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slashbitch2 · 2 days

Text

scream!

Summary: when murder comes to Westview in the form of a masked killer, you begin to doubt whether you can trust those closest to you...

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Implied Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader, Hinted Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

TW: rather mild smut, dubious consent, blood, violence, injury, death, homophobia, murder... basically the whole plot of the first scream film so if you can survive that im sure you will be fine lol, also spoilers for scream (1996)

W.C: 19.0k words

The words on the screen had already started to blur. Black words on a white screen merged into a sort of greyish mess. Your eyes longed to close, your hands itching to shut down the computer for the night, but onwards you pressed, fingers feverously darting across the keyboard. Everything else in your bedroom was still, lulled into peace by early moonlight seeping through an open window. A quick glance at the time revealed it was already 10pm. You figured that soon you ought to give up and start getting ready for bed…

A thud sounded somewhere outside, your head whipping towards the open window- which no longer displayed the empty night sky, but a figure, hunched over and perched precariously on the windowsill.

An intruder.

Your heart stopped.

And then, the stranger flicked a wave of dark auburn hair out of their face, and your heart continued to beat an irregular pattern. Wanda Maximoff, your girlfriend, who was rubbing her head where she’d smacked it against the roof ledge.

“Jeez.” At this revelation, you shot up from your seat and walked over to the window, tugging it all the way open. “You scared the shit out of me, Wanda.”

She grinned at you, swinging her legs through the frame, hoisting herself inside. “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me. I just wanted to see you.” Her feet landed with a gentle thud, dragging mud onto your white carpet.

“It’s late.” You folded your arms and stared, unimpressed at her cocky expression. “If my dad catches you…”

“I’ll only stay a sec.” She reassured though you were still hesitant. Noticing this, she opened her arms, beckoning you closer. “Come here. Please.”

You obliged and stepped forward, but kept your arms crossed as a physical barrier between you, maintaining the act that you were annoyed at Wanda. More than anything you were just concerned. She was already unpopular with your father, and if he caught her here, it’d surely spell the end of your relationship.

Wanda huffed, hooked a finger in the waistband of your sweatpants and dragged you towards her. You stumbled into her arms, feeling them wrap securely around your back as you reciprocated the embrace. She nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck which, as always, made you melt.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She whispered, the sensation of her warm breath against your skin sending goosebumps throughout your body.

“Oh yeah?” Something daring seeped into your tone as you pulled away to stare at her face, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “For scaring me? Or for the inevitable grounding I’m going to get when my dad discovers you visited?”

“That won’t happen.” She scoffed, nails digging into your waist. “I’ve already been here a couple minutes and he hasn’t come running.”

“Yet...” You shook your head. “But he’ll definitely know when he sees the mud you’ve tracked onto my carpet.”

You saw how her gaze flickered down to your lips and stayed there. “I can help clean it up.” She promised, with no real intention behind her words.

“Alright.” You scanned her face, noticing how blown out her pupils were, saw the slight red tint to her cheeks, watched closely as she licked her lips. You unconsciously leant forward, eyes closing, holding your breath to place a gentle kiss against her lips. Her grip on your waist tightened almost painfully as she immediately deepened the kiss, your mouth naturally parting to allow her entry.

You hummed, savouring the sweet taste of her, contrasting with the way she desperately pressed herself against you. As though she wanted the two of you to permanently merge, never to separate. Her obsession with you was intoxicating. You felt her tongue trace along your teeth, the kiss turning messy as Wanda pushed you back, step by step until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

She held onto you, slowing your fall against the soft mattress, her lips instantly returning to yours as she clambered on top of you. Your heart was no longer racing. It was pounding. But now wasn’t the time to let this go any further.

“Wanda...” You murmured, trying to break away.

She bit against your bottom lip, almost painfully. Her hands were all over you, brushing against the exposed skin of your stomach, up and underneath your shirt. As she began trying to get under your bra, you finally caught hold of her forearm, halting her advance.

“Wanda.” You repeated. Firmer, this time.

Seeing your serious expression, she sighed and sat up. A chill suffused across your body at the loss of contact, worsened by the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face. She was breathing heavily, jaw clenched as she took in your vulnerable position, the heat in her gaze increasing.

“See what you do to me.” She quirked an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking up.

You pushed yourself up, leaned against the headboard of your bed and appreciated her dishevelled state. “You know what my dad would do to you?” You reprimanded, reminding her of the reason for breaking it off.

“Fine.” She raised her hands in surrender, hopping off the bed. “I’m going… I’m going.”

You followed her to the window. “Very gentle-womanly of you.”

She placed her hands on the frame, lifting herself up and through.

“Hey.” You placed your hand over hers, stopping her before she disappeared back into the night. “Be safe, alright?” The drop below her wasn’t too far, but the lack of light made it look like some gaping black void ready to swallow her up.

“I will. Pietro’s waiting down the street. He’ll walk me home.”

“Good.” You nodded.

“And, about all…that.” She inclined her head towards the now ruffled bedsheets. “I’m not trying to rush you with any of that.”

You softened at her anxious apology and bent down to plant a chaste kiss against her cheek. “I know, it’s fine. I do want all of that, just… not now.” You shared a smile with her, then added, “but soon.”

“I know.” Wanda bit her lip, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

‘Soon’ came quicker than you would’ve thought. You slept soundly that night and found your alarm blaring at you to get up after what felt like barely ten minutes since you had closed your eyes. It took you a while to actually get up, not because you were reluctant to start the day, quite the opposite in fact. You lay there, wondering what the day would bring, dreaming of walking into school and being greeted by your girlfriend and friends.

You were the happiest you’d ever been since transferring there, and it wasn’t just because of Wanda. There was also Peter Parker, your film fanatic friend, Kate Bishop, who was dating Wanda’s twin brother Pietro, and Yelena Belova, who you would meet halfway on your walk to school every morning. Except for today…

You had waited as long as you could, but she never showed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to skip days, but usually, she called you the night before to inform you of her plans. At first, you were rather annoyed by her unannounced absence- but that annoyance was replaced by concern as soon as you arrived at school, seeing the six police cars, four news vans and a scattered crowd of onlookers stationed outside.

The sudden commotion surrounding your school left you confused and dazed, walking amongst the chaos trying desperately to gather any idea of what had happened here. You stopped in front of one of the reporters talking to a camera, your interest peaking as you recognised her. Pepper Potts. She was one of the local news presenters, infamous for often orchestrating her own version of dull stories to make headline.

“The small town of Westview, New Jersey was devastated last night when a young teenage girl was found brutally butchered in her own home.” Pepper’s expression was grave, her clothing abrasively colourful and ill-fitting for the unfolding story. “Authorities have yet to issue a statement, but our sources tell us that no arrest has been made yet.”

You felt suddenly and inexplicably hot with panic, yet frozen in place.

“The question on all of our minds: could this murderer strike again?”

Westview had never been subjected to such horrors before, the idea of a serial killer operating in your midst being previously unthinkable. Your mind flickered suddenly to Yelena and her sudden disappearance. The logical part of you refused to jump to conclusions but did nothing to stop anxiety from rising in the pit of your stomach.

A finger tapped against your shoulder, dragging you from your spiralling worries. You swivelled round to meet Kate’s warm brown eyes, which were unusually stormy and frantic. “Do you believe this shit?”

“What happened?” You asked instead, praying that Kate somehow already knew more than you.

And she did. “Oh god! You don’t know?” Her lips turned downwards as she scanned the scene thoughtfully. Fearfully. “Yelena was killed last night.”

“What.” You felt the ground drop out from beneath your feet, legs almost buckling under the sudden shock.

“And not just killed, Y/N. We’re talking slasher movie killed- split open end to end.”

“Alright.” You waved off her overly descriptive explanation, pinching the bridge of your nose and taking a deep breath. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. There was no way Yelena was dead. She was just at home, lazing in bed because she hadn’t done her English assignment.

You thought of her messy, blonde hair, her sharp hazel eyes. Thought of her untidy bedroom floor you had spent so many sleepovers on, her parents always so welcoming. You thought of the stray dog she had been feeding for the last couple of years. Who would look after him now?

“God.” You clutched at your stomach, tried not to heave at the realisation that this was real. Someone wanted Yelena dead and had succeeded.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Kate placed a gentle, comforting hand on your back then swiftly removed it. “I didn’t think… I forgot you guys were… friends.”

“It’s fine.” You shook off the concern, forcibly standing up straight and glancing around. “I’m guessing the police will probably want to talk to me.”

“Yeah… probably.” Kate agreed feebly. “They’ve been rounding up friends of Yelena on the way in for interviews.”

The sickness settled in your chest. One you would have to learn to live with, to allow to stew into anger. “Do they have any idea who did this?”

“No. Peter said his uncle is on the case, and that it’s the worst crime he’s ever seen.” You looked back at Kate’s face, deeply pained. “It’s bad. They’re bringing in the feds. This is big.”

“Shit.” You said, at a loss for words.

“Shit indeed.” Kate agreed.

As predicted, you were instantly called into questioning in the principal’s office. It was intimidating to walk in and see a room full of cops with the headmaster, Nicky Fury sitting calmly at his desk. The man always looked extremely serious, but today was something else entirely. The frown he wore seemed engraved into his face like it was carved out of solid stone.

“Miss Y/L/N.” He gestured to the chair opposite. “Please, have a seat.”

Reluctantly, you sat down, then noticed the officer stood to Fury’s left: Tony Stark. He was Peter Parker’s uncle, and as such, the least menacing figure in the room.

“Hey Tony.” You greeted out of habit, wringing your hands in your lap.

“It’s Deputy Stark today, kid.” He corrected, crossing his arms.

“Sorry.” You muttered, glancing around the room at all the unfamiliar faces, feeling worse and worse. Although there was no spotlight shining in your face, it felt no less like a persecution.

Nonetheless, you answered all their questions to the best of your knowledge, trying your hardest not to imagine poor Yelena, left lying face down in a pool of her own blood. She had never been the type to be squeamish or frightened, and right now, you wished you had just a fraction of her courage…

By the time your interrogation- or interview, as they had been referring to it- was over, the lunch bell had just rung. You slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed to the courtyard where you normally ate lunch, though you had no appetite today. With every question the officers had asked, every gentle, probing ‘are you alright’ you had grown more and more sick. You looked a mess. Pale. Unfocused. Very seriously considering calling your dad to come pick you up…

“Hey!” A familiar voice broke through the general ruckus of the courtyard. “Y/N, over here.” It was Pietro, waving you over, his other arm slung over Kate’s shoulder possessively. As per usual, Pietro seemed his usual obnoxious self, totally unbothered by everything that was happening. Kate smiled at you pitifully, while Wanda, sat to her left, eyed you up with a wariness as you approached.

It was Peter, always the fifth wheel, who budged over to make room for you. You forced a thankful smile at him, muttered a brief hello to everyone else, and sat as close to Wanda as possible. She appeared to snap back into reality, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer, playing the role of concerned girlfriend perfectly. You sunk into her embrace, relaxed at the familiar smell of her shampoo and perfume, soaked up the warmth from her body and closed your eyes.

Temporarily, the nauseating sensation faded.

“Hunt? Why would they ask if you like to hunt?” Kate frowned at Pietro, and whatever tale he had been spinning while you hadn’t been paying attention.

Your eyes fluttered open as you picked up on the middle of their conversation. Wanda leant into your ear to whisper, “Pietro was called into interrogation too. He sits next to her in English.”

“Probably because her body was gutted.” He scoffed.

You flinched, despite having already accepted that Yelena’s murder would be the only topic of conversation for the following couple of months.

“Wow, thanks for that Piet.” Kate scolded, ever aware of your reaction.

“They didn’t ask me if I like to hunt.” Peter chimed in, to which everyone looked at him, confused. “They questioned me too. Not sure why. I saw her in the library sometimes, but that was it.”

“They didn’t ask you because… well- look at you!” Pietro snorted, gesturing at Peter who, admittedly did not look capable of murder. He was well-built, but often had a pair of glasses perched upon his nose, and a pathetic attempt at growing facial hair paired with hand-me-down sweaters in all weather, hot or cold.

“Yeah, Yelena was completely hollowed out. Takes a man to do something like that.” Wanda added, while softly stroking a thumb along your arm, as if that made it all better.

“Or a man’s mentality.” You commented, finding that if you thought about the whole situation as being purely theoretical, it wasn’t too bad. “How do you gut someone?” You said, more to yourself than aloud.

There was a beat of surprised silence.

“Well, you just take a knife,” Pietro grabbed a pencil from his pocket, held it out as though it were a weapon, “and slit from the groin to the sternum.” He mimed slicing through the air, making a hissing sound.

You shivered down to your soul. Never had you expected Pietro to have such an unapologetically violent imagination. You almost hated him for it. A glance at Kate revealed the same expression of shock, not having expected such graphic insensitivity from her boyfriend.

“What?” Pietro exclaimed. “She asked.” He laughed, throwing the pencil down.

“You couldn’t have been a little more sensitive?” Wanda chastised; a barely suppressed rage hidden in her tone. “Someone died last night, and you’re acting like it had nothing to do with us. Yelena was Y/N’s friend. She went to this school, attended our lessons, was our classmate. Be more tactful.” She spat.

You couldn’t help but swell with pride at Wanda’s outburst, and in the tense avoidance of eye contact that followed amongst the group, you quickly kissed her cheek in thanks.

“Sorry.” Pietro rubbed his forehead, bashfully avoiding anyone’s gaze except for his sister’s. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He threw his hands up in mock surrender, and for a blessed second, you thought it was all over. And then, he turned to you with an exaggerated curiosity. “Weren’t you and Yelena more than friends at one point?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. It had been a long, long time since than rumour had circulated the school. Although, there was some truth behind it… You and Yelena had been friends since middle school, and there had been a few moments when you had considered perhaps pursuing a relationship with her. But every time you tried it, you both ended up concluding that you were better off just staying friends.

You felt Wanda tense beside you, snapping you back into reality. “Not really. We tried it ages ago. Didn’t work out...” You explained, trailing off towards the end. You hadn’t been with Wanda long enough for the topic to arise, but there was no way she didn’t know. The school wasn’t big, and gossip was traded amongst everyone, whether they be a loner outcast or stereotypical popular cheerleader.

“Ahh…” Pietro nodded slowly, feigning ignorance. “And you dumped her for my sister?

You gritted your teeth, hating how such an insignificant part of your past was suddenly in the limelight. “I didn’t dump her because we never really dated. And we’ve been nothing but friends for over two years now- or I guess were.”

“Come on, Pietro. Are you trying to insinuate Wanda is some revengeful, jealous girlfriend?” Peter joked, trying to lighten the tension that had fallen across your table.

Wanda laughed, though the humour didn’t spread beyond her lips.

“Actually, she was with me last night.” You placed a hand on her upper thigh, grasped at the muscle there and felt it flex. “Too busy being stupidly committed and climbing through my window to enact her revenge.”

“Yeah, exactly.” She fixed Pietro with a pointed stare. “Besides, like I said, it takes a man to do something like that.”

...

You got the bus home that day, unwilling to walk your usual route back from school alone while there was a possible killer on the loose. After all, if they’d gone for your friend Yelena, who’s to say they wouldn’t be targeting you next? As you stepped inside your house, shutting the door securely behind you, it dawned on you that you might not truly be safe even here. Nobody was. Not until they caught whoever had murdered Yelena.

Suddenly, you got the distinct feeling that you were being watched, as though the killer had eyes in the walls of your home. You shivered and called out for your dad- only to be met with silence. Panic began to rise in your chest, amplifying with every footstep that echoed through the empty house. The stuffy air became suffocating, the walls closing in around you as you searched each room. All the furniture lay dormant and undisturbed, awaiting someone’s arrival. Your heart was in your throat, your mind jumping to all the worst conclusions about where your father was.

By your second lap around the house, your eyes landed on a note pinned to the fridge. You stormed over, yanked the paper free from the magnet and with shaking hands scanned the page. It was from your father, a scribbled explanation that his brother in the next state over had fallen seriously ill and he needed to visit immediately. The note explained that he had tried to ring the school but got no answer, eventually giving up and having to leave without you.

The final line detailed that he had left a wad of cash for you to order food and fend for yourself for the foreseeable future, which you retrieved right away. You flipped the bills around in your hand, feeling the textured paper as if to ground yourself, to convince yourself this was real, not some fabricated trick by a murderer currently stalking you. After the day you’d had, anything could be possible.

But, oh god- your dad must not have known. He had left town at possibly the worst moment being none the wiser. And you were stuck here, genuinely unable to imagine any worse time to be home alone. Your hands itched to pick up the phone, to try dialling your uncle’s house, pray someone would pick up so you could demand your father return home as soon as physically possible. But that would be cruel, and so instead, you typed in Kate’s number.

Her mother answered after a couple seconds and made briefly awkward small talk before calling out to her daughter, who came running.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you alright? I was gonna call and check-“

“Yeah, yeah, Kate, I’m fine.” You interrupted. “But look, my dad’s had to leave for some family emergency and,“

“Oh shit, you’re alone?” Her voice quickly succumbed to worry, one which made you smile despite everything. You were lucky to have such a caring friend. “Do you want to come stay with us for a while?”

“Please.” You let out a sigh of relief. “That’s what I was calling about. I’m not sure how long my dad will be gone for but…”

“Yeah, of course it’s no worry.” She assured. “I’ll pick you up after archery practice?”

“Sure. When do you finish?”

“Six-thirty. So, I’ll be there by seven at the latest. I promise.”

A glance at the clock revealed it was only four. You swallowed back your paranoia, reasoning that you would spend most of the time packing anyway. “Ok great. Thanks. Are you sure your mom will be alright with it?”

“Of course. No one wants to be alone with everything that’s happened. She’ll understand.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

“Later!”

The silence that engulfed your house after the phone call ended was oppressive, broken up only by small creaks and taps which made you jump out of your skin. To combat this, you grabbed your old, beat-up Walkman from your school bag, tugging the headphones over your head and grabbing enough cassettes to last several hours of constant music. Then, to fill the silence between each song, you flicked the TV on to whatever channel had been left playing.

Although muffled, you still heard the reporter, the one you had seen earlier today outside the school. Pepper…whatever her name was. You watched, partially interested whether you would make a cameo in the background.

“The state Bureau of Investigation has joined forces with local authorities to help catch what the Governor has called the most heinous crime ever committed in Westview.” Her teeth were an obnoxious gleaming white, her expression displaying an emotion not quite fit for the story she was currently presenting.

“The victim, seventeen-year-old Yelena Belova was found last night in her home…”

You tuned out to Pepper’s words as a picture filled the screen, a candid of Yelena, who somehow looked younger than you remembered. It hadn’t even been long since you had last seen her, yet the time that had passed felt like years. You wanted the snapshot to stay on screen forever, so you could commit every detail about her to memory. You couldn’t forget her. You refused.

Yelena stared at you from the TV screen as tears blurred your vision, the cassette flipping to an aptly melancholic song.

Then, as Pepper continued to drone on, the image flicked to a different one, this one of her official school picture. Despite everything, you burst out laughing at this, imagining how unhappy Yelena would’ve been to see this photo displayed on national television. She hated it. You didn’t blame her. The photo looked much too formal, an awkward contrast to the reality of who Yelena was. You wondered whether the news would report her life as it was, or if they’d spin the tale into something much more tragic: that she was a Straight-A student, destined for something great, her life so tragically cut short.

Probably.

With a roll of your eyes, you reached out for the TV remote, switching the channel until something fictional- or unrelated to Yelena came on, eventually settling on some old rerun of an TV show your dad liked to watch. The familiarity of it was enough that you could finally relax, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that day… It wasn’t long until your eyes fluttered close, your body sinking into the plush couch and to unconsciousness.

A shrill ringing jolted you awake, resonating round the still-empty house. You thought it’d been minutes since you fell asleep, but a quick glance at the clock showed the time to be 6 pm. Confused by the loud intrusion, your gaze snapped around the room, now darkened by dusk.

The last pinkish hue of sunlight highlighted the phone perched on the side table and answered your unspoken question. Launching across the cushions and throwing your hand out, you grasped onto the object and brought it to your ear.

“Hello?” Your voice was hoarse having just woken up, and a slight annoyance crept into your tone.

“Hello, Y/N.” A man’s voice answered. Deep, raspy and entirely unfamiliar.

“Hi…” You answered hesitantly, perturbed by the fact he already knew your name. “Who is this?”

“You tell me.”

You frowned, lips quirking up in polite amusement. “I have no idea.” As much as you racked your brain for the possible culprit, his voice was too distorted to properly place.

“Scary night, isn’t it? With the murders and all…” He said instead, abruptly changing the topic to one you were infinitely less fond of. “It’s like right out of a horror movie or something.”

“Aha,” you nodded to yourself, reaching a conclusion. “Peter, you gave yourself away. You’re such a nerd.” Able to relax, at last, you collapsed back down on the sofa.

“Do you like scary movies, Y/N?”

“I like that thing you’re doing with your voice, Peter.” You replied instead. “Very sexy.”

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“Don’t start.” You scoffed, growing increasingly irritated at his commitment to the act. “You know I think they’re all shit.”

“And why is that?”

You sighed down the phoneline, listening to the silence as he waited for a response and debating whether it was truly worth answering or just hanging up. “Because they’re all the same. It’s always some stupid killer stalking some innocent girl who can’t act- who always runs up the stairs when she should be going out the front door. They’re ridiculous.”

Finishing the rant, you took a deep breath and were met by more silence.

