friend.." Pietro says and shakes his head, smiling.

At the end of every day, you meet the Maximoffs out front of school to walk home. Today, you were met with only Wandas smiling face.

"Where's Pietro?" You ask as the two of you begin to walk side by side.

"He's walking with Mary ," Wanda giggles and jumps over a large crack in the sidewalk. You think back to earlier when she asked the teacher what a valentine was, and you stopped walking.

She gives you a curious look as you take your backpack off and set it on the ground, opening it up.

"I um.. I have.. well, here," you manage to get out, handing the card you so carefully made to Wanda. She smiles as she takes it from you, staring at the heart on the front. When she opens it inside, she sees a drawing of the two of you, the words inside:

Thanks for being my best friend

Will you be my Valentine?

To: Wands

From: Y/N

The writing is messy and crooked, as you were a better artist than you were with words. By now, your backpack was back on, and Wanda looked to you with a wide grin.

"Of course I will!" She laughs excitedly and throws her arms around you in a quick hug. A weird feeling in your stomach happens as she does, but you ignore it and hug her back.

Wanda takes your hand and begins walking again, swinging your hands back and forth and holding the homemade card in her other hand.

"Y/N?" Wanda asks as the two of you reach her house.

"Yeah, Wands?" You smile at her and watch as she picks a red flower out of the bush in her front yard. She hands it to you with red cheeks.

"Since we're best friends, we should be Valentines every year." You take the flower and smile.

"Every year?" You ask her. Wanda nods quickly.

"Okay then, Valentine. Every year!" The two of you laugh and go your separate ways.

17 Years Old

You stand at your open locker, switching out books between classes when a person hits their back against the locker next to yours.

"What are your plans tomorrow?" He asks and raises an eyebrow, signature smirk on his lips. You think about the card in your backpack and shrug, looking to the blonde haired boy.

"I don't think I'm doing anything this year," you mumble. Pietro frowns and gives you a confused look.

"I thought you and Wanda always do something?" He asks, and you sigh, looking away.

"She'll probably do something with Jarvis. He is her boyfriend..."

"Oh whatever, the guys a loser," Pietro scoffs and looks at you with a knowing eyes.

"Did you ask anyone else?" He asks, again, knowing.

You shake your head. "Not this year."

You look up at him and follow his gaze down the hall. Wanda stood talking to Jarvis, seeming to have a heated discussion. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the boy.

"Hey, I can be your Valentine. I mean, close enough to Wanda, right?" Pietro smiles at you, and you raise an eyebrow, cheeks heating.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you shrug and close the locker. He laughs.

"Oh, you're right. I have no clue that you're in love with my sister, my mistake," he puts his hands up in defense, another smirk on his face. "I'm not as dumb as you two think I am. Certainly not as dumb as her for not getting it...." Pietro puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Is it that obvious?" You groan and rest your head against his shoulder. He hugs you tightly.

"Painfully..." He chuckles.

So there you sat on Valentines Day in your bedroom, for the first year without a Valentine.

Every year you and Wanda would do something together, you would always make her a card. She would always get you flowers. Maybe you would watch a movie or take a walk to the 24/7 dinner that serves your favorite pancakes.

You had two partners before, both cut short due to the fact that your heart belonged to someone else. Wanda also had boyfriends and girlfriends before, but they never stayed together long enough to matter, and she never seemed to have one during Valentines.

You knew eventually it would happen.

Eventually your best friend, who you were deeply, fucked up ridiculously, in love with, would be with someone else. You hadn't told her how you felt, because you didn't want to ruin what you had... you weren't sure if she felt the same way and you couldn't risk the friendships of the two most important people in your life.

So you were trying to be okay with the fact that you were by yourself. You put on a stupid cheesy rom com on your laptop and pulled the blanket up on your chest. Trying not to think of Wanda.

A noise against the window disrupts your train of thoughts. You groan and turn up the movie, but the tapping sound happens again, and again.

Until finally, you hear a 'crack' and sit up quickly. You turn to your right to the window and see a small crack in your window, thankfully not splintering off into more cracks. When you walk over and look outside, you see Wanda down below with her hands on her mouth. You open the window and look down at her with a surprised expression.

"Wanda.. what are you doing here? And why are you breaking my window?" You whisper down to her.

"Oh my god, I-I'm so sorry! I was trying to throw rocks! You know? Like in those movies you love!" She's laughing nervously now, and you can't help but laugh with her. "Can I come up?" She asks, and you nod, waving your hand.

You quickly step back to check yourself in the mirror, running your fingers through your messy hair and groaning at the sight of your red looking eyes. You rub them a little as you hear Wanda climbing into the window.

"That tree gets harder to climb every year," she mumbles to herself and plants her feet on the floor, smiling at you. The two of you stand staring for a moment in silence.

"Hi..." Wanda whispers, coaxing you as she takes a step forward. You roll your eyes playfully and laugh.

"Hi..." You whisper back, looking to her hand behind her back.

"You um, you didn't make me card this year," her voice is soft, tone almost hurt sounding. You look around the room and shrug.

"I wasn't sure if I should." As you speak, she holds out a red rose, the same rose she gave you every year from the bush in front of her house. You take it with a smile, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as her fingers brush against yours.

"Well, it's okay, you're still my Valentine." Wanda speaks matter of factly and puts her hands in her jean pockets. You raise an eyebrow at her.

"But what about...?" You ask, hinting to her boyfriend. Wanda nods and hums.

"Well, we uh, broke up yesterday."

"Wanda.. why didn't you tell me?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?" She asks back, ignoring your question. You frown.

"Your name?" You raise an eyebrow, confused. Wanda moves to sit on the edge of your bed, resting her hands on her knees.

"You've called me Wands since we were 10 years old. The past couple of months, you haven't said it once..."

And there it was again, the hurtful tone of voice and sad green eyes. Had you really not? The couple of months she's been.. dating Jarvis. You've been trying to hold back, you hadn't even realized.

Instead of speaking, you turn your back and reach for your backpack by your desk, pulling out a homemade card. With red cheeks, you hand it to her, standing in front of her nervously.

Wanda smiles at the front, a detailed heart on the cover. Inside was an intricate penciled portrait of her, down to every detail. The smile lines on her cheeks, the few freckles, that could have formed a constellation, spread on her face. She half gasped half chuckled as her fingers traced the lines, along with the heartfelt words you wrote beside it. At the bottom signed:

Thanks for being my everything

Will you be my Valentine?

To: Wands

From: Y/N

"You know, for such an amazing artist, your handwriting still looks like it did in grade school," she jokes as she looks up at you. You finally break a smile at the comfort of her joking demeanor. You sit next to her on the bed and stare at the rose in your hand.

"I don't think it'll ever get better," you sigh with a chuckle, feeling her shoulder press against yours. There's a quiet moment before she speaks again.

"I couldn't see him being my Valentine," Wanda speaks quietly, turning to face you. You do the same, heart in your throat. "I couldn't see him being my anything, really..." She leans closer, you can smell the scent of her cinnamon gum and vanilla perfume as she does.

"Oh?" You swallow hard as her face is inches from yours. She nods slowly.

"There's really only one person I want... but I don't know if she feels the same," Wanda mumbles, eyes glancing from your lips back to your eyes.

"I'm sure anyone, especially her, would love to have you," you whisper, feeling her arm move around your waist.

"You think so?" A small smirk on her lips makes the butterflies in your stomach flap their wings.

"Definitely..." You nod, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek.

It's when Wanda leans in and closes the space between you, her soft lips moving against yours, that the butterflies inside of you soar.

21 Years Old

Wanda giggles as she pulls you inside her bedroom, shutting the door. She wastes no time pressing your back against it, her lips attaching to the curve of your neck.

"Happy Valentines Day, babygirl..." Wanda whispers against your skin. You smile and grip onto the back of her shirt tightly.

"Happy Valentines, Wands..." You rasp out as she sucks harshly on your pulse point. "Oh! Y-Your card," you moan as her hands find their way under your dress.

Wanda pulls back with a smile, "Y/N, do we really need to worry about the card right now?" You take in her puffy red lips and darkened eyes, the way her hair was already ruffled from when your fingers tangled through the strands. She looked like she wanted to devour you.

"I um guess we can probably worry about that later," you giggle and lean in.

"Thank god," She laughs as she meets you, kissing your lips with the same passion she always did. You can taste the alcohol on her tongue as she slides it into your mouth. Wanda lifts your dress up your thighs, her knee pressing between your legs.

"I'm so glad you wore this pretty dress to dinner," she groans into your mouth, grabbing your hips and pushing them down. You grind yourself onto her thigh, feeling yourself become wetter with every move of her leg.

"Just for you, baby," you moan and hold onto the sides of her neck, fingers brushing against her sharp jaw.

"That's right sweetheart move your hips- just like that, fuck you're so pretty..." Wanda purrs and lets her lips travel back to your neck. You feel the burn in your stomach become hotter, coiling up inside as your clit rubs against the rough fabric of her pants. You can't help the whimper escape your lips as your desperation builds.