And then, “Are you alone in the house?”

“That is so unoriginal. You disappoint me, Peter.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not Peter.”

“So who are you?” Hot anger flushed against your chest as you sat up straight. Something here wasn’t quite right…

“The question is not who I am…” He paused ominously. “The question is where am I?”

Your boiling anger was immediately flushed by cold fear.

“So where are you?”

There was a deep, mocking laugh which crackled into your ear like static.

“Your front porch.”

You leapt up from your seat, determined to expose the prank for what it was and put an end to the insensitive joke. Your heart was thundering in your chest as you moved to the window and pulled aside the drapes, muttering into the phone, “Why would you call me from my front porch?”

“That’s the original part.”

You tried to angle your view through the window, unable to see all of the porch. “Oh yeah?” The porch seemed to be empty. “Well, I call your bluff.”

Feeling more secure in your belief, you went to the front door, unlocking the bolt, unsnagging the chain and pulling it open. As expected, the outside porch was completely empty, lit by a single light shining overhead, with little beyond but darkness.

“So where are you really?” You challenged at the mysterious caller’s silence.

“Right here.” He growled.

You peered closer into the darkness, into the thick shrubs growing on either side of the house and still seeing nothing. “Can you see me right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What am I doing?” You stuck your middle finger into the air, waving it about in the air for a few seconds.

There was no answer.

“Good try, Peter.” You shook your head incredulously. “Bye now.”

“If you hang up, you’ll die just like Yelena.” The voice spat before you could pull the phone away from your ear.

You stopped dead in your tracks at his sudden seriousness, rendered speechless that Peter would say such a thing. Or perhaps, it really wasn’t him, which could only mean…

“Do you want to die, Y/N? Yelena certainly didn’t. She begged and cried, crawled across her carpet like the pathetic, insipid little…”

“Fuck you!” You interrupted, hands shaking and voice wavering. You hung up, stepped back inside the house and locked the door again.

Behind you, the hall closet door slammed open. You jumped, turning round in time to see a figure clad in black charging at you, ramming into your side. The phone flew out of your hand as you crashed to the ground, pinned down by the intruder wearing a distorted, white, ghostly mask. The type you had seen so many times, sold cheaply in costume stores and Halloween displays. Yet now, it actually was terrifying.

Your instincts finally surfaced as you kicked your foot into his leg, causing him to topple over. Wasting no time, you leapt to your feet and slammed into the front door, hands scrambling to unlock it again. Before you could escape, the figure rose, knife in hand, and grabbed onto your torso to drag you back. With survival mode having taken over, you were able to fight back with all of your strength, pulling, jerking and twisting to break free. You managed to free yourself from his grip, pushing the figure off you and sending him reeling into the living room.

Feeling fear tightening its hold on you, and seeing the futility of your escape, you made the daring move to turn and sprint up the stairs. The figure was hot on your heels as your heart pounded loudly in your ears. You reached the landing just as he lunged at you, grabbing a hold of your foot to slow you down. Panicking, you desperately grasped around you, nails scraping against the walls until they landed on a framed painting. Without sparing a glance at the image, you ripped it from the wall in a surge of might, swinging it behind you to smash against the figure’s skull.

You watched, wide-eyed as he staggered backwards, clutching at his head and tumbling down the stairs. Not wanting to waste the moment of respite you had bought for yourself; you raced into your bedroom and locked the door. There were a horrid couple of seconds of stillness throughout the house, broken only by your heavy breathing- and then, the banging began. A fist pounded against wood, and rattled the doorknob, as you frantically scanned your room.

You had left the phone downstairs and opted instead to dash over to the computer, fingers darting across the keyboard in a panicked frenzy. You spared a glance back at the door, seeing the figure had begun splintering the frame with his knife. Then, you turned back to the computer and hit send on a FAX message to 911 for help. As the blade continued its assault, cracking wood and sending splinters flying throughout your room, you typed even faster, trying to stay calm as you waited and watched a response appear on the screen.

STAY CALM. POLICE ENROUTE.

You let out a breath of slight relief, the message offering a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos… Only then, you realised that the figure had stopped. No more shards of wood were flying through the air, no blurred silver of the knife swinging around. You were alone now, accompanied by a haunting silence that had descended upon your home.

Suddenly, a noise at the window frame. You swivelled around, prepared to fight once more only to be met by Wanda, staring at you with surprise palpable in her expression.

“Oh, Wanda.” A sob racked your body as you shook uncontrollably, the reality of the situation finally dawning on you. “Please…God.” You brought a hand to your face, then flung it down, anxiously shifting your weight about as adrenaline kept you on your toes.

“I heard screaming, and the door was locked. Are you okay?” Wanda’s warm brown eyes flickered over your tense form, tears streaming endlessly and blurring your vision.

“He’s here. Trying to kill me…” You managed out.

Wanda’s face turned shocked as she pulled herself through the window with more urgency. As she did, a small black object fell from the back pocket of her jeans, landing against the carpet with a soft thud and drawing your attention downwards. Sat inconspicuously between the two of you was a sleek, compact cell phone. Any other day and it wouldn’t have made you concerned in the slightest… but now….

You stopped dead in your tracks, an icy sickness rising in your throat, something akin to distrust. You met Wanda’s gaze, which no longer held the comfort you sought.

Could it possibly be…? Had Wanda just tried to kill you?

Unwilling to face that possibility, you bolted.

You ignored Wanda calling after you, rushing to unlock the fractured bedroom door and tearing down the stairs, nearly slipping on the linoleum floor as you caught sight of the front door. Freedom. You skidded to a halt, ripped the chain off the door and urgently tugged it open.

“Y/N, wait!” Footsteps rapidly descended the stairs behind you as you dashed onto the front porch and were instantly blinded by flashes of blue and red.

Police cars screeched to a halt outside the house, their sirens blaring in the lonely night air. You paused, relief flooding your system at the first sign of safety. You were scared, lightheaded and dazed, but you were safe, at last.

“Y/N?” Wanda called out again, softer this time. Her voice betrayed a hint of disappointment, one you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at. She was lingering in the doorway, red and blue lights exposing the innocent shock on her face. Guilt suffused throughout your body, which made you long to crash into her arms and lose yourself to the comfort. But you couldn’t bring yourself to, your mind flickering back to the phone that had fallen out of her pocket, convicting her as a potential suspect.

But could she really be? Your girlfriend, a murderer?

You flinched as Wanda took a cautious step towards you. Her face fell at the involuntary movement, and you were thankful to hear the car doors slamming shut behind you, followed by an all too familiar voice demanding for Wanda to freeze.

Tony Stark appeared next to you, gun loaded and aimed straight ahead as he approached you both, assessing the scene. He paused, gaze flickering over Wanda with suspicion.

“Y/L/N, what’s going on here?” He asked sternly.

Your eyes swept over Wanda, considering whether you were truly willing to hand her over so easily.

“I’m not sure.” You answered instead, your voice hoarse, but carrying an undeniable certainty.

“Please, baby.” Wanda implored you, the nickname sending a chill across your skin. Whether it was pleasant or not, you weren’t sure. “You know I would never.” Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head.

And you wanted to believe her, you really did.

But you couldn’t.

“I don’t know anything, Wanda. Not right now.”

...

The front yard of your house soon became a whirlwind of activity. You observed the scene disinterestedly from a distance, sat in the back of an ambulance following a check-up from the first responders. Apart from a couple of bruises and a cut on your arm, you had escaped unscathed from the attack and were told to consider yourself lucky. But you didn’t. You remained in a state of shock, as barely ten minutes ago, you had watched the cops handcuff your girlfriend and throw her into the back of a squad car.

It was hardly a lucky outcome.

At the present moment, she was their only suspect, and so you had let them take her, uncertain of anything except for a need for safety. To have someone answer for the attack, locked away so you could live and forget. Though the guilt stopped you from being able to do so.

Numbly, you watched as Tony and the sheriff, whose name you had yet to learn, started heading your way. They both had an awkward expression of pity, which was a rare sight on Tony Stark’s face and made you feel somehow worse. The sheriff stopped a couple of feet away, his pitying gaze never leaving you as Tony slumped down beside you.

“We’re seeing a lot of you today.” He patted your back reassuringly, though the gesture made you nauseous. “You gonna be able to come down to the station and talk to us in a bit?”

You tried to smile but failed. “Yeah…”

In the distance, a flash of purple caught your attention, weaving in and out of the maze of police cars and officers.

“Y/N?” Kate appeared, barrelling past an officer and jogging over to the ambulance. “What happened? Oh god…” She covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at the chaos currently surrounding your home.

“Sorry, you can’t be here,” The sheriff grasped onto her arm, prepared to drag her out. “This is an official crime scene.”

“It’s okay.” You quickly interrupted. “She was supposed to pick me up.”

“Yeah.” Kate’s eyes frantically darted between the intimidating figures. “Her dad’s out of town. She’s staying with me.”

Both officers looked questioningly over at you.

“I didn’t want to be home alone.”

“Well, I can see why.” Tony agreed after a beat of silence, then stood up to allow Kate to sit down next to you.

“Are you alright?” She asked, ignoring the obvious curiosity in her expression in lieu of checking you were okay first. It made your heart swell momentarily with a fondness for your friend, more concerned by your current state than the events that had just transpired.

You opened your mouth to respond, though never got the chance to as another set of vans arrived outside the house. They skidded to a halt with the same urgency as the first responders had, though with no markings indicating such on the side.

Tony sighed, staring at the vehicles disapprovingly. “Here come the vultures.”

Right on cue, the door to the van slid open and a figure clad in a red suit hopped down onto the road. She stood out from the rest of the onlookers, gazing round at the scene with a barely hidden interest, her vibrant clothing abrasive and eye-catching. The unmistakable colour of blood. Her face fell upon you at the opposite end of the yard, and you recognised her as the infamous Pepper Potts.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Tony offered out his arm.

You hauled yourself up as Kate positioned herself beside you, shielding you from the oncoming media frenzy. You kept your head down as you drew closer to the reporter, praying she didn’t notice you walk past.

“Jesus! The camera, Happy- hurry!” She clicked her fingers at the cameraman, then you heard heels clicking as she jogged to catch up with you. “Excuse me!” She yelled out, almost elbowing Tony out of the way. You were exposed, seeing Pepper’s pearly whites, a microphone clutched in her hand and a camera following closely to be shoved in your face.

“There are no statements to be made at this current moment.” Tony recovered, raising a hand over the lens of the camera. “Maybe get a life, stop stalking and come back at the appropriate-“

“Hi, Miss Y/L/N, right?” Her gaze softened momentarily as she ignored Tony.

You halted, perturbed by the fact she already knew your name.

“Some night.” She exclaimed when you didn’t speak. Pepper glanced back at the camera dramatically, then feigned concern. “Are you alright?”

You knew she was only asking to get a verbal response for the camera. You were visibly shaking, your face pale and eyes wide. Quite clearly you were not okay, and reluctant to provide her with an answer.

“What happened?” Pepper prompted at your silence.

“She’s not answering any questions right now. Just leave us alone, okay?” Kate interrupted, putting herself between you and Pepper and fixing her with a frown.

“It’s fine.” You sighed, waving a hand nonchalantly, though you felt anything but. “She’s just doing her job.”

“Exactly.” Pepper smiled, seemingly taken aback. “Now what can you tell us about the event that transpired here?”

You shrugged. “I was attacked.”

“And do you have any idea who was behind the attack, or perhaps what instigated it?”

“Well, I got a phone call from some creep.” You grimaced, unwilling to share the full details. “But otherwise, I have no idea.” You smiled, hoping that would be the end of Pepper’s interrogation, and perhaps she’d leave you alone.

You were wrong.

“And could this be related to the recent death of Yelena Belova? I’d heard the two of you were close.”

You narrowed your eyes, unable to ignore the emphasis she put on the word ‘close.’

“Or maybe that’s not quite the correct phrasing.” She pursed her lips in mock thoughtfulness. “Together?”

You tensed, your face going taut at the suggestion, then forced yourself to relax. “I don’t see how that has anything to do with-“

“So, you were in a relationship with Miss Belova?” She interrupted once again, seeming to already have reached a conclusion without your input.

“No, never anything as serious as that…” Your voice was strained now, as you tried desperately to correct the assumption.

“An unrequited-“

“No!” It was your turn to intervene, hopefully putting an end to Pepper’s outlandish theories. “Nothing really happened, and it was so long ago-“

“Perhaps you resented Yelena for never wanting to be with you.” Pepper continued, spinning your words into a wild accusation. “Perhaps, it even drove you to murder- one you’re attempting to cover up now by faking an attack.”

“Faking?” Kate cut in incredulously.

“That’s bullshit.” You exclaimed, unable to suppress your slowly building rage. “And you know it.”

“Well, I’m just throwing ideas out,” she shrugged infuriatingly, then turned on Tony, “seeing as the police have yet to make any official statement or provide the concerned citizens of Westview with any reassurances.”

“We’re… working on it.” Tony stuttered out, caught off guard by the sudden criticism.

“Well, you better get working fast, officer.” She scoffed. “And it’s hard to ignore the relation between both attacks.” She looked back at the camera. “Having shared a brief, intimate relationship between two young adults of the same sex. Are these attacks politically motivated? Religious, perhaps? Maybe rather than focusing on the personal motive, the killer intends to send out a message of-“

“Fuck you.” You interrupted, clenching your jaw to keep you from saying anything worse.

Pepper looked at you in disbelief. “I think you ought to watch your language, young lady. Your moral character seems to have already drawn enough attention.”

In a blurred, unexpected instant, you brought your fist forward and smashed it hard into Pepper Pott’s face. The impact sent Pepper reeling backwards, knocking into Happy and his ridiculously expensive camera as they both tumbled to the pavement.

“Hey! Hey.” Tony outstretched his arm, physically blocking you. “That’s enough. I think it’s time we go.”

You took a deep, satisfied breath seeing the two piled on the ground, then allowed yourself to be tugged along and into the back of Tony’s squad car. You didn’t care if Pepper managed to spin the events and make you look bad, or if it worsened your reputation. It had been worth it to wipe the smug smile from her face.

...

“God, I loved it!” Kate laughed and threw herself back onto the bed. “Oh, Y/N, you need to be careful, your bad moral proclivities and your bad language will be the death of you!”

You perched on the other side of Kate’s bed, chuckling at her bad impression of Pepper.

“And then BAM! Bitch went down.” Kate thumped her fist into her palm and laughed some more.

“Talking of…” Tony appeared in the doorway, clutching a bag of ice. “I thought you might want some ice for that right hook.”

He tossed the bag of ice over, which you caught and placed over your reddening fist, wincing at the bruise already forming.

“I’ve got two officers stationed outside the house all night, so if anything happens, they’ll be here” He continued, clearly exhausted and ready to head home after the long night.

You nodded and thanked him. “Any word on reaching my dad?” You quickly asked before he disappeared. You had given the cops your uncle’s number, and despite the incessant number of times it’d been rung, they had received no answer so far.

“Afraid not, kid. But we’ll let you know when we do.”

“If you do…” You muttered bitterly. “Pretty shitty timing for my uncle to fall so seriously ill.”

“Or maybe it’s all related?” Kate chimed in, looking conspiratorially between the two of you. “Maybe the killer planned it all…”

You thought for a moment. “Nah. My uncle has heart problems, it’s probably to do with that.”

“Real great theory Kate.” Tony snarked. “Maybe you should try submitting it to Pepper Pott’s investigatory website.”

“She has a website?” You scoffed at the idea.

“Yeah.” Tony nodded slowly, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“And how do you know?” Kate smirked. “You a fan, Stark?”

“Well, it is my job to investigate.”

You and Kate shared a knowing look.

“And if that investigation happens to involve a ridiculously attractive, if slightly intense journalist, then so be it.” He shrugged, brazenly unashamed.

Suddenly, the phone stationed on the bedside table started ringing, sending a jolt of panic coursing through you. Its shrill sound echoed uncomfortably in the bedroom as Tony quirked an eyebrow, and Kate looked at the item as though it were going to bite should she answer the call.

You were all slightly paranoid, to say the least.

“I guess I should get that…” Kate gulped and reached an uncertain hand out to grasp the phone. “It’s probably just Peter… or someone.”

You instinctively knew that wasn’t the case. Peter would have an idea of what was happening as Tony was hardly discrete when talking to his nephew, and the only other person it could possibly be was Pietro… You shuddered at that possibility. That he might blame you for accusing Wanda. That he would be angry.

Kate took a breath. “Hello?”

You didn’t need to hear the person on the other end, Kate’s face was telling enough. Her eyes flickered over to you as she answered, “yeah, she’s right here.”

And then, the device was being handed over to you by your terrified-looking friend. Your brain screamed not to take it, rather pass it on to Tony, but your heart reasoned that if it truly was the killer, then Wanda’s name would be cleared, and that was something you couldn’t pass up. Besides, nobody would be able to identify the voice except you.

Your sweaty palm enclosed the phone and brought it slowly to your ear. “Who is this?” You forced out, sending a last-minute prayer that it might just be your dad, finally getting back in contact.

“Hello Y/N.” The same, raspy voice taunted.

Hot tears immediately welled up in your vision as the memory came rushing back anew. “No.” You murmured, covering your face as though to block out this horrid reality. The killer was committed, and somehow knew you would be here. It was a horrifying prospect.

But at least it wasn’t Wanda…

“Poor Wanda,” the anonymous voice sang out, “innocent and locked away in a prison cell for the night. You know this kind of thing goes on permanent records, right?”

“Hey!” Tony boomed out, conclusive in his decision as he stormed across the room and snatched the phone from you. “I’m afraid Miss Y/L/N has had to dash off, can I take a message?”

The clock in Kate’s room ticked away, marking five seconds of silence before Tony spoke again.

“Or maybe leave an email. Hotmails really taking off these days, it’ll save money on your phone bill.”

You heard the telltale buzz as the line went dead, prompting Tony to slam the phone back down and mutter “damn.”

A cold sense of dread settled over the room, like the killer was somehow watching you now, ever present, ever aware of your whereabouts. But it simply wasn’t possible… The only people who knew you were here were Kate, her mother, Tony, and the rest of the police force. Unless someone had simply guessed, meaning it had to be somebody close to you, who knew you well enough to anticipate your every move.

That prospect was no less concerning, and so you resigned yourself to trying to sleep that night without sparing a thought to the perilous situation you had found yourself in.

...

The atmosphere in school was like nothing you had ever seen before. The corridors seemed narrower, constricting all around you, the students inhabiting them more rowdy than usual. Classes dragged on longer than necessary, and you were unable to focus on what the teachers were droning on about. You were paranoid, too preoccupied by the knowing glances constantly being thrown back at you to care about anything else. The likelihood that the killer was someone you knew kept replaying in your mind, suspicion lacing every interaction with your friends and peers at school. Hell, even the teachers.

And the worst part was that you kept seeing that damned mask everywhere.

To the people who had no connection to you or Yelena, this was the most exciting thing to happen in Westview in their lifetime, and they certainly weren’t going to miss out on the festivities that some were partaking in. As you walked between classes, figures in the same cheap, ghostly Halloween mask sprinted up and down the corridors, chasing one another and reenacting what for you was fresh trauma.

“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.” You confessed to Kate after witnessing the third Ghost-faced imposter.

She frowned, equally as perturbed by the way the school reacted to such disturbing events. “I want you to meet me here right after class, okay?” She demanded, unwilling to separate seeing the state you were in.

You nodded and smiled, then went to reassure her you would be fine, but something more important caught your attention.

“Shit, what is she doing here?” Kate exclaimed softly.

You were both transfixed, helplessly watching as the Maximoff twins were making their way over to you. Wanda looked tired, that much was clear. You hadn’t given any previous thought to the fact she would likely be released following the phone call to you last night, let alone expect her to make an appearance in school- probably only to see you.

In contrast to Wanda’s exhaustion, Pietro looked angry, and you prayed that anger wasn’t directed at you, though you wouldn’t blame him if it was. Noticing this, Kate went ahead to grab onto Pietro’s shoulders and try slow the warpath he was on. While he was momentarily distracted, Wanda came to a stop in front of you, her eyes cautiously seeking out your own. It was strange to see her after everything that had occurred, made more surreal by the fact that it was in such a mundane setting.

“Hey Y/N. Can we talk a sec?” She spoke so fast, but softly, as though afraid she was about to be dragged away once again.

You couldn’t hold the eye contact and flickered back to Kate in a silent cry for help.

“You know, if I were accused of carving up someone and attacking my girlfriend, I’d take the opportunity to skip school.” She called to Wanda warily.

“Hey, go easy, Kate.” Pietro interrupted. “She didn’t do it.” You could practically see him gritting his teeth together in an attempt to stop himself from saying worse.

You paid them no mind, summoning the resolve to turn back to your girlfriend. “Fine, five minutes.” Glancing around at the several unfamiliar pairs of eyes watching interestedly, you added, “Girl’s bathroom, now.”

Clutching your textbooks to your chest, you marched through the hallways with Wanda in tow. She didn’t say a word until you had shut the door behind you and checked every stall, confirming that the bathroom was actually empty.

“You… don’t think it was me, right?” Wanda maintained a distance from you, nervously wringing her hands.

You took a deep breath, reasoning that surely it couldn’t be. “No.”

Wanda nodded, managing out a tearful smile.

“I don’t think it was you… just… oh god.” You felt yourself begin to cry, reliving what you had felt at the time of the attack, and unable to find the words to explain. “Someone tried to kill me…” You sniffed, snatching a wad of toilet paper from one of the toilet stalls to dry your face.

“I know, the police say I scared him off.” Wanda looked at you, so unconditionally in love with you that it made your chest ache. “It wasn’t me, Y/N.”

“I know.” You repeated, firmer this time. “The killer called me again last night at Kate’s house.”

“See, it couldn’t have been me. I was in jail, remember?” Wanda reminded, her caring façade temporarily dropping in lieu of proving her innocence. “But shit, how did he know you would be there?” She asked quickly.

“I don’t know.” You bit down on your lip, shaking your head. “But I’m sorry, for accusing you. I wasn’t in my right mind…”

“It’s fine, baby.” Wanda tentatively closed the space between you, wrapping her arms loosely around your shaking form. She pulled you in, resting your chin on her shoulder. “I would’ve done the same.”

Her lips pressed gently against your neck, then enclosed around the skin and sucked lightly. Her grip around your body suddenly tightened, the touch turning from sweet to lustful so fast it made your head spin. She trailed her mouth further up, leaving your skin damp against the cold air and making you shiver. The usual heat that accompanied her contact was nowhere to be found, and it abruptly dawned upon you that this was wrong.

“Wanda.” You murmured in an attempt to reprimand her.

Taking it as a moan, she continued on, her touch growing tighter, almost painfully.

“Wan-“ You pushed against her, only to find she wouldn’t budge. “Wanda, stop!” You felt claustrophobic in her arms and shoved her suddenly backwards.

She stumbled away, looking at you with a mix of hurt and shock.

“You still don’t trust me?” She could hardly contain the frustration in her voice, emphasised by her heavy breathing and burning glare.

“No, that’s not true.”

“Then what is it?” She spat. “You don’t want to be around me. Is there somebody else?”

“No!”

“You’re missing Yelena?”

“Yes- but as a friend!” You argued, desperate for a chance to speak, to explain yourself. “I just, I don’t want that right now.” You flailed your hands around, hoping she got the message in spite of your ineloquent explanation.

“I’m being too pushy.” She wasn’t as angry now but still had disappointment palpable in her expression.

“No, it’s just- it’s me, Wanda.” You sighed. “I need time, and considering everything that’s just happened, I think that’s more than reasonable.”

“It is. You’re right” Wanda exhaled and turned away from you. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

Despite everything, you still hated seeing her like this, and reached out to grab hold of her hands. “And I’m sorry for thinking you were the killer. I regretted it as soon as I said it.”

Wanda nodded slowly, staring down at your intertwined hands. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the bathroom door slamming open. You quickly broke apart, and she looked up at you, slightly sadly, before muttering, “See you soon, Y/N.”

And with that, Wanda was gone, leaving you reeling in your thoughts with tear tracks still fresh on your cheeks. You opted to sit in one of the stalls and regain your composure before heading to your next class, listening numbly to the sound of people coming and going from the bathroom for the next ten or so minutes. Screw being late.

You were just about to finally leave when two new voices entered the room, both vaguely familiar but not enough for you to make your presence known.

“What if she did it?” You heard one say, voice ever so recognisable. “What if Y/N killed Yelena?”

“And why would she do that?” A second asked, exasperated but curious.

“Don’t you remember they used to be a thing? Maybe Yelena ended it and Y/N never got over the rejection.”

“But she’s with that weird girl now- right? Pietro’s brother.”

You frowned to yourself. You knew Pietro was much more popular than his sister, but the school’s general distaste towards Wanda had always upset you.

“So why would Yelena matter anymore?” The girl continued.

“Because Yelena was cool, and fun, and Y/N knew that being with her was probably the peak of her life. Waldo- or whatever she’s called- is such a downgrade.”

The other voice laughed cruelly. “That’s true. I think I’d kill myself.”

“Exactly, but teen suicide is out this year and homicide is a much healthier therapeutic expression, hence, Y/N killed Yelena.” She punctuated the last few words with a manicured nail tapping against the porcelain sink.

The reverberating click made you shiver uncomfortably, listening to their dumb theories and trying your best not to take it personally. But- that voice, it had finally clicked into place: it was Agatha. She was notoriously a wild gossip, still, you never knew she had it out for you like this.

“God maybe you’re right.”

You heard their footsteps head over towards the exit, their annoying voices diminishing as the door slammed shut. You were left in silence, marked only by water dripping somewhere from a leaky pipe, and the sound of wind whistling from the cracked transom above the door. It almost sounded like a whisper, luring you out of the safety of the locked stall.

Catching sight of your reflection in the mirror, you recognised evident tear streaks down your cheeks, accompanied by a general expression of annoyance. The whole situation, and the way your school had turned it into a joke, left you alternating constantly between resentment and anxiety. But there was no time to dwell on it, as you heard that dreadful whisper again…

“Y/N…” The word struck you like a nail through the eye. A stark confirmation that someone else was in here with you. But all the stalls appeared to be empty.

You could only hear the sound of your own rapid breathing, that same rhythmic drip and the haunting whistle of the wind, leaving you to wonder whether your brain was simply playing tricks on you in this tense state.

There was a long, morose pause, and then, “It’s me, Y/N.”

“Fuck no.” Terror flooded your face as you spun on your heel, noting that to get to the exit, you would have to walk past the row of stalls. You took a reluctant step forward, ducking under the stall to see nothing, then the next, and the next, until finally, the last stall. It was empty at first, and you considered that maybe you were really just going crazy.

But then, two feet stepped down from the toilet onto the floor in the final stall. You were paralysed, face drawn tight as the door began to creak open, revealing Ghostface clutching the same knife as before.

You swivelled on your feet, crashing through the door but feeling a hand grip onto your shoulder and tug you back. Bracing yourself for the eventual feeling of a knife digging into your back, you ducked out of the grip and barrelled straight back into him, sending you both crashing to the slippery bathroom floor. You were able to launch yourself up before the attacker, and launched yourself through the exit before he could grab hold of you.

Without looking back, you sprinted through the hallway, ignoring the questioning look of a teacher you passed and heading straight for the principal’s office. You knew that only the top authority would be able to help you out. Nick Fury was perhaps the most intimidating teacher you had ever known, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he were to track down and kill Ghostface himself.

You burst through the door to his office, being met by two students holding ghost masks in the middle of a berating.

“He’s here… I saw him.” You sobbed out, hysterical but unashamed of your reaction. “He’s here…”

Fury rushed towards you, placing a comforting hand on either shoulder to ground you. “Where? What happened?”

You gulped back a sob, attempting to form some comprehendible recount of the events. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. All that replayed in your mind was the realisation that this was your new reality. There was someone after you, who clearly wouldn’t stop until you were dead.

Fury gave up on getting any coherent answer from you and called the cops, who arrived promptly having been stationed outside. They searched the girl’s toilets and found no evidence of any attacker lurking there, but assured you full protection from now on, starting with Tony Stark escorting both you and Kate home immediately. She was pulled from class, and you were told to wait outside while they finished one last sweep of the building.

Sitting next to Kate on a bench, you were finally able to catch your breath, and took the opportunity to briefly explain to Kate what had happened, refusing to dwell on your conversation with Wanda, or the rather unpleasant end of it.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one listening.

“Attacked, again?” Pepper revealed herself from inside an inconspicuous-looking van, clearly having been waiting and watching for something to happen.

“You were spying on us?” Kate exclaimed incredulously. “Surely that’s against the law…”

“No, just good journalism.”

“Hey, hey!” Tony arrived at the perfect moment, clicking his fingers at Pepper. “You, you’re not supposed to be here.” As much as you trusted Tony for protection, you could see how his eyes trailed over Pepper distractedly.

“For a police officer, you don’t have the best focus,” Pepper smirked, seeing his wandering gaze.

You rolled your eyes at the interaction, feeling a flush of anger towards Tony.

“Well, I’d say it’s because you’re much prettier in person.” He replied, ever the flirt.

Pepper was about to respond, but never got the chance to. There was a sudden crackle in the air, signifying the PA system had sparked to life.

Nick Fury’s sombre tone filled the air, as you all stopped to listen. “Your attention, please. Due to the recent events that have occurred and until it comes to a resolve, effective immediately, all classes are suspended till further notice.”

Despite being outside the building, you heard a schoolwide cheer from inside, imagining the shared joy amongst everyone regardless of the dire circumstances.

“The Westview Police Department has also asked me to announce a city-wide curfew beginning at 6pn.” Fury finished, to which you heard a palpable boo from inside.

“Boy, you people sure do make a fuss over a serial killer.” Pepper sighed humorously.

“Technically, not a serial killer yet.” Tony folded his arms. “Gotta knock off a couple more to get that title, so he’s just a plain old murderer.”

“For now-“ You snarked, feeling your patience draining away from you.

The bell rang out, ending school for the foreseeable future, proceeded by the stampede of footsteps as students rushed out of the building, celebrating their early release. You and Kate stood up, ready to go when you caught sight of Wanda and Pietro.

Unwilling to leave things as awkwardly as you had, you told Tony to wait for a minute and jogged over to her, with Kate following behind.

“Is this cool or what?” Pietro appeared enthused by the sudden closure of the school, slinging an arm around Kate’s shoulders as he always did.

“For once, Piet, drop it.” She chastised.

“Okay,” he rolled his eyes, “but whatever you did, the entire student body thanks you.” He said, nodding at you with an impish smile.

“What happened?” Wanda questioned, glancing between you and her brother. “Were you attacked again?”

“Yeah, right after you left.”

Her mouth fell agape, then shifted into a harsh line. “And you don’t think I did-“

“No!” You were quick to assure before her concern was fully voiced. “I don’t.”

“Well, to celebrate this impromptu fall break, and Y/N admitting my sister’s innocence, I propose a party tonight.”

“What?” Kate turned to her boyfriend, aghast by the suggestion.

“Tonight, our house.” He confirmed, winking at Wanda.

“Are you serious?” You laughed in disbelief at his uncaring attitude.

“Our parents are out of town. It’ll be like my hurricane bash last year.” He stated, trying his best to convince the two of you that this was a good idea. “Nothing extreme, just a few of us, hangin’.”

“I don’t know Piet.” Even Wanda looked unconvinced, though Kate seemed to be warming to the idea.

“I guess safety in numbers…” Kate turned to you, seeking approval. “What do you think, Y/N?”

In spite of everything happening, you agreed that you would be safer in a larger group of friends. The police had hardly been effective in stopping the attacks so far, and Tony’s presence did little to assuage your constant fear. Not to mention that you rather owed it to the Maximoff twins, having unfairly convicted them before considering all the facts.

With this realisation, you nodded timidly. “Yeah, sure… whatever.”

“Alright.” Pietro rubbed his hands together connivingly. “See you guys at 8 pm sharp. Bring food.”

Wanda smiled at you warmly for the first time since this whole situation had begun. It gave you hope, motivation to go through with this party tonight. You had missed the genuine happiness in her expression and would do anything to earn back her adoration, to make her forget any of your accusations and assumptions.

Still, as Kate linked her arm with yours and spoke continuously about the plans for tonight, you couldn’t help but feel that this was about to be a huge mistake…

...

As predicted, Tony was far from happy about the party organised that night, giving you a lecture on all the possible dangers as he drove you back to Kate’s. But you knew him and knew that he was way too concerned about his reputation to cancel the get-together. He dropped you home with one final warning, asked for the address just in case, and then left you for the evening. To your relief, officers were already stationed outside the Bishop household, though it would make sneaking away for the night a lot harder.

Still, Kate seemed undeterred, already applying makeup and straightening her hair by six.

“Are we seriously doing this?” You muttered, laying on the bed staring impassively up at the monotonous white ceiling.

“Yes, we are.” She affirmed. “Because, trust me, you’ll be safer surrounded by a load of drunk, pubescent boys. Hell, they’ll probably track down and kill Ghostface themselves.”

“And what if Ghostface is already there.” You sat bolt upright, the image of his infamous mask flipping to the forefront of your imagination.

“Well, we’ll see that obnoxious costume from a mile away.”

“Out of disguise, Kate.” You sighed, collapsing inwards on yourself. Anxiety was sweeping across your body, a cold breeze which rendered you paranoid and entirely unwilling to attend the party tonight.

“Then make sure you’re never by yourself.” She answered quickly, eager to soothe your worries. You could tell she was excited for the night, always one to stay at a party even after everyone else left. “I promise I won’t leave your side, even if Pietro wants to make-out or whatever.”

You grimaced at that image.

“And I bet Wanda won’t want to leave your side.” She added. “That girl is crazy about you, and probably willing to throw herself in front of the killer to save you.”

“Not after how I’ve treated her…” You murmured, recalling the hurt she seemed to be holding onto.

“Nobody can blame you for that, Y/N.” Kate abandoned her place in front of the mirror to sit beside you. “I would’ve done the same if it’d been me and Pietro.”

“But it’s not just that. I can’t relax around her.” You threw your hands up exasperatedly and exhaled, debating whether to bring the topic up or not. “Whenever she touches me, I freak out.”

There was a pause of silence, in which your words swallowed you into a pit of embarrassment, one you were about to retract.

“So what? You have a few intimacy issues, and all this murdering probably doesn’t help.” Kate shrugged. “No big deal. You’ll get there eventually. And Wanda will wait.”

“But she’s already been so patient with me, Kate.”

“Yeah, It’s Wanda. Your girlfriend. Probably the most caring, perfect person I can imagine for you to be with. And virginity intact or not, I’m sure she won’t let you get murdered.”

You snorted, submitting to Kate’s humour over your constant doubts. “You’re right.”

Three knocks against the door interrupted your conversation. You held your breath, inexplicably tense despite knowing that murderers were hardly the type to knock before entering a room.

“You guys decent in there?” The muffled yet unmistakable voice of Tony Stark called out.

“Yeah…” Kate answered as the handle twisted open. “Hey…” She greeted confusedly.

You frowned, equally unable to understand why Tony had returned…unless… “Have you guys heard anything from my dad?” You asked desperately.

Tony shook his head. “Afraid not, kid.”

You sunk back into the bed, any hopes of familial safety having been immediately squandered.

“But good news is you’ve got me as your personal bodyguard tonight.” He finished, folding his arms.

“What?” Both you and Kate echoed at the same moment.

“I took the evening shift stationed outside the house, so no need to sneak out, but” he held up a stern finger, “only on the condition that I go with.”

“No.” Kate screwed her face up. “You’ll ruin the whole night.”

“Firstly, offensive.” He pointed at Kate with a sneer. “Secondly, I’ll be staying outside the house unless there’s screams and such.”

“Fine, deal.” You waved off the list, indifferent about his attendance.

“Thirdly…” He continued. “Pepper is coming with.”

“What!”

“She’ll definitely ruin the night,” Kate repeated.

“No Pepper, no deal- and I tell the police about this little rendezvous planned for tonight.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s unfair” But seeing no compromise, glanced at Kate and saw the same muted displeasure. “But fine. Why does she even want to come?”

“Says it’s a journalistic hunch.” He shrugged, nonchalantly leaning against the doorway.

“And why do you want her there, Stark?” Kate sent a look your way, already well aware of why Tony would want the company.

“I thought a stakeout might be a good first date.” He answered in full honesty.

“It’s not.” You shook your head in disbelief at his antics. “Still, as long as you keep your business separate from ours, I see no issues here.”

“Alright.” His lips drew into a taut line. “Pleasure doing business with you both.”

...

The irony of showing up to an illegal, out-of-curfew house party in a cop car didn’t escape you. Nor did it make you feel any less uncomfortable. The Maximoff’s house was right on the edge of town, surrounded by nothing but empty fields as far as the eye could see. It was isolated, perfect for parties but likely terrible for your own safety. There were no streetlights to illuminate potential Ghostface killers, and with the sun setting in the distance, you doubted the orange hue that currently permeated the sky would stay.

The only other source of light came from inside the house itself, accompanied by a general ruckus and music blaring. You were late, and as such, a gathering of cars were already littered across the driveway, though you doubted their owners were intending on staying sober. At that moment, you decided that you would certainly not be getting a lift home with anyone besides Tony tonight. The celebratory atmosphere from school closing early still lingered in the air, meaning that tonight was probably going to get way out of hand. Especially if Pietro had anything to do with it.

Tony dropped you off with a word of warning, then pointed out where he and Pepper would be stationed for the night, further down the driveway and out of sight. You shuddered at the mention of Pepper’s name, or rather, the fact that she was your line of defence for the night.

As you and Kate approached the front door, which was left open for anyone to enter, the house loomed over you menacingly. Its shadow fell across your face, blocking out the last rays of sunset and encompassing you in artificial lighting. You rarely visited Wanda at home, finding her parents were often absent and your dad refusing to drive you over there. As such, your attention was instantly diverted upon stepping foot inside. Your vision traced up the staircase, wondering whether it would lead you to Wanda’s room- a place you had surprisingly never ventured to.

Resolving yourself to finding the room, you turned to inform Kate of your plans, only to see she had disappeared. Most of the activity was coming from the kitchen, where you guessed she was greeting people, entirely unaware that you had already slipped away.

Shrugging off the momentary irritation at her having broken her promise so soon, you went over to the staircase and began to climb upstairs. A couple of people were standing on the landing, engaged in a heated discussion away from the rest of the party. They didn’t even notice you slip past.

All the doors were shut, and all looked identical, though you remembered Wanda having mentioned that her room faced the fields behind the house. So, you went towards the door that matched her description, twisting open the handle slowly as to warn anyone inside of your arrival.

You guessed correctly, and were met by a bedroom littered with posters and pictures- some of you. The overhead light was off, leaving a string of fairy lights scattered across the walls to brighten an otherwise dingy room. The air was still and dusty. Previously undisturbed particles swirled about your like an ocean, parting only for you. A scented candle burned peacefully on the windowsill, the smell reminding you of your girlfriend. A sudden ache arose in your chest, encouraging you to leave the room and find her.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” A stern voice sounded from the doorway.

You jumped, your heart beating an irregular pace as you swivelled round to see Pietro. The light of the corridor filled the space around him, casting an ominous silhouette over the bedroom. His expression was angry- serious, and unmoving, so far from the Pietro that you knew and liked that it made you exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Sorry.” You stuttered out, taken aback by his newfound seriousness. “I was just leaving- looking for Wanda.”

“She’s just gone out to get more drinks.” His rigid features relaxed a modicum. “She’ll be back soon.”

You watched as he held the door open, ushering you out. More than willingly, you headed over, only stopping once the door had shut behind you as a sudden realisation struck. “But she can’t drive?”

Pietro paused for a second. “There’s a bus to town every half hour, the stop is at the end of the road.”

“She’s getting the bus alone at this hour?” Fear began to rise throughout you at the image of your girlfriend trapped with a bunch of strangers, and perhaps a murderer. “Also, there’s a curfew.”

Pietro scoffed, his signature smirk returning as he brushed you off. “You worry too much. She’ll be fine!”

You found yourself quickly irritated by his casual demeanour, and snapped, “You have a car, why didn’t you go?”

“Because I am the life of this party, and I’m still a learner driver.” He shook his head, turning away from you to make his way back downstairs.

“That hasn’t stopped you before.” You yelled after him, though it was too late.

Pietro skipped back downstairs, and you reluctantly followed.

“Hey, Y/N!” Peter squeezed through the doorway, stacks of VHS tapes balanced precariously between his arms. “How are you doing?” He asked eagerly.

You dashed forwards to grab onto some of his video tapes before the stack fell down. “I’m alright, all things considered…”

“Thanks- and yeah, I’m surprised you’re here.” He looked at you, concerned. “But I thought to try and keep things calm, we’d make it a Blockbuster night.” He explained, indicating to the VHS collection he had travelled with.

You glanced down at the top three he had passed to you, recognising all the titles as horror films. “You mean a Jamie Lee Curtis night? How come she’s in all these movies?”

Peter placed the tapes down, gaping at you. “Cause she’s the Scream Queen!”

You scoffed. “With that set of lungs, she should be a-“

“Y/N!” Kate dashed over to you. “Where did you go? One minute I turned around and you were there, the next-“

“Oh, don’t worry, I was just exploring the house.” You interrupted, putting a stop to her panic.

“Ok thank god.” She sighed. “For a second there I was worried you’d been Ghostface’d”

You tried to smile but struggled still to find the humour in all this. “Not yet.”

“Not ever.” She stated, then became distracted by Peter’s VHS collection. You watched Kate enthusiastically flip through the familiar titles and found yourself wondering whether she had ever seen the side of Pietro you had just been exposed to. You couldn’t imagine she would’ve stayed with him if she had…

Despite the unsteady start to the party, you allowed yourself to be enveloped by the mundane sort of satisfaction that came with these kinds of gatherings. You ended up wedged between Peter and Kate on a disturbingly discoloured sofa, with Pietro on the other side of Kate. Several times you noted him glancing towards you, though you chose to ignore it and focus on the movie Peter had selected instead.

More familiar faces started to settle throughout the living room to watch the film, all sharing piles of junk food, beer and a joint occasionally passed around. For the first time since everything had kicked off, you felt normal, safe, and enjoying the company of friends. However, the longing for Wanda’s presence never ceased, and your eyes constantly darted towards the foyer, awaiting her inevitable return.

An hour or so later you began to worry that Wanda had yet to return.

Seeing your discomfort, Pietro tapped Kate’s leg. “There’s a bottle of wine in the basement that my parents were saving for a special occasion, why not grab that so Y/N can finally relax.” He fixed you with a pointed stare. “I can feel her anxiety from here. It’s giving me Ghostface blue balls.”