"Wands, I need you to touch me please," you beg.

She doesn't waste another minute taking you to her bed, the two of you undressing each other as you stumble backward giggling. You loved that about Wanda, how comfortable she always made you feel in every moment. That even in the most intimate of moments, you could still laugh.

You lay your head down onto her pillow, the tantalizing smell of vanilla and Wanda invading your senses, as she crawls on top of you. She kisses every inch of skin she can, whispering sweet words as she does. Your hands grab onto any part of her that you can, nails scraping the skin of her back.

"Just like that baby?" Wanda smirks as two fingers slip inside of you, pumping in and out at an even pace. You moan at her words and nod, holding onto the back of her neck.

"Y-Yes just like that fuck!" She watches your chest become red, spreading up to your neck and cheeks. Wanda would never get tired of that fucking blush. It only drove her to move her fingers faster, curling them inside of you as she did. Her mouth collides against yours in another heated kiss, the two of you moaning into the other.

She feels you tighten around her fingers and whispers, "Cum for me babygirl. That's it, that's it baby.." coaxing the orgasm out of you.

Wanda gives you a moment to come down before removing her fingers. As she kisses your jaw, you let out a happy sigh.

"Let's try it out," you whisper, nodding your head in the direction of the new box on her end table. Wanda pulls back with a glint in her eye.

"Yeah?" She smiles widely, and you nod, watching her closely as she stood from the bed.

You don't think you would ever get over seeing your girlfriend, bare for your eyes only. She was beautiful, the most perfect woman alive. It doesn't take long for her to climb back on top of you, this time with a strap attached at her hips.

"It might be a little bit uncomfortable at first, but it'll feel so good," she assures as she presses the tip up and down your slick folds, your arousal wetting the plastic cock easily. "Just tell me if it's too much, okay?"

Wanda gives you a serious look, making your heart swell at the care she took in you. You nod, "I will Wands," you whisper and watch as she smiles.

She slides it in slowly, pausing to check on you as she stretches you out. The feeling was new and unexpected. Wanda peppers your face with soft kisses and praises you as you become adjusted.

"You're doing so good for baby..."

"Almost all of it, just a little bit more..."

"There you go, that's it, sweetheart..."

As she bottoms out inside of you, her hips meet yours, a moan leaves her lips at the feeling of the strap rubbing her deliciously. You reach your hands up to move the fallen strands of brown hair out of her face and your arms wrap around her sides. Wandas soft hands move to fold your legs around her waist, you feel her move deeper inside of you.

"You okay?" She asks carefully, looking down at you.

"I'm okay, it-it feels good," you rasp out as she begins to move a little faster.

"Just- fuck -just tell me if it's too much okay baby?" Wanda moans and the look on her face, the pleasure between her parted lips and furrowed brows would be enough to draw out another orgasm.

You lean up and kiss her again. It's a messy kiss as the two of you begin breathing heavier, Wanda finding a steady rhythm as she thrusts inside of you.

"Christ, Wands, it feels so good," you moan into her mouth.

Her arm slides underneath your shoulders, bodies pressing impossibly close as she rocks into you.

"I love you so much, so much," she breathes against your skin, her lips attaching to your neck.

Your fingers dig into her skin, one hand scratching up her back as you hold onto the back of her neck. "I love you - oh god! - so much baby," you stutter out as her pace quickens, another orgasm quickly approaching.

The way she held onto you, the kisses she left on your skin, the whispers of how beautiful you were, you had never felt more loved in your whole life. As Wanda kisses you again with a smile on her lips, you feel the love you held for her swell in your chest, the butterflies in your stomach going wild at the sounds of her moaning your name.

You look over at the alarm clock on Wandas' nightstand, seeing 3am. She has her arms wrapped around you, both of your legs tangled together as you turn back to face her.

"We stayed up all night," you giggle with red cheeks, looking at her peaceful demeanor. Your finger runs across her chest, marking a path from the marks you left on her skin.

"Totally, totally worth it," Wanda chuckles and scrunches her nose. You can't help but lean forward to kiss it. "You know what I could really go for right now?"

She smiles at the way your eyes light up excitedly.

"Pancakes?" You ask.

"Pancakes."

So there you were at almost 4 in the morning at the dinner you had shared many pancakes with Wanda over the years, sitting in the same booth, dressed in one of Wandas shirts and a pair of her sweatpants.

You slide her homemade card across the table.

"For you, my love," you smile brightly at her, watching eagerly as she reads the card and brushes her fingertips over the drawing inside.

"I think this might be your best handwriting yet," Wanda jokes with a smirk, acting shocked when you throw a napkin at her. "I love it so much." She holds it to her chest, meaning it.

"I um, I got you something a little different this year," she says quietly, her cheeks becoming a light shade of pink. You look curiously as she reaches for something in her pocket.

She sets a small velvet box on the table, and your eyes go wide at the sight of it. "Wanda..." You whisper, her eyes going wide too.

"It's not exactly what you think! Its.." She puts her head down and laughs to herself, amazed she still had nerves when talking to you after all these years. "Here," she says and hands it to you.

You open the box to find a gold ring. The band was made of little gold metal leaves and thorns, at the top sat a red gem.

"It's a rose that will last forever," she says as you stare at the ring. "There will be more flowers, and there will be another ring, in the future." She makes clear and reaches out to take your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger. "For my little Valentine, a rose for every day."

Tears well in your eyes at the sentiment, at the way she softly held onto your hand and looked at you with a gentle smile. Her green eyes shimmer in the dim lighting of the old diner, the blue lights that lit up the sign outside highlight the angles of her face.

Looking at the smile on Wandas lips and the blush on her cheeks is enough for the swarm of butterflies to take flight inside you, beating their delicate wings against the walls of your stomach.

25 Years Old

"Please go check on her for me? It'll make me feel better if I know she's okay," Wanda says to her twin, fixing the bowtie that lay crooked on his shirt.

"Sestra, you have nothing to worry about. Y/N is in the other room right now, totally fine," Pietro says with a comforting smile. He leans in to kiss Wandas cheek, stopping at the door before he walks out to give her another look. "You really do look beautiful..." He says softly.

Wanda smiles as she looks in the mirror then to him, her skin reddening under the white lace.

"Thank you, Pietro..." She whispers. He nods, leaving the small room to walk down the hall to yours.

"Alright, Y/N, you ready to -" Pietro stops as he shuts the door behind him. He watches as you look over to him with a sad smile, a few tears falling down your face. You quickly wipe them away.

"Hey, sorry is it time?" You ask with a small sniffle. Pietro raises an eyebrow.

"You aren't walking out on my sister, are you? Cause that will be really awkward for both of us."

You can't help but chuckle at his joke, feeling relief when he steps closer and pulls you into a comforting hug. He gives you a moment to cry on the shoulder of his tux, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

As he looks around the empty room, he realizes the reason for your tears.

"They aren't coming, are they?" Pietro sighs and hugs you tighter as you shake your head no.

"Well, no worries... I happen to be great at walking girls down the aisle." He pulls back, signature smirk on his face.

You wipe your eyes as you look at him, "Really?"

"Y/N, we've been best friends forever, I already think of you as my sister..." He chuckles and hands you a tissue.

As you wipe your tears, you look up to the man, seeing the little boy who grew up beside you all those years ago. The one who teased you about everything, playful fights in the halls. The one who was always the shoulder to cry on. The one who always made you laugh when you needed to smile.

"Thank you, Pietro. For everything." You sigh and hug him again, thanking God for the Maximoff twins.

"Now... I told Wanda you were doing totally fine in here, so we're going to keep that lie going."

You finally smile, and when it reaches your eyes, Pietro grins, holding his arm out to you.

Wanda smiles as her father kisses her forehead, dropping her off at the altar. Although, it fades as she looks beside her parents to see a missing spot. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks for her twin, worry getting the best of her as her eyes search for him.

But when she looks down the aisle and sees the woman who held her heart, arm in arm with the man who was her other half, she can't help the tears that stream down her cheeks or the smile that takes over her face.

"When we were 10 years old, you handed me a card and asked me to be your Valentine," Wanda says and takes your hand in hers, squeezing tightly. "I told you since we were best friends we should just be each others Valentines every year."

Guests around the room chuckle from their seats, a blush forms on your face at the memory and the way her green eyes hold so much love for you as she stares into your own. The world around you blurs, and time seems to stop as the words leave Wandas mouth. In that moment, it truly was just the two of you.

"So I'm saying now, that I want to be your Valentine forever."

The two of you exchange rings, and Wanda slides another band next to the rose ring you already wore.

On this Valentines Day, you say "I Do," and listen to the same two words slip her tongue.

And when instructed to kiss the bride, she wraps her arms around your lower back and pulls you to her, kissing you as if she wanted to convey a lifetime of affection in that one moment. With each kiss, Wanda could feel your love pouring into her a warmth spreading through her body like sunlight on her favorite summer day.

Amongst the cheers and applause of both of your loved ones, you felt the same feeling you always did inside of you when you were with Wanda, a kaleidoscope of butterflies in a storm.

32 Years Old

"Ohh sweetheart, just like that fuck!" Wanda half whispers half moans, her fingers tangling in your hair as you continue to let your mouth devour her. Your hands hold onto her thighs, keeping them spread as you lick upwards and suck on her clit.

A soft sigh escapes her lips, her back arching in response to the sensation. A gentle blush spreads across her cheeks as she looks down to see your eyes were already on her, watching her reaction. You hum against her, the vibrations causing her to surrender to the pleasure.

"Baby I'm gonna cum! Don't stop, please - oh god," she says and feels your hand reach up to cover her mouth.

With each breath, she feels a wave of bliss wash over her, a symphony of pleasure leaving her lips. You moan against her, your tongue lapping up everything she'll give you.

Wanda lets out an exasperated laugh as you finish, covering her face with her hands. You smile up at her, lips wet with her arousal as you chuckle at the sight of her.

"I told you I wanted breakfast in bed this morning," you grin, and she laughs even harder, catching her breath. You grab her hand and kiss the finger that wore her wedding ring.

"Happy Anniversary, Wands..." You say with a cheeky smile. The blush stays on her face as she leans up to kiss you, tasting herself.

"Happy Anniversary, my little Valentine," she smiles into the kiss and wraps her arms around your neck.

"About that..." You say with a joking wince, looking at the confused expression on her face.

"So you aren't going to ask me to be your Valentine this year?" Wanda pouts and gives you her best sad eyes. You kiss her nose.

"Unfortunately, you're going to have to share," you say, and at the realization, Wanda nods. Her heart flutters in her chest as she looks at you with a soft smile.

"I suppose we will have to share, won't we?" Wanda giggles, and you can't help but laugh as you hear small knocking on the door to your bedroom.

The two of you quickly help clean each other up in a fit of giggles and kisses, and as you walk to the door, you both hear the voices of tiny whispering from behind the wood.

"What color is yours?"

"Mom likes red so I did that,"

"But I did red too!"

"It's fine yours is different!"

You open the door to reveal the other set of twins that held your heart, a smile on your face as you see the pair holding a piece of paper each.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" You ask and watch as Tommy runs in the room, jumping on the bed into Wandas arms. Billy just smiles up at you, and you chuckle with a small shake of your head as you lift him up.

"We made you Valentimes Day cards!" He beams at you, his eyes sparkling with pride. Your eyes meet Wandas at his adorable pronunciation of the word, a small silent laugh shared between you as you carry him to the bed.

As the four of you sit in the bed, boasting over your boys handmade cards decorated with crayon hearts and crooked letters of messages with love, you feel the purest form of love.

You look from the twins to your wife, feeling her squeeze your hand as her eyes set on yours. A surge of gratitude and love wash over you.

You think back to all of the Valentines leading up to this one, wondering how you could've gotten so lucky. You felt lucky to be surrounded by so much love, to know what it felt like to be loved.

Wanda leans over and kisses your cheek, seeing the overwhelming happiness in your eyes.

"Our two little Valentines," she says with a chuckle, kissing the top of the boys head.

#marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #valentines day #elizabeth olsen #wanda x reader #lizzie olsen

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saeitoshithoughts · 1 year

Text

PUPPY LOVE

♥️ dating itoshi sae in middle school + in which he swears to marry you + headcanons

characters: itoshi sae

- it started off from you offering him your pencils whenever he seems to forget his. then it moved on to you poking at his shoulder whenever he dozed off in class.

- it escalated: where you would list down his homework for him whenever he is away in an important match for school. in which he would return the favour to show his gratitude by buying you little trinkets he thinks you’d like with his pocket money.

- his pocket money wasn’t much, so most of them came from the convenience store close to his home.

- usually they’re ice creams, sometimes they’re pens with multicolour selection.

- sometimes they were packets of lolipops.

- he then starts to invite you to see his football matches- unwilling for you to see him as a clumsy and hopeless boy who can’t study or do his cleaning duties without causing a bigger mess.

- he shows off a little more- refuses to pass the ball to anyone else.

- it ends with him scoring all five goals for his team.

- the cat was out of the bag when he finally decides to man up and hand you an expensive heart shaped box filled with chocolates the next day. (he promised his mom that he’d do the laundry for a month if she brought it for him).

- first thing first: sae is a family man who expects marriage out of this.

- after your second year together, you were presented with a clumsily drawn marriage certificate: with his big handwriting sprawled over the boxes and two other empty boxes- waiting for you to sign your name away/

- sae takes promises seriously: he will make it happen.

- sae who makes thought-filled promises to you:

“ill buy you the expensive stuff once we’re older and i become the best.”

“i can buy that dress for you no problem once i become the best.”

“ill buy you a bigger ring than that.” he once points out, while holding your hand in your pockets on a bitterly cold winter night- when he saw you gawking at a woman getting proposed to.

- sae who tells his family about you.

- his dad tried to tease him, only to be met with sae’s proud face,

“yeah, we’re gonna marry once I become the best”

- sae, who takes his promise so seriously that a new chapter starts with his hand holding yours, hair carefully and neatly swept back, suit thoroughly ironed out, saying:

“I do.” (and i always have)

#itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi headcanons #blue lock headcanons #sae x reader #blue lock #sae headcanons #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader

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thelittlewriter · 4 months

Text

Anonymous letter

A Valentine's Day Story

Pairing : Kenma x Reader

"Dear Y/N,

I like you. There's no need to beat around the bush since it's Valentine's Day and I'm gifting you chocolate. Thank you for being as nice and positive as you are, it always makes my day better.

P.S. : there's no need for me to sign this letter because I'm only telling you that I like you, I'm not asking you to like me back."

And that was it. No hint, nothing. You had no idea who was this person. You stared at the handwriting for hours, and couldn't even figure out if it was someone you knew. You guessed it was someone you knew at least a little, seeing how you apparently made his day better. The thought made you laugh a little. How could you make someone's day better just by... existing ?

But you couldn't laugh too hard. After all, someone made your day better just by existing. But there was no way you would've gifted him chocolate for Valentine's Day.

Kenma just wasn't the type. You had spent the whole day with him, and he never asked once. Even when Kuroo asked you, he didn't seem interested. You tried to avoid answering the question all day until you just couldn't. So you lied.

"No, I didn't get anything", you said. "Did you ?"

He paused for a while, frowning his eyebrows. But he still answered :

"Of course. The ladies love me."

After a while, he asked again :

"So you really didn't get anything ?"

You shook your head. After all, that "anonymous sender" could've been a prank. You would never know.

"Even if I did", you added. "I wouldn't have kept them."

Finally, Kenma raised his head and looked at you.

"Why ?"

"Because I'm not interested. I'll just throw them away."

You didn't mean the last part. Whether you felt the same thing, someone had the courage to tell you how they felt for you. That was more than you could do. But you just didn't want to talk about chocolate and Valentine's Day anymore.

"You threw away my chocolate ?" you heard.

You turned to Kenma. He was pouting, as he avoided your gaze.

"It was you ?" you asked, confused.

He didn't say anything, as he walked faster to keep a distance between you. You couldn't see his face anymore. You turned to Kuroo, who was looking in the opposite direction. And then you realized.

They were both in on it.

"So it was a prank ?"

Nobody answered. You ran to Kenma.

"Why would you do that ?"

He looked back at you. His piercing gaze froze you.

"Wasn't the letter clear enough ?"

You didn't know what to answer. You didn't know what to do. You couldn't say anything. What if it was not a prank ? What if he really liked you ? What if...

"I was not pranking you," he said.

Then, he whispered :

"But you threw them away."

You quickly grabbed his hand as he turned away.

"I didn't !"

You opened your bag, showing him the chocolate box. You saw how his eyes lit up and you looked away, embarrassed. You thought about the letter again. It really looked like you were making his day better, just now. Just like he did.

"I was going to eat them, I swear."

"Then why did you say you wouldn't ?"

Your heart clenched. You wanted to say the words but all you could do was admire him for being able to do what you couldn't.

"I had my reasons", you just whispered.

You caught a glimpse of a smile on his face as you started to walk again.

"You know", he said after a while. "Gifting chocolate isn't really my thing."

You laughed.

"I know. That's why I didn't gift you any."

"What did you say ?"

You didn't answer. You weren't ready yet. Still, you grabbed his hand as he silently walked you home. You would have a lot of talking to do when Valentine's Day is over. But right now, all that mattered was that he liked you and you liked him too.

#haikyu x reader #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #kenma x y/n #kenma x you #kenma fluff #kenma angst #kenma x reader #hq kenma #hq fanfic #hq x reader #hq fluff

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nouvxllev · 5 months

Text

closed-door policy || p3

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even if the sky were to fall under the three of you, you still couldn't believe that Wednesday Addams was standing right beside you, indirectly inviting you to a goddamn date in front of the entire student body.