“Fine.” Kate rolled her eyes and stood up. “I’ll be right back.” She gave you a shyly comforting smile, then disappeared as instructed.

Pietro spread out to fill the gap, letting out a cocky, relaxed sigh as he glanced at you, knowingly mocking your anxious demeanour. On the other side, you felt Peter tense, noticing he was observing with a disapproving frown plastered across his face. Despite his unthreatening, wholly innocent appearance, you trusted Peter more than you did Pietro, and as such, sidled closer towards him. You weren’t sure where this sudden distrust of Wanda’s brother came from, nor were you willing to dwell on it. Instead, you fixed your attention to the TV screen ahead, numbly watching to dull your racing thoughts.

Before you knew it, the credits had started rolling. As Peter stood up to pause the tape, you realised suddenly that the vast majority of those crowding the house had vanished. All general ruckus had ceased, the party having come to an end much quicker than you expected. Usually, Pietro would ensure the party lasted until some ungodly hour, yet to your surprise, he had remained seated next to you the entire time, silent except for his occasional comments on the film. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Wait.” You shot bolt upright abruptly, another concern springing to mind. “Where’s Kate?”

Pietro hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” He stood up, looming over you, then clapped his hands together as if something had only just occurred to him. “Sometimes the basement door gets stuck!” He exclaimed, then laughed manically. “She’s probably been stuck down here this whole time! I’ll go get her.” With that, he leapt over the sofa, thudding against the creaky wooden floor and jogging out of view.

With his exit, only you and Peter were left in the living room. He was crouched by the TV, returning the VHS tape to its rightful box, reorganising his collection.

“Peter.” Your voice shook, a reflection of the fear that currently filled your body. “Something’s not right here.”

He turned to you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” You threw your hands up, exasperated at his nonchalance. “Why’s it so quiet? Pietro’s parties usually like this.”

Peter furrowed his face. “Well, I’d guess most people are worried about the curfew.” He turned back to his tapes, selecting another to put on. “Overbearing parents… no buses running… They probably wanted to get going before it got too late.”

“Yeah but…” You exhaled irritably, wrapping your arms around your form for protection. “It just doesn’t feel right here… Like where’s Kate? Where’s Wanda? She left to get drinks before I even got here, and still isn’t back.”

Peter eyed you up. “If you want to go, we can leave now?” He stood up, expression growing grave with concern. In the dim lighting, shadows fell menacingly across his face, his posture tall and stiff, his care morphing into indifference. Don’t trust him, your instincts screamed. Don’t trust anyone.

He must’ve seen your distrust, the hardness in his gaze melting slightly “Y/N…?

“Y/N!” A different voice called.

You swivelled to the left to see Wanda lingering in the doorway, eyes flickering between you and Peter.

“Is everything alright, baby?” She stepped towards you, a softness in her outstretched arms which you craved desperately.

“Yeah.” You took her hand, interlocking your warm palm with hers, cold from the evening chill. You gulped, sensing Peter still watching you closely, creepily. “Can we go up to your room? Please?”

She grinned. “Of course. Seems I’ve missed the party anyway.” She scrunched her nose at you, then tugged you forward and lead you towards the staircase.

You spared one final glance back at Peter, who stood alone and vulnerable in the open space, a mix of jealousy and fear palpable on his face.

...

You lingered awkwardly in the centre of Wanda’s room before deciding to perch on the bed, turning to face her. She leant back against the door, and you heard it click shut, sealing your fate.

“So…” She started, then trailed off. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a selfish shit this whole time and I’m-“

“No.” You waved her off, settling into the comfort of the bed. For the first time that evening, you finally felt at peace, unwilling to be reminded of anything that might stoke your paranoia. “I’m the one that’s been over-dramatic and self-absorbed with all this- just…” You shifted uncomfortably. “I just feel like we haven’t properly had time to talk since this all began.”

“And that’s totally okay.” She assured quickly, practically leaping across the room to sit down next to you. “I don’t blame you.” She took your hands from where you’d been wringing them in your lap, dragging them to rest on her thighs. “I could never blame you.” She admitted, quietly, green eyes gleaming fondly as she stared up at you through her lashes, the gesture pure despite the layer of smoky eyeshadow that encircled her gaze. “Because… I love you.”

You gasped involuntarily, stunned by the confession. Your lips parted to form the words she desired to hear back, yet never got a chance to speak as her mouth landed upon yours. The kiss was soft and hesitant, her hair brushing softly against your jaw as she shifted closer. To rectify the awkward angle, you parted momentarily, swinging yourself over her body to settle in her lap. Immediately, she resumed kissing you, nipping at your bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth, tongue soothing the pain then slipping further to brush against your own. You couldn’t help but moan.

In response, Wanda allowed herself to fall backwards against the bed as you settled on top, straddling her, feeling hands slip underneath your baggy jumper and towards the clasp of your bra. You pressed yourself against her harder, encouraging her fingers to twist urgently and unclasp the strap. Hurriedly, you backed away to shove it off, tugging your jumper overhead with it. Without warning, she grabbed hold of your waist and flipped you over, reversing your position. She quickly did the same, removing her top to reveal a smooth expanse of pale skin. You longed to kiss every freckle, and appreciate every mark, yet found yourself paralysed in admiration.

Wanda smirked, then lowered herself back down to continue kissing you. This time, she moved slower, sensually, flicking her tongue against your lower lip teasingly. Her hand resumed its path up your side, eventually reaching your breast. She palmed at your chest, and you arched into the touch, giving her the chance for her lips to reattach at your neck. Her lips wrapped around your pulse point and sucked, hard enough to leave a bruise, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Her other hand slid down your stomach, your muscles involuntarily flexing at the feeling of her nail tickling against your skin. Her hand wormed its way underneath your jeans, not bothering to unbutton them, and towards your pants, pushing them aside. You moaned; eyes fluttering shut as her finger dragged its way…

A crash sounded downstairs, followed by a scream of pain. Your eyes shot open, yet Wanda didn’t halt at the distraction.

“Wanda.” You murmured, catching her attention.

Her lips had moved to your chest, which you felt her hum against in response.

“Did you hear that?” You asked.

Another scream sounded from downstairs, this time a muffled cry for help.

“Wanda. Stop! Can’t you hear that?” You exclaimed, panic suffusing throughout you. There was no way she didn’t hear either call.

“Hear what?” She said, faux innocently without meeting your gaze, then continued to lather attention along your collarbone.

“You need to stop.” You repeated, firmer this time. “Something’s happening downstairs. Someone needs help.” You shoved flutily against her shoulders, quickly becoming irritated by her carelessness.

“I’m sure it’s Pietro pulling some stupid prank. Just relax.”

“No.” Irritation turned to anger which turned to bravery. “I want to check.”

Her fingers curled suddenly, a wave of pleasure shooting through your core. “But you’re so wet, baby. Let me take care of you first.” Her voice was lost in lust, which had all but drained from you.

“Not now.” You gritted your teeth, pushing her harshly to the side.

Wanda finally broke away to stare at you impassively. “Fine.” She snapped, reaching out for her top. “Go on then.” Coldly, she turned her back to you, leaving you to gather your clothes.

The abrupt change in atmosphere left you stunned. You knew Wanda would be disappointed, but this newfound coldness was extreme- like you were seeing a whole new side to your girlfriend. You stared silently at her back, taking in the tenseness to her shoulders, the upright, frigid posture. Part of you longed to reach out, to melt the frigidity with your own body heat, yet you felt as though you couldn’t. As though a physical barrier had formed between you.

Instead, you sighed and began to dress, eyes darting around the room, anywhere except at her.

Standing up and brushing the hair out of your face, your eyes came to rest on the telephone sitting on the nightstand. As mundane as the object was, it brought a stark revelation to your doubtful mind.

“Who did you call?” You murmured.

“What?” Wanda twitched slightly, still refusing to fully acknowledge you.

“When you were arrested- you’re allowed one phone call…” You elaborated. “Who did you call?”

Wanda paused, answering as she reached back to grab her top. “I called my dad.”

Your mind and pulse were racing, worsening the swirling mix of emotions inside of you. “But your parents are out of town?” You stepped forward, hand resting on the doorknob.

“Yeah… and when I called no one answered.” She explained briefly, finally turning to stare at you, something dark twisting her expression. “You don’t still think it was me, do you?”

“No.” You corrected quickly, beginning to turn the door open. “But if it was you, that would’ve been a pretty clever way to throw me off the track.” The door creaked open, light from the hallway flooding into the dingy room. “Using your one phone call to call me so I wouldn’t think it was you.”

Wanda exhaled dramatically, then rose to step closer to you. “What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not a killer?” She implored, close enough now that you felt her breath fan across your face. Your gaze darted over her features; the softness to her lips, the smooth red colouring of her cheeks, the way her chin quivered almost imperceptibly, a telltale sign that she was anxious. Yet, the usual warmth that you felt in her presence was lacking, replaced by unequivocal doubt.

Before you could answer her, the door suddenly flung back from your grip.

You fell into the corridor as a figure cloaked in black shot past you, a flash of silver hidden amongst the dark mass. You scrambled to sit up, watched helplessly as Wanda was pushed backwards, watched as a steel blade rose high into the air before striking downwards. Watched red crimson blood splatter across the room.

You took in a shuddering breath, forcing your legs into action. You stood tall, your fear numbed by the sight of Wanda’s lifeless body resting where you had sat but moments ago. A growing pool of red was soaking into the sheets, dripping down the edge and staining the carpet.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned towards Ghostface. He was still now, proud of his work. And as he looked back to you, masked head twisting curiously, you felt sick with rage.

Without wasting another moment, you were off. A horrific sense of Deja vu clouded your every movement as you tore across the landing and down the stairs, not daring to spare a glance anywhere but onwards. Instinct led you through the house, round the corner and crashing against the front door, frantically trying to twist it open only to find it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. Someone had locked you in.

A beat of silence passed as you realised that Ghostface hadn’t followed you.

For a split second, the house was eerily quiet.

“Y/N!” Peter emerged from one of the doorways, bruised and bloody. One hand clutched at his stomach, the other braced against the wall for support. “Fuck. You’re alive. We’ve gotta’ get out of here.” He winced, edging closer towards you, a trail of blood smearing along the wall.

“Y/N!” Another voice called. Both you and Peter turned towards the source of the noise. “Don’t listen to him.” Pietro appeared, stumbling down the last few stairs, equally bloodied and panting from the exertion of dragging himself along. “He’s lying.” Pietro gulped, shaking his head, tears forming in his eyes. “He attacked me.”

“No!” Peter exclaimed. “It was the other way round. You have to believe me, Y/N. Please!” Peter looked to you desperately, taking a wobbly step forward.

“Stop!” You exclaimed, frightened by your own urgent tone. “Neither of you come any closer.”

Pietro whined, thudding back against the wall. “Where’s Wanda…?” He asked, voice pathetically desperate.

You swallowed, a fresh set of hot tears welling up. “She’s dead.”

“Dead?!” Pietro echoed, marred by a mix of emotions you couldn’t decipher.

“She…” Peter trailed off, eyes wide and innocent.

“It’s Parker.” Pietro spat. “His movie nut mind has snapped. He’s gone psycho.” Pietro launched himself suddenly forward.

“Stay back!” You shouted, no real warning behind the threat.

Though, to your relief, Pietro listened. Both of them stood, barely a metre away and waiting for you to act. You trusted neither. A beat passed as you regained strength, coming to a conclusion about what to do.

“Is there another way out the house?” You asked.

Pietro nodded with barely a second to think. “Peter’s locked the backdoor and taken the keys, I saw-“

“No, I didn’t!” The younger boy interrupted, incredulous and frightened.

“But there’s another way out. A trapdoor in the basement. It leads outside.”

“Alright.” You nodded, gulped. “Lead the way.”

“No…Y/N...” Peter whined. “Please, we can’t trust him, it’s a trap!”

“Shut it, Parker,” Pietro growled through gritted teeth, then suddenly appeared to change tactics, snapping his attention to you. “You can’t believe him, Y/N. He’s lost it. Those graphic, violent horror films he loves, they’ve gone to his head. Go on! Ask him what his favourite film is!”

“It’s Aliens… But I hardly see how that’s relevant!” Peter’s eyes were wide and shining, brimming with tears. “Deep down I know you trust me, and you won’t let Pietro win, you won’t follow him into that basement…”

“I…” You began, taking in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know.”

“Come on Y/N….” Pietro dragged out your name, his gaze solely on you. “You can work it out.” He muttered. “Use that smart brain of yours Wanda’s always going on about… Peter’s in love with you, that’s why all his victims are your ex-lovers.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Peter exclaimed.

“But you can’t deny it.” The silver-haired boy continued. “You see the way he looks at you. The way he obsesses over you. He’s lost it. He knows he can’t have you, so no one can- and if that means killing you too then so be it!”

“Y/N I would never!”

“Oh, he would.”

“Shut it, both of you!” You finally chimed in, mind reeling with the information Pietro was pouring into it. You knew you couldn’t follow Pietro into that basement. But you also knew you couldn’t stay here with Peter either. You took a deep, steadier breath. “Ok here’s what we’re going to do. Pietro, you’re going to go down to the basement, wait by this trapdoor, if it’s really there. Meanwhile Peter, can you make it to the phone in the living room?” You asked, nodding towards the end of the corridor.

Peter was in bad shape judging by the pale colour of his skin, and the way he was hunched over in pain, yet he nodded enthusiastically.

“No…” Pietro moaned, bringing his hands up to clutch his face. “No, no, no!” He stood up straight, throwing his arms by his side to reveal an expression of petulant dissatisfaction. “That’s not how this is meant to go!” He yelled, suddenly, taking you by surprise as you stumbled against the wall.

“Pietro… what-“

“Y/N, you’re meant to go down to the basement!” He gestured out at you, movements frantic and irritated. “Where you see Kate- and oof, she’s real messed up.” He pulled a face, and, well, you didn’t have to fill in the blanks there. “While you’re distracted, Wanda comes downstairs and finishes off Peter and that’s where we have the big reveal!” Pietro laughed manically.

Your stomach dropped.

“Then, in an act of self-defence, you stab Wanda as I run upstairs and call the cops and ‘oh yes, officers” Pietro mocked, explaining his sick plans. “We need your help! It was Y/N all along, she faked it all! She has some sick, twisted fetish, murdering the women she can’t have- and Peter and I- we got in the way.”

Bile rose up your throat as you listened in, trying to fight back. “That never would’ve worked!”

“Maybe not by yourself, but here’s where we bring in Kate, who I tragically fought back against and won when I discovered this deranged reality. I’m, of course, devastated by this revelation. That the two of you worked together. The psycho and the pervert.” He said, singsong and mocking.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs, behind your field of view.

“He’s right.” Wanda’s voice was level as she descended, totally unharmed, and eerily calm in spite of everything occurring in her house, serving to confirm your worst fear. She was involved in this masterplan, lacking Pietro’s enthusiasm, but making up for it in the darkness that seemed to shroud her- your girlfriend.

“Anyways,” Wanda continued, “that’s how it should’ve gone if someone hadn’t messed up,” she growled, her frustrations tuned to Pietro. “I played my part perfectly, and you couldn’t hold the fort down for five minutes while I faked my death?” Wanda didn’t spare a glance at you as she walked past you to stand by her brother.

Your heart had plummeted into your stomach, and your body was racked by tremors. Your own girlfriend had been lying to you this whole time. She was a murderer- and Pietro too. He had practically confessed to either killing- or orchestrating the killing, of your best friend. And Yelena, poor Yelena too. She had been wrapped up in their web of psychopathic lies.

Tears burned their way down your cheeks. “But… why?” You tried to put on a brave face, you really did, but your voice shook.

“Why?” Wanda repeated, her face flashing hot with anger. “Why, Y/N?” She took a menacing step towards you, but before she could force her way into your personal space, Peter stumbled in front, placing himself protectively between you.

Wanda chuckled, though there was no humour behind the sound. She swivelled around, pacing over to Pietro as she spoke, “Because I know the truth. I know you never truly wanted to be with me.”

“W-what?” You stuttered out, placing a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder as his injured body shook with the exertion of standing.

“Pietro never liked you.” She spat, changing the subject. “You know that, right? Nor Kate.”

Pietro grinned, cruel and horrifying.

“He’s a diagnosed psychopath. But neither of you knew that” Wanda continued, “and I bet you also don’t know that psychopathy doesn’t mean no emotions- like those shitty horror films suggest. He does feel things, he just doesn’t know how to react to them.” She shrugged, fixing you with a cold glare. “And so, when I came crying to him that I’d overheard Agatha Harkness talking in the girl’s bathroom about how you and Yelena were in love with each other, well- he just had to do something about that.”

“That’s ridiculous!” You interrupted, desperate to deny the rumours that seemed endlessly to plague you. “Agatha Harkness is the biggest gossip at our school. Just because she says something, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“See, but I didn’t want to believe it, I really didn’t,” she continued, ignoring you. “But then each time, you pushed me away, it made me realise, she was right.” Wanda cocked her head, crying slightly, though you felt no pity for her.

Instead, you were angry: all of this from a rumour. “So that’s why you murdered… You killed people Wanda, because you were insecure?” You were enraged by her justification, the terror flooding your body having morphed into something much more brutal and unforgiving. “Ever heard of just breaking up?”

“Hey,” Pietro pointed an accusatory finger at you, “don’t talk to my sister like that! She deserves respect, which you’ve failed to give her this entire time.”

“And you…Pietro.” You shook your head. “You were just using Kate for some big revenge scheme. And for what? To make your sister feel better, to kill some people?” You mocked, no longer afraid to provoke the murderers. “What are you meant to be, the next Norman Bates? Only your mother’s never here so you had to fixate on your sister-“

The moment you finished speaking, multiple things happened at once.

Pietro, who had been simmering with rage since you turned on him, lunged forward, hands outstretched to enclose around your neck. He was blocked as Peter used the remained of his strength to barrel into him, slamming the two of them into the wall opposite.

“Y/N, run!” Peter yelled while you stayed paralysed by shock.

You flickered to Wanda, who looked a mix of surprised and devastated. A second later, she looked at you, suddenly understanding what Peter had said, and realising she would need to stop you.

Fortunately, you were a beat quicker and took off in the direction of the basement.

“Y/N!” Footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you. Like a landslide, deadly and unstoppable, Wanda wouldn’t give up until she caught up with you.

But you were faster. Adrenaline gave you strength, speed, focus. You spotted a trapdoor in seconds despite the dingy lighting of the basement, flickering and swaying as you rushed past the lightbulb hanging from the centre of the room.

As it swung, it illuminated a sight your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to: Kate, her body bloody, slumped against the wall having been dragged into a seated position. You stuttered to a stop. Her face was peaceful, as though she were simply asleep, but not convincing enough to provide you with any consolation. Blood painted her pale cheeks, and you knew she had died in pain. At either the hand of your girlfriend- or arguably worse, her brother, Kate’s boyfriend.

“Y/N.” Wanda repeated, without the prior urgency.

You realised you had been still for a while now, paralysed by the dawning reality of your situation, or more important, the futility of your escape. You had to crane your neck upwards to see the trapdoor, and beneath it an unfortunate lack of stairs. You were doomed.

Wanda was panting beside you; the brief sprint having taken its toll on her. You now noticed the knife clutched in her left hand, its blade clean and shining- taunting you. It had yet to be used, and you wondered whether perhaps Wanda had saved it just for you, whether she had picked it out, thought yes, this is the one I want to plunge into the heart of my lover.

Your girlfriend was undeniably menacing in this state. Her chest was rising and falling, her whole body seeming to shrink and expand with each breath, blocking out the exit behind her.

And yet, you still weren’t scared.

“Is this the part where I beg for my life?” You scoffed.

In fact, you were angry.

“Only if you want to,” Wanda replied though she made no move towards you. “But Kate didn’t.”

So, that confirmed it: your girlfriend had been the one to end your best friend's life. You knew she had brought it up to get a rise out of you, get you to react in some way other than vengeful indifference, but you wouldn’t justify her with it. You could tell by the twist of her lips that it was driving Wanda crazy.

You swallowed. “What about Yelena?”

“That one was Pietro.” She answered. “God, did it drive me crazy knowing I wouldn’t be the one to end her life, that I wasn’t the last thing she saw in this lifetime. But I needed to be at your house, as an alibi, so you could trust me for a little longer. Girlfriend duties, am I right?” She rolled her eyes humorously.

You weren’t laughing, rather, you frowned. “Then why did you show up at my house and drop your secret mobile phone next time?”

“To confuse you, Y/N… I wanted you to doubt everyone, everything you knew- or thought you knew about people.”

You chuckled in disbelief. “You’re insane, Wanda.”

“I’m not-“

“Like your brother,” you continued, ignoring her protests, “you say he’s the diagnosed psychopath, but maybe you need to get checked out. Actually, while you’re at it, get your parents checked too. I’d love to know why I’ve never met them, let alone seen them.”

There was a pause: silence, and then, “You have.” Wanda gulped, your gaze tracing the movement. “You have seen them. When you arrived at the house and walked to the front door.”

Your furrowed brow was starting to give you a headache, but she was making no sense.

“They’re buried in the garden.” She clarified, gaze drifting around the basement, refusing to settle on anything in particular. She hummed, sad and low. “They died a couple years back, and… me and Pietro… we didn’t want to get put into foster care and separated. We just knew we had to make it work for a while.”