Words: 5.2k

Warning: slight angst???

a/n: just a little update before i get kicked in the ass with assignments and exams

part 1 || part 2 || masterlist

You open your eyes, a blaring alarm clock from your phone blasting in your ears, only to wake up to an empty bed. Your empty bed. You look off to the side, where Wednesday was usually supposed to be, but none. No one.

A headache started to form, but it was fine, you'd think. It was one of the many post-party clarities you'd have. It wasn't even the worst one out of the many. Leaving only you to blame, and a groan to escape your lips as you massaged your temple.

You could almost throw up if not drinking a cup of water sitting next to your bedside table, wondering if it was even drinkable to begin with because of the aftertaste you experienced.

With a sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Trying to stand up but kept grounded by whatever the fuck you were feeling now.

It was only so early in the morning. 6:30 displayed on your phone, the brightness overwhelming. Wednesday was always someone who got up in the earliest parts of the day. But you'd always find her sitting perfectly still at her desk, typing away whatever idea she had on her typewriter. It was the usual, the everyday thing. Until now. You don't know what changed her mind.

You closed your eyes, desperately hoping the nauseating headache would pass soon. You sit there, still as a board, your fists clenching around the fabric of your bedsheets. Until Thing, an appendage you once found horrifying to the point you locked yourself out of the dorm, approached you with a sticky note attached to his… fingers, body?

Reaching out for the sticky note, Thing signed. 'Wednesday left it. For you, I could only think.'

With heavy eyes, you read what was on the page.

"Forget what happened yesterday, everything."

Of course, you thought to yourself. Atleast she wrote it with her pure coherent handwriting. That's a plus.

Wednesday was always like this the night before. Acting as if the both of you weren't in love. Or atleast, had something going on in between. You didn't know anymore.

"Thanks, Thing." You replied before throwing the note into the trashcan.

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Love had a way of wrenching itself into people's hearts; completely tearing them apart, limb by limb as they succumb to the fatal reality of unrequited love. If not death, it'll be love.

Day and night, her living wake, she shouldn't fall in love with someone. Again. Even in a million years, she'd rather be left alone with the reaper instead of someone by her side. Yet, she couldn't erase what she willingly felt for you. Though, unwillingly or willingly, she was in love. With you. Of all people. In and of itself felt terrifying.

She knew you wanted something more. Your eyes said it all, every time you talked to her you'd say words that should've been left unsaid, your presence itself made her know you wanted something more of the relationship she gave you. It was written all over you, etched in everything you do.

But that was the problem.

You were too in love with her.

Wednesday was afraid she couldn't love you as much as you loved her.

It was unforgiving, she knew, how she was leading you onto a label that meant nothing but quiet sighs amongst closed doors. It wasn't false hope that she offered, nor was it a mere hoax, Wednesday herself is still madly in love with you. She just denies it over and over.

She didn't mean to take it too far. To continuously bring you over to her side, kiss your worries away and the hefty pain that lingered on your soul, whispering whatever you wanted to hear. She didn't mean to be so vulnerable that it led her to a situation of long nights. Acting as if everything is fine, normal as it is. As if nothing ever happened, you never happened.

As much as she wants to get rid of you, get rid of whatever she was feeling about you, she needs you.

Your voice lingered. Echoing somewhere in her brain, in her heart dare she say. Your kisses remained on her stained lips, your touch persisted their warmth on her body, everything. Everything about you stayed, you stayed.

Wednesday needed you more than she could ever need someone in her life, she needed you more than she needed air to keep on living. You were her heartbeat that kept her alive all this time. It's confusing, even for her, how you were a paradox that Wednesday loved and hated how she knew you loved her back.

The many times you've mistakenly said 'i love you.' And the many times your eyes shimmered with hope that Wednesday would say it back. Of course, she never did. Instead, she wished that you'd take it back, take your undying love for her back and stuff it away deep into your heart where no one can reach it.

Wednesday wanted to erase it. Forget, forget, forget, repeats inside her brain, dawning on her. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

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You don't know how many seconds had passed when Wednesday walked by you, ignoring the simple hi and wave you offered to her. Of course, you kept on walking. Same old chatter surrounded your being, your four friends laughing along with the stride of your feet. But your mind wandered off to somewhere else, not really tuning in to whatever your friends had to say.

You could hear Enid asking her from the distance, asking her why she wasn't more friendly with you as if she didn't just go out of her way to rescue you from whoever the fuck that girl was yesterday. Truth be told, you could ask her the same question. Would you though? 'Course not.

It's not unusual for Wednesday to completely ignore you, or to glare at you like you've cursed her entire family bloodline with a single greeting. What is usual is for Wednesday to carefully drop a note into your bag.

'Quad. After class.

Signed, Wednesday Addams.'

Signed, Wednesday Addams, she writes. As if she wasn't the only person who makes out with you in secluded areas.

You read every stroke she wrote. Every word, every note that graces the pocket of your bag you always made sure to open whenever you pass by Wednesday, every time she turns around just slightly to read your expression when you open her note. You couldn't help but wonder if Wednesday will ever, one day, stop to think about adding more than just the location and what time will it be.

But you'd have better luck at dying first.

"Hey. . . Party. . . y/n!"

Words start to blur as you think to yourself even more. Would Wednesday ever give you something more than just a loose piece of paper she found lying across her trashcan? Would Wednesday ever think of you as someone she enjoys being with instead of the whole friends-with-benefits thing? Would Wednesday ever love you as much as you love her? Does Wednesday even give two shits about you?

"Y/n!"

You turned your head around, the note in your hands immediately being crumpled and stuffed into your pockets. Damn, why was everyone yelling your name all of a sudden this week?

"Yeah, hey," You started, stopping in your tracks when your friends stopped too.

"The party? The one that fur guy sent out?" Your friend asked, their arms crossed and leaning against a wall. "Calling all furs! Or some lame invitation." Right. You almost forgot the reason you went to an outcast among outcasts school.

'God, it's only been a day since the last party. Don't you guys get tired of doing this shit and doing the same fucking people?' You almost say. You were glad you caught yourself before words came flying out of your mouth. But you weren't wrong, parties were becoming consistent, and you couldn't attend them like usual without having to sit in bed for atleast 20 minutes to question your self-worth.

Maybe Wednesday's constant refusal did rub off on you.

"Can't go." You randomly blurted out, too quick for your friends to start noticing something's different about you.

"And why?" The other chimed in, immediately asking of you, you can sum up that all four of them were suspicious. "You always go with us every time! What happened?"

"I have homework. From Ms. Cadie. I really need to submit it by tomorrow. I can't fail her class this time."

All of them laughed. "Since when did you care about homework and Ms. Cadie?"

Your other friend agreed, slightly nodding their head. "The last time I've heard Ms. Cadie's name come out of your mouth is when you started talking about how fucked up it was for her to give you a low grade and how you would've torn up the exam paper if given the chance."

You shrugged it off. "I'm a changed person."

"Bullshit!"

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It's amazing how somebody could ramble about so many at once, yet ramble about absolutely nothing or just something that literally has no sense whatsoever.

It was unfair. Sure, you loved Wednesday, you shouldn't be at the quad after class pretending to fawn over some guy on the bench with your palm resting on your chin, acting like he was the most important person in the world even though he probably doesn't know how to strike up something interesting as a conversation topic. But you would. Just for the small price of Wednesday glaring knives at him, and probably more at you too.

If having to meet death for the second time in a row to get an ounce of attention from Wednesday outside in terms of the closed-door policy, you would've been doing that ages ago if it weren't for her constantly locking you up in their dorm after night or after parties and something following you around.

Right now, you could've been enjoying your time with Wednesday. Letting her hands roam all over your body, kissing you as if you were the only person who mattered in this entire world. But no, you decided to see how early you'd face death. Or in short: You just wanted to see Wednesday jealous.

Childish, sure, you'd admit, but the way you would often sneak a glance over at her table with Enid, you could see how eager she was to snap the guy's head off. She could never be so gorgeous.

Your body leaned into him, your head tilting ever so slightly to get his attention, a sly smile gracing your lips even though you wanted to scowl at him for the 100th time.

"So..." The guy paused, anticipation waiting in his eyes as his leg rocked back and forth, "the Rave'Ns coming up and—"

"It is?" Your eyes locked onto his, eyebrows furrowed. A hint of surprise in your voice.

"Yeah, next week, and well," he continued, a smirk playing on his lips, "I was thinking we could go together. You know, on a date." He looked confident, you'd give him that. You almost felt pity for him for what you were about to say.

"I—"

"She'll be attending with me."

A sudden cold voice cut through the conversation, interrupting your soon-to-be-rejection. You turned to find Wednesday standing there, her eyes attempting to murder the guy in front of you.