Your lips parted, though you had nothing to say. These had been the most emotionally exhausting days of your life, and you wanted them to end.

“But you were so young….” You said, distracted from the present by the sudden exposition Wanda was providing.

“Close enough to eighteen to improvise.” She shrugged, the movement causing the light to catch the metal of the knife, reflecting round the room in a flash of silver.

“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been…” You sighed. “But it’s an explanation… not an excuse for what you’ve done, Wanda.”

As Wanda stood there, knife glinting in the faint basement light, something in her expression shifted. Her eyes, previously soft and vulnerable as she poured her heart out to you had become hard, filled with cold resolve. She leapt forward, the blade above you, ready to strike downwards.

In an act of self-defence, you pushed upwards, a hand closing around her forearm and halting the knife’s path.

She pushed down as you pushed up, though the effort was futile as Wanda’s whole body shook, unable to find the strength to plunge the knife into your head, which remained barely an inch away from the sharp tip.

“I can’t do this!” She announced, abruptly stepping backwards and letting you stumble to regain your balance. Wanda’s lip quivered as she looked at you, pain etched into her face. The knife she once held so confidently now seemed like a foreign object. “I can’t hurt you Y/N. I don’t understand! You have this effect on me, I…”

Before she could finish her rambling, you lunged at her, instinct guiding your fist into her enclosed palm, smashing the knife out of her grasp. It clattered to the floor with a metallic clang as you both simultaneously threw yourself towards it, struggling and grappling in a tangle of fear and desperation. You struck your elbow back into her face, hard, and she gasped. In the spare moment, you wrestled the knife from her possession and in one swift motion, plunged it into her side.

Wanda cried out in agony.

You dragged the knife out, ignoring the splatter of blood that followed it, jumping quickly to your feet.

Wanda stayed on the floor, rolling onto her back as her hands grasped at her side, attempting to stop the flow of blood pouring endlessly from the wound.

You choked out a sob, everything around you blurred except for the red soaking into the concrete ground beneath her. And then, you remembered: once this had been Yelena, once it had been Kate, and possibly now Peter. This was the second time this evening that you had seen your girlfriend die, only this time you hoped it stuck.

Wanda’s eyes were frantically searching yours, silently screaming for help as her mouth was agape, drawing in shallow breaths. Hurt and confusion filled her pupils… and something that almost resembled regret… But you didn’t have time to think about it. This was for all her prior victims. For all those that she and Pietro had murdered. You would be the one to escape Wanda’s clutches.

You turned back to the trapdoor, your vision finally adjusted to the dim basement light and spotting a ladder tucked in the corner of the room. You scrambled over to it, heart pounding as you dragged the structure across the room. It scraped against the floor, ear-piercing and loud. You hoped it wouldn’t draw Pietro’s attention, wherever he now lurked in the house.

Shaking hands gripped at the rungs, pulling yourself up with all the power you had left. You had no idea what awaited you above this underground nightmare, but you would never be more ready to face it. Slamming your hand into the trapdoor, moonlight flooded down into the room as you kept climbing up, away from the torment.

As your hand grasped onto the cold, solid ground outside, you could’ve sworn you heard Wanda’s voice echo faintly behind you, a soft plea. You halted, the urge to check on her almost convincing you to look back, but not quite.

Your second hand reached up, and you hauled yourself through the frame of the trapdoor and onto the grass, slightly damp between your fingers. It grounded you. This was real. You took in a breath of fresh air, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs and slow your pounding heart. After a minute, you stood, legs carrying you in the direction of Tony’s parked car further down the driveway, its white reflective paint like a beacon at the end of a long, dark path.

“Hey!” A shrill voice rung out into the night, one you dreaded to recognise instantly as Pietro. You glanced towards the source of the sound to confirm your worst suspicions, and there he was, jumper soaked with dark red blood as he staggered forward.

He was injured, badly, but giving chase as you sprung into action.

“Tony!” You yelled, legs burning as you bolted across the garden. “Tony!” You cried out again, this time catching the attention of two silhouettes sitting in the cop car.

Tony Stark and Pepper Potts frantically stepped out of the car as you drew nearer, their eyes widening at the sight of you sprinting, Pietro following closely on your heels. You could almost feel him reaching out for you, could imagine the cool metal of a knife drawing across your bare skin.

“Get down!” Tony shouted, drawing his gun.

You ducked to the side, and he fired a shot. You scrambled to your knees just in time to see Pietro dodge the bullet, ramming straight into Tony and sending the gun flying across the yard.

Pepper didn’t hesitate. She dived for the gun, rolled to her feet, and fired once, twice, her arm unwavering as she stared Pietro down. Tony jumped to a stand, untangling from the struggle as Pietro staggered, his face contorted in rage and pain, before promptly collapsing to the ground a mere couple of feet away from you.

His eyes never closed, his face never finding peace as more blood spilt out onto his jumper, no longer its original colour, but rather marred by different shades of red. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his body, unable to truly believe he was dead, despite how his chest lacked the monotonous rise and falling movement that signified life.

It was over. And yet, you knew that, just like Pietro, you would never find peace.

...

Sirens blared as a never-ending stream of ambulances arrived, paramedics swarming the scene. Red and blue illuminated the house, arguably more imposing than the first time you had laid eyes on it earlier in the night. You stood frozen, your chest heaving as you watched the world fade into obscurity all around you.

And then, “Bring the stretchers! We’ve got one alive in here!”

You waited with bated breath, refocusing on the front door as the first stretcher carried someone out. Your immediate hope was that Wanda had somehow survived, but as you reluctantly remembered everything you had just gone through, you berated yourself for hoping for such a thing.

You stepped forward, away from the paramedic who had been fussing about you since their arrival, and over to the stretcher.

It was Peter: barely conscious, covered in blood and bruises, and impossibly paler since you had last seen him… Since he had sacrificed himself for the mere possibility of your escape.

“Wait!” You called out to the team lifting him through the threshold of the house, away from the brutality inside. “Let me…” Your voice broke off as you drew nearer, examining the true state of him.

They stopped momentarily, allowing you to reach out as if to brush the hair out of his face, then halting at the last moment. He looked so delicate in this state, so easily breakable.

Instead, you leant over, placing your lips gently against his forehead as you fought against a wave of tears threatening to spill.

Whether it was just imagination reassuring your frantic mind, you weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lips flicker upwards.

And in that moment, you realised something. If Peter was going to be okay, then so would you. Someday.

END :)

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #yelena belova x reader #peter parker x reader

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alittlebitofloveliness · 2 days

Text

Grew in my heart

Heres part 2! Part 1 is linked here.

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

“Is he ever gonna wake up?”

When Pony wakes it’s to a not hushed enough whisper.

“Course he is dumbass,” that whisper is a lot quieter, “but he’s little and he’s hurt, he’s real tired.”

“He was fine earlier.”

“He was overwhelmed,” the voice corrects, “he was bound to crash sooner or later.”

Ponyboy blinks his eyes open. Soda, Darry, and Johnny are all in a line in chairs watching him, but they quickly pretend to be busy. Doing what, he isn’t sure. He already caught them looking.

“There’s those darling eyes,” Mrs.Curtis’ voice is soft as she smiles down at him, “how did you sleep, honey?”

“Good.” He mumbles through a yawn, somehow still tired, more cozy than he can ever remember being. Somehow though, he still finds himself shy again, and he hides his face in her shoulder until she laughs, peppering his head with kisses and squeezing him gently, coaxing him out of the fabric. He lets himself enjoy it. It won’t last, he knows, but he can let himself pretend, have some good memories to hold close to his chest when he ends up alone tonight in a stranger's house, on a lumpy sofa in a yet another spooky, cold basement.

“Curtis family?” Suddenly, the door to the office across from Ms. Summers opens and a lady with curly hair Ponyboy has seen a few times in the past when he’s been in the waiting room sticks her head out. She smiles the way Ms.Summers does, in a way that never really reaches her eyes, “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve got the paperwork all ready here, I just need the mother and father’s signatures, and then you just need to get it signed by a judge to make everything official.”

“We’ll be right back,” Mrs.Curtis promises them all, standing up and placing Ponyboy down on her chair but not before kissing his cheek almost absentmindedly, the way he’d seen moms at the park near Mr.Fuller’s house do with their babies sometimes, “be good boys for me.”

“Darry, keep an eye on your brothers, will you?” Mr Curtis adds, and Darry nods easily from where he’s lounging in his seat, reading a magazine.

“Does Johnny need to come in too?” Mrs.Curtis wonders as she follows the social worker into the office.

“He can if he wants to, but it’s not necessary for this part.”

“Well Johnnycake?” That was Mr.Curtis, looking at Johnny like he was the whole dang world, and Pony feels the same hatred from earlier bubbling up inside him, which definitely wasn’t fair, especially after Johnny and Mrs.Curtis and all of them had been so very nice to him all day. “Whaddya say? You wanna come with us or wait here with your brothers? We won’t be long.”

Johnny kind of shrinks with everyone's eyes on him. Pony knows the feeling.

“I’ll stay out here.”

“Ok kiddo,” Mr Curtis ruffles Johnny’s hair and follows his wife into the office.

Even though he has no reason to be worried, the sight of the closed office door with its faded paint and frosted windows makes Ponyboy’s heart sink. Logically he knows its stupid, that something good is happening behind it, that it’s making it so Johnny can get adopted, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the same door that closed behind his mother when the state made her sign away custody of him, and that it’s the same office every foster parent who ever returned him ran to as soon as they stepped inside the child services centre.

“Hey,” Johnny nudges him gently, keeping his voice low so Soda and Darry- who appear to be arguing, though Ponyboy can’t tell what about- can’t hear, “you ok?”

Johnny’s got eyes that are inky black and a scar on his head that says maybe he’s got a past life a whole lot like Pony’s current one.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Pony breathes. He glances at the shut door again.

“That’s okay.” Johnny promises, simple and sure and kind. “You don’t have to know.”

Pony can tell then that Johnny really does understand, maybe more than anyone has ever understood before.

They lapse into silence. Soda appears to be trying to convince Darry to read out the advice column of the magazine, while Darry is doing his best to ignore him and read one of the sports articles.

“Johnny,” Pony murmurs while Soda is dramatically wailing about the merits of Dear Abby and the plights of many he needs to weigh in on, “can-can I ask you somethin’? You don’t gotta answer if you don’t wanna.”

“Ok.”

“Did they take your mom away too?”

Johnny doesn’t say anything but his eyes flash dangerously and Pony finds himself trying to explain.

“It’s only- they took my mom. First they took her away in a different police car, and then they took her into Ms.Summers’ office and then she was gone and I wasn’t allowed to see her anymore.”

Johnny raises a hand to his mouth, chews anxiously on his thumbnail.

“Yeah,” He admits softly after a minute, “yeah they took her. My dad too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Ponyboy kicks his legs, trying his best not to glance at Johnny. He often had trouble meeting people’s eyes, but that went double anytime he was uncomfortable.

“What about your dad?” Johnny asks after a minute, looking anywhere but at Ponyboy.

Pony blinks. “What about him?”

“Did they take him too?”

“No,” Ponyboy shakes his head, “he’s in jail. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” Ponyboy shrugs. It really is too. He didn’t spend much time thinking about his dad, mostly because he usually forgot he ever had one.

“Pony?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever miss your mom?”

“Yeah,” Pony admits quietly. It feels blasphemous, even as he says it, but it is true, “sometimes. But I still don’t ever wanna go back to living with her ever again.”

Mom was cold and mean with her vicious hands and quick temper, for all she could be nice sometimes. She’d pressed his hand to the hot stove once and threw stuff at him everyday, even if she did read him bedtime stories a few times a week. He’d had worse foster parents since they took him away, but not by much, and those people weren’t his mom. It made sense they didn’t want him. It never made sense why she didn’t.

“Me neither,” Johnny agrees.

“It’s different though,” Pony points out, “you got the Curtis’ now. No wonder you don’t wanna go back.”

“It ain’t different,” Johnny glares, and suddenly he looks like every kid in every group home Pony’s ever met, mean and defeated, “it don’t change the fact she didn’t love me even when I wanted her to.”

“Hey you two,” Darry’s suddenly in front of them, hands on his hips and a frown on his face, “how come you’re arguin’?”

They both hesitate.

“I was bein’ mean,” Pony admits, shamefaced, looking straight at Johnny, “You’re right it ain’t different. I’m sorry Johnny.”

Johnny’s eyes stay hard for a second until they melt back to something soft.

“It’s okay.”

He understands. Pony sighs, relieved.

“Ok,” Darry looks confused, “ well. Glad y’all are good.”

He sits down again.

Pony can’t help it. He giggles.

“What’re you laughin’ at, huh kid?” Darry sounds mad but he’s smiling as he says it, so Pony thinks maybe he’s only pretending to be.

“Your face.”

“My face?”

“Yeah,” Pony says, “you look funny.” He demonstrates, pulling an exaggerated version of Darry’s puzzled frown, and Johnny laughs.

“Funny huh?” Darry exchanges a grin with Soda, Johnny perking up beside him, eyes lighting in understanding, “we’ll show you funny.”

The next thing Pony knows he’s being tickled to death, all three older boys teaming up against him until he’s squealing and red faced from laughter, begging for mercy.

“What on earth is going on out here?”

Pony freezes. Darry, Soda, and Johnny all do too.

Ms.Summers has emerged from her office, hands propped on her hips, eyes blazing. She looks mad. Proper mad. The kind of mad adults get before they slap him or send him to bed without food.

Without really meaning to, Pony scoots a little behind Darry.

“Sorry ma'am,” Darry steps a bit more in front of him, putting himself in front of Soda and Johnny too, and gives Ms.Summers a winning smile, “we were just playin’ around. We didn’t mean to get so loud. We’ll be more quiet from now on.”

“See to it that you do. Where are your parents?”

“Signing some paperwork with your colleague, ma’am.”

“Hm,” Ms. Summers huffs, “well, behave yourselves until they get back. Ponyboy, if you can’t be good you’ll have to sit in the corner again without your new friends. Do you understand?”

Ponyboy forces himself to meet her gaze. She never liked it when he was impolite, and that meant he had to look at her when he was speaking.

“Yes ma’am,” he manages, just barely above a mumble. Ms.Summers hates mumbling.

“Good.” She gives them one last severe look and closes her office door with a snap.

As soon as she’s gone Soda starts snickering.

“Did you see her face?” He pulls an exaggerated frown, eyebrows scrunched down and cheeks puffed out a bit, and props his hands on hips the way Ms.Summers had a second a minute ago.

“Stop bein’ loud!” He mocks in a high falsetto, a poor approximation of Ms.Summer’s actual voice, “no havin’ fun on my watch!”

Pony laughs. He’s learning that Darry wasn’t wrong earlier when he said Soda was just like that.

“Ok, ok, settle down,” Darry chides, but even he cracks a grin, “c’mon and sit again, and I’ll read out that stupid advice column.”

“It’s not stupid!” Soda protests, but he obeys, pulling Johnny down beside him. It seems almost reflexive, Soda dragging Johnny around absentmindedly and the shorter boy following him without question.

“You too kid,” Darry nudges Pony gently, “come sit.”

Pony sits and tries to listen to Darry’s soothing baritone, but finds he can’t quite focus on the story. Instead, he worries.

Mrs. and Mr. Curtis are still in the social worker’s office but he can’t imagine they will be for much longer, and when they come back out the papers will be signed and Johnny will officially be theirs, and they’ll leave.

Ponyboy really doesn’t want them to leave. Not Mrs.Curtis, who’d held him in her arms and let him sleep on her lap, or Mr.Curtis, who never looked scary even when he was stern, and whose eyes were always laughing, even when they shouldn't be. He doesn’t want Soda and his effervescent energy to leave, returning the waiting room to the same, stuffy, suffocating place it always was before today. He doesn’t want Johnny to leave, even though he’s happy for him, because Johnny wasn’t mean but he also understood things, and that was something Pony had never found in any other person, ever. Most of all, he doesn’t want Darry to leave, because Darry just saved him from Ms.Summers like some sort of superhero, and because he’d never been mean to him. Every other teenager Pony came into contact with hurt him or ignored him, but Darry Curtis hadn’t, not once.

He knew this would happen. As soon as he put down his book and went over to play cards he knew he’d get attached. He can feel hot tears prick at his eyes but he blinks them away rapidly. He’s not some stupid little baby. He is not going to cry just because one family was nice to him for one day and now he doesn’t ever want to see them go. That’s stupid.

Maybe he should go back to the corner. Tell Darry he isn’t feeling well and hide behind Great Expectations until they’re gone. It might hurt less if he could do the leaving first.

He’s still psyching himself up to move away from Darry’s soothing voice when the social worker’s door flies open. Instead of the Curtis’ leaving though, the curly haired social worker hurries out, casting a curious glance in their direction as she knocks on Ms.Summers’ door.

“Keisha, could you give me a hand with something, please?”

“Of course.” Ms.Summers emerges from her office looking equally as puzzled, and follows her coworker into the other office.

Johnny and Pony exchange a look. He can see the alarm in the older boy’s black eyes and wishes he could reassure him, but anything he said would sound false to his own ears. Any kid who’s ever been in the foster system knows that things go badly when the social workers start acting like that.

“What’s goin’ on?” Soda sounds scared, looking up at Darry with wide, frightened eyes, “they ain’t…I mean, they promised Johnny could stay for good, right Dar? They said they got the papers and everythin’.”

“Everything’s fine,” to his credit, Darry sounds so sure Ponyboy could almost believe him, “Johnny’s ours for sure, that ain’t in question.”

He ruffles Johnny’s hair, and the dark haired boy manages a weak grin, but Ponyboy can still see the panic he’s trying to hide in the way his hands are trembling, tucked under his thighs. He doesn’t believe him, not really. Pony doesn’t either. Pretty lies are and always will be just that: lies.

“Y’know…” Darry looks at the closed office door, something like realization dawning, “I think things’re gonna be more than ok actually.”

“What do you mean?” Soda wonders.

Darry shakes his head, suddenly fighting a grin. It’s such a stark 180 from the worry he was trying to hide a second ago it’s a little startling.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Darry!”

“Seriously, little buddy, don’t worry about it.”

“You oughta tell me,” that was Johnny, voice small, “if you know something I don’t. It’s my life we’re talking about here.”

“You’re gonna be just fine Johnnycake,” Darry promises, “I mean it. We all are.”

They will be. Pony is glad for them, as much as he can be- which currently isn’t much, with the envy and the loneliness battling for dominance in his gut.

“All of us.” Darry looks right at him, blue green eyes bright, “that means you too Ponyboy.”

He’s trying to be nice. Ponyboy knows he’s trying to be nice, but it still stings knowing their fine is so much better than his own. Their kind of fine meant love and safety and warmth. His meant survival and a half decent dinner. Sure, they’d all be fine. But not the same.

He’s saved from having to say anything by the office door opening.

“-tell him.” Mrs.Curtis is saying, Mr Curtis beside her with a thick manilla envelope and a smile shining brighter than the sun.

“There’s my boy,” Pony thinks Mr Curtis looks like a boy himself, his handsome face young, open and joyous as he crosses the room in three steps and sweeps Johnny into a bear hug, picking him up and swinging him around, “how does it feel to officially be Johnny Curtis, huh?”

Soda perks up.

“It’s official?”

“Signed and sealed,” Mr. Curtis presses a kiss to Johnny’s hair and sets him down, but keeps an arm around his shoulders, “just gotta file these with the judge downtown.”

Soda cheers, and Darry lets out a whoop, both of them swarming Johnny and Mr.Curtis, half tackling them until they’re all wrapped up in one group hug, and it’s the best thing Ponyboy’s ever seen and all he wants to do is cry.

A touch on his head has him flinching away before he realizes it’s just Mrs.Curtis gently carding her fingers through his hair, watching her husband and three sons fondly before looking down at him.

“They’re real special, aren’t they?”

“Yes ma’am.” Pony agrees.

She hums, and Pony can’t help but lean into her gentle touch. They’ll be leaving soon. She’ll be leaving soon. It’s okay, he thinks, to enjoy her kindness as long as possible. He’d already tried not to, and it hadn’t worked. Trying to ignore Mrs.Curtis’ love was like trying to ignore his growling stomach on the nights he went to bed hungry. No matter how hard he tried to forget it, when he next got a taste of food he couldn’t help himself from eating as much as he could stomach, simply because he didn’t know how long it would be until his next proper meal.

“Y’know,” Mrs. Curtis says, “I think you’re pretty special too.”

Her smile changes, still soft but now there’s a secret hiding in her eyes, and a specific kind of love Pony doesn’t understand pulling at the dimple in her cheek.

“I talked to Ms.Summers,” she says, and Pony’s heart twists. Ms.Summers has a way of making him into a bother to people who don’t even know him. He doesn’t want Mrs.Curtis to think that, “and she said you don’t have anyone to go home to tonight. So I thought maybe you might wanna come home with me and the boys.”

His heart stops.

“W-what?”

“Well,” she sounds almost casual, but her shining eyes and mischievous grin give away how false it is, like Darry’s had when they were playing cards earlier, an actor on life’s stage, “there’s an extra bed in Darry’s room, now that Johnny and Soda have bunk beds, and some chocolate cake in the fridge I really think you’d like. Besides, Soda and Johnny are always talkin’ about how they wished they had a little brother to teach things to, and I know they had a ball playin’ cards with you earlier. So what do you say? You want to come stay with us for a while?”