Even if the sky were to fall under the three of you, you still couldn't believe that Wednesday Addams was standing right beside you, indirectly inviting you to a goddamn date in front of the entire student body.

You stayed silent, thanking whoever was up there for gracing you for this moment.

The guy scoffed, maybe too confident for your liking to scoff at The Wednesday Addams. "You don't even—"

"L/N owes me."

Her voice was stoic, collected even. But it carried so much intent that made his expression falter. Even you couldn't read what was inside her head, you could only hope it was an intricate 50-plan very gruesome murder of the guy.

"You have a ten-second window before I remind you that I have the physical and mental capacity to skin you alive to substitute your bones and follicles as a bow for my cello."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He put his hands up in surrender, carefully standing up and backing away. He muttered a half-assed apology, and you could hear his voice trembling. But even so, he still had the damn guts to meet your gaze. "I'll see you around, Y/n."

You turned to Wednesday, watching her face morph into a scowl. A twitch in her lips. Just how you liked it.

"See you around!" You yelled, waving goodbye while a smile was playing on your lips, knowing damn well Wednesday was regretting ever doing something remotely nice to you.

Wednesday's scowl deepened, you know of it. Just because she immediately grabbed your wrists, not caring once for the people who were staring bullets when she dragged your lovesick body around, leading you into a secluded area.

"So we're on a last-name basis now, Addams?" You teased as you stepped in front of Wednesday who was leaning against a wall, a grin appearing on your face even though your heart couldn't restrain your hands needily wrapping around her waist. "Thought you were better than that."

Wednesday looked you up and down, though you could see her façade falter at your simple touch. "You seem to have a hard time remembering anything beyond pathetically flirting with someone." Her eyes narrowed, crossing her arms. "You were supposed to meet with me."

"So what you're just spouting at me is that," you pause for a slight moment, relishing in the way Wednesday looked at you with that stoic expression. "You're jealous?" You whispered, a raspy voice coming out of your throat.

"I don't indulge in such an emotion. Let alone wear it."

You pushed her even further. "Oh, but you've tried it on so many times, Willa. I think you're getting used to it."

There was silence in the room. The confidence you were reflecting was starting to falter, you were about to say a thousand-word essay on the spot saying how you were so sorry for even talking back to her.

Wednesday let out a deep breath. "I didn't bring you here to argue." She leaned in, her lips almost in touch with yours. You could feel her breath on your skin, and you could see almost every feature she carried on her face. She didn't need to say anything more, you loved her as much as you loved kissing her.

---------------------------TIME SKIP----------------------------------

"Holy shit... Willa!"

You yelled, barging into the shared room the two of you lived in for the semester, dressed up and everything. It wasn't too fancy, nor was it too horrible up to your standards. It was just you overall, and you were comfortable with that.

"Get your shit together, we're gonna be late for the Rave'N!" You paced around the room, hoping to see an already dressed up and ready-to-go Wednesday Addams with that perfect scowl on her face and her go-to threat about how she'd rather do this instead of attending the Rave'N a second time.

But you had to remind her; she was the one who invited you.

You stopped over the vanity mirror you brought for the two of you, fixing the fabric of your clothes, trying to get it as neatly as possible.

You heard a turn of a doorknob behind you. "Damn, what took you so long? I was about toooohhhh…. holy shit."

You looked at Wednesday in the mirror, there she stood—looking absolutely gorgeous. It was truly unfair how she could steal your heart within mere seconds, and it was unfair how the world depicts heaven as something after death when it's right here in front of you.

Wednesday could've chosen not to do anything, and not to follow whatever the dress code was at the Rave'N, but here she was. The outfit complemented her style, her eyes, her soul, her everything—it suited her. More so than most. Of course, it was an all black gown just like her previous Rave'N attire, but it seemed she changed it up a bit, adding subtle details that captured the essence of her entire being.

You turned around, coughing whatever was magically stuck in your throat. Maybe the urge to make out with her the entire night.

"You—You look.." Fuck, you almost choked on your words. "You look, menacing. Yeah." Your last breath almost came out as a whisper of relief, a sigh of someone who’s been charmed till their dying moments. It wasn't the typical compliment you'd give to someone, but it was the compliment that always had Wednesday smirk.

"You're making quite the commotion about a stereotypical party amongst teenage adults," she remarked, walking towards you, her voice carrying that distinct calmness that bordered on some sort of intent.

"Didn't you attend this before?" You said, fixing her collar, "It's like a prom, Wednesday, think about it," you replied with a playful grin. Your hands firmly tugging the points of the collar to not immediately pull her into a crushing hug.

"People don't usually persuade someone by making it worse."

"You're the one who invited me." You pointed to Wednesday, then to yourself. You always loved the crease in Wednesday's eyebrows whenever you pointed out something correct.

Wednesday arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms while she looked at you up and down. "I invited you out of—"

"Jealousy?" You immediately chimed in, a huge smile tugging on your lips, already knowing what the answer was. Until it faltered because of Wednesday's dark gaze dawning on yours.

"—Necessity." She continued her own sentence. "This is not because I enjoy such affairs. Nor jealousy as you assume."

You laughed, a way to hide the creeping blush that was making their way to your cheeks. "Right, necessity. Because every person like you attends a prom as a need, not because they wanted to scare away a poor guy out of flirting with her girl."

The last two words slipped out almost accidentally and immediately, your bold confidence almost fading away as your throat slightly cracked. But it was fine; seeing how Wednesday had that perfect blush tinted on her face. You could almost paint every sunset that ever was to adore this world with the color of your soul whenever you see it.

She cleared her throat, her eyes averting yours. "Don't hold your breath."

"Just a bit of harmless teasing. Sorry, Wends." You power-walked your way over the door, a tinge of embarrassment coloring your cheeks and invading your brain. You turned the knob, opening the door for her as a silent gesture that the conversation should probably just stop and end.

Wednesday walked through the door, her usual stoic expression back in place, though the faint blush never wavered away. She never fails to make you smile like a complete fool.

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

"Okay, I just have to lay a ground rule before we enter."

You stepped in front of Wednesday, meeting her gaze with your own serious or scowl expression. Music coming from the Rave'N was blasting in your ears as if it was a sonic boom, the bass coming alive as your body vibrated.

"Please do make it quick before I flee the scene with a decapitated head along my hands." Wednesday squinted, her tone almost disgusted. You could tell that the flashing lights and smoke machines surrounding the Rave'N wasn't really Wednesday's scene; that should've been obvious by now.

"I know you were upset at your last Rave'N because of the prank thing, and—"

"It was simply inane. Unforgivable, even."

"...Right," you nodded slowly, almost concerned with how passionate she was about the subject matter. "Buuut, please don't recorrect their doings. Even if it was 'unforgivable' as you say. You know, with real blood."

Wednesday's eyes narrowed slightly, a tilt in her head. "I make no promises, y/n."

You clicked your tongue, giving her a slight nod of acknowledgment, turning your heel, and letting Wednesday follow suit. "Good enough reassurance for my conscious about aiding and abetting your future crimes."

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

The two of you stepped into the life of the party, or rather the complete chaos was it all. You knew the Rave'N as some kind of formal event that Nevermore always held but couldn't be bothered to attend, but you did know that it was always held delicately with the hands of the teachers.

And, fuck, you were so wrong.

Ever since Weems died, and a new principal took her position, the event was nothing compared to a typical frat party you were always getting dragged into.

There were bodies on the floor, laid down and absolutely fucked out of their mind, standing up, hell there was even someone on the ceiling.

The air was completely occupied with the scent of alcohol terribly not-so-hidden by the mix of juices and something else that you couldn't quite identify and would rather stay that way for the rest of your life. There was that occasional harmonized (somehow) burst of laughter from the students who attended, the dance floor wasn't that filled with people but it was enough to get pushed around on.

Drinks and food were scattered on the sides, and you of all were surprisingly amazed that they weren't trampled to death and shattered into pieces.

"Oh, God." You muttered to yourself, already expecting Wednesday to have disappeared the moment you turned your head.

Until you were met with the same girl, looking like the perfect balance between chaos and tranquility with her presence.

"You do realize you have approximately five seconds to persuade me to continue further before I maim you from head to toe and taxidermy your flesh." She quipped while you gulped. The sentence alone made you feel like you were being maimed.

"I plead the fifth," you held your right hand up high as you faced Wednesday. "You don't have to enjoy it. Just stay with me, alright?" You lowered your hand, offering it to Wednesday, "I am your date after all. You can't just abandon a girl like that."

Wednesday could only look at you up and down, she has a habit of it doesn't she, giving you a bland look before walking down the steps and over to the drinks table. Completely ignoring your rather pathetic attempt at holding hands with her.

With a sigh, you followed her oddly fast-paced walk. "Oh, so you can fuck me sideways and back on our balcony but you draw the line at holding my hand?"

"I rather not use such vulgar terms, but precisely."

"Okay, Wednesday, I wasn't the one who was whispering how much you wanna bend me over and absolutely—"

She suddenly stopped, turning her body to face yours. "Should've stapled then skinned your mouth the time we stepped out of the dorm." You almost missed how Wednesday's cheeks had that slight red tint on them, and how her eyes softened just a tiny bit.

"But how else are you able to kiss me?" you teased, your hands going behind your back as you looked at Wednesday with a lopsided grin plastered on your face, just how Wednesday loathed it.

She looked up at you, crossing her arms while she lowered her voice down to something of a whisper, a sultry hint to it. "I'm sure there are other areas you want me to kiss."

"Well, aren't you a mind-reader?"

"Oh, aren't you insufferable?" Wednesday rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

The two of you enjoyed the party, somewhat. A little bit more than the other one, but it was nice to be in eachothers presence with everyone around you. Not just behind closed doors.

It was awkward just to be standing there, your hands clutching the edge of the table while Wednesday had hers perfectly placed in front of her. It was the dynamic that you always noticed; one neat, one... not so neat, but she tries.

It was peaceful, peaceful enough for the party scene going on around the two of you, until a certain someone showed up. Holding himself a drink and his hands digging in his pockets.

"Surprised to see you guys here." Ajax approached you, giving the both of you a slight nod of acknowledgment while you just smiled. You didn't know if Wednesday gave him a scowl or just plain-out ignored him.

"Hey, 'Jax. Not surprised you're here." you replied with the friendliest smile you could give to a guy like him. Not like you hated him, you just wanted to be with Wednesday without any company as of now.

Ajax shifted slightly under Wednesday's gaze, discomfort crossing his features before he recovered with a casual shrug. "Figured I'd join in before exams start," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm surprised Wednesday took you out instead of the other way round."

Your eyes lit up, finally having a topic you'd enjoy. "Well, she actually—"

"I have to prevent her from getting into trouble like the last very few times. A roommate is only someone with the same residence space, nothing more and nothing less. Far than a friend."

Oh, right.

"Right," you replied, pulling your lips to a thin line to mask the disappointment you felt. "Just roommates."

It stung, sure.

Yeah, that's it. It just stung. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Could've gone without the last few sentences." You mumbled to yourself, your voice brittle.

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Hearing the girl who you convinced yourself to be your forever and the love of your life dismiss your relationship with her as something no more than roommates and less than friends felt like shit. But it was fine. You weren't dealing with a fuck ton of relationship baggage and having to lie that all your 'I love you's' to her were just something to keep whatever you guys have going on light just for you to cry about something like that. Even when you could and would.

But having to stare from the sidelines at a guy flirting with said love of your life with a punch clenched around your palms a little bit too tight that you went over to just for her. Worst is, you knew the guy for being a stuck-up dickhead who has his own cock far up his head.

Oh, how you hated Xavier Thorpe.

Fuckzone is bad enough, but friendzoned? Completely-abolished-by-some-random-dudezoned? But for the record, you too were aimlessly flirting around with another guy for her attention instead of making out with her in some remote area. Maybe this was the karma everyone was talking about.

"People say if you stare at him for a while longer his head might start going in circles."

"Holy shit!" You turned around, a bit spooked, but it was just Enid. The bright bubbly sunshine you always needed in times when you were surrounded by whatever thoughts you were thinking about. "Hey, E."

Enid grinned, showing that infectious smile she carried. "You know Wednesday won't go after him. Especially him." The two of you looked at the guy, ruffling his hand in between the strands of hair while he talked to Wednesday. Who wasn't paying the slightest attention at all.

You let out a forced chuckle, appreciating Enid's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm not—I'm not worried about that."

"Then why are you staring daggers at him like how Wednesday does to everybody?" She stood by you, side by side, her hands tight behind her back. But you couldn't really tell her that you and Wednesday are friends with benefits.

"It's just—"

You started, almost started. Until the words got stuck in your throat when you saw how Xavier led Wednesday to the dance floor, his eyes stuck on hers while she reluctantly followed him. How he tried to get Wednesday to dance along with him, his lips curving into an awkward grin.

"It's nothing." You nodded slowly, trying to tear your eyes away from the sight of Wednesday with Xavier, but your efforts were drained.

"I'll head back early, Enid. Sorry to bother your night with all this."You handed your cup to Enid, her hand hesitating to grab your cup. You could see how she offered a sympathetic look, her hand almost reaching out for your own.

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"I didn’t see you when I returned."

The door slowly closed behind Wednesday, and you could hear everything down from her steps to her breathing as she changed into her usual clothing.

You were slumped over a chair, pretending to do your homework for the first time, but it was just a ruse. You were just staring at a piece of paper, the words slowly starting to morph into Xavier and Wednesday's names side by side in your vision.

"Probably because you were seeing someone else." You muttered, bitterness leaving a trail of venom in your words as you turned around in your chair.

Sure it was childish, you knew Wednesday was never going to accept him as a love interest. But neither is she going to accept you.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, her features scrunching up as she observed you.

"Nothing. I just wanted to...” Your jaw clenched. Think of a lie. Lie, lie, lie. “Just wanted to take a rest. I’ve been going to a lot of parties this month, you know? Also, the whole vibe wasn't really my thing."

Half true, half lie. Who even unironically says vibe anymore anyway? But you wouldn’t admit that you were jealous because Wednesday was just talking to some dude and Enid brings up some spur-of-the-moment bullshit that lead you to this situation. You don't blame her, though.

For a moment, you thought Wednesday saw through everything, Right through your soul by the way she walks towards you.

"I swear, I—" Your words got caught off as soon as Wednesday's lips touched yours. Her fingers tracing your jawline as she leaned towards you, pulling you in as her hand trailed along the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

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Wednesday regretted how she kissed you, once again. How she felt pity when your voice dwindled to a mumble, something she found unsettling considering how you were always someone who had joy written all over her face and her heart on her sleeve.

She kissed you, over and over again. Her lips onto yours, yours onto hers. She knew she had you wrapped around her finger, how you also had her wrapped around yours. How her bed always felt warm with you in it, how her world started to flicker with colors she never saw before, how her soul melted by the touch of your hand.

By the time you pulled away from the kiss, Wednesday was in awe of how you were something she'd cherish if it wasn't for her internal argument with herself when it comes to you. Her thoughts that consumed her till the very end.

"Wednesday," she heard you breathe, her body on top of yours, "Do you..."

Don't say it. Don't say it, don't say it, don't—

"Don't say it."

She murmured, by accident. She didn't mean to say it out loud. Her eyes went wide, while yours went dark. Almost like hers, even.

"Yeah, right." You whispered, she could tell you were disappointed. Or even angry, or upset.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.

She could almost say.

You don't know how much I love you.

But she didn't. She wouldn't.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday x y/n #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna marie ortega

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blindmagdalena · 5 months

Text

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )

18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. | CH I | CH 3 | CH 4

Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.

After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.

Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.

Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.

There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.

After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?

You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.

Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.

Truce?

You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.

Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.

Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.

Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.

You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.

Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.

If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.

You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.

No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.

Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.

That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.

It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.

A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.

Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.

Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.

“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.

“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.

“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.

“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language. “What you owe me is an apology.”

Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”

He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.

“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “

The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols.

To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”

You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.

“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”

He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.

“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”

The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.

“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression..

He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.

“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”

He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”

Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.

Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.

Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.

Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.

The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.

Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.

The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.

That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.

In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.

Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think.

It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.

“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away.

Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.

At least that gives him something to gift you.

Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.

Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns.

He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.

The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.

Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe.

Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.

Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.

Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.

That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.

He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.

He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.

Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as “a large purple massage wand.”

A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.

Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–

“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.

He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.

Christ.

So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.

No bra.

His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…

Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.

Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?

He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.

It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.

He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.

Not yet.

He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.

Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.

He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.

( chapter three )

#i have no self control ENJOYYYYY #praise me it's shocking i finished this so quickly #although it's not really finished bc i'm stretching it into 3 parts but #couldn't help myself i needed him to be a little weirdo #next chapter is already started tho and shouldn't take long!#ALSO I MADE THIS GIF #i'm so happy lol #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #homelander #plus size reader

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harrystylesfan2686 · 6 months

Text

Pieces Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader.

Summary: You finally confront Azriel about your feelings which ends in huge argument.

A/N: thank you to everyone who read and loved Pieces. I tried my best to make Azriel up to your expectations. I hope you all like this!

Pieces Masterlist

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I stopped making efforts with Azriel.

I stopped talking to him. Stopped waking up with him to wish him goodbye at the door. Stopped asking him about his day at dinner. Even stopped waiting for him to eat. I make our lunch, eat and get out of the house. Walking until I'm sure he's gone again. Come home make dinner, eat and sleep without waiting for him.

I accepted the fact that he doesn't want me anymore.

He still kisses me goodbye though.

So I guess there is still hope but I don't want it.