He wants to. More than anything he wants to. It sounds like a dream come true, like a storybook come to life. He lets himself imagine it, sharing a room with Darry of all people, eating chocolate cake with Mrs.Curtis, and getting to play with Soda and Johnny who actually liked him, maybe even not having to worry about being slapped all the time.

“Why?” he has to know. It doesn’t make sense why she would offer this. She has enough little boys, with Soda, Johnny and Darry. Why would she want him too? “Why would you wanna take me? You don’t need me.”

She wasn’t like Mr.Fuller, who’d needed an extra hand to help out on the farm, or Mrs. Delvine who had three babies and no husband. Mrs.Curtis has a husband who looks at her like she hung the stars and three boys already to help her out with chores. She doesn’t need him. It doesn’t make sense.

“Oh honey,” her eyes get sad, and Pony hates himself for making them that way even if he doesn’t know what exactly it is that he did, “I think I do need you. I think all of us do. But more than that I think you need me.”

“I ain’t your baby,” Pony reminds her, because it feels like maybe she’s forgotten that, and it doesn’t matter if he feels like he does need her, because she ain’t his mom and she doesn’t deserve to be stuck with him. “You got no reason to be stuck with me.”

“Hmm,” her mouth presses into a thin line, but she doesn’t look angry. Stern maybe, but that doesn’t feel quite right either, “you cried in my arms and slept on my knee, so I think you are my baby now, at least a little bit. I got more babies than just the three I brought with me today, and I needed all of them just as much as they needed me. So.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she cups his cheek, “there’s Soda’s friend Steve, and Darry’s friend Keith, and Johnny’s friend Dally. And they’ve all cried in my arms and slept on my knee at least once, and they always come stay at my house whenever they need. And they didn’t grow in my belly but they grew in my heart and they’re still my babies anyway. So I think you could be too. If you want.”

If he wants. Ponyboy is used to wanting things, and even more used to not getting any of them, but he can be one of Mrs.Curtis’ babies if he wants.

“Really?”

“Really.” She promises.

“Ok,” he breathes, “ok, yes, I’ll go with you.”

“We’re keeping Ponyboy too?” Soda whoops, half jumping on Mrs.Curtis in his excitement, “this is the best day ever!”

“I knew it,” Darry claims, shaking his head at his parents but grinning all the same, “I knew as soon as that other social worker got called in there that you two just couldn’t leave him here if you tried.”

He knuckles Pony’s hair and grins down at him, inviting him to share the joke. Pony thinks he might actually be dreaming, because he still can’t quite bring himself to believe this is happening, that he’s gonna stay with the Curtis’.

“I’m real glad you’re coming with us,” Johnny murmurs in his ear, as Ms.Summers hands Mr.Curtis Pony’s file and his meagre backpack of belongings, before bidding him a perfunctory farewell. Ponyboy can’t help but agree. He’s real glad he’s going with them too.

It won’t last forever. Hell, it might not even last a week. They could get sick of him or he could get moved anytime, but as Mrs.Curtis takes his hand, and he follows the Curtis family out of the family services office and towards his latest new life, Ponyboy Hewitt lets himself believe for the first time that maybe, somehow, this fairytale might last.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #mrs curtis #mr curtis

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putschki1969 · 2 days

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2024/09/21 Blog post by Wakana いよいよ明日です！！〜前髪と屋形船と鬼面角〜

❗This is Fan Club EXCLUSIVE content❗ ❗PERSONAL USE ONLY❗ ❗Do NOT SHARE on other sites❗ ❗Join her FAN CLUB! Check out my detailed TUTORIAL ❗

It's Finally Tomorrow！！〜Bangs, Houseboats and Cacti〜

Finally… Finally…The bud on my cactus has bloomed‼️(for reference, check out Wakana's Instagram post from Sep 13)

The flower of a Peruvian apple cactus!!! 🌼 It's beautiful…😭✨It really looks like the flowers of my Queen of the Night😊You can see how big it is compared to the palm of my hand. I'm so happy that such a big and beautiful flower has bloomed…😭✨I took a ton of pictures, so I'll post some today and the rest on another day (I want everyone to see them). I'll also post something on Instagram today, so please take a look at that too😊

Well, yesterday at the agency office, we had a final meeting for the upcoming FC event “Join Wakana! Houseboat Full-Course Tour”! ＼＼\٩( 'ω' )و //／／We've prepared an event that everyone can enjoy together… so please look forward to it! ! (((o(ﾟ▽ﾟ)o)))

Also, I've used the opportunity of being at the office to once again take on a selfie challenge 📸 It's already been a month since I got my bangs…I'm finally getting used to them😊 (I changed my smartphone recently so now I have Totoro on the back). My bangs are currently at a length where they are starting to bother me since they get in my eyes *laughs* It's been a while since I had bangs and I know why because my bangs are stubborn and wavy so it's really hard to keep them straight 😅I've been struggling with it every day for the past month…(Yesterday, I finally styled my bangs properly for the first time in a while. The styling was so robust that my bangs didn't get messy even when I walked outside in the heat…) For everyday hairstyles, bangs are really convenient and fun to arrange, but they're a real hassle 😅And I realised it would be impossible to have my bangs down for a live show 😂 I feel like they'd start to lose shape within the first few minutes of a concert😂 So… after thinking about it for a long time…I decided to just let them grow out again 🤣🤣 Major fail. Everyone, I am sorry to tell you that tomorrow and the day after tomorrow will be your last chance to see me with bangs😂 Please forgive me *laughs* Honestly, just thinking about a live performance is making me realise that bangs are just too difficult for me 😂

Last but not least, on my way home yesterday, I came across a lovely event taking place near my office, so here are some photos of it 📸 I have also posted a video on Instagram, so please check that out♡ (Wakana's Instagram post from Sep 20).

Even the entrance are for the event looked exciting😊 You can enjoy a drink on the grass while laying on a mat 😊The surrounding shops were also bustling. It was hot but everyone was drinking beer and having fun, I was jealous watching them 😊 I feel a little sad to see events like this and realise that the end of summer is near.

Those who have plans to join me on the houseboat tour, I'm looking forward to meeting you tomorrow or the day after tomorrow! ! ＼(^o^)／

Until next time ☆( '▽')/

＊＊＊Wakana＊＊＊

2024/09/17 Instagram post by Wakana

I went to Odaiba 🚢🗽🌉 #LifeWithBangs (Source)

#kalafina #wakana #wakana blog #wakana on instagram #life with bangs #bangs!wakana #looking cute #such an unusual sight though #wish I was there for the houseboat tour T_T

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sergle · 8 months

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anime and fantasy are beautiful bc you can make blonde men attractive

#i thought this watching the first ep of dunmeshi. sorry laios. my bride laois.#i am going to read the manga... as well.. when i have time....................#sergle.txt #illustrated blonde men: ahh I see :3 #those same blonde men if they were real: HEAUGH #hohenheim from fmab? don't mind if i do #if he was real? that's a guy who looks at you for too long in a gas station. he is awful #KELSIER'S ON THIN FUCKING ICE #as a dutch woman I have authority on this topic.

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parkercore-69 · 6 months

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thank you J.R.R. Tolkien for writing the most devastating romantic subplot in your lotr books without even realising it

#im talking about sam and frodo sorry everyone #guess who like watched all the extended films and cried #whether you intepret sam and frodo’s love platonically or romantically you have to understand that they are so entwined that it is #devastating nonetheless #the forehead kiss #im on the ground sobbing #dawgs it was such a real depiction of how trauma is irreversible and will change you entirely #frodo baggins #i love him so fucking much guys #i love those little hobbits #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #i could and most likely will write an essay on this #samfro #dawg sometimes love can be both platonic and romantic as queer love is not to be constrained by heteronormative values #sorry did i read too far into the little fantasy story #dude i was not expecting a story about the horrific effects of war racism and power corrupt addiction when i sat down in front of the telly #jokes on the side frodo looking absolutely miserable at sam’s wedding is so fucking real #i get it’s because he knows he cant move on and he is forever changed by his trauma but also that hobbit gay #his wound from the witch king never healing being a symbolic representation of his trauma FUCKS ME UP #frodo you may have been a whiny bitch at times but like yeah that ring probably did weigh a fuck ton and i was worse on my dofe expedition #i may be fucking too hard with lotr #lotr #teehee

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deepseawave · 2 months

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obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

#guys help is it time for a rebranding?? am I just gonna post about f1 now??#I still can’t believe this has all started because bestie and I were watching Ted Lasso (because I’ve been obsessed with that show for a #while now too) and I paused the episode to talk about how I really like the way Jamie interacts with kids (I’m sorry people being good with #and nice to kids is one of my weaknesses I work with kids now and have been invested in treating kids well forever)#so me saying that apparently reminded her of max and she showed me a video of him with p and yeah it was very effective in making me like #him and then we left the episode on pause and she told me a lot about f1 and max specifically cause I was interested now lmao (funny thing #is that she also got roped into it by our other friends I swear it’s speeding lmao #she also compared him to Jamie from Ted lasso (if you know you know) and showed me some heart wrenching Taylor swift edits (i haven’t #emotionally recovered yet) and yeah that’s how I started consuming way too much f1 content on YouTube and got into this whole mess lmao #oh yeah our friends also made me and another friend make a Tier list for all the drivers based on vibes alone (cause I only knew a bit about #max at that time and the other one knew nothing really) which was very funny too #especially looking back at it (we did some of them so dirty lmao 😂)#I’ve also come to the conclusion that tumblr is still one of the least annoying platforms to engage with other people (still)#YouTube is full of hate comments about drivers and stuff it’s so annoying actually #not to mention Twitter but I don’t go there and probably never will 😂#I personally don’t enjoy fics and scenarios and shipping of real people cause it makes me a bit uncomfy (not judging people who do #you do you as long as it doesn’t negatively affect anyone #but yeah I’d much rather just scroll by those here than have to look away from all the mindless hate and which driver is better discussions #everywhere else like I’m not one to engage with stuff like that but it does upset me to some #degree so yeah tumblr making memes and being rather positive about their drivers (most of what I’ve seen here of course there are gonna be #annoying people everywhere) is much more tolerable and a lot more enjoyable for me #whoops this post got away from me again oh dear #I’ve had the idea for a meme stuck in my head for days now: Max verstappen but make it if you don’t love me at my *swearing on team radio #giving spicy replies and attitude to the media maxplaining and complaining going for risky overtakes* you don’t deserve me at my *precious #interactions with p talking about his cats being a goofball with other drivers and especially danny defending other drivers driving #beautifully in the rain* it’s a package deal you can’t just pick and choose and personally I don’t even get why people complain about some #of the other stuff I appreciate someone who’s passionate and honest and genuinely kind where it matters 🤷🏻‍♀️#I think I’ve seen someone else say that but the more people complain about and criticize max the more I feel the need to defend him #god forbid women have hobbies for real (can’t believe I’ve yapped so much I can’t put more tags 💀)#also shoutout to Oscar Piastri and Danny Ric (I was so happy Oscar won even tho McLaren where being very silly in a not so funny way)

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all-that-jazz-93 · 1 year

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Season two is better

#agent carter #i'm sorry lmao but it just IS #and i was one of the ogs who watched season one when it was premiering (mostly. i got caught up on it around the time episode six aired)#so i can say that as someone who fucking loved season one #season two has peggy working WITH the rest of the SSR so we get those sweet sweet team dynamics #and we get #ana jarvis #so like... where's the downside?#lmao there isn't one season two is better let's be real #fight me if you disagree #(please actually fight me i never get anon hate it would be so fucking funny)#drunken ramblings

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devilsskettle · 5 months

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i feel like i’ve been WAITING for the other shoe to drop wrt people’s opinions about watcher for this very reason. not that i think the reaction is completely not understandable but the greater the parasocial relationship, the greater the fallout as soon as public opinion shifts. you don’t have a relationship with these people they’re just content creators, chill

#ready to see all the people coming out of the woodwork to say how they’ve never liked watcher/unsolved/etc #and act like it’s ‘cringe’ now that their fanbase feels ‘betrayed’#it’s great to have a fanbase but parasocial relationships will bite you in the ass every single time #it’s interesting too though because i’ve seen watcher have a LOT of support as they’ve tried to build something separate from buzzfeed #so this is the first time they’re getting real pushback about a decision they’ve made wrt shifting their platform/expanding their brand #so ig we’ll have to see how they react moving forward #but it’s soooo interesting to see how enthusiastically people dump on buzzfeed #AND how many people dump on youtube and how over the years so much of its functionality has been stripped away #how many ads you have to sit through. how much sponsored content there is now. etc #but when they try to do the same thing with youtube that they did with buzzfeed it’s like how dare you not lick their boots #because if you lick their boots and we lick their boots we can watch stuff for free #anyway.#even if you don’t any to say it’s a bad business decision. it’s not like there’s not precedent for it #1) the move away from buzzfeed was successful and 2) what about the dnd shows or whatever #don’t you guys watch those dnd shows that are ‘behind a paywall’#don’t you guys have netflix hulu disney hbo amazon etc ad nauseum that are actually owned by billion dollar corporations #don’t you guys get on your high horses about supporting independent artists all the time #it’s interesting that people will profess to be such big fans!!! and feel like they’re friends!!!!#but how dare they think their work might be worth paying for #idk. idk. it’s entitlement though #sorry for the rant i’m ALSO not trying to blindly defend a bunch of people i don’t know #but you guys are being soooo fucking annoying about it lol #anyway i’m still waiting to see what their response is going to be from here before jumping to conclusions #also to be fair i am biased to be lenient about decisions made by independent filmmakers vs big studios etc #like everybody freaking out about the ai art used in late night with the devil. who cares honestly #‘they should’ve paid a real artist!!’ idk maybe their budget didn’t cover that #i don’t want it to become the industry norm but at the end of the day i would rather see indie shit getting made then only seeing #the big studios (who don’t have equitable practices anyway!!) making shit #but that’s another conversation. just to be transparent about my viewpoint on this kind of thing #maybe controversial but also can’t we have nuance. for once.

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unproduciblesmackdown · 3 months

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another billions analysis thing is like so yeah while it's like "hmm let's think about power" but then doesn't really do that, what's there to offset that is "but let's think about what these people with billions(tm) are doing because of their like personal feelings & lives & whatever" and the personal feelings are the thrilling journey of s1 men following the compass of their ego & the way their personal lives matter at all beyond this is about their Relationships. except the relationships are also actually about the power billions isn't really thinking about because the ones billions focuses on involve this Fealty where one person does whatever and the other is just stuck with it. sure they might air some unhappiness sometimes, but if it's not punished or ignored from the start anyway, it'll still end up so inconsequential that it's as though it never happened. and what's left to offset the way that can't mean anything if you again take it for granted that of course people are just locked into such relationships & best they can do is fix it from the inside or embrace it as is? is "do you think this character is a winner among losers & you want to see them pwn everyone & do whatever they want forever" & if you like all the media the creators do like

#or you can watch the show wrong but where billions was never planning to allow taylor to Disrupt these crucial dynamics #sure they can kind of break with axe but never with wendy!#who can also kind of break with axe & chuck but also not really at all! worst Cost for anyone: divorce. & even then it's not that bad #it's like whenever things just conclude with a reverent nod to like Nuclear Family subsection Fealty To Parent or To Cishet Spouse #like where invoking that serves as a resolution to all the shit going on throughout the actual plot / themes of the material #oh well thank god we have the nuclear family. wendy's on emergency call for her kids & sometimes she will pat their head as they silently #disappear out of frame but that's all we need to be so glad for her she has her nightmare family dinners forever #does taylor have Okay I Guess weekly friend dinners? who cares.#and i mean from there which relationships matter are also just determined by which ones the show cares about in particular #same as which it believes is obviously an Epic Man. or a girlboss. which is primarily wendy sorry! as the wife who will epic divorce you #winston billions #kind of putting a damper on thinking about how Feelings & Personal Motivations play into things #when once again it's precluded by the power dynamics of characters who get to do whatever they want no consequence ever #just going through motions like oh no wendy feels she was in the wrong in s4? no consequence by the end of it & that just Goes Away #how does anything have anything to do with wendy's motivations in s7 #the real shining example of how really nothing holds up upon any earnest consideration is everything going on with axe & wendy #those relevant Motivations and it's like okay so wendy should want axe dead right? Wrong. it's peak beautiful romance time now #and anytime there's a more actually balanced relationship where nobody just does whatever they want no consequence?#billions is only interested if a s1 epic winner is involved & even then it'll only get so much material simply as fun little bonus flair #all that stuff about chuck's dad always being around to ruin his life? well he'll just keep doing that forever i guess #and this isn't some ''oh no'' moment like ah the parent always means well! and what's the child gonna do? escape this? lol

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prismatoxic · 1 year

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loving the timeline i got to witness of:

-yahtzee reviews a game on zero punctuation -in the course of the script he finds a reason to bring up ayn rand/atlus shrugged, mostly as a joke -brings up ayn rand again as the closing punchline -final credits message is "bioshock was a good game wasn't it" -one day later the escapist uploads a new extra punctuation about why bioshock's opening is amazing

did you get bioshock on the brain by any chance, mr. croshaw?

idk what his schedule of making ZP/EP looks like, though i do suspect that EP might possibly be visually edited by someone else? i'm like 99% sure yahtz still does ZP by himself except to pass it by matt the editor for notes on where he should maybe swear less, but EP is kind of visually different (despite using yahtzee's art still) so maybe he just reads his script and lets matt do the visuals? idk. the man's busy he puts out 2 videos like every week, i wouldn't blame him

regardless, my point is that idk where in the process he decided to make an EP on bioshock, but the idea of him writing the sea of stars script, thinking about ayn rand a little too hard, and getting on a bioshock kick because of it is pretty damn funny

if he addresses this in the bioshock video i'm going to feel very silly but i was just taking a food + youtube break so i only watched the sea of stars review for now

#sorry i think yahtzee has been a part of my life for so long that he's some sort of special interest #i know he used to be very... uh... Colorful #and still makes bad taste jokes from time to time #but he's not worse than south park and i think getting married and having kids calmed him down #i watched a compilation of old ZPs several months ago and while there were still funny jokes it was definitely kind of a #“you should not be saying that” cringefest #and it's funny bc i saw all of those videos before. i watched many of them when they came out #i just forgot how bad it was lmao...#my late uncle who i loved very dearly introduced me to yahtzee's work and i've never really moved away from it #took a break for a few years for reasons i don't recall #but then spent weeks going through the backlog of videos i'd missed lmao #i respect his opinions and he's made me pick up several games bc of how he described them #(psychonauts and saints row 2 come immediately to mind)#and it's impressive bc ZP has never used visuals from the games he's talking about you kind of just have to take him on his word #the “new” video format for EP does use game visuals which is another reason i think yahztee isn't the one putting it together #(real gamers remember when extra punctuation was an escapist column and not a video series)#sorry i kind of went off here in the tags didn't i. thanks for reading #if you did. which. if you did read them you'll be reading this!#thank you i care you #tox.txt

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franken-shits · 1 year

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Started rewatching adventure time at the start of summer and the whole time I was like, I reallllly don't want to get to the sad and dramatic parts because this is just so funny. Opposite of what I liked when I first watched it when I was 12. This is what it means to grow up

#adventure time #also to all of those people who are like “can i watch fionna and cake without watching adventure time?”#NO YOU CANT! ITS FOR THE REAL ONES ONLY AND IM PASSIONATE ABOUT THAT #if your not fucking with adventure time humour im sorry u dont get the show everyone likes just this time

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dylanconrique · 1 year

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so how am i supposed to feel about shauna? cause quite frankly i think she’s a sociopath, and not in the fun, silly, goofy way.

#*and this is icarly!#yellowjackets #shauna shipman #she like.... actually disturbs me #or at least she does as an adult #literally the first scene when you flash over to real time and she's pleasuring herself to a pic of he daughter's boyfriend #AND ON HER DAUGHTER'S BED TOO #also all those poor little bunnies she's killed bc they were eating her garden :'((((#(i'm a wuss who can't handle any kind of animal death in tv/film so this show has been fun 🙃)#not to mention how fucking deranged she was sitting at the dinner table describing in graphic detail about how she cooked it... for dinner!!#if my mother ever said anything like that to me casual while i'm eating i would first immediately stop eating and be mortified #like 'you need to go to the psych ward and you need to stay there that's some serial killer shit'#also one more thing....#the 180 manipulation tactic she spun on her daughter when she threatened to tell her dad about the affair she was having #don't get me wrong callie is a brat but like... she's a teen??#like this is teenager bratty-ness.. it's gonna go away with time #her mother shauna on the otherhand ehhh... long gone #sorry i just had to ramble cause i'm watching and this woman is ACTUALLY making my skin crawl

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rowarn · 6 months

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cw: gun play, throat fucking with a gun im sorry, simon coming untouched, masturbation (reader) I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY BRAIN SO unedited

simon with a gun kink that he's kept hidden would be crazy.

imagine ur big, beefy husband coming home after a long deployment. he's tense, his fists are clenched tight and it's clear he's got a ton of steam he needs to blow off.

at first, you expect a normal night together of him plowing you into the mattress so hard that the bed creaks and hits the wall with every thrust. the kind of fucking that leaves you trembling for 15 minutes after you've finished and cleaned up. the kind that has him pulling you into his arms to soothe and coo at.

but something is different this time.

he starts removing his gear one by one as usual but instead of removing the holster with his gun and safely placing it down, he unholsters the gun completely.

you're watching with bated breath as he unloads the weapon, carefully pulling it back and peering into the chamber. you're watching his hands move, admiring how strong his fingers are and how the veins in his hands bulge out with every movement

you deviously excited by the time he approaches you -- the gun still in his hand.

he brings it up, placing the nozzle against your chin, finger hovering off the the trigger. but you know how well-trained he is -- how good he is at his job. you know that he could have that finger on the trigger in a milisecond, faster than you would even be able to comprehend.