I open my eyes and glance to Azriel's empty bedside. I rub my eyes, already feeling tired even though I just started my day. I havn't been getting good enough sleep lately, staying up almost every night, rethinking everything over and over again. And when I do get sleep, it's always dreamless. I always feel like I fell alseep just a minute ago. I sit up on my bed to find a note on the bedside.

Dinner at Rhys tonight.

Four plain words in Azriel's handwriting. He didn't even sign it with his name. I sigh and get up from bed. I don't want to face anyone right now. I'm too tired to put on an act of being happy. Well at least I won't have to make food.

My throat feels scratchy. I warm up a little water to relieve the soreness but it doesnt make any difference. I suddenly sneeze, covering my face and freeze after realization finally hits me. I'm sick. I groan.

Can this day get any worse?

-☆-

When we arrived at the river house, I conversed with everyone for a while, catching up on everything after not seeing any of them for so long.

Feyre complemented my dress and commented on how my face looks different. I laughed a little saying that's because she hadn't seen me in so long, hoping my smile and lie seemed real enough for her to not get suspicious.

When I sneezed and coughed again, she figured I was sick and scolded me a little for coming, saying I should've stayed home and rested. I shrugged at that.

When we sat down on the table, Azriel whispered to me,"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" To which I had kept looking away and answered,"You didn't ask." He didn't say anything else to me and neither did I to him. In fact I didn't talk to anyone much and only spoke when asked to do so the whole time.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" Azriel questioned when we walk into our house. I hang my coat on the coat stand and remove my shoes, taking my time answering him and finally say,"As I said before, you didn't ask."

"How was I supposed to know? And you didn't even spend much time with me. You went straight to Feyre, the second we entered and didn't talk to me at all the whole night." I could hear irritation in his voice which made me clench my jaw.

I took a deep breath,"I didn't realise you missed me so much considering you were glued to Elain all night." I spit out without looking at him and walk to our bedroom.

"What do you mean by that?" He follows me.

"Nothing." I sigh not wanting to have this argument right now but, of course, he doesn't care about that.

"No, tell me." He frowned.

"You talked to Elian all night so I thought, maybe I shouldn't disturb whatever conversation you must have going on." My lips thin as I look up at him.

"I had no choice but to talk to her because you didn't talk to me and and we were the only two people left alone." He said.

"Alright. But that was tonight. What about that other days and nights you spend with her? You like her. I get it. You don't need to explain yourself." My eyes fill with unwanted tears and I look away from him. I try to get away from him but he grabs my arm to keep me there.

"Yes, I like talking to her, but I would prefer to talk to you more." He says softly. I scoff.

"Don't lie az. Do us both a favor and accept it that you like her company better. I have." I snatch my arm back and try to walk away. He still follows me.

"No. I admit I like her company but no more than yours. You are more important." He stops in front of me.

"I don't believe that." A tear falls down my face. His eyes look into mine with confusion. "I watch you with her. How happy and content you look in her presence. Everyday you come home, speak barely two words to me and go back to her again." I fold my arms on my chest and look down. "You spend the time with her that youre suppose to spend with me. You tell her the things you should tell me. Your like her. More than me."

"That's not true. My love, I like you a lot more than her. You are the most important to me." His hand wips my tears and rests on my cheek. I rip it off me. "I don't believe you." I look at him with anger.

"You tell me Azriel, when was the last time you commented on my cooking? The last time you told how I looked? When was the last time you asked me how I was doing? When was the last time you held me? The last time you truly listened to me?" His expression falls in realisation, as my questions grow. "When was the last time you told you loved me and fucking meant it?!" I breath heavy, looking at his face tilted down, eyes cast down.

"I-," He clears his throat. "I did always meant when I said I loved you."

I turn to the other side. I can't look at him. I cover my eyes and try to focus on settling down my breathing. "I think you should leave." I whisper and turn to him again.

His head snaps to mine. "No! No. No. No. Don't push me away. Please." His voice cracks and a tear falls down his eyes. "Please give me a chance to fix this. Please don't push me away." His hands on either side of me and puts his forehead against mine, eyes looking into mine filled with tears and anguish.

"You pushed me away first." I whisper, gently taking his hands off of me and his face crumbles as more tears fall down. I cry with him.

"I just need time." I watch him nod silently, wiping his face clear with his hands while stepping away from me.

"Okay. I'll be in the house of wind. Please come to me when you're ready. I want to fix this. I don't want to let you go." I nod silently, not trusting my words.

I watch him nod again and go out of the door, leaving me alone in the house we bought together. Leaving me alone for my thoughts and memories to haunt me in the dead of the night. I'll be alright though. I'll take my time to think everything through. I'll heal myself then think about giving azriel a chance to heal us.

I just need time.

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Tags: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @crazylokonugget

#acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel x femalereader #pieces

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cursed-nyxan · 8 days

Text

Handwriting headcanons

Unpopular opinion: he does not have ugly handwriting. It is actually beautiful—at least aesthetically pleasing to see, but completely illegible.

This is his most legible writing which he wrote with big care. His other handwiting that he uses to make notes for himself just looks like some weird angelic code and is totally unreadable.

He always has many little sheets of paper with him. You’re not quite sure how he keeps them uncrumpled.

He uses a simple 'K' as his signature. Or so you think. Did his hand slip?

He won't even write you a note unless he has some fancy-looking paper with him.

His handwriting is absolutely flawless.

I imagine his handwriting used to be very ugly, but he practiced a lot because he’s a perfectionist.

He writes quite slowly because he still has to focus on making his writing look good.

He never has paper with him, most likely to write you a note on a napkin.

He gives me the vibes of someone who only writes in capitals.

His notes are probably enchanted, could emit a gentle glow similar to his lilies or release sweet scent.

Despite the efforts they still look bad.

He may or may not find a little piece of crumpled paper in his pocket.

Even the paper smells like cigarettes. Sometimes also covered with eldritch doggy droll.

His letters look like they were written by someone who forgot how to write long ago.

He insists on signing in all capital letters.

They naturally have beautiful handwriting, not even trying.

They always carry a carefully folded piece of paper in their pocket.

If it's slightly crumpled, it means a stray cat has chewed on it.

If it was your favorite stray, they purposely keep the paper and add side notes like, 'Mr. Fluffs misses you.' They absolutely disagree you naming the cat Mr. Fluffs

#touchstarved game #touchstarved headcanon #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved vere #touchstarved leander #touchstarved ais #touchstarved mhin #ts kuras #ts vere #ts leander #ts ais #ts mhin

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messylxve · 3 days

Text

burned hearts | aaron hotchner x reader

part three

content warning : psychotic break, gun, gunshots, injured reader, hospital/ER setting, sad love confessions, happy endings ( I love happy endings)

pt 1 pt 2

If the silence before was sickening, you didn’t even know how to describe it now. You spared him no words as you got out the car and made your way to your apartment.

Aaron only took that as a sign to follow a far distance behind.

Your apartment felt so fitting. It was an amalgamation of everything that reminded him of you and Aaron couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging in being there.

“I was forced to let go of three officers in the past year,” you uttered as you sat in front of your computer, typing away.

“Two moved away, one was let go for failure of a psych eval.”

Hotch frowned at that one. Placing a hand on the back of your chair, he leaned in close to get a good look at the screen.

“Pull up what you have on him.”

Your glance shifted over to him through your peripheral. He was close, his cheek nearly brushing against yours as his eyes stayed trained on the screen.

Catching yourself, you cleared your throat. “You’re breathing down my neck.”

Quicker than ever, Aaron backed away, clearing his throat as well.

You frowned, your attention now fully on him. “Martin Johnson, described as a family man, always talked about them in work when given the chance. But…”

Aaron looked over at you. “But?”

“They all recently passed. Car accident. Johnson was the only survivor.”

“How many people in his family?”

Your frowned deepened as the dot began to connect in your mind. “Four. His wife…two daughters…and a son.”

“Matches our victims.”

You looked up at Aaron. “He’s recreating his own family.”

Aaron fell silent in agreement. "Do you have an address?"

You nodded your head wordlessly. "Printing off his information now."

"Good, we need to get this back to the rest of my team as soon as possible."

He left your side as you waited by the printer and found himself lingering by the door to your office. His eyes trailed around the room, taking it in again. On a small side table, he saw a collection of pictures in frames of your family.

His face remained stoic, but he could feel the ghost of a smile creeping on his face seeing the pictures of you so happy.

However as his eyes dusted over each one, they snagged on something else: a slip of paper. It looked worn and old. Crumpled, folded, and possibly even cried on, multiple times over.

He would have passed it up had it not been for the pretty handwriting marking it.

'Aaron,' it read.

Instinctively, he grasped it. He held it with so much care, so much cautiousness as if it was to crumble in his hands.

He moved to open it, but it left his hands so quickly, snatched away by you.

"Don't touch my things," you grumbled, storming past him. "C'mon I have the information, we need to get back."

How could things have gone so wrong so quickly?