"open," he orders, a voice that sends shivers down your spine. it's firm, rough, authoritative. it's a tone you imagine he uses when he's on the field.

soliders bow to his every whim and you're no better. but unlike those who are trained to obey him because it's their job -- you obey him because you know if you do, you'll get the sweetest reward in the world; that thick, full cock still hidden in his pants.

your panties are already wet and sticky and your brain’s already feeling fuzzy by the time you open your mouth.

the shock of cold is the first thing you recognize followed by the tang of metal as the weapon settles on your tongue. your lashes flutter as you look up at your husband, face still obscured by his balaclava but his pretty, brown eyes burn holes into you nevertheless.

he slowly and carefully slides the gun deeper into your mouth until it presses against the back of your throat and you involuntarily gag. a groan rips from his cheeks as he watches the tears gather on your lashline.

"that's it, pretty," he coos, "bet you wish that was my cock huh?" you nod your head as best you can with the weapon lodged in your throat, "maybe i'll give it to you if you put on a real nice show for me."

his words take a moment to register in your fuzzy brain but once they do, your hand is flying down between your legs at record speed. you slip it beneath the band of your panties, barely lifting his shirt that you're wearing out of the way so you can finally find relief in the ache that has settled in your cunt.

your folds are wet and sticky as they part around your fingers and you struggle to swallow around the gun in your mouth. there's no give to the metal and drool begins to dribble down your shin in long, thin strings.

simon's cock is hard, heavy and leaking against his thigh. this has been one of his best kept secrets, to watch you submit to his gun -- to the weapon he has used to murder countless people with.

and here you were, doing as you're told, throating his gun while you play with your pretty cunt. he can hear how wet you are, can see the way you desperately hump your own hand trying to get your fingers deeper and deeper. but they'll never feel as good as his, you both know this.

so all you can do is tearfully look up at him through clumped lashes as you choke and gag on the gun he continues to keep stuffed down your throat.

his cock throbs at the thought of being where his weapon is now. he envies it.

you mutter something, muffled and incomprehensible but he knows what you're saying. he can see the way your pupils blow out, hear the way your breathing grows erratic and choppy. you're trembling and breathless, messily jerking your hips into your own hand as you desperately look up at him -- begging for anything to push you over the edge.

his finger finally lands on the trigger of his gun and he sees your eyes widen but the desperate, teary look you give him only tells him more of what you need.

there's a muted, empty click when he pulls the trigger. the gun is empty, you both know this -- but it sends you over the edge anyway.

simons cock twitches and twitches, balls tight and heavy before he's spurting his load down his thigh at the sight of you cumming on your own fingers and moaning around his gun.

the hand holding the weapon trembles as he cums untouched at the entire scene. you pull your head back, gasping for air before pulling your hand out of your panties.

simon lurches forward, you don't even have time to react before he's taking the sticky, messy, cum-covered fingers into his mouth.

he's on top of you, pressing you down beneath his weight, the gun tossed and forgotten on the bed because now all he can think about is fucking you into the mattress. <3

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod smut #cod x reader

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yieldtotemptation · 7 days

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CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting. It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets. You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.”

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants. “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.��

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader

1K notes · View notes

r0ugesun · 2 months

Text

running with the wolves

Beta read by my wife @moonstruksandco ( ˘ ³˘)˘ᵋ ˘ )♥

Synopsis: Cregan Stark, the formidable Lord of Winterfell, eagerly awaits the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, who has bewitched him since childhood. As winter sets in, he hopes to transform their arranged marriage into a union of love. However, y/n arrives with her own doubts, unsure if she can return his deep affection. Will their marriage blossom into love, or remain a cold duty? Cregan is determined to show her that their bond can be more than just an obligation on their wedding night.

Warnings: 18+ slow burn, smut, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), breeding kink, rough sex, oral sex(both f/m receiving) missionary, mating press, doggy style lots of cum (I think all stark men cum bucket loads)

8k+ words likes and reblogs are highly appreciated ෆ/⟳ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

(Authors note: omg hayy I don’t know that much about Yorkshire accents aside from ackley bridge so I’m sorry in advanced if it’s not right :>)

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

The wind howled through the ancient halls of Winterfell, carrying with it the biting chill of the northern winter. Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by the great hearth in the main hall, his keen grey eyes fixed on the entrance. The time had come for the arrival of his new betrothed, y/n, the most beautiful amongst house Tyrell.

From the moment he first saw her, Cregan had been captivated. Even as a young lad, her grace and elegance had set her apart. Now, as a grown woman, she was even more bewitching, and Cregan's heart swelled with a mix of anticipation and determination. He was resolved to turn their arranged marriage into a union of love.

As Cregan stood by the hearth, he watched the window, the snowflakes drifting lazily to the ground, a distant memory surfaced, warm and vivid against the icy present. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to a time when he was just a young lad of twelve, visiting Highgarden with his family.

He remembered the journey vividly, how different the South had seemed compared to the North. The air was warmer, the colors more vibrant. He had wandered through the lush gardens, marveling at the flowers and plants that couldn’t survive the harsh winters of Winterfell. It was in those gardens that he first saw her.

Y/n had been around his age, a vision of beauty even then. She sat on a stone bench, engrossed in a book, her expression serene and detached. Her hair, shining in the sunlight, cascaded down her shoulders, and her delicate features were framed by the backdrop of blooming flowers. She seemed almost like a fairytale princess, so enchanting that he could scarcely believe she was real.

Without even realizing it his feet began to move on their own, he was like a moth being drawn to the flame that was her. As he approached her, His heart pounded in his chest, an unfamiliar but exhilarating feeling. She glanced up briefly from her book as he neared, her eyes meeting his for just a moment before returning to her reading.

“H-Hello” he said, trying to muster as much confidence as he could. “What are yeh reading?”

She responded without looking up this time, her voice calm and distant. “Hmm a collection of poems” she replied. “Do you like poetry?”

Cregan, caught off guard, nodded. “Aye. Though I don’t read much of it.”

She patted the space beside her, still not lifting her gaze from the pages. “You can sit if you want.”

He sat down slowly, feeling a strange sense of destiny in that moment. She continued to read aloud, her voice weaving the words into a tapestry of emotion and beauty. He listened, captivated not by the poetry but by her otherworldliness her grace, and the way she brought the words to life. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, completely in star struck, while she remained indifferent, too engrossed in her book to notice his adoration.

That was the last time they spoke just a few exchange of words. The rest of his visit to Highgarden was spent with his father and training with Y/N’s brothers and learning the ways of a lord, much to his chagrin. But whenever he could, he would steal glances at her from a window while she read in the garden, and across from her at dinner, for which his mother often scolded him.

"Cregan, it's impolite to stare" his mother whispered sharply during dinner one evening, nudging his foot under the table.

He tore his eyes away from y/n, his cheeks burning and crimson red. "I weren’t starin’, Mother.”

“Yeh most certainly were” she replied, her tone firm. “It’s not appropriate. Focus on yer meal.”

“But she’s… she’s so…”

“Enchantin’?” his mother finished for him, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Aye, she is. But yeh must remember yer manners, lad. Staring is unbecoming of a young lord.”

Cregan sighed, casting one last, fleeting glance at y/n, who was still in her own little world not casting a single glance his way. “Aye, mother….”

Despite his mother’s admonitions, his fascination with Y/N only grew, even as she remained blissfully unaware of his admiration.

Cregan opened his eyes, the memory fading as the cold reality of Winterfell settled back in. He sighed, turning away from the window. Some things, he mused, never truly changed.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

In the dimly lit carriage, y/n huddled under the blankets, trying to stave off the biting cold that seemed to seep through the very fabric of her clothes. Her mother sat beside her, wrapped in her own covers and trying to offer some semblance of warmth and comfort. The carriage jolted over the rough, snow covered road, and every bump made her shiver more.

Her brothers, true to their duty, were outside braving the harsh northern winter with their horses, though y/n could scarcely imagine how they managed. She, however, had the luxury of being confined to the carriage, a prisoner of her own anxieties and fears.

The stories she’d heard about Cregan Stark haunted her thoughts. The gruff warden of the north with a claymore sword so heavy it was said to be the size of a small man. To her, the very idea of marrying such a man was nightmarish. She couldn't remember much about him from his family’s previous visit to Highgarden all those years ago, but the tales of his fierceness and the imposing aura of the North made her dread the moment she would finally meet him.

The carriage seemed to creak with the weight of her mother's discontent. Her mother’s complaints, murmured under her breath but audible enough for y/n to hear, were laced with disdain. “I cannot believe we’ve had to send our only daughter off to marry a Stark”

“Their way of life, covered in stinking animal pelts, living amongst brutes who value strength over grace. It’s hardly the life for a Tyrell.” She said with disgust.

Her father’s stern gaze flicked towards her mother, his patience evidently wearing thin. "We’ve discussed this, Eliza. The match is made, and it’s for the good of House Tyrell. Stop lamenting what cannot be undone."

To him, this marriage was merely a strategic move, a means to secure more power for Highgarden. His daughter's feelings were of no consequence, his focus was solely on the political gain.

“Do you have to be so callous?” her mother’s voice broke through the gloom. “She is our daughter.”

Her father’s gaze remained unyielding. “The alliance with the Starks is necessary for the gain of our house. Y/n is to be a dutiful wife to a powerful lord it’s what she was raised for, if she does her duty right she’ll bear him many children further securing our power”

As her father’s harsh words continued to echo in her ears, y/n’s anger flared. She straightened up, glaring at him . “If you wanted to gift Cregan a broodmare, you should’ve gotten him one of the whores you visit in the brothels” she spat out, her voice trembling with defiance.

mother’s gasp of shock was barely audible over the creaking of the carriage. Her father’s eyes were wild, a hot fury flashing in them. Before y/n could react, his hand shot out, delivering a hard, stinging slap across her face. The sharp force of it made her head snap to the side, and she recoiled, stunned by the sudden violence.

“How dare you!” her father’s voice roared with anger.

y/n’s mother was frozen, her hand going to her mouth in shock. She looked at her husband with a mixture of horror and helplessness. “Henry, please—”

“Be silent!” he snapped, cutting her off. “I will not tolerate such insolence!“

He turned his icy gaze back to y/n, his face a mask of unrelenting severity. “You are about to become the wife of a powerful man. you are fortunate that I secured this arrangement, otherwise you would just end up being Cregans whore in some brothel anyway.”

Y/n’s heart sank as she heard the finality in his cruel words. She knew better than to argue with him—his decisions were made with an iron will that left no room for dissent.

as the carriage continued its slow journey through the snow, y/n's thoughts were plagued with anxiety and uncertainty. The grandeur of Winterfell loomed ahead, and with it, the reality of her new life as Cregan Stark’s bride. She could only hope that, amidst the cold and the gruffness of her new home, she might find a way to endure this new chapter of her life.

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As Cregan stood by the hearth, still lost in his own thoughts, the door swung open with a crash and his friends burst in, laughter and shouts echoing through the great hall.

“Cregan, ye dog! Heard the news, did we!” Jorah boomed, striding up to him and clapping him on the back with such force it nearly sent him stumbling forward.

“Aye, lad, congratulations!” Gendry called out, raising his tankard high. “A Tyrell, no less! Must’ve done somethin’ right to be landin’ a lass like that.”

Cregan, smiling, shook his head as he tried to make sense of the sudden uproar. “Cheers, lads. Bit early for a celebratory drink, ain’t it?”

Bram, always one for a jest, stepped forward with a grin. “Well, Cregan, we heard she’s real beauty, fairest in all the Seven Kingdoms. Quite the catch for a dog like you. Ain’t right, really, a face like hers and a face like yours.”

Cregan raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, is that so? And what about ye lot, then? All of ye been lookin’ in the mirror lately?”

The room erupted in laughter, and Bram waved a dismissive hand. “Aye, we might be a rough lot, but at least we ain’t got to worry ‘bout our faces bein’ compared to a rose.”

Robb, always quick with a quip, leaned in with a wink. “Might be true she’ll forget all ‘bout yer ugly mug once she gets a look at what’s really under yer tunic. you’ve got more to offer than just yer sorry looks.”

Cregan’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he laughed along, trying to maintain his composure. “Ah, so ye’re sayin’ it’s all in the size of me… character, is it?”

“Aye, that’s right!” Robb said with a grin. “Best thing about ye, Cregan, is that even if your face don’t make the cut, yer other qualities surely will.”

Cregan shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Well, if it’s me ‘other qualities’ that’ll win her over, then I reckon I’d best be makin’ sure she gets a good look at all of ‘em.”

Jorah slapped him on the back again, nearly sending him reeling. “Look at ye, all flustered! Never thought I’d see the day. Don’t worry, lad. What lass wouldn’t want a strong Northman?”

“Aye, just keep it down a bit, or you’ll have me blushing so hard I’ll be usin’ me face as a lantern” Cregan said, his grin widening.

The friends continued their banter, the atmosphere warm with camaraderie and laughter. As they raised their mugs in a final toast, Cregan felt a renewed sense of anticipation and affection for the future, no matter the teasing jabs from his mates.

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The room was alive with laughter and chatter as Cregan and his friends carried on with their banter. Jorah was in the middle of a lively tale from a recent hunt, while Robb and Gendry argued over the best way to handle a particularly stubborn horse.

The door creaked open, and in walked Lady Gilliane Glover and Lord Rickon Stark, their presence immediately silencing the room. Lady Gilliane, a woman of dignified grace, and Lord Rickon, tall and commanding, made their way over to their son.

“Cregan, me lad!” Lady Gilliane called out, her voice warm but authoritative. “Got a bit o’ news for ye.”

Cregan turned, a smile fading as he saw his parents. He stood, brushing his hands on his tunic. “Mother, Father, what brings ye here?”

Lord Rickon gave a nod, his face a mix of seriousness and pride. “Your brother spotted Y/N’s carriage on the road. They’ll be arrivin’ soon.”

The room quieted, the friends sensing the shift in the mood. Jorah nudged Cregan with a grin. “Looks like the real fun’s about to start, eh?”

Lady Gilliane gave a small, amused smile. “Aye, that’s right. Thought ye’d want to know. They’ll be here within the hour, so best be ready.”

Cregan’s heart raced, and he glanced at his friends, trying to mask his nerves. “Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Best get meself sorted.”

Lord Rickon placed a reassuring hand on Cregan’s shoulder. “Remember, lad, first impressions count. Show her what a proper Stark man ye are.”

“Aye, Father,” Cregan said, nodding. He turned to his friends with a determined look. “Ye lot best behave yerselves when she arrives. Don’t be givin’ her any more trouble than need be.”

The friends raised their mugs, grinning. “Aye, aye, Cregan! We’ll be on our best behavior,” Robb said, winking.

Lady Gilliane’s gaze softened as she looked at her son. “We’ll leave ye to it, then. Just remember, Cregan, she’ll be as nervous as ye, if not more. Show her the warmth of the North.”

As Lady Gilliane and Lord Rickon exited the hall, Cregan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The anticipation of meeting Y/N was building with every tick of the clock, and he knew the coming hours would be crucial.

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Y/n sat in the carriage, the stark contrast between the verdant landscapes of Highgarden and the harsh, icy expanse of Winterfell weighing heavily on her. The snow-clad scenery outside felt alien and unwelcoming compared to the lush greenery she had left behind. Each jolt of the carriage seemed to deepen her sense of displacement.

Her mother’s hand, warm and steady, was a source of comfort amid her growing anxiety. Y/N clung to it, drawing solace from its presence as she tried to quell her rising fears.

“We’re almost there, dear” her mother said softly, her voice a gentle balm against the cold atmosphere of the carriage. “Remember, we’re in this together.”

Y/n managed a small, appreciative smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Mother. It’s just… it’s so different from home.”

Her father, ever the pillar of stoicism, was peering out the window, his gaze fixed on the approaching Winterfell.

The carriage began to slow, the crunch of snow under the wheels signaling their arrival. As they came to a stop, y/n could see her father alighting first, his figure steady and authoritative as he approached Lord Rickon Stark.

“Lord Rickon” her father said, stepping forward with a formal nod. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

Y/n and her mother remained in the carriage, the cold air seeping through the cracks in the doors. Her mother's hand squeezed hers gently, offering a fleeting moment of comfort in the face of her overwhelming anxiety.

"Mother" y/n whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't do this? I-I’m scared"

Her mother turned to her, eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. "Oh, my dear, I know it seems daunting. But you have a strength within you that you may not yet realize. You have always been resilient."

Tears welled up in y/n's eyes. "I feel so far from home. Everything here is so cold, so harsh."

Her mother reached up, brushing a tear from

y/n's cheek. "I know, darling. Highgarden's warmth and beauty are hard to leave behind. But you must remember, you have the ability to adapt and thrive. This place will feel like home in time."

Y/n nodded, trying to take comfort in her mother's words, but the knot in her stomach remained tight. "And what of Father? He seems so determined, but... he never cares for how I feel."

Her mother's expression darkened momentarily before she masked it with a gentle smile. "don't let him weigh you down. Focus on yourself and your own strength. You are here to build a new life, and I believe in you."

The carriage door opened, and the cold air rushed in, a stark reminder of the world awaiting her. Her father was already engaged in conversation with Lord Rickon Stark, their voices carrying a tone of formality and mutual respect.

"It's time" her mother said softly, giving y/n's hand one last reassuring squeeze. "Show them the grace and strength you possess. You are more than capable y/n."

With a deep breath, y/n steeled herself and stepped out of the carriage. The cold air bit at her skin, but she walked forward, her mother following closely behind.

Y/n's mother nudged her gently, drawing her attention away from the imposing figure of Lord Rickon. "Y/n, dear" she whispered, "Lord Cregan is approaching you."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see Cregan making his way towards her. He was even taller and more formidable than she remembered, his broad shoulders and strong build making him appear larger than life. She stiffened, her body tensing with apprehension.

Cregan's eyes, a deep and thoughtful blue, met hers as he stopped before her. He could see the trepidation in her gaze, the way her hands clutched the folds of her cloak. Despite the fear evident in her demeanor, she managed to muster a polite greeting.

"Lord Cregan" she said, her voice steady but tinged with a slight tremor. "It is an honor to be here."

Cregan offered a warm smile, though he felt a pang of hurt and self-consciousness at the sight of her fear. He noticed the redness around her eyes, the telltale signs that she had been crying. The realization made his heart ache—she was far from home, surrounded by strangers, and faced with the daunting prospect of marrying him, a man she barely remembered.

"Lady y/n" he responded, his voice gentle. "The honor is mine. Welcome to Winterfell."

Y/n nodded, her posture rigid. "Thank you, my lord."

He could see her struggling to maintain her composure, her attempts to be polite masking the underlying fear and uncertainty. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that she was safe here with him, but he knew his words might not carry much weight given the circumstances.

"Ye must be tired from yer journey" Cregan said, trying to ease the tension. "I hope the accommodations we’ve prepared for ye are to yer liking."

She glanced around, her eyes briefly meeting his before darting away. "I'm sure they will be, my lord. Thank you."

Cregan's heart softened at her evident discomfort. He could only imagine how overwhelming this experience must be for her—leaving the warmth and familiarity of Highgarden for the cold and formidable North, betrothed to an intimidating stranger.

"Please, if there is anything ye need, do not hesitate to ask," he added, his tone earnest. "I want ye to feel at home here."

Y/N nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Lord Cregan."

As the formalities continued, Cregan remained by her side, acutely aware of her apprehension. He could see the way she shivered slightly in the cold, her delicate frame dwarfed by the heavy cloak she wore. The vulnerability in her eyes struck a chord within him, igniting a protective instinct he hadn’t anticipated.

He knew it would take time for her to adjust, to feel comfortable in this new and unfamiliar place. And while her fear and anxiety might hurt him, he understood the reasons behind them. She was far from home, thrust into a situation beyond her control, and he was determined to show her that she had nothing to fear.

As the crowd began to disperse, Cregan leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. "I hope ye will come to find Winterfell as welcoming as Highgarden, Lady y/n. We Northerners may seem cold, but we are loyal and true. Ye have my word on that."

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a moment before she nodded, a hint of hope mingling with her fear. "…I will do my best."

He smiled softly, hoping to convey his sincerity. "And I will do my best to make this place a home for ye."

With that, they parted, y/n retreating to her quarters with her mother while Cregan watched her go, a mix of emotions churning within him. He was determined to prove himself to her, to show her that beneath his intimidating exterior lay a heart of gold capable of warmth and compassion.

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The day of the wedding arrived, casting a serene hush over Winterfell. The godswood was adorned for the occasion, the ancient weirwood standing sentinel over the ceremony, its pale bark and blood-red leaves seeming to echo the gravity of the moment.

In her chambers, y/n adjusted her maiden’s cloak for the final time. The rich green of House Tyrell’s sigil contrasted sharply with the snowy landscape visible through the window. Her father, though distant and stern, was prepared to escort her. As they approached the godswood, y/n’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her.

Her father’s expression was somber, but he offered her a curt nod, signaling it was time. Together, they walked through the snow, the crunching of their footsteps the only sound breaking the silence. The guests had gathered, their breaths visible in the chill air, and they fell into a hushed reverence as y/n and her father approached the heart tree.