It was barely even half an hour ago that Aaron Hotchner decided to unturn the memories of a night you didn't ever want to touch again.

It seemed so major in those moments, but now, staring down the barrel of an unsub's gun, you found yourself rethinking every single decision you've ever made.

"Johnson." Your voice wavered as you released your gun from the holster, holding it in the air to show you meant no harm. "You don't want to do this."

"Don't tell me what I want!" His eyes were crazed and rimmed red. They shot all over the place, at the officers, the guns. At Aaron.

The fear clouding Aaron’s eyes squeezed at your heart. No one else could see it, but you did. You always did.

Finally, Martin looked back at you.

"All of you! Abandoned me! When I needed it most!"

"Johnson," an officer barked. "Back away fro—,"

"Get away," Martin screamed, stepping even closer to you, the gun pointed at the bridge of your nose. "Or I will shoot."

"No one is going to shoot, Martin," your words came out in a single breath. Despite the way your hands trembled so furiously, your voice never wavered. "I promise you, just put the gun down."

You saw the hesitation in his stance now. "My family was hurt," he cried. "No one helped me. I put them back together and no one helped me. And now! Now you just want to tear them away from me!"

"Martin."

Your eyes fell away from the man at the sound of a new voice. His voice.

"You didn't get the help you needed before, but we can help your family now. We can't do anything unless you put the gun down."

Everything slowed down in your eyes. You watched as Martin lowered the gun. No longer aimed between your eyes, you slowly let your arms fall to your side. Your attention fell to Aaron and you found a semblance of peace in the center of chaos.

It was calming.

You didn’t realize how much you yearned for that specific kind of peace. That kind of peace that only came from him.

But as quickly as that peace came, it washed away.

You saw the anger in Smith when he first heard the news of his pregnant wife's disappearance. You saw the anger in his eyes when you released him from the case. You saw the anger that burned away at his face when you threatened to withhold his gun.

Yet you never did. You should have taken it. Maybe that would have saved you.

You didn't know where or who the gunshots came from, but you know one of them hit you. You didn't know if you'd live or die, but you knew that between the stress of this case, the resurfaced emotions brought up from seeing Aaron again, and the impact of the gun, your body gave in.

The last thing you saw before it all went black was Aaron.

What a beautiful sight it was.

Aaron stayed by your side the entire time. He never left until he was absolutely forced to. Even then, he couldn’t find it in himself to be very far.

“How’s it looking,” Derek asked Rossi once he finally arrived to the hospital.

“l/n will be okay. Bullet only came in through the shoulder, so it’s a quick recovery.”

Morgan crossed his arms, leaning on the wall next to Rossi. “And Hotch?”

“What about him?”

Derek looked at the man further down the hall. His hands was clasped into each other and his knee bounced repeatedly as he recited unheard words to himself over and over.

“You’re kidding right?”

Rossi spared the man another glance, letting out a deep sigh. “I think he’ll be okay.”

“Are you Aaron Hotchner?”

Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast, but he was on his feet quicker than he could even process his actions. “I- yes—that’s. That’s me.”

The nurse smiled softly. “She’s asking for you.”

Rossi could help but let out a chuckle watching Aaron hesitate before opening the door.

No words could sum up what Aaron felt. He supposed fear would be an appropriate word, but it wasn’t all fear. He felt as if an accumulation of all of his life choices waited behind that door.

In a way, it was.

With a final anxious breath, he pushed the door open.

On the other side, there he saw you. You looked oddly uncomfortable. You squirmed in your hospital bed and chewed on your fingernails as you waited for him. And when you saw him, you sat up straight and cleared your throat awkwardly, almost presenting yourself to him.

It reminded Aaron so much of when he first met you. That authoritative Chief of police personality had faded away into this. Something so vulnerable and fragile.

“Aaron…hi.” Your voice was so soft now.

“Hi.” His sigh died upon his lips when he saw you. “Can I…,” he motioned for the chair next to you.

“You don’t have to ask to sit Aaron.” You couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh, but that smile faded just as quick as it came, pain shooting up your arm.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to make me laugh.”

You watched him as he pulled a chair up to your bed. You couldn’t help but notice the way your hand twitched, almost as if he was holding himself back from grasping your own. Well the one that wasn’t tied back by a sling.

The two of you sat in silence, the both waiting of the other to say something.

You invited him in with hope the words would magically come to you, but you felt the seconds tick by and all you did was get lost in his eyes.

His eyes were brown, but to you it never felt like just brown. It was that gentle shade that for a major portion of your life, you felt so much solace in.

Painfully, your eyes broke away from his saddening ones.

“I…I don’t know how to do this.”

You didn’t see it, but you could practically feel the way Aaron’s eyebrows dipped down in confusion.

“Do what?”

“This,” you tossed your free hand up in exasperation and glared at the fabric of your blanket. “I—, I had so many things I wanted to tell you, I need to tell you but…I don’t even know which words to start with.”

You didn’t know what to expect from him. Some part of him expected you to walk away like you did him, but instead, you found his warm grasp engulfing your own.

He held your hand with such a gentle hold, you couldn’t help but squeeze it to ensure it was really there. Your eyes moved up slowly, meeting his with hesitance and when you finally met his devastating browns, your heart broke for the thousandth time that day.

“I think you already know the words you need to say.”

He didn’t have to say its name for you to know what he was talking about. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded to bag where your clothes would be.

Wordlessly, Aaron let his hand abandon yours to stand. You watched him sift through your things until he pulled out that infamous piece of notebook paper from your abandoned pant pocket.

He moved at an unbearable pace back to you, gave the note a once over, and passed the paper to you.

Back in your hands, you had this great urge to burn it, or throw it, or drown it away so you’d never have to face it. But you knew that it wouldn’t matter anyways.

“You know,” you breathed out. “You’d laugh but I think I’ve read this so many times, I think I memorized it. I-,” your voice cracked, tears found themselves fight their way to the surface. “I don’t think I even need this.” You waved the note in the air before letting it slap down onto your leg.

“I’m not forcing you to read this,” he reassured, placing a tentative hand on your knee. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do.” Your words came quick. You weren’t sure about much anymore but you were sure about this at the very least. “You deserve an explanation for why I left. Why I really left.”

You didn’t open the note. You didn’t even touch it. Instead, you found a sense of fleeting comfort in staring into the empty space between Aaron and the door.

“Aaron,” you recited. “I feel like I need to preface this by telling you that I don’t expect some grand response out of this. I don’t expect you to feel obligated in reciprocating my feelings and I certainly don’t expect you to feel the need to choose anything.

I’m telling you this because I consider you my best friend and I believe, best friends do not and should not lie to each other. I can’t live with this weighing on me anymore and that is why I’m telling you this.

I…love you Aaron Hotchner.

I love you in a way a best friend shouldn’t love a best friend. And it hurts.”

You didn’t even notice the tears now streaming down your cheeks until a sob broke free from your breath. Your unopened letter laid free on your lap now as you moved to wipe your tears.

“It hurts so much, but I need you to know this because last night was a mistake. Not because I hated every moment of it, I didn’t.

It was a mistake because I’ve been lying to you. It was a mistake because I, as a best friend was supposed to help you grieve your breakup with Haley. Not throw myself at you in a moment of vulnerability.

I’m telling you this in hopes of moving past this because in the end, if I were to do something stupid, something I truly regret, I fear that I’d lose you and that…that would probably break me beyond repair.”

Through your own tears, you realized you had managed to successfully avoid Aaron’s eyes for the entirety of your monologue.

“How ironic of me,” you attempted to laugh off when the silence was just too much to bear.

“You’re doing it again,” Aaron noted.

You stopped yourself, looking down and then back at him. “I know.”

You watched as he process everything he heard. He blinked once. Then twice. Let out a breath of air and let his brows sink barely half an inch lower. “Do you know what I’ve always admired about you?”

This caught your attention.

“What?”

“You’ve always been so selfless. You worried so much about the happiness of others and it shined through in your best moments.”

It was now your turn to shake your head in confusion. “I don’t un—,”

“Please. Let me finish.”

“Sorry…”

You felt his hand leave your knee and find your hand once more. “But, it’s also always been your downfall. You’re so selfless, you forget to put yourself first. It always killed me to see you do it but I never said anything about it because I was young and stupid…”

You moved to disagree with that but he shot you a knowing look.

“I know things now that I wish I had half a brain to fathom then.”

He took your hand and joined it with his other do that now your hand fully disappeared into his own. “More than half of those things are how I feel about you. Us”

Your brows dipped down in vulnerability. “Us?”

“Yes. Us. I don’t know where we stand nor do I know where we go from here, but I know I’d rather figure it out with you in my life than acting like I never knew you at all. Because I love you.”

A final tear fell upon your smiling lips. “You love me?”

“Always.”

taglist: @mackannkees @gghostwriter @person-005

A/N: This is my first criminal minds fic so PLEASE leave criticism, I wanna know how I can improve

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