Cregan waited beneath the weirwood, his eyes fixed on the approaching bride. As she neared, his breath caught slightly, a mixture of awe and anticipation in his gaze. The grandeur of y/n’s beauty was amplified by the solemnity of the godswood, her presence seeming almost ethereal in the fading light.

When they reached the base of the tree, Cregan’s voice rang out clearly, cutting through the stillness. “Who comes? Who comes before the gods?”

Y/n’s father’s voice was steady as he replied,

“Y/n of House Tyrell comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Cregan’s response was filled with a fervent resolve. “Me, Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I claim her. Who gives her?”

Y/n’s father turned to her, his voice formal but lacking warmth. “I, Henry of House Tyrell, her father, gives her.”

He then addressed y/n, his tone clipped. “Lady y/n, will you take this man?”

Y/n’s voice trembled slightly but was resolute. “I take this man.”

With the formalities completed, Cregan and y/n joined hands and knelt before the weirwood. They bowed their heads, submitting to the gods in silent prayer. The moment was charged with a profound intimacy, the ancient tree bearing witness to their vows.

After a few moments, Cregan gently removed

y/n’s maiden’s cloak, revealing the intricate embroidery of House Tyrell on her dress. With great care, he draped over her shoulders a new cloak—the sigil of House Stark now displayed proudly.

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers ringing out as Cregan and y/n stood together. The ceremony was complete, the ancient bond of the godswood now symbolizing the beginning of their shared life.

As they walked back towards the castle, Cregan stole glances at y/n, his admiration and anticipation palpable. Despite the harshness of Winterfell’s climate and the gravity of their new life, the day had marked a hopeful new chapter for both of them.

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Y/n's heart pounded as Cregan guided her through the cold, imposing corridors of Winterfell. The castle's heavy stone walls seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of isolation. Cregan's presence beside her was both comforting and intimidating, she couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her heart.

They arrived at Cregan's chambers, where a warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a soft, inviting glow. He gestured for her to enter first, and after a brief hesitation, she stepped inside.

"Please, make yerself comfortable," Cregan said, closing the door behind them. His northern accent was thick, adding a rugged charm to his words. "Would ye like somethin' to drink? A bit o' wine, mayhaps, to help ye warm up?"

Y/n nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, thank you."

Cregan poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, his gaze lingering on her as she took a small sip. He could see the tension in her posture and wanted to ease her fears, to show her that he was not the monster she imagined.

"Y/n," he began, his voice low and earnest, the thick accent wrapping each word in a soft embrace, "I know this must be overwhelmin'. I want ye to know that I understand yer fears, and I swear I’ll do everythin' in me power to make ye feel safe and cherished here."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. "Thank you, my lord," she said, her voice quivering. "I… I don't know what to expect."

Cregan took a step closer, his gaze filled with a yearning that spoke of deep emotion. "Ye can call me Cregan" he said, the warmth in his northern accent making his words even more poignant. "And I need ye to hear me now, for it’s somethin’ I’ve carried with me for years. From the moment I first beheld ye, me heart was forever altered."

Y/n's breath hitched, her eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words. Cregan's expression was tender, his gaze reflecting a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to bare his soul.

"I remember the first time I saw ye in the gardens of Highgarden," he said softly, his voice weaving a tapestry of emotion. "I was just a lad, new to the beauty of the south. Everythin’ around me was lush and vibrant, but when I saw ye, it was as if my world fell apart. Ye were like a vision of ethereal grace amidst the greenery. The flowers and the trees—they seemed mere shadows compared to ye. In that moment, it was clear that ye were the true beauty of the garden."

Y/n's eyes widened, and a flush of color spread across her cheeks. She could hardly breathe as she processed his confession. "Since then?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Cregan nodded, his gaze steady and full of longing. "Aye, since then. Ye were a beacon of light in me life, and that memory has lingered, burnin’ bright in me heart. I’ve longed to be near ye, not merely for the sake of duty, but because ye’ve ensnared my heart in a way no one else ever could."

Her heart fluttered wildly at his words, the warmth of the fire mingling with the warmth of his confession. She had always felt like a pawn in her father’s game, never imagining that someone like Cregan could see her so profoundly.

"I didn’t know" she said softly, her voice catching in her throat. "I thought... I thought you would be distant and cold."

Cregan's smile widened, his eyes soft with pure affection. "Aye the North may be cold, but my heart is only filled with warmth for ye. I want ye to see the real me, to know that I am here for ye with all that I am."

She looked into his eyes, seeing a depth of sincerity and yearning that shifted her perception. Perhaps this marriage could be more than a mere alliance. Maybe it could be the beginning of something profoundly beautiful.

"Thank you, Cregan…." she whispered, feeling a newfound sense of calm and hope. "I... I want to try."

Cregan’s smile was full of warmth and relief. "Tha’s all I ask, Y/n. We’ll take this one step at a time, together."

As they stood there, hand in hand, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, Y/n felt a spark of hope ignite in her heart, seeing Cregan in a new light.

Cregan's eyes never left Y/n's as he took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted this moment to be perfect, to reassure her of his intentions.

"Y/n" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "may I kiss ye?"

Y/n's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing scarlet. She hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Cregan. You may."

Cregan moved closer, his hand gently cupping her cheeks as he leaned in. He pressed his lips to hers in a soft tender, almost hesitant kiss, his touch gentle and reassuring. Y/n responded, her initial nervousness melting away as she felt the warmth and sincerity in his kiss.

When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. Seeing none, he smiled softly. "Ye're so beautiful, Y/n."

She blushed again, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He took her hand, leading her to the bed. As they stood beside it, he gently picked her up, cradling her in his arms. Y/n gasped softly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried her. He laid her down on the bed with the utmost care, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

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Cregan's gaze remained locked on Y/n’s face, his eyes filled with a deep, reverent admiration. He lowered himself beside her on the bed, his hand still cupping her cheek. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe yer finally mine. My wife.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. The way he looked at her made her feel cherished, his admiration lighting a fire within her. Her apprehension melted away as she reached up, cupping his face in return. “And I’m grateful to be yours, Cregan.”

Their lips met again, this time with more fervor. The kiss deepened as Cregan’s hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Y/n’s hands roamed over his shoulders, pulling him into the kiss with equal intensity. The warmth of his touch, combined with the gentle urgency of their embrace, made her feel as if she was floating.

Cregan’s breath mingled with hers as he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ve wanted this so much” he whispered. “I’ve wanted ye.”

Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the sincerity of his words. She felt a new, desperate longing surge within her, her body responding to his touch with an eagerness she hadn’t expected. “Please, Cregan” she breathed out, her voice trembling with emotion.

Their lips met again, each kiss more passionate than the last. The world outside seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the moment, their breaths coming in sync as their yearning for each other deepened with every touch.

Cregan's kisses grew more intense, his touch transforming from gentle caresses to an urgent, burning desire. He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n's eyes, his own dark with passion. "I want to see all of ye, to feel ye" he said softly, his voice rough with need.

With deliberate care, he started to undress, his movements slow and deliberate. He tossed his cloak aside, revealing his strong muscular frame. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, his hardened form visible through his small clothes, making her heart race with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement.

Cregan's hands moved to his shirt, sliding it off with a practiced ease. His gaze remained locked on Y/n as he undressed, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. His hands lingered on the waistband of his smallclothes, his hardness evident and stirring a deep, aching longing within Y/n.

When he was finally freed his cock, Cregan approached Y/n with a tender but determined expression. He reached for her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His fingers moved deftly to her dress, his touch gentle but purposeful as he began to unlace it.

The fabric fell away, revealing her bare chest to his gaze. Cregan's breath caught at the sight, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin with a mixture of reverence and desire.

"Ye're stunning," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I want to cherish every part of ye."

Yn's skin tingled under his gaze, her heart pounding as she felt both exposed and cherished.

Cregan's hands continued their exploration, his touch both reverent and possessive. He leaned in to kiss her again, his lips trailing hot, desperate kisses across her neck and shoulders.

His hands roamed over her bare skin, his touch igniting a fierce desire within her. She gasped, her body arching into his touch, as he pressed her into the bed with a controlled but eager force. His kisses became more fervent, his hands gripping her waist as he explored her body with a possessive urgency.

"I've longed for this moment" Cregan said between kisses, his voice rough with need.

Yn responded with equal fervor, her hands gripping his shoulders as she kissed him back with a desperate passion. "Show me, Cregan" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Show me how much you want me."

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled breaths and wet sloppy kisses as they lost themselves in the moment. Cregan's touch was a blend of tenderness and raw desire, each movement and kiss building a profound connection that left them both breathless and yearning for more.

As the kiss deepened, Cregan's touch grew more urgent, his hands roaming over Y/n's body with increasing desperation. His kisses, once tender and exploratory, became more demanding, his breaths ragged as he tried to control his growing desire. Yet, despite the intensity of their embrace, Cregan seemed to hold back, his movements tinged with an inner struggle to remain gentle.

Y/n could sense his restraint and the tension in his body. She was overwhelmed by the fire burning within her, her own desire driving her to push past his tentative touches.

"Cregan" she gasped between kisses, her voice trembling with need. "I want you. I want you to claim me fully."

Cregan's breath hitched, his eyes dark with a mix of surprise and longing. "Y/n... I-I don't want to hurt ye" he murmured, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure, he promised himself that he would be gentle, only touching her as if she were made of the most delicate glass and now he’d already been more rough than he intended.

But Y/n's voice was resolute, her gaze fixed on him with a desperate intensity. "No, Cregan. I want you to make me yours completely.” She whined, but she saw the look on his eyes he wouldn’t relent unless she pushed him towards his breaking point. “I want you to fuck a baby into me. I need you ple—“

Cregan didn't let you finish. His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that ignited a wildfire within. He held your face tenderly yet firmly, his touch a lifeline as you clung to him, desperate for more. His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch with a hunger that bordered on feral.

The clash of your teeth, the fervor of your kiss, it was a battle, a dance of dominance that you were willing to lose.

Cregan's tongue delved deeper, drawing a breathless moan from you. His scent enveloped you, intoxicating and heady, making your knees buckle with longing. It was as if the tether to your senses was fraying, leaving you to melt into a molten pool beneath his commanding presence.

The heat coursing through your body was a familiar sensation, yet it had never burned this intensely. It surged through you, tightening your nipples and pooling between your thighs, setting every nerve aflame.

Lost in the haze of his searing kisses, you scarcely noticed when he eased your back farther onto the bed, his body a solid, protective weight above you. Your eyes met, a silent conflagration passing between you, before he claimed your lips again with a gentler fervor, the same intensity simmering beneath the surface.

"Do you truly want this? With me?" Cregan's voice was a hushed murmur against your lips, a plea and a promise intertwined.

"Yes, husband" you breathed, the words a vow of your own.

His lips brushed your ear, his breath a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers cascading down your spine. "I am going to make love to ye now."

Your nipples hardened at his words, a raw moan of anticipation escaping your lips as he took in your form, the vulnerable softness of your skin a feast for his hungry gaze.

Cregan lowered his head, his lips tracing a path of fire down your neck, over your collarbone, each kiss a desperate silent vow. His hands followed, exploring, caressing, leaving no inch of you untouched.

"Yer exquisite" he murmured, his voice a reverent whisper against your skin. His touch was a balance of possession and adoration, a worship that left you breathless.

The cool air kissed your overheated skin as he continued to explore you, Every touch, every kiss, was a symphony of sensations, a crescendo of passion that left you aching for more.

his eyes drinking in the sight of you, slowly consumed with lust for him, with a reverence that made your heart stutter. "My wife" he whispered, the words a sacred incantation.

Cregan leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and possessive. His hands roamed your body with a fervent curiosity, memorizing every curve, every dip, leaving a trail of molten fire in their wake.

Your body responded to him, arching into his touch, a silent plea for more.

His kisses grew more insistent, his touch more demanding, as he made his way down your body. He worshipped you with every kiss, every caress, until you were trembling with need beneath him.

"Cregan," you breathed, your voice a soft plea.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense. "I'm here, Y/n" he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "I'm here."

Cregan's gaze was fixed on your taut, aching nipples. He wasted no time, his heated mouth enveloping one of your tight, sensitive peaks. You gasped as your back arched in response, the initial shock of his touch quickly melting into a rhythm of pleasure.

Each time his cheeks hollowed as he suckled, your gasps turned to desperate pants, while his fingers teased the other abandoned nipple, pulling and twisting it gently.

Cregan's mouth pulling harder on your nipple, his tongue lavishing attention on the delicate bud. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of sensation through you, stirring a throbbing need between your legs.

The pulsing ache demanded more, and your hand, almost involuntarily, slipped between your thighs. The damp evidence of your desire left you breathless and mortified.

"Show me yer hand" Cregan's voice rumbled, his tone firm.

"It's... it's embarrassing-"

Without hesitation, Cregan parted your thighs and deftly removed your small clothes, leaving you exposed before him. His gaze settled on your glistening core, and a satisfied smile tugged at his lips.

"C-cregan!"

"Y/n" he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of adoration and hunger.

"Ye've got the prettiest little cunt."

his words made your entire face burn and turn a dark crimson. The raw honesty in his voice left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“D-don’t look so closely!”

Without wasting another moment, he lowered his head between your thighs, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh.

your body trembling with need. When his tongue finally made contact, a moan escaped your lips, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

Cregan's tongue moved with practiced skill, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently before releasing it with a soft pop, only to dive back in with renewed fervor.

The lewd slurping sounds filled the room, mixing with your breathless moans and the crackling of the fire.

Your thighs quivered, the sensation of his mouth on you pushing you closer to the edge. "Cregan" you gasped loudly, your voice shaking. "Please, don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your soaking wet cunt, his fingers joining in to tease and caress. The combined sensations were overwhelming, your body arching off the bed as you rode the waves of pleasure.

When you finally came, it was with a cry of his name, your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you. Cregan didn't relent though, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, lapping up your juices with a moan, prolonging your climax until you were a trembling, breathless mess.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire.

He moved up your body, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate act deepening the connection between you.

But it still wasn’t enough for you, gathering your courage, you whispered, "Cregan?"

His eyes opened, soft and warm as they met yours. "Aye, love?"

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks. "Can I... can I touch you?"

A spark of interest flared in his eyes, and he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. "Touch me? Where?" He said teasingly.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his cock lay, painfully hard and twitching. "There" you whined softly, reaching out tentatively.

Cregan's lips curved upwards. "Aye, love. Ye can touch me."

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, the heat of him searing your palm. You marveled at the feel of his skin, so smooth and yet so firm beneath your touch. Cregan's breath hitched, his muscles tensing as you explored him.

"Like this?" you asked, looking up at him for guidance.

He nodded, his voice rough with restraint.

"Aye, just like that. A bit firmer, love."

You tightened your grip slightly, your hand moving up and down his length in slow, deliberate strokes. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, filled you with a heady sense of power and intimacy.

Cregan's hand covered yours, guiding your movements. "Tha's it, love. Yer doin' so well" he moaned, his voice laced with praise and pleasure.

As you continued to stroke him, you noticed a bead of precum forming at the tip. The sight of it, glistening and inviting, sparked a boldness within you. You couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick it away. Cregan groaned loudly, his hips bucking

involuntarily at the sensation.

"Fuck! Y/n" he gasped, his hand tightening around yours.

"Do that again."

You obliged, your tongue swirling around the thick head of his cock, tasting the salty essence of him. The act felt both daring and incredibly arousing, each lick eliciting a new sound of pleasure from Cregan.

Encouraged by his response, you took him deeper into your mouth, your lips closing around his shaft as you began to bob your head.

You were still unaccustomed to his size though, what you couldn’t fit in your mouth you stroked with your hand.

Cregan's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you pleasured him.

"Ye're so fuckin’ good to me, love" he groaned, his voice thick with need. "So perfect."

The praise spurred you on, your pace quickening as you took him deeper, your hand stroking the base of his cock in time with your movements. Cregan's breaths grew ragged, his body tense with the effort to hold back.

When he finally came, it was with a guttural moan, his release bursting in your mouth.

You swallowed eagerly, wanting to take all of him, to show him the same pleasure he had given you.

As you pulled back, you looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of adoration.

Cregan's chest heaved, his eyes glazed with satisfaction as he pulled you into his arms, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

But the night was far from over and the hunger in his eyes told you he was far from satisfied. You felt a renewed wave of desire wash over you, your body eager for more of him.

"Are ye ready for more, love?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. His hand trailed down your body, caressing your breasts and waist, finally coming to rest between your legs.

His fingers teased your wetness, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "Yer so wet for me."

You nodded, your breath hitching as he continued to stroke you. "Yes, Cregan. I want you. I want you to take me."

His eyes darkened with a primal need, and he positioned himself between your legs, spreading them wide. "I'll be gentle at first, love," he promised, guiding his cock to your entrance.

"But I won't be able to hold back for long."

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against you, and your heart raced with anticipation.

He pushed forward slowly, entering you with a smooth, deliberate motion. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and painful sting as he stretched you to accommodate his large size.

Cregan's eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and desire. "Yer so tight, love. So perfect" he groaned, pushing deeper until he was fully seated inside you.

The feeling of being completely filled by him was indescribable, a blend of fullness and heat that made you gasp. "Cregan," you moaned, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, allowing you to adjust to the sensation. But as your moans grew louder and your hips began to move in time with his, his restraint faltered. His pace quickened, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.

"You feel so good, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with need. "I can't hold back any longer."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he pounded into you.

The force of his thrusts drove you higher, making the bed hit the walls roughly, a testament to how greedily he was fucking into you.

Cregan shifted his position, lifting your legs higher and pressing them against your chest. The new angle allowed him to penetrate you even deeper, and you screamed his name as he took you harder.

"That's it, love. Take all of my cock," he urged, his eyes locked on your face, watching your every reaction.

The pressure built within you, the pleasure mounting to an unbearable peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body convulsed around him, gripping his cock as he continued to drive into you.

Cregan was relentless, his own release building. He flipped you onto your stomach, pulling you onto your hands and knees. He entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you with abandon.

"Fuck, Y/n" he groaned, his voice a rough whisper. "I'm gonna fill ye up. Every last drop."

Cregan's movements became more erratic as he neared his release, his breathing heavy and labored. You could feel the tension building within him, every muscle in his body coiling tighter and tighter. His thrusts grew deeper, more powerful, and you knew he was close.

With a final, powerful thrust, Cregan's hips stilled, pressing deep inside you. His entire body tensed, and he let out a loud, guttural groan, his face contorted in pleasure. You could feel the hot rush of his cum filling you, pulse after pulse, more than you had ever imagined. The sheer volume of it overwhelmed you, a torrent of heat flooding your insides.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groaned, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Take all of it. Every last drop."

He held himself inside you for a moment longer, his cock throbbing with each spurt of cum. Then, slowly, he began to pull out, the sensation almost too much to bear. As he withdrew, you felt a gush of his cum ooze out of you, warm and thick.

Cregan watched, mesmerized, as his release leaked from your entrance. The sight seemed to ignite something primal in him, and he quickly brought his fingers to your dripping core. He gently pushed two fingers inside you, making sure to plug the flow.

"Can't let it go to waste" he murmured, his voice a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. "Want every drop to stay inside ye."

His fingers moved within you, ensuring his cum was thoroughly spread.

You felt another wave of pleasure as he gently massaged your sensitive walls, the sensation of being so full and claimed by him overwhelming you. Cregan leaned down, kissing the small of your back, his breath warm against your skin. "Yer mine, Y/n. All mine," he whispered, his fingers still inside you, holding his seed in place.

You lay there, breathless and trembling, feeling utterly claimed and cherished by him.

Cregan slowly withdrew his fingers, ensuring that every drop of his cum remained inside you. He gently flipped you onto your back, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

As he settled beside you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, a comforting contrast to the cool air of the room.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, a tender kiss that lingered. Then, he moved to your cheeks, planting soft, loving kisses on each one. His lips brushed your nose, and then he found your lips, kissing you with a gentleness that was almost reverent.

"Y/n" he murmured between kisses, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm so glad ye're mine."

You felt a swell of affection in your chest, the sweetness of his words and the tenderness of his touch filling you with a profound sense of belonging. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as he continued to kiss you.

Cregan's kisses were endless, each one a declaration of his love and devotion. He kissed your eyelids, your temples, your jawline, and your chin, his lips exploring every inch of your face with a loving intensity that made you feel cherished beyond measure.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "So perfect. I want to spend every moment of our lives together, showing ye how much I adore ye."

He held you tighter, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your sides. His touch was soothing, a balm to your still-racing heart.

The rough, demanding lover from moments ago was now a gentle giant, cradling you in his arms with infinite care.

Cregan pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are ye alright, love?" he asked, his voice soft with concern. "Did I hurt ye?"

You shook your head, smiling up at him. "No, Cregan. You were perfect. I'm more than alright."

His expression softened even further, a look of relief washing over his face. "Good," he whispered, pressing another kiss to your lips. "I'll always take care of ye, Y/n. Always."

You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his broad chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart was a comforting lullaby, and you felt a deep sense of contentment wash over you.

A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground with no one around to see it. The thought lingered in your mind, a symbol of the unexpected beauty and love that had blossomed between you.

Cregan continued to kiss you, his lips never straying far from your skin, as he held you in a protective, loving embrace.

In that moment, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. Cregan's sweet, endless kisses and his tender words were a promise of a future filled with love, passion, and unwavering devotion.

⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔

